SSJE Sermons

Br. Nicholas Bartoli reminds us how important it is to withdraw, as Jesus did, into solitude, a place where love and compassion can blossom.

Do you need permission or encouragement to claim time for play? Br. Curtis Almquist encourages us to embrace the playfulness that is at the root of our humanity, and which can reconnect us to our Creator.

The Celebration and Blessing of the Marriage of Alexis Kruza and Raymond Chin

“…There was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there.  Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding…”John 2:1-11

             We have this wonderful wedding celebration today, but who would have expected this in light of from where they have come?  I’m talking about our Gospel lesson we’ve just heard from the Gospel of John, chapter 2: the wedding at Cana of Galilee.  Just preceding this story, in John 1, Jesus has called his first four disciples: Andrew, Simon Peter, Philip, and Nathanael.[i]  They were fishermen from Galilee, not scholars.  We don’t even know if they were literate.  We have no sense they were well-traveled, other than knowing about the Sea of Galilee, which is actually a very large lake.  So we would have every reason to think that Jesus would begin with these first four disciples by teaching them about Jewish law, or the psalms, or the prophesies predicting the coming of the Messiah. He might have taught them about healing.  Jesus might have schooled them about political and religious power: about the Roman occupying forces or about the divisions and competing political rivalries within Judaism among the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Scribes, the Zealots, and the Essenes.  He might have started with his disciples by teaching them how to pray.  Clearly, they have a lot to learn.  He might have found for them a place to live, a home base.  But how does Jesus begin the formation of his first four disciples?  Not in a classroom. Where does Jesus begin?  He takes them to a party, to a wedding feast.

In Jesus’ day, the celebration of a wedding did not occupy part of a day.  A wedding celebration was feasting for a week.  In Aramaic – which was Jesus’ first language – the word for “wedding feast” has the same roots as the word for “drink,” as in drinking wine, “wine to make the heart glad,” as we read in the psalms.[ii]Plenty of wine.  Weddings were great celebrations, for an entire village, and for both family and friends from nearby and far away.  A wedding feast was typically a huge gathering, a really fine time that went on for days and days, and not to be missed.  Jesus and his disciples clearly showed up to a lot of feasts and celebrations, among them weddings, enough so that his detractors called him “a glutton and drunkard.”[iii]  I’m not suggesting anything here spurious about Jesus’ character, but I am saying that, for Jesus it was clearly not all work and no play.

In our Gospel lesson for today, something miraculous happens.  The wine runs out, which is pitiable at a party, especially at a week-long party.  Somehow Jesus makes wine appear in what had been large jugs of water.  Miraculous.  But the Gospel writer does not actually call this a miracle.  In the Gospel according to John, this is called “a sign,” because this has more to do with Jesus’ power than it does with the actual appearance of this new, fine wine.[iv]  This is a sign of things to come.  Which is important to remember.

Another feature of a wedding is the making of vowed promises.  It’s not just the bride and groom who promise their love and faithfulness to one another.  They ask for help.  They ask for the help of their family and friends so that they can be faithful to their vowed promises.  And that’s significant for two reasons.  For one, we make principled promises, such Alexis and Raymond will today, because on a tough day, we might easily rationalize or justify doing something else. We don’t just do this at weddings.  For example, we periodically are invited to renew our baptismal vows.[v]  We may have been baptized years, even decades, ago.  But when we are periodically invited to renew our baptismal vows, we are asked, yet again: “Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?”  We don’t say in response, “I already answered that.”  No, the answer we give is, “I will, with God’s help.” [...]

Luke 11.33-36

The short story writer Flannery O’Connor enjoyed a loyal but circumscribed following of readers during her lifetime.  The life and career of this brilliant young woman, a devout Roman Catholic who spent much of her life in Milledgeville, Georgia, ended in 1964 when she was just 39 years old. Since then, her work has increasingly gained the literary recognition it deserves.Her stories weave together penetrating insight, acerbic humor, irony, and subtle allegory. Unlikely prophets abound and God’s grace lurks in absurd encounters.They are stories that deliver a visceral shock of self-knowledge for the reader with “eyes to see and ears to hear.” All of this of course, should sound like familiar terrain to us followers of a certain story-teller from ancient Galilee.In a talk given to a group of young writers, O’Connor offered the following words about the art of short story writing:

When you write, your beliefs will be the light by which you see, but they will not be what you see, and they will not be a substitute for seeing. For the writer of fiction, everything has its testing point in the eye, and the eye is an organ that eventually involves the whole personality, and as much of the world as can be got into it. It involves judgment. Judgment is something that begins in the act of vision, and when it does not, or when it becomes separated from vision, then a confusion exists in the mind which transfers itself to the story.[i]

O’Connor had an intimate and creative relationship with scripture, and it is easy to imagine how this evening’s gospel passage from Luke may have shaped her understanding of the writer’s art. Her words about writing fiction somehow seem relevant to anyone seeking to live an examined life, but especially the Christian, who is called to see clearly, to judge rightly, and to enter into the vision of Christ in order to tell his story in the midst of a confused and confusing world.

