For some years the choral group Kairos has been "in residence" at the Monastery. Their ongoing project is performing the Bach cantatas, and since they perform here four or more times a year, we are privileged to hear them. Two of our monks sing in the group -- Scott and Andrew.
They are wonderful -- showing up most Saturday mornings for rehearsal in the north end of the Library, where I work. I get to listen to them. So it was a surprise earlier this year when Scott mentioned to me that they were preparing a new piece based on the Anglo-Saxon Riddles from the Exeter Book, and would I be interested in helping. Of course I was. So Scott gave me copies of the music -- lovely to look at but I couldn't tell a thing from the score, except that is certainly wasn't Haydn. But what they wanted was help with pronunciation. So I typed out the texts and did a quick literal, interlinear translation to help them with the sense, and showed up. They were eager to learn. Then Scott suggested I record the texts, which I did and he circulated them.
I heard the music for the first time last night, at St. Andrew's, New Paltz. What a thrill! The composer, John B Hedges, who is a tenor in Kairos, was there singing, and did a lovely introduction, in which he graciously introduced me and the Old English prof at SUNY New Paltz, Dan Kempton.
John set five of the riddles (there are 90 some): shield, bread dough, water, bagpipe and iceberg. Each piece is quite different. I was especially taken with "bread dough", which like several of the riddles can be interpreted in a risqué sense. He presents it as a group of young kitchen maids gossiping in the back corner. So funny!
Thanks to all at Kairos!
Monday, May 9, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Douglas Brown, OHC: In Memoriam
Douglas Brown, OHC, died five years ago today, on May 5, 2006, at the age of 61, in the 22nd year of his life profession.
Douglas was a complex man, as most interesting people are. He was a true monk, in many ways a contemplative. He was a widely known spiritual director, preacher and conference leader. He was influential in the Episcopal Church, particularly in his work with the early stages of the clergy wellness movement, which led to CREDO. On Sept. 11, 2001 he was participating in the taping of a program in company with Rowan Williams and others at Trinity Church, Wall Street and was caught up in the escape through the wreckage of downtown Manhattan that day.
He was also a challenge to the community. Deeply devoted to his work as Prior of West Park, he was also deeply protective of himself in that work.
He was also a good friend. Douglas and I did not know each other well for many years. He joined the community in 1977, after I had moved out to California, and our relations in the next 24 years were formal to cool. I think he regarded me as somewhat alien to his concerns. I probably felt the same. But that had more to do with the positions we held and their unavoidable dynamics than with any personal relationship. That all changed in 2001 when I moved to New York City to become Rector of the Church of St. Edward the Martyr. I came to Douglas with some fear and trembling to ask if I might have a room in the monastery at West Park, since I wanted to become more closely involved with the community there. He was very welcoming, actually quite happy to be asked, and said Yes, Of course. That welcome probably did more than any other single thing to reintegrate me into the West Park community. Many good things followed from it, and one of the best was a growing friendship with Douglas.
When he was at home, Douglas was quite reserved. But when he was "on the road", as he was often, especially in his various ministries in New York City, Douglas was gregarious, outgoing, a lot of fun. His friendship was a new chapter in my monastic life.
Late in life Douglas began to write icons. I don't think he finished many. But I have ended up with two: one of John of Damascus, resplendent in a white turban, and one of the αχειροποίητα, the Not Made By Hands, or Veronica's Veil. They remind me of Douglas's deep and growing love for the Faith, which he shared so skillfully with so many people, myself included.
I was privileged to preach the sermon at his funeral at West Park. The place was packed with people whose lives had been changed by Douglas, and I am glad to say I was one of them. Here's a link to it.
Douglas was a complex man, as most interesting people are. He was a true monk, in many ways a contemplative. He was a widely known spiritual director, preacher and conference leader. He was influential in the Episcopal Church, particularly in his work with the early stages of the clergy wellness movement, which led to CREDO. On Sept. 11, 2001 he was participating in the taping of a program in company with Rowan Williams and others at Trinity Church, Wall Street and was caught up in the escape through the wreckage of downtown Manhattan that day.
He was also a challenge to the community. Deeply devoted to his work as Prior of West Park, he was also deeply protective of himself in that work.
