Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul

 

One of the harsh graces of monastic life is that a memory can come back in a flash and pierce your heart wide open and lead you to beg for God’s mercy. So it is that I remember with embarrassment yelling at my Dad many years ago over some triviality. I was not proud of myself. And a day or so later, I had the sense to apologize. His response was simple, “Jimmy, you never have to apologize to me.” This touched me deeply. His words were my forgiveness. He knew me and understood me, he loved me. And I understood that the love, the relationship we had, meant more and could tolerate the breach. In the end, I think I really learned how to forgive and what it feels like to be forgiven - from my father. He simply was not a grudge-holder. And when I was trying to muster the courage to take steps toward entering this monastery, it was somehow imagining his words as the Father’s words deep in my heart that gave me the courage I needed, “Give it a try. What have you got to lose?”

I begin here because ultimately, Peter and Paul whom we feast today came to understand themselves as sinners, forgiven and understood and fully known by Christ Jesus – known in the fullest, richest sense of the biblical expression - a knowing that is highly personal, most intimate, and relational. It is the intimate knowledge we read about in Genesis - when Adam "knew Eve his wife." - and in the psalm, “O God, you search me, and you know me, you know my resting and my rising. You mark when I walk or lie down. All my ways lie open before you.” This is not about God spying on us, watching for our every misstep, it is rather all about God noticing, his constant, compassionate knowledge of who we are.

Peter and Paul come before us this morning, pointing quietly to the wounded Christ Jesus, whose mercy alone is their boast; they know for sure that on their own they have nothing to be proud of except their weaknesses.

Peter says he’s ready to die with Jesus; then betrays him in a heartbeat to save his skin. “Wait a minute; you’re one of that Galilean’s followers,” says the maid in the high priest’s courtyard. “I’d know that accent anywhere.” “Get out of here,” Peter mutters. “I don’t who you’re talking about.” Meanwhile, Jesus is next door being slapped and roughed up by soldiers, sentenced, and spat upon.

And Paul, so certain he is following the dictates of Law and prophets in every jot and tittle, has been self-righteously dragging the followers of Jesus to prison and persecution, utterly clueless that this Jesus is himself the fulfillment of all the Law and the prophets promised.

Each will be transformed by their graced encounter with the risen Lord. At a beachside breakfast, Peter will have the opportunity to reaffirm his love for Christ, “Lord you know well that I love you. You know all things.” Paul, suddenly blinded by the light of the risen Lord, will insist that he doesn’t even know who Jesus is. Jesus assures him, “You know me alright. I am the One you have been persecuting.” His conversion is underway.

Finally, there is Jesus’ question to Peter, tinged with self-doubt, magnificent in its quiet simplicity – “Who do you say that I am?” It is an achingly beautiful question that each of us must answer, “Who do you say that I am? Who am I for you? What is your experience of me in your life, in your history? How do you experience me now? Do you know that I know you, and love you well?” How shall each of us answer Our Lord? Perhaps when we come to understand who we are, how wounded we are, and who Jesus wants to be for us, we can say with Peter, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God. You search me and you know me. All my ways lie open to you. You alone are my love, my fortress, my stronghold. All I want is to know is you Christ Jesus my Lord and the power flowing from your resurrection. Everything else is a pile of rubbish to me.”

Jesus did not give up on Peter or Paul and he will never, ever give up on us. He is a relentless rescuer, the God who saves us, even chases after us because he knows us. Our life of incessant prayer requires incessant awareness of how much he understands us, knows us in all our wavering and inconsistency and nothingness, and yet cannot bear to leave us alone. And so he comes once again to feed us with his very Self.

Saints Peter and Paul, 15th century, Fondamenta Cavour, Murano, Italy. Today's homily by one of the monks.

Touch

 

It was physically and spiritually draining, being the woman with the hemorrhage. I can easily imagine that the possibility of healing would lead the woman with the hemorrhage (and what a thing to be known for throughout all time) to brazen and desperate measures. She emerged in public and touched a stranger’s cloak, a stranger who said things like, "Do not be afraid." But when she was miraculously healed, he knew instantly and called her forth from the crowd. She trembled with fear, but Jesus only said, in his perceptive, succinct way, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace." All we have to do is touch him. Just the hem of his cloak. Touch Jesus and...we will be restored to full spiritual health and vigor. Touch Jesus, and we will be sent forth, faithful, well, and in peace. Why do we make it so hard? 