What is this vision? To what kind of seeing are we called? What “substitutes for seeing,” to use O’Connor’s phrase, can distract us, and what confusion can transfer itself to the story when right vision is blurred or blinded? These are the kinds of questions that may well arise in our hearts if we listen to the injunction of Jesus: “Consider whether the light in you is not darkness.”

In Matthew’s gospel, the image of the raised lamp primarily suggests witness and proclamation of the kingdom. For Luke, there’s a different twist. The raised lamp appears in two separate passages, both immediately followed by an appeal to our faculties of sense perception. In the eighth chapter of Luke, we hear:

No one after lighting a lamp hides it under a jar, or puts it under a bed, but puts it on a lampstand, so that those who enter may see the light. For nothing is hidden that will not be disclosed, nor is anything secret that will not become known and come to light. Then pay attention to how you listen; for to those who have more, more will be given; and from those who do not have, even what they seem to have will be taken away. (8.16-18).

The healthy eye and the attentive ear enable a kind of seeing and hearing that we might describe as a transformed consciousness, a new orientation toward God, others, and ourselves that Jesus called the Kingdom. The word metanoia, usually translated as “repentance,” is much more accurately and literally translated as “a large mind.” This enlarged mind, this expansion of our perceptual capacity by the slow working of grace to take in more and more of the largeness, light, and love of God, is the vision to which Christ calls us. It is the vision that transformed the apostle Paul and to which he called the Christians at Philippi when he wrote, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” The spiritual organ of this new mind is a fully opened eye that seeks the beholding of God, even and especially when that seeing is difficult and the light is blinding.

The kind of enlarged perception b[...]

Galatians 5:1, 13-25

Luke 9:51-62

One of my favorite windows in this chapel that I like to pray with is the last of the three in St. John’s Chapel which depicts fishermen mending their nets (probably James, John, and their father, Zebedee).  Jesus is standing on the shore beckoning them to follow him.  Many of the vocational stories in the Gospels have this mysterious quality about them:  John the Baptist points Jesus out to his disciples saying “Here is the Lamb of God!”  The two disciples follow Jesus a little ways at a distance until he turns and asks them, “What are you looking for?”  They reply “Rabbi, where are you staying?”  He answers, “Come and see !”  In another scene we wonder about the persuasive quality of Jesus’ call as he sees a tax collector named Levi sitting in his tax booth.  Jesus simply says, “Follow me!”  And Levi got up, left everything and followed Jesus.  In Matthew’s gospel we read:  As Jesus walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. 19And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” 20Immediately they left their nets and followed him.

In each of these scenes there is this romantic notion of leaving the mundane for the promise of adventure.  Jesus seems to know of something more beyond the confines of the world these men inhabit, and they leave everything behind to follow him.But today’s gospel lesson from Luke presents a very stark contrast to these other stories.  First, instead of heading into the great unknown, Luke says:  “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”  There is a sense of urgency to this statement and in the ensuing conversations the sense of romance has disappeared and Jesus makes it very clear what discipleship will cost those who follow him.

The first man that comes to Jesus volunteers himself for duty and says, “I will follow you wherever you go.”  Jesus replies, “Foxes have holes, and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  We know from our reading of scripture that Jesus and his disciples were nomadic.  While the region in which they lived was not huge, the terrain was rugged and the landscape could be quite treacherous.  Survival skills would be necessary to those who followed Jesus throughout that desert climate.  There would be no going home at the end of the day to relax and unwind after a day’s work of teaching and healing and in those regions you would most likely encounter people who would not receive you kindly.

To the second man we hear Jesus’ familiar invitation:  “Follow me.”  But the man replies with what may seem to us as a reasonable request:  “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.”  Jesus’ reply is callous:  “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”  We noticed a moment ago the sense of urgency which Luke sets up the story.  Jesus’ face was set toward Jerusalem.  The time for action was now and if you were to join Jesus on his mission you would have to leave everything behind.  I can relate to this man very much.  In my own time of discernment to the monastic life I had many conversations with my parents about what this would cost not only me, but also them.  Being an only child, I would not be the son who could take care of them in the autumn and winters of their lives and I needed assurance that they would be able to take care of themselves.  I’m lucky to have parents whose desire for me to live my own life outweighs there need for security.  Perhaps this was not so for the second man and while Jesus may have had compassion, the urgency in which Jesus issued his call could not wait and even a slight hesitation would result in a missed opportunity.