He was also a good friend. Douglas and I did not know each other well for many years. He joined the community in 1977, after I had moved out to California, and our relations in the next 24 years were formal to cool. I think he regarded me as somewhat alien to his concerns. I probably felt the same. But that had more to do with the positions we held and their unavoidable dynamics than with any personal relationship. That all changed in 2001 when I moved to New York City to become Rector of the Church of St. Edward the Martyr. I came to Douglas with some fear and trembling to ask if I might have a room in the monastery at West Park, since I wanted to become more closely involved with the community there. He was very welcoming, actually quite happy to be asked, and said Yes, Of course. That welcome probably did more than any other single thing to reintegrate me into the West Park community. Many good things followed from it, and one of the best was a growing friendship with Douglas.
When he was at home, Douglas was quite reserved. But when he was "on the road", as he was often, especially in his various ministries in New York City, Douglas was gregarious, outgoing, a lot of fun. His friendship was a new chapter in my monastic life.
Late in life Douglas began to write icons. I don't think he finished many. But I have ended up with two: one of John of Damascus, resplendent in a white turban, and one of the αχειροποίητα, the Not Made By Hands, or Veronica's Veil. They remind me of Douglas's deep and growing love for the Faith, which he shared so skillfully with so many people, myself included.
I was privileged to preach the sermon at his funeral at West Park. The place was packed with people whose lives had been changed by Douglas, and I am glad to say I was one of them. Here's a link to it.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Good Friday Sermon
Preached at Holy Cross Monastery, Good Friday, April 22, 2011
Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Psalm 22: 1-11
Hebrews 10:1-25
John 18:1-19:37
Every year on Good Friday I look out at the congregation and hope that there is someone there who is hearing the Passion for the first time. I wonder what it would be like to hear it as something completely new, to be caught up in its drama with no preconceptions, to meet its characters and hear its words and feel its emotion completely fresh. Is that person here today?
What is the power of the Passion story? Is the power in the retelling of the final moments of Jesus of Nazareth, with its memorable characters, words and actions? Is the power in its superb narrative, stripped to the bone, so to speak, stark and plain, leaving, as the best stories do, room for our imagination to insert ourselves into the action? Is the power in the figure of Jesus, at once humble and exalted in John, whose words and deeds reveal more than just glimpses of the presence of God? Is the power in that man, whom we have grown to love, brought to a grisly and terrifying end, which cannot help but move even the stoniest heart? Is the power of the passion in the art of the story? Or is its power in something greater than art? Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and ... yes.
Because this is a story of power. It is a story with power, and a story about power, and a story that confers power.
What sort of power would an early Christian find in this story? Imagine an early Christian assembly, before the Gospels were published, before St. Paul had written his letters, before the stories of the disciples were gathered into collections and shared, in a time when the community was telling the story to itself from memory. The Lord is risen, His life is the life of our community. We really don’t know how. We hardly have words to describe why we believe, although Isaiah is a good guide. But at the center of our faith is this mystery: Jesus showed us the power and the wisdom and the life of God and died precisely because of who he was and what he did: God was in what he did and was in him. And the death he died was not the end but the beginning. What he said and did is still alive and growing, and in ways we have a hard time putting into words, there is a new power loose in the world because of him. The story of his death is the story of life. And it transforms the lives of those who begin to live in the power of his story.
As early Christians we would also understand that the story is about power. Power is real in the world. We all live with it every day. But the reality of power has been transformed by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In the Passion narrative, the world’s power realities are personified by Pilate, but they are true of power the world over. The world’s power is a hierarchy, up and down. The one with the power is above, and acts upon those with less power. It is his business to get up in the morning, hear cases, make decisions, and supervise their implementation. Power, in fact, is work, in all its scheduled banality. It is the work of deciding things about other people according to the larger story of power of the system this person represents. It is also the worry that it will lose its place if it slips up. Today’s agenda is the same as every day’s: Public tranquility so that money may be made so that taxes may be collected so that the powerful may be glorified. Really, there’s nothing personal here. In the Passion story Pilate is urbane, even witty. He enjoys a bit of banter with Jesus, and at least at first doesn’t seem to mind much that Jesus gets the better of him. But the obscenity of this urbane chatter is in the fact that it doesn’t matter: There is a loser and a winner here, and the loser will be dead before sundown. Cat and mouse. Clever word games in the antechamber of death.
Except to the early Christian, the joke is on Pilate, the joke is on all the holders of the world’s deadly levers of power. Because God’s power is not like theirs, and God’s power will win. We do not need to be without hope as we are used by the powerful of the world for their gain and for their glory. There is another glory, another use to which our lives can be put: we are not raw material for the exploitation of our betters, but each of us is made for God’s glory, for a life in God beyond human imagining.
