Advent Begins at Dusk

 

As monks we are meant to live in incessant desire for God, to become all longing and hunger for him. The season of Advent, its prayers, and readings speak to us of mutuality of desire. For indeed if we long to see the face of God, so God's desire to come to us outstrips our own desire and takes flesh in Christ Jesus our Lord. In Jesus God's face has been revealed. This revelation stokes our desire for a more intense experience of his presence and divine embrace. During Advent, we celebrate the emptiness that makes us totally available for all that God wants to give us in Christ. We are joyful in our neediness and longing, for God longs to fill us with God's own Self in Christ more than we dare imagine. Amen. Come Lord Jesus and do not delay!

On Thanksgiving Day

We remember our parents tugging at our sleeves when we were given a gift or a small treat and reminding us, “What do you say?” Recognizing all we have been given by God in his love and mercy, on this Thanksgiving Day we gather to pray and feast and remind one another what to say.

Thank you, thank you Lord from the bottom of our hearts for all you have given so freely, so lavishly. Our hearts are full, filled to overflowing. What do we have that we have not received? Wonder, praise, gratitude become one as we realize that all is gift.

And so fittingly, justly, jubilantly we celebrate Eucharist on this day. Eucharist means thanksgiving. God never stops giving God’s very Self to us. God is love. Love never ends. And even as we come to thank and praise God for all he has given us, it is he who is gathering us at this Eucharist to feed us once again with himself. Our thanksgiving overflows.

Blessed Miguel

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.

These words of Saint Ignatius' prayer The Suscipe, sum up most poignantly the self-offering of the Mexican martyr, Blessed Miguel Augustin Pro. as a young man, Miguel renounced everything and entered the Society of Jesus. After his ordination, he carried on his priestly ministry in spite of the grave religious persecution of the Church in Mexico in the early 20th century. Often in disguise and continually foiling the best efforts of the Mexican secret police to arrest him, Miguel was eventually captured. On 23 November 1927, after forgiving his executioners, he extended his arms like his crucified Lord and was shot by a firing squad as he proclaimed, "Hail, Christ the King!" 

Jesus' life, his passion, and death are all about self-offering, self-forgetfulness, and loving obedience to the Father. Indeed, Jesus reinvents the meaning of kingship. How well Miguel Pro understood this; how beautifully and completely he imitated his King. How will we give Jesus all that we have, all that we are?

Christ the King

 

Today’s Feast of Christ the King wraps up the liturgical year by taking the long view forward to the final coming of Christ “amid the clouds at the end of time to receive everlasting dominion, glory and kingship from his Father.”  (So we just heard from the prophet Daniel and the Book of Revelation.) But we have to remember that in Christ “every end is a new beginning,” which means that his kingship isn’t something way off in the future but breaks in upon us now, at this very moment. The problem is that this “in-breaking” of his kingship is no more recognizable to us than it was to Pilate in this morning’s Gospel, who asks Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

The ancient world knew more about kings than we moderns do. Where kings still exist today, they rarely are “absolute” monarchs, autocratic dictators, but mostly live and work within a carefully constructed framework as “constitutional” monarchs. They can bring only subtle pressure to bear on politicians and serve mainly as figureheads of state. In the ancient world, on the other hand, kings were “absolute” monarchs and could rule according to their own wishes and whims. It was also clear to everyone how kings became kings: either the crown passing from father to son (or to some other close male relative), or from time to time there would be a revolution. The way to the crown for anyone not in the direct family line was through violence. This was so among the Jews as much as among the pagans. An example would be Herod the Great, who 30 years before Jesus was born, had defeated the Parthians, the great empire to the east. In gratitude, Rome allowed him to become “King of the Jews,” though Herod had no appropriate background or pedigree for this title and role.

So when Pilate faces Jesus, having been told that the chief priests have handed him over because Jesus thinks he is king, Pilate is compelled to question Jesus directly on this point. He asks straight-out, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Of course the idea is so ludicrous that Pilate knows within his own frame of reference what the answer is. He sees before him a poor man from the wrong part of the country. He has a small band of followers, and they’ve all run away. Of course he is not the king. But maybe he thinks he is. Maybe he’s really deluded. Pilate has to ask him and find out.

Jesus’ answer is both apparently incriminating and profoundly revealing. Incriminating, because he agrees he has a kingdom, and Pilate seizes on this. Revealing, because he says his kingdom doesn’t come from this world.