Image by Brother Brian. Meditation taken from an article by Valerie Schultz from America, 2008.

The Birthday of John the Baptist

 

Have you ever wondered if you were following God’s will for your life? Are the choices that I have made mine or God’s? Is it even possible to know? These are questions that many of us ask from time to time. I think absolute certainty is impossible. Perhaps even John the Baptist wondered if he was doing God’s will.

John had a special purpose to play in salvation history. He acted as the bridge between the Old and New Testaments. John was the last and in some ways the greatest of the Hebrew prophets. As the preface for today’s Mass says he was chosen “from all the prophets to show the world its redeemer, the Lamb of sacrifice.”

Jesus praised his greatness but at the same time said that even the least in the Kingdom was greater than he. While he knew and proclaimed Jesus as the one who was to come and the straps of whose sandals, he was not worthy to untie, he never saw Jesus as his Risen Lord, a privilege granted to the very least of the baptized.

He is often referred to as the Precursor, whose mission was to go ahead of the Messiah and proclaim his coming.  Hence the titles associated with him describe his vocation and mission, “The friend of the Bridegroom,” “The voice of one crying out in the desert,” and of course, “The Baptizer.”

In the reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we heard: “John heralded his coming by proclaiming a baptism of repentance to all the people of Israel.” The success of his mission would eventually put him out of a job, as he modestly said that Jesus must increase, and I must decrease. And that is still the role of the missionary today – to plant the church and then withdraw, leaving it in the hands of the new local community. In our monastic context, we could also say that it is also true for new foundations.

In Luke’s gospel there are many parallels between the birth of John and that of Jesus. Both births were announced in advance: in John’s case to his father Zechariah and in Jesus’ case to his mother Mary. In my curiosity, I discovered that there are 7 children that we read of in the Bible who God named before birth. Isaac and Ishmael, sons of Abraham (Genesis 16:11. 17:19). Solomon, son of King, David. Josiah, King of Israel, Cyrus, King of Persia, John the Baptist, And last, but not least, Jesus.

In our first reading today, we hear the prophet Isaiah speak of a “servant” of God. The “servant” could have been a person or the nation Israel. From the beginning God called, fashioned, and offered this “servant” an important place in extending the glory and kingship of God. The servant hears that he is not to toil merely for the restoration and union of Israel, but to open the way for the light to the “nations”. Salvation is going to come to all the world and this servant is going to toil for the coming of that salvation. As St. Paul says in The Acts of the Apostles: “My brothers, sons of the family of Abraham, and those others among you who are God-fearing, to us this word of salvation has been sent”

The Gospel has to do with the birth of John, but even more, his naming. Elizabeth and Zechariah are advanced in age, so their lack of fertility was seen as a kind of curse. We know from earlier in the chapter that Zechariah was struck speechless by God for his lack of belief. Who could blame him for being incredulous? An elderly couple cannot have children. How absurd!

When the birth of John took place, it was a special occasion of rejoicing among relatives and neighbors. When they heard “that the Lord had shown her so great a kindness, they shared their joy.” According to Jewish custom, the child was to be circumcised on the eighth day after his birth. This ritual showed that the child belonged to God’s own people, the Jews. It was also the day on which the child was officially named. Customarily the first male child was named after his father, Zechariah. When the day of circumcision comes his mother announces that his name will be John. It was not customary for the mother to make this announcement; it was the father's role. We see this by the way the guests try to get Zechariah to say something, even if he had to write it. Upon writing “John is his name, immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue freed, and he spoke blessing God and all were amazed.”

“The LORD called me from birth, from my mother’s womb he gave me my name.” It seems as though God’s plan for the life of John the Baptist was clear. But the scriptures never tell us how he felt about it. What we do know is that he did it.

When we talk about following God’s will for our own lives, we too might have a bit of Zechariah in us, we are incredulous. That? Are you kidding? It can’t be! We have our own plans and often God’s plan does not align with ours. We resist, we get in the way, we want to be in charge.