And because the Passion is a story of power and a story about power, it is also a story that confers power. People who have heard about, seen and understood what God’s power is and how it works and what it is aiming for are no longer easily fooled by the other kind. When told to bow down to that power as if it is God, they will ask rather what is the good it confers on its subjects. When told to pay taxes without murmuring, they will ask what public benefit public money is used for. When advised to reverence persons in high places, they will inquire of their virtuous life and whether they dispense impartial, righteous justice. In other words, they will give to the power of this world its rightful place: an instrument of God for the good of all, not a means for the glorification of those who possess it. When people begin to live in the realm of God’s power, we cast off the fear that poisons self worth, and stand and walk as God wished us to from the beginning.
You will notice that my pronouns are shifting from they to we. We are not early Christians. We don’t have to be. The power of the Passion story is still as much at work in our own day as it ever has been. In fact, it is hard to find anyone at all, Christian or not, who does not already know the outlines of this story. And why is that? Because the power of this story is that it is true. The power of goodness, righteousness and justice rests on a stronger foundation than greed, violence and tyranny, whether goodness, righteousness and justice are labeled “God” or not, and that’s the truth. And at a very basic level the world has learned this truth. It springs up in unlikely places and does inconvenient things to people who thought they were born to rule. The weak who die for good are never lost in God. The Passion of Jesus Christ is truth for everyone.
So we listen to the words of Jesus to Pilate once again this year, fearing what is to come, feeling the pain and the suffering he will shortly endure, but also knowing the truth about power. Oh the irony of the eternal dialog of the Word of God with the word of the world: "You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." And the one who does not belong to the truth has only a witty question in reply: "What is truth?" And then, as a detectable anxiety creeps into Pilate’s voice, as he perhaps senses something else is going on here, and tries to get others to take the responsibility from him, he finds he really has no power except the power of death, unless he wants to betray his masters. Which he will not do. Which is his tragedy, and the tragedy of all in power who follow Pilate’s path.
The power of the Passion story is not the power of public order and exploitation administered with the threat of death, but the power of truth: Power, real power, is from God, does God’s will, and builds God’s kingdom. God’s power is built from below and side by side, not from above. Those with the least are the favored of God. The one who told us and showed us and then died for us when we started to hope we could live in God’s kingdom is the one with the power, power so different from what we are used to we can hardly find words for it. We can’t really define it, or even describe it. And since we can’t reduce it to a set of propositions, that’s why we tell the story.
Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Psalm 22: 1-11
Hebrews 10:1-25
John 18:1-19:37
Every year on Good Friday I look out at the congregation and hope that there is someone there who is hearing the Passion for the first time. I wonder what it would be like to hear it as something completely new, to be caught up in its drama with no preconceptions, to meet its characters and hear its words and feel its emotion completely fresh. Is that person here today?
What is the power of the Passion story? Is the power in the retelling of the final moments of Jesus of Nazareth, with its memorable characters, words and actions? Is the power in its superb narrative, stripped to the bone, so to speak, stark and plain, leaving, as the best stories do, room for our imagination to insert ourselves into the action? Is the power in the figure of Jesus, at once humble and exalted in John, whose words and deeds reveal more than just glimpses of the presence of God? Is the power in that man, whom we have grown to love, brought to a grisly and terrifying end, which cannot help but move even the stoniest heart? Is the power of the passion in the art of the story? Or is its power in something greater than art? Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and ... yes.
Because this is a story of power. It is a story with power, and a story about power, and a story that confers power.
What sort of power would an early Christian find in this story? Imagine an early Christian assembly, before the Gospels were published, before St. Paul had written his letters, before the stories of the disciples were gathered into collections and shared, in a time when the community was telling the story to itself from memory. The Lord is risen, His life is the life of our community. We really don’t know how. We hardly have words to describe why we believe, although Isaiah is a good guide. But at the center of our faith is this mystery: Jesus showed us the power and the wisdom and the life of God and died precisely because of who he was and what he did: God was in what he did and was in him. And the death he died was not the end but the beginning. What he said and did is still alive and growing, and in ways we have a hard time putting into words, there is a new power loose in the world because of him. The story of his death is the story of life. And it transforms the lives of those who begin to live in the power of his story.
