| I liked this. :-)
Not too many years ago a young monastic aspirant went to Mount Athos. In talking with the venerable abbot of the monastery where he wished to stay, he told him, "Holy Father! My heart burns for the spiritual life, for asceticism, for unceasing communion with God, for obedience to an Elder. Instruct me, please, holy Father, that I may attain to spiritual advancement." Going to the bookshelf, the Abbot pulled down a copy of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. "Read this, son," he said. "But Father!" objected the disturbed aspirant. "This is heterodox Victorian sentimentality, a product of the Western captivity! This isn't spiritual; it's not even Orthodox! I need writings which will teach me spirituality!" The Abbot smiled, saying, "Unless you first develop normal, human, Christian feelings and learn to view life as little Davey did--with simplicity, kindness, warmth, and forgiveness--then all the Orthodox 'spirituality' and Patristic writings will not only be of no help to you--they will turn you into a 'spiritual' monster and destroy your soul."
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| I am reading Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, finally. One could quote the book almost at random and land on a bit worth pondering, but I thought I'd share this one:
At the time of Lewis and Clark, setting the prairies on fire was a well-known signal that meant, "Come down to the water." it was an extravagant gesture, but we can't do less. If the landscape reveals one certainty, it is that the extravagant gesture is the very stuff of creation. After the one extravagant gesture of creation in the first place, the universe has continued to deal exclusively in extravagances, flinging intricacies and colossi down aeons of emptiness, heaping profusions on profligacies with ever-fresh vigor. The whole show has been on fire from the word go. I come down to the water to cool my eyes. But everywhere I look I see fire; that which isn't flint is tinder, and the whole world sparks and flames.
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| I've been reading Benedict's semi-recent book Jesus of Nazareth, and I liked this bit on the Vine and the Branches:
Fruit and love belong together: The true fruit is the love that has passed through the Cross, through God's purification. "Remaining" is an essential part of all this. In verses 1-10 the word remain (in Greek menein) occurs ten times. What the Church Fathers call perseverantia--patient steadfastness in communion with the Lord amid all the vicissitudes of life-is placed center stage here. Initial enthusiasm is easy. Afterward, though, it is time to stand firm, even along the monotonous desert paths that we are called upon to traverse in this life--with the patience it takes to tread evenly, a patience in which the romanticism o the initial awakening subsides, so that only the deep, pure Yes of faith remains. This is the way to produce good wine.
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| I am working on a paper about the Reformers' views of confession/penance, and ran across this paragraph in a book. The last sentence struck me, so I'm sharing.
"At Magdeburg, a group of Lutheran theolgians, under the leadership of Flacius, had undertaken the writing of the history of the church from a Protestant point of view. As this was divided into centuries, one for each volume of the work (it never got beyond the thirteenth), the whole was called the 'Centuries of Magdeburg.' Canisius undertook to refute this work, although -- interestingly enough -- not by an appeal to history, but by attempting to show that the practices that the Protestants decried as innovations had their origin in Scripture. Thus an ironic situation developed in which Protestants were attempting to prove through tradition that the Roman Catholic Church had departed from the authority of Scripture, and the Catholic Canisius was trying to show on the basis of Scripture that the Protestant reconstruction of tradition was wrong." ~ Justo Gonzales, A History of Christian Thought
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| This is a traditional Holy Week meditation. Today we (and others around the world) sang it again, using the same chant that has been used for centuries, perhaps since the hymn's first composition by Venatius Honorius Fortunatus a little before AD 600.
Who can comprehend the awful and wondrous mystery of the cross?
Pange Lingua
Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle; of the mighty conflict sing; tell the triumph of the victim, to his cross thy tribute bring. Jesus Christ, the world's Redeemer from that cross now reigns as King.
Thirty years among us dwelling, his appointed time fulfilled, born for this, he meets his passion, this the Savior freely willed: on the cross the Lamb is lifted, where his precious blood is spilled.
He endures the nails, the spitting, vinegar and spear and reed; from that holy body broken blood and water forth proceed: earth, and stars, and sky, and ocean, by that flood from stain are freed.
Faithful cross! above all other, one and only noble tree! None in foliage, none in blossom, non in fruit thy peer may be: sweetest wood and sweetest iron! sweetest weight is hung on thee.
Bend thy boughs, O tree of glory! Thy relaxing sinews bend; for awhile the ancient rigor that thy birth bestowed, suspend; and the King of heavenly beauty gently on thine arms extend.
Praise and honor to the Father, praise and honor to the Son, praise and honor to the Spirit, ever Three and ever One: one in might and one in glory while eternal ages run. | comments: 3 comments or Leave a comment  |
| This has recently become one of my favorite communion hymns; it is one of two by St. Thomas Aquinas that we sang during the Maundy Thursday liturgy last night.