Acceptance of God’s plan requires letting go of what we want and open our heart to God in surrender, trust, and humility. It is only in dialogue with God in prayer that we discern his will. It allows us to align our will to his. The one thing we do know is that if it is God’s will, only good things will come from it. As St. Paul says in his First Letter to the Thessalonians, “For this is the will of God, your sanctification.”

Saint John the Baptist, c. 1230,  North Portal, Chartres Cathedral. Today's homily by Father Emmanuel.

With Aloysius

 

We are always inspired by the ardor and single-heartedness of Saint Aloysius Gonzaga, who died as a Jesuit scholastic at age 23 while caring for plague victims in Rome in 1591. Indeed, so confident was Aloysius in God's tender love for him, that one day as he was playing ball with the other young Jesuits, Saint Robert Bellarmine approached him and asked what he would do if he were told he was going to die the next day. "I would go on playing ball," said Aloysius.

So may we always trust in the Lord's merciful love.

The Vocation of Saint Aloysius (Luigi) Gonzaga, Guercino (Giovanni Francesco Barbieri) (Italian, Cento 1591–1666 Bologna), ca. 1650. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Used with permission.

"Quiet! Be still!"

 

A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat,
so that it was already filling up.
Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion.
They woke him and said to him,
“Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”
He woke up,
rebuked the wind...  Mark 4

The early 13th-century Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton, is credited with the division of the books of the Bible into chapters. Today's gospel of the calming of the storm at sea is the final section of Chapter Four of Mark. It seems odd that a chapter that is chock-a-block full of parables should end with the beginning of the narrative of a boat ride across the Sea of Galilee, especially as the boat trip ends at the beginning of the next, chapter five. Why didn't the Archbishop simply make Chapter Four a collection of parables with a unified theme, and then begin Chapter Five with the entire narrative of the crossing of the sea? 

The scripture scholar Marie Sabin proposes a solution to this enigma. She writes, “in the first part of chapter 4, Mark shows Jesus teaching in parables. In the end, however, he shows Jesus teaching by his actions. He shows Jesus stilling the sea as God stills the sea in the psalms. He shows Jesus to be 'like God.' He shows Jesus to be in Himself a Wisdom parable. Those who are his disciples have been granted a direct encounter with 'the mystery of the kingdom of God+.'” There is more to this parabolic mystery of Jesus who is like God than just the fact that Jesus and our God of the psalms calm the raging seas at their command. The purpose of the parables (and indeed of this parable whether Sabin's theory is correct or not) is to illuminate our hearts and minds about God's being and acting in our lives. This final parable-in-action is more than a narrative to make us say “Wow, Jesus can still a storm by his word alone!” Rather, Jesus can calm the storm of doubt that constantly churns in my heart, our hearts.“Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Jesus, do you not care about me? About us? 

If a parable is a wisdom riddle that asks a question of our hearts, the real question in today's is posed by that mysterious God-man Jesus himself in a double-barreled way: “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith? Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?” These are questions I ask myself often—perhaps they are being asked within me by the Lord himself as I tremble before each new storm in my life, each new challenge to believe and to love, each new call to be who I say I am. 

That little word yet in the middle of the second question, “Do you not yet have faith?” gives me hope. It helps me realize that even as I mostly fail to trust in the Lord, the Lord Jesus has hopes that eventually I will realize what it means that He, “just as He was” (truly God and truly man), is in the boat with me. No! Actually, I am in the boat with Him. He it was who invited me and all of us with the words, “Let us cross to the other side!” He wants us to be with Him. Let us leave our little safe harbors where we see only to protect ourselves and sail out on the open sea of life inChristwhose depths (as sounded by the Holy Spirit) are “too deep for words”, whose new horizons are so broad, as broad as the shoulders and arms of Jesus that span the cross and embrace the whole of creation in God's love. But our incarnate Lord Jesus is not content to be in the boat with us. The incarnate Lord Jesus desires to be within us in the Eucharistic communion. Soon, He will be within us in His body, soul, and divinity to love us from within and make our “not yet” existence move closer to“now.” He rebuked the wind and said to the sea and to you and to me, “Quiet! Be still!” 