As early Christians we would also understand that the story is about power. Power is real in the world. We all live with it every day. But the reality of power has been transformed by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In the Passion narrative, the world’s power realities are personified by Pilate, but they are true of power the world over. The world’s power is a hierarchy, up and down. The one with the power is above, and acts upon those with less power. It is his business to get up in the morning, hear cases, make decisions, and supervise their implementation. Power, in fact, is work, in all its scheduled banality. It is the work of deciding things about other people according to the larger story of power of the system this person represents. It is also the worry that it will lose its place if it slips up. Today’s agenda is the same as every day’s: Public tranquility so that money may be made so that taxes may be collected so that the powerful may be glorified. Really, there’s nothing personal here. In the Passion story Pilate is urbane, even witty. He enjoys a bit of banter with Jesus, and at least at first doesn’t seem to mind much that Jesus gets the better of him. But the obscenity of this urbane chatter is in the fact that it doesn’t matter: There is a loser and a winner here, and the loser will be dead before sundown. Cat and mouse. Clever word games in the antechamber of death.
Except to the early Christian, the joke is on Pilate, the joke is on all the holders of the world’s deadly levers of power. Because God’s power is not like theirs, and God’s power will win. We do not need to be without hope as we are used by the powerful of the world for their gain and for their glory. There is another glory, another use to which our lives can be put: we are not raw material for the exploitation of our betters, but each of us is made for God’s glory, for a life in God beyond human imagining.
And because the Passion is a story of power and a story about power, it is also a story that confers power. People who have heard about, seen and understood what God’s power is and how it works and what it is aiming for are no longer easily fooled by the other kind. When told to bow down to that power as if it is God, they will ask rather what is the good it confers on its subjects. When told to pay taxes without murmuring, they will ask what public benefit public money is used for. When advised to reverence persons in high places, they will inquire of their virtuous life and whether they dispense impartial, righteous justice. In other words, they will give to the power of this world its rightful place: an instrument of God for the good of all, not a means for the glorification of those who possess it. When people begin to live in the realm of God’s power, we cast off the fear that poisons self worth, and stand and walk as God wished us to from the beginning.
You will notice that my pronouns are shifting from they to we. We are not early Christians. We don’t have to be. The power of the Passion story is still as much at work in our own day as it ever has been. In fact, it is hard to find anyone at all, Christian or not, who does not already know the outlines of this story. And why is that? Because the power of this story is that it is true. The power of goodness, righteousness and justice rests on a stronger foundation than greed, violence and tyranny, whether goodness, righteousness and justice are labeled “God” or not, and that’s the truth. And at a very basic level the world has learned this truth. It springs up in unlikely places and does inconvenient things to people who thought they were born to rule. The weak who die for good are never lost in God. The Passion of Jesus Christ is truth for everyone.
So we listen to the words of Jesus to Pilate once again this year, fearing what is to come, feeling the pain and the suffering he will shortly endure, but also knowing the truth about power. Oh the irony of the eternal dialog of the Word of God with the word of the world: "You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." And the one who does not belong to the truth has only a witty question in reply: "What is truth?" And then, as a detectable anxiety creeps into Pilate’s voice, as he perhaps senses something else is going on here, and tries to get others to take the responsibility from him, he finds he really has no power except the power of death, unless he wants to betray his masters. Which he will not do. Which is his tragedy, and the tragedy of all in power who follow Pilate’s path.
The power of the Passion story is not the power of public order and exploitation administered with the threat of death, but the power of truth: Power, real power, is from God, does God’s will, and builds God’s kingdom. God’s power is built from below and side by side, not from above. Those with the least are the favored of God. The one who told us and showed us and then died for us when we started to hope we could live in God’s kingdom is the one with the power, power so different from what we are used to we can hardly find words for it. We can’t really define it, or even describe it. And since we can’t reduce it to a set of propositions, that’s why we tell the story.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Sermon on the Woman at the Well
My sermon for Lent 3A, the story of Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well of Jacob, was well received, and has been published on the website of The Church of the Transfiguration. Thanks, Bill Guild! It was great to see you and so many other friends at The Little Church Around the Corner. It has also been published on the Holy Cross Monastery sermon blog.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Upcoming Programs
I haven't blogged much recently -- I guess I could put it down to practicing simplicity. But life just gets in the way sometimes.
Three programs are coming up which might be of interest.
__________
On Saturday, March 26, I am leading a Quiet Day at The Church of the Transfiguration in New York City ("The Little Church Around the Corner"), from 10:00 am to 3:00 pm. I will be preaching there on Sunday Morning, March 27. The writeup:
"Why God? Beyond Guilt, Sin and the New Atheism"
We will examine two contemporary objections to belief in God: that the universe is impossibly large for a personal deity, and that belief is a need generated by neurobiological function. We will look to the Early Church for an alternative belief system that makes sense for us today.