Humbly I adore thee, Verity unseen, who thy glory hidest 'neath these shadows mean; low, to thee surrendered, my whole heart is bowed, tranced as it beholds thee, shrined within the cloud.
Taste and touch and vision to discern thee fail; faith, that comes by hearing, pierces through the veil. I believe whatever the Son of God hath told; what the Truth hath spoken, that for truth I hold.
O memorial wondrous of the Lord's own death; living Bread that givest all thy creatures breath, grant my spirit ever by thy life may live, to my taste thy sweetness neverfailing give.
Jesus, whom now hidden, I by faith behold, what my soul doth long for, that thy word foretold: face to face thy splendor, I at last shall see, in the glorious vision, blessed Lord, of thee. | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment  |
| So, for my Historical Theology course, I recently read two treatises by Cyprian of Carthage. He lived through a period of severe persecution, after which the Church faced a serious challenge. Men and women who had denied the faith, sacrificed according to the demands of the Roman authorities... and then afterwards sought to return to the faith. This raised the question of whether they could be allowed back to Communion -- ever. (Note that this is separate from the question of whether God can forgive them.)
Similar questions arose in regard to major sins committed by baptized Christians -- murder, adultery, that sort of thing. The Church eventually concluded that, after some years of penance and demonstrating true contrition (not falsified "repentance" without any real content) they could be allowed back. And when I say years, I mean years. Third-century Christianity took sin really, really seriously.
This raises questions -- for us -- about who should be allowed to receive Communion or not. In many churches, certainly in my own denomination, people are fairly freely allowed to partake, no questions asked. Technically, you are required to be a baptized believer, but no usher stands by to make sure you're known to fit in that category. Similarly, Roman Catholic churches require you to be a Roman Catholic to receive, but no one checks your ID as you approach.
Even in the Episcopal Church this is in some ways a fairly recent shift. Someone recently told me that, five decades ago, you brought a letter from your previous parish when you moved to a new town, saying that you were in fact a member in good standing who could be received at the altar.
Nowadays there's a movement in theologically Progressive circles to open the Lord's Supper to the unbaptized as well -- as a matter of "radical hospitality" in the name of the Lord who ate with all sorts of sinners. I won't address that argument here. I just want to share this paragraph from Cyprian's treatise on the Lapsed, which should give a fair idea what he might have thought of the idea:
Moreover, beloved brethren, a new kind of devastation has appeared; and, as if the storm of persecution had raged too little, there has been added to the heap, under the title of mercy, a deceiving mischief and a fair-seeming calamity. Contrary to the vigour of the Gospel, contrary to the law of the Lord and God, by the temerity of some, communion is relaxed to heedless persons,—a vain and false peace, dangerous to those who grant it, and likely to avail nothing to those who receive it. They do not seek for the patience necessary to health nor the true medicine derived from atonement. Penitence is driven forth from their breasts, and the memory of their very grave and extreme sin is taken away. The wounds of the dying are covered over, and the deadly blow that is planted in the deep and secret entrails is concealed by a dissimulated suffering. Returning from the altars of the devil, they draw near to the holy place of the Lord, with hands filthy and reeking with smell, still almost breathing of the plague-bearing idol-meats; and even with jaws still exhaling their crime, and reeking with the fatal contact, they intrude on the body of the Lord, although the sacred Scripture stands in their way, and cries, saying, “Every one that is clean shall eat of the flesh; and whatever soul eateth of the flesh of the saving sacrifice, which is the Lord’s, having his uncleanness upon him, that soul shall be cut off from his people.” Also, the apostle testifies, and says, “Ye cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of devils; ye cannot be partakers of the Lord’s table and of the table of devils.” He threatens, moreover, the stubborn and froward, and denounces them, saying, “Whosoever eateth the bread or drinketh the cup of the Lord unworthily, is guilty of the body and blood of the Lord.” His basic argument seems to be that allowing them to share in the body and blood not only brings wrath upon them, but also gives them a false sense of security that prevents true repentance.
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| "Officials at LaVinc College today reported that its faculty is reeling from a memorandum issued by college trustees that no faculty member may advocate cannibalism as an acceptable Christian lifestyle choice. Dr. Kyrie Fly, head of the faculty senate, claimed in a prepared statement that “this restriction curtails academic freedom, due process, and LaVinc’s tradition of Christian inquiry."
Read more: http://merecomments.typepad.com/merecomments/2009/10/covenant-michigan-dateline-october-12-2021.html
Incidentally, in the comments Lars Walker apologizes for not having written the piece himself. However, I think he under-credits himself. He touched on many of the same (and sundry related) themes, at book length. You can read the novel (sci-fi/fantasy, sort of) for free here: http://www.webscription.net/10.1125/Baen/0671578154/0671578154.htm
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