It is worth noting that Jesus doesn’t say, as some translations have it, “my kingdom is not of this world”; that would imply that his “kingdom” was altogether other-worldly, a spiritual or heavenly reality that has nothing to do with the present world at all. He says, rather, that his kingdom does not come from or belong to this world. (That makes sense especially in John’s Gospel, where the “world” stands for the source of evil and rebellion against God.)

In this interrogation, then, Jesus is denying that his kingdom has a this-worldly origin or quality, but he is not denying that it has a this-worldly destination. Or, to say it another way: he is telling Pilate that his kingdom doesn’t come from this world, but that it is for this world. In fact, that is why he has come into the world, and why he has sent, and will send, his followers into the world.

The next verse is the key, revealing moment in this morning’s Gospel, when Jesus tells Pilate: “For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.” Philosophers and judges don’t own it. N.T. Wright expresses this insight well: “It is a gift, a strange quality that like Jesus’s kingdom actually comes from elsewhere but is meant to take up residence in this world. Jesus has come to give evidence about this truth. He is himself the Truth.”

Pilate, of course, can only see things from a this-worldly perspective. As far as he knows, the only place you get truth is out of the sheath of a sword – political “truth” – my truth against your truth, my sword against your sword. And ultimately, for a Roman governor, my power against your weakness, my cross to hang your naked body on . . . .

Ah, but the truth that Jesus testifies to in this exchange with Pilate is the truth that belongs with Passover, the truth that says one man dies and the others go free. At time of this scene (the day before Passover), Barabbas, a revolutionary, perhaps himself either a would-be king or a supporter of someone else’s failed messianic movement, also faces execution. Somehow, through the plots and schemes and betrayals and denials, the Truth stands there in person, taking the death that otherwise would have fallen on Barabbas. This is what the cross will mean. This is what truth is and does. Truth is what Jesus is; and Jesus is dying for Barabbas, and for Israel, and for the world, and for you and me.

To bring this home to ourselves, we might ask: what concretely is the “Good News” for us here? I would suggest that in this final interrogation before Pilate, and in his very kingship that is now “center-stage,” Jesus is revealing the “brightest presence in the darkest places.”

It is as king not from but for this world that Jesus is the truth that enables us to experience God in the middle of the mess and mystery of each day, as we continue to “dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.” In other words: he is not a king or a truth too heavenly to be of any earthly use – on the contrary, he stands before us, as before Pilate, to reveal to us that God’s brightest presence is hidden in our darkest places. His kingship means that there is nothing in life so scientific, so secular, or so sinful that we cannot find God in it—that we cannot find God’s truth, reign and victory accomplished in Jesus Christ and extended to us. Through Christ’s kingship, grace now finds its victory in the monotony, pain and ordinariness of daily life, and makes of us an intimate dimension of the glory of God. (As St. Paul says, “a radiance of his glory.”

This is a staggering revelation! This is Jesus Christ’s last attempt to explain who he is and his mission just hours before his execution. “For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.” And, in response, we acclaim on this Solemnity celebrating his universal kingship: To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, who has made us into a kingdom, priests for his God and Father, to him be glory and power forever and ever. Amen.   

Icon written byb Brother Terence. Today's homily by Father Dominic.

Saint Mechtilde

 

Today we celebrate the memorial of Saint Mechtilde, a thirteenth-century Benedictine nun from the monastery of Helfta in Germany. Mechtilde had a tender devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, who opened His wounded side to her in love and gave her His Heart as a place of refuge and consolation. In one of her visions, Jesus told Mechtilde that His Heart was like a kitchen where we could go to get whatever we needed at any time. In another, He told her, "In the morning let your first act be to greet My Heart and to offer Me your own." Jesus continued, "Whoever breathes a sigh toward Me, draws Me to himself." 

It only takes a sigh. Let us sigh quietly, insistently, confidently, and go quickly into the royal Kitchen that is His Sacred Heart for all that we need.

Photograph by Brother Brian of a bas-relief crucifix by Suzanne Nicolas in the Abbey church.

In Secret

With her husband not far behind infuriated at her constant almsgiving, the young Saint Elizabeth of Hungary is saved when the bread she is cradling turns into roses.