_______________
On Wednesday evening, March 30, I will be leading a program on lectio divina at St. Ignatius of Antioch Church in New York City, beginning at 7:00 pm.
__________
From Thursday, March 31 to Sunday, April 3 I will be helping to lead a Benedictine Experience for the Friends of St. Benedict in the Washington, D.C. area. The retreat will be at Roslyn Conference Center in Richmond, VA. I will be talking about the family structures of late Roman antiquity as a cultural background to the Rule of Benedict, exploring how Benedictine communitarian ideals attract people in the present day.
Three programs are coming up which might be of interest.
__________
On Saturday, March 26, I am leading a Quiet Day at The Church of the Transfiguration in New York City ("The Little Church Around the Corner"), from 10:00 am to 3:00 pm. I will be preaching there on Sunday Morning, March 27. The writeup:
"Why God? Beyond Guilt, Sin and the New Atheism"
We will examine two contemporary objections to belief in God: that the universe is impossibly large for a personal deity, and that belief is a need generated by neurobiological function. We will look to the Early Church for an alternative belief system that makes sense for us today.
_______________
On Wednesday evening, March 30, I will be leading a program on lectio divina at St. Ignatius of Antioch Church in New York City, beginning at 7:00 pm.
__________
From Thursday, March 31 to Sunday, April 3 I will be helping to lead a Benedictine Experience for the Friends of St. Benedict in the Washington, D.C. area. The retreat will be at Roslyn Conference Center in Richmond, VA. I will be talking about the family structures of late Roman antiquity as a cultural background to the Rule of Benedict, exploring how Benedictine communitarian ideals attract people in the present day.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Christmas Eve Sermon
My sermon for Christmas Eve here at the Monastery has been posted on the monastery's sermon site. Enjoy.
A very Happy New Year to all! ¡Feliz Prospero Año!
A very Happy New Year to all! ¡Feliz Prospero Año!
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Last Chance Before Advent...
Another liturgical year has passed, and my blogging has slowed down. I can only plead busyness.
The fall has been filled with work in the monastery library: several kind donors have filled up the acquisitions shelves, and the estate of the late Fr. Karl Layer sent 27 boxes of his library. The auditors have been here and wearing my hat as OHC Corp. Bursar, I have tried to be helpful to them. The Board of Trustees of the House of the Redeemer elected me President once again on Oct. 26. I have been charged with rounding up content for the Holy Cross Magazine, and have finally gotten that off to the excellent Suzette Cayless for formatting. The theme is Vocation, and it features articles by as many of the brethren as cared to write. I have been busy with spiritual direction as well.
Last weekend I led a weekend program at Christ Church, St. Michael's MD, on the Eastern Shore, in the Diocese of Easton. It was wonderful. I was reminded once again of how the lay people in Episcopal churches can take such wonderful care of the fabric and finances of their parishes. It was the Feast of Christ the King, and the program centered on the New Testament as counter to the Roman imperial ideology/theology.
I was asked by our Prior to preach on the Solemnity of James Huntington, the founder of OHC, this week. I tried to lay out themes basic to his life and work.
In this season of Thanksgiving, I want to wish all who read this blog a spirit of gratitude for all God's wonderful gifts to us.
The fall has been filled with work in the monastery library: several kind donors have filled up the acquisitions shelves, and the estate of the late Fr. Karl Layer sent 27 boxes of his library. The auditors have been here and wearing my hat as OHC Corp. Bursar, I have tried to be helpful to them. The Board of Trustees of the House of the Redeemer elected me President once again on Oct. 26. I have been charged with rounding up content for the Holy Cross Magazine, and have finally gotten that off to the excellent Suzette Cayless for formatting. The theme is Vocation, and it features articles by as many of the brethren as cared to write. I have been busy with spiritual direction as well.
Last weekend I led a weekend program at Christ Church, St. Michael's MD, on the Eastern Shore, in the Diocese of Easton. It was wonderful. I was reminded once again of how the lay people in Episcopal churches can take such wonderful care of the fabric and finances of their parishes. It was the Feast of Christ the King, and the program centered on the New Testament as counter to the Roman imperial ideology/theology.
I was asked by our Prior to preach on the Solemnity of James Huntington, the founder of OHC, this week. I tried to lay out themes basic to his life and work.
In this season of Thanksgiving, I want to wish all who read this blog a spirit of gratitude for all God's wonderful gifts to us.
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