Br. James Koester

Cyril and Methodius

Philippians 1:15-26

This morning, we conclude the sermon series “A Lifetime of Developing Response.” Over the last few weeks, we have heard from each of the senior Brothers, as we have reflected on our years as members of the community. Today it is my turn. Now, don’t read too much into that. I am not sure that my having the last word is meant to signify anything of great importance! But you never know.

I must admit, I find it difficult to comprehend that I am one of the senior members of the community. Yet the reality is that when I came to the community, those who were then the senior members, were not that much older than I am now, and the things we say in the Rule about the gifts and challenges of old age were written with them in mind! So, like the others who have preached on these Saturdays, I find myself in the odd situation of discovering myself where I least expected to be.

I also find myself reflecting today on the feast of St. Cyril and St. Methodius, two brothers who are known as the Apostles to the Slavs. Among the things which fascinates me about them, or at least about Cyril, is that several years ago I found myself quite by accident at his tomb. I was on a visit to Rome. One day I discovered myself at the Basilica of San Clemente. For Rome, San Clemente is rather new. It was built about the year AD 1100. What is fascinating about the church is that what you see is the second church built on the site. It had been built on top of the earlier fourth century church, which everyone believed had been destroyed during the rebuilding project one thousand years ago. That is, they believed that until the 1860s when a workman opened a door that had not been opened in centuries, descended a flight of stairs, and discovered the fourth century church beneath, more or less intact, including the tomb of St. Cyril.

It is this image of going deeper, into unknown places, that resonates with me as I ponder the mystery of aging, and the gifts to be found, not at the bottom of a flight of disused stairs, but buried in a lifetime of experiences.

We say in our Rule that “our older brothers will . . . be able to contribute their experience of what is essential in our life with God, a sense of perspective, wisdom, their appreciation for the community, and joy in the younger members.”[1]

As I read that line, I am aware that over the past 37 years, a major shift has taken place within me. Then I was an eager, enthusiastic, excited, and rather nervous and certainly naïve 32-year-old when I arrived one hot day at the end of June 1989. It is not that I am no longer that person. I have moments when I am very much that person. But something has changed. Over the last 37 years I have begun to explore the hidden passages of my soul that lie at the bottom of my own forgotten staircase. It is that opportunity for exploration for which I am most grateful, despite the pain, loss, and confusion it has sometimes caused. We recognize that in our Rule when we say, “stages of genuine transformation are marked by experiences of confusion and loss.”[2] To be honest, I am confused and lost a great deal of time. Frankly today is no different, as I navigate those mysterious basement passageways of my soul, to discover what it means for me to be the former Superior, and what all that went before, means now.

And perhaps that is the thing I am learning in this season of my life: that all that went before continues to have meaning for me today. We say something like this in the Rule when we remind ourselves that “[these] hearts of ours are not empty vessels but inner worlds alive with images, memories, experiences and desires.”[3] Scott Cairns puts it this way in his poem, “The Ruminant”:

So that was why the monk’s thin lips

There was a time when I swallowed whole: food, experiences, emotions, tasks, roles, and, mostly, I got a stomach or heart ache. At times I still swallow whole, and the stomach and heart aches are the same as ever. In this stage of life, however, I am more and more discovering the grace of mulling matter over and again and find that life is the sort of gum whose sugars will not quit, nor ever quite hold still.

As I do so, I find that I now want other things out of life than I once did. It’s not that the things which that eager, enthusiastic, excited, and rather nervous and certainly naïve 32-year-old wanted were wrong or bad. After all, they brought me here. Nor is it that I want more. In many ways I want less. In an odd way, the older I get, the less I want, but the more I want it, and I begin to understand what Paul hinted at when he said, “for to me, living is Christ, and dying is gain . . . my desire is to depart and to be with Christ, for that is far better” (Philippians 1:21, 23). Or, as Father Benson put it, “cling to Jesus, cling only to him.”

My hunch is that what is true for me is true or will be true for many of you. What you wanted, and needed out of your marriage, your relationships, your family, your life, your job, your vocation, your community when you were 30, is, or will be different when you are, or will be 70. That will change again no doubt when you are 80, or 90, or . . . There will be a stripping away of everything, even those things which gave purpose and value to your life, until you stand naked, at least metaphorically, before Christ, saying, “this is all I am . . . and all that I am is yours.”

Once upon a time, I could not have imagined any of this. The idea of wanting less out of life was unfathomable. The idea of wanting to depart and be with Christ was, well, morbid. The idea that I wanted to creep down those stairs and explore the hidden rooms in the basement of my soul was scary beyond words.

Yet the workman who risked opening that door in San Clemente nearly two centuries ago and crept down those stairs discovered a vast treasure beneath, including the forgotten shrine of a saint. Maybe, just maybe, as I mull my life over and again, sucking on the sugars of past experiences, I too will discover the body of a long-forgotten saint buried deep within my soul, and will be able to say with Paul,  “for to me, living is Christ, and dying is gain . . . my desire is to depart and to be with Christ, for that is far better.” And to follow Father Benson’s lead and cling to Jesus, cling only to him, and in so doing, witness to my Brothers what really is essential in our life with God.

[1] The Rule of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist (Lanham, MD, 1997), 94.

[2] Ibid., 75

[3] Ibid., 40.

[4] S. Cairns, Compass of Affection: Poems New and Selected (Brewster, MA, 2006)