Rembrandt van Rijn (Leyden, 1606 - 1669, Amsterdam) Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee, 1633, Oil on canvas, 63 x 50 3/8 in. Homily by Father Luke.

Nameless Treasure

Come, true light; come life that never ends; come, hidden mystery!
Come, nameless treasure; come, name that can never be uttered!
Come, inconceivable One; come, joy without end!
Come sun that never sets!
Come, name well-loved and ever repeated!
Come, joy that knows no end; come, untarnishing crown!
Come you whom my poor soul has longed for, and longs for still!
I give you thanks that you have become one single spirit with me. 

We are called to ceaseless prayer, Saint Augustine will name this living in ceaseless desire for God. Ever-mindful of this, we treasure these lines from a hymn of Saint Simeon the New Theologian. 

Clothing of Brothers Andrew & Kenneth

On Sunday the community gathered in the Abbey Chapterhouse, as our brothers were clothed in the novice's habit by Abbot Vincent.  He addressed the following remarks to them.

Br. Andrew and Br. Kenneth, I understand that the two of you are energetic souls who have participated in strenuous athletic and spiritual activities in your younger days. St. Benedict has a word for you in the Prologue of his Rule; in fact, not only a word, but a kind of map for the entire life of conversion to which you are dedicating yourselves. Let us listen to his words, the words of a father who loves you and wants only the best for you.

He starts in a good place, quoting the words of Jesus: “Run while you have the light of life…” It is interesting how often in the Prologue St. Benedict refers to running, as though you were joining a cross country team. But it is true that monastic life is a long race. There are times of jogging, times of sprinting, and times of enduring long stretches of grueling countryside. He wants us to keep moving. The one who stands still or runs in the wrong direction is doomed. God forbid that we be daunted by fear and run away from the road that leads to salvation.

But we can’t run aimlessly. We have to run in the light of life. And what is that light? As always with St. Benedict, the light is Christ who is dwelling within us, whether it be in his word of Scripture, in the Divine Office and sacraments, or in the brothers we meet. His indwelling began with the grace of baptism, and our monastic calling is a flowering of that grace. The presence of the Lord lightens our path, especially when monastic life becomes dark. Since our life is limited and the darkness can be great, we need to let that light shine forth from us to lead us toward that voice which we hear in faith: at vigils, in quiet prayer, in service to the brothers.

That is why as a loving father, St. Benedict offers firm directions and exhortations. Above all, he exhorts us to the labor of obedience, to prayer, to watchfulness, to receptivity. He wants us to run now and do those things that will profit us for eternity. But before we can do anything, we need to rise from sleep and open our eyes. Rub them if you need to. Clear the wax from your ears! The Lord and his angels are all around, urging us to join our brothers, whether it be at the divine office, at work, at chores, or anywhere else. Any temptation to avoid the daily exercises and one’s duty must be dashed against Christ. We don’t do these exercises just because St. Benedict said to do so. He urges us to do them because Christ did them, and he wants us to be totally like Christ Jesus. Of course, St. Benedict never fails to remind us that any good that we do comes not from us but from the Lord who dwells within. The theme song of our running must be, “Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name give the glory!”

Finally, St. Benedict reminds us of the most important point: God has run to us first. He loved us first. He called us first. Like the father in the gospel going out to welcome his prodigal son, our heavenly Father is constantly running to meet us and make his dwelling place within us, together with his Son and the Spirit. We must simply embrace this grace. A little fidelity and gratitude on our part, and we will hear him whisper, “My eyes are already open to you and my ears likewise to listen to your prayers, and even before you ask me, I say to you, ‘Here I am.’” As St. Benedict says, “What indeed could more delightful than this voice of the Lord calling to us? See how the Lord in his love shows us the way of life.”

Brothers, you are here with your brothers who welcome you into this new phase of your monastic journey. We invite you now to run with us in the race of holy obedience. It may seem that some of us have become too old to run, but you have to look into our hearts. If you hold fast, you, too, will learn that running with hearts expanded on the way of God’s commandments is worth whatever dura et aspera you may encounter. May St. Benedict bless you on your journey!

Photographs by Brother Brian.