"Keep your deeds of mercy secret," recommends Our Lord. And in His providence, He accomplishes for Elizabeth, what His love has requested.

Illustration by Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale. 

Brother Justin's Clothing

O God, in that unutterable kindness by which you dispose all things sweetly and wisely, you gave us clothing, so that a triple benefit might be ours: we are covered with dignity, kept warm and protected in body and soul. Father, pour forth the blessing of your Holy Spirit upon us this morning and upon these clothes which your sons here before us have asked to receive, so that they may serve you faithfully in the Cistercian way of life.

On this past Sunday, November 14 our Brother Justin was clothed in the novice's habit during the weekly Chapter. We rejoice to have him as our brother in community.

Br. Justin, during our recent community discussion, I referred to St. Benedict’s saying, “the Lord often reveals what is better to the younger.” So, I shouldn’t have been surprised – though I was a little – when you, the youngest in our community, offered an unexpected comparison – monastic life is like a GPS, used in cars to guide people safely to their destination. I had never thought of the comparison, but I think you are on to something.

But the first thing that is necessary is to enter a destination into the GPS. What would you say is the destination of a monk? Well, you may be aware that St. Benedict was an avid reader of Cassian’s Institutes and Conferences. If we look at his first conference with Abba Moses, I think we will find an answer to the question. Abba Moses says that our destination is twofold: there is an ultimate destination which Cassian and his friend Germanus identify as the kingdom of God, that is, sharing the eternal life of God. But he also says there is a proximate goal or aim that we must constantly keep our eye on if we are to reach our ultimate goal. This proximate goal is purity of heart. All we do in monastic life –vigils, prayers, work – must be done with that goal in mind. We must be like a farmer who tills his soil in every type of weather to bring forth a good harvest, or a merchant who overcomes every obstacle to make a profitable business transaction; or a soldier who bravely faces all battle conditions in order to win military honors. All the more so must monks keep their eye on the goal of purity of heart and do everything with that in mind, since our ultimate end is that much more difficult, namely, to gaze on God as much as possible. This seems to be our Lord Jesus’ injunction when he said in his Sermon on the Mount: “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.”

But how can we purify our hearts? They are hidden from us and “more tortuous than all else is the human heart, who can understand it?” Thankfully, God is the one who gives us purity of heart. He “searches the mind and knows the heart.” Purity of heart is his gift. Our task is to accept, cooperate with, and follow the GPS directions that God has established. If we do, Abba Moses says, our heart will become unfettered from useless or evil habits; freed from anger, grudges, and self-pity; ready to accept the purifying fire of the Holy Spirit, or, as St. Paul puts it in Romans, of sanctification in the Spirit. The Apostle is even more explicit in chapter 13 of his letter to the Corinthians: a pure heart is a charitable heart – it is not rude or arrogant; it doesn’t insist on its own way; it is patient and kind, etc. Charity creates a pure heart.

The good news is that we have a GPS that will lead us to this charity and purity of heart. It is the monastic life in its fulness as St. Benedict has mapped out for us. The route this GPS makes us take is not always easy – sometimes through briars, sometimes through bogs – so much so that at times we might think St. Benedict got his directions mixed up, but we have to trust his GPS. We have to live in community and not avoid the irritations of the brothers; we have to keep vigil and the other hours of prayer according to our duty; we have to accept the work assigned to us without looking for ways to get out of it.

Monastic life is a royal road to our ultimate destination, but also a most difficult path with new stumbling blocks – interior and exterior – popping up every day. We have to make mid-stream corrections constantly as the Spirit prompts us and the Rule guides us. We can ignore the GPS – Oh, I know the way; I’ve been there before; I don’t need a GPS – but we are basically choosing another GPS whose ultimate destination is the land of misery and alienation. God has chosen us and formed our hearts to follow the GPS of the Rule with fidelity and thanksgiving, praising the Lord “…for he is good, for his mercy endures forever.”

This is the path set before you today, Br. Justin, to follow the GPS of St. Benedict’s Rule and our Cistercian tradition. They will lead you to your destination. May the good Lord help you to keep your eyes fixed on the goal of purity of heart, doing all things for the sake of love. And one day, through the intercession of St. Benedict, may God mercifully lead you with all your brothers to everlasting life. 

Dom Vincent's address to Brother Justin and the community during the Clothing Ceremony.