The third man says:  I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.”  Jesus replies, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is f[...]

Mt. 8:5-13

The 1st story in today’s Gospel was the Centurion asking Jesus to heal his servant. It is an example of faith which I think should be familiar to most of you.

But now I want to share some thoughts about the importance of faith which came to me as I was reading a book about a very different kind of setting.  That book is The Boys in the Boat, by Daniel J. Brown. It is the story of nine students at the University of Washington, Seattle, preparing for the 1936 Berlin Olympics.

The story of those young men was especially poignant to me because, growing up in Eastern Washington, I was familiar with the places where most of them lived. I was 15 years younger than those boys, but I was familiar with the events they lived through and the places where they lived them.

The only significant differences for me were that before reading about it I knew little or nothing about racing shells and the kind of rowing they did as a team, and the places where they competed in this country, and also the details of their experience in Berlin in 1936.  But I did know something about rowing small boats.

Faith and mutual confidence came into the story as the team neared the goal of their qualification for the Olympic Games.

The most significant advice given to the members of that team came from the man who built the racing shells for the university.  From his boyhood at Eton College through his years in the athletic department of the University of Washington, George Pocock observed rowers and shared his knowledge with them.  It was from him that the boys on that team learned the importance of “keeping their minds in the boat” and of having complete faith and confidence in one another.  Those were essential for maintaining rhythm.

Even though the words Church, or God, or Jesus, did not occur in the book, as I read it I felt it was an authentic description of Faith and mutual confidence.

As I read about that my mind went to the importance of keeping those same principles in our minds as we each do our part in fulfilling our vocation as monks of the Society of St. John the Evangelist. Since then I have become more aware than ever of how we sing together and pause together.  The boys were told to keep their minds in the boat.  We fulfill that when we keep our minds on the way in which we live as monks, when we have faith and trust in God and mutually love and respect one another.

For the rest of you; do you live with an awareness of keeping your minds on your duty towards God and towards one another?  Do you share faith, and have confidence in one another?

2 Kings 19: 9-21, 31-36

Psalm 48

Matthew 7: 6, 12-24

A number of years ago I was in Jerusalem. A small group of us had made our way from St. George’s College into the Old City. We had ended up at the Church of the Resurrection and after spending some time there, were on our way back to the College. Now I had walked to and from the Church and College dozens of times before, and depending on the route I took, would often pass the Mission of the Russian Orthodox Church, which is literally just around the corner from the Church of the Resurrection. The grey steel doors of the Russian Mission were always closed and locked, in spite of a sign posted by the door telling you what hours it was open. It was never open. It was never open, at least until that day.

 

Now I have been in Old City of Jerusalem often enough to know that posted signs telling when a holy site will be open are mostly never true. Holy sites, especially the Orthodox ones, are often shut when they are supposed to be open, but only occasionally open when they are supposed to be shut. Because of that, over the years I have developed a rule of thumb: if there is a holy site that you are interested in seeing, if it is open when you pass it, go in, if even only for a few minutes. It may never be open again when you next pass by.

 

Walking into the Mission of the Russian Orthodox Church in the Old City was like stepping back in time. The walls were lined, not just with icons, but with photographs and paintings of various members of the Russian royal family. It was as if the Russian Revolution and the ensuing Communist era had never taken place. You almost expected the Czar to appear from around the corner at any moment!

 

But the real treasure of the Russian Mission is a part of the city wall that predates the current wall of the Old City. What makes it fascinating is that the wall contains a small opening, a little bigger than a person which would allow people to go into and out of the city when the gates were shut. This opening would be easily defended in case of attack, and just as easily opened to allow a person to pass through.

 

According to the Russian Mission, it was an opening like this that Jesus was referring to when he spoke of the eye of the needle.

 

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven.[1]

 

Having squeezed my way through this narrow opening in the city wall, I can assure you that it would be impossible for a camel, even if not carrying anything, to manage the same.

 

Scripture is full of reminders that a life of faith is not an easy option. We are told as much today. Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who will find it.[2]

 

It seems odd that the life which Jesus invites us to follow him in, should be such a hard one. But then the very one who invites us to deny [ourselves] and take up [our] cross and follow[3] is the very one

 

who though he was in the form of God,did not regard equality with

God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself,taking the

form of a slave,being born in human likeness. And being found

in human form, he humbled himselfand became obedient to the point

of death — even death on a cross.[4]

 

The paradox of the good news of the Gospel is that only those who remember that they are but dust, and to dust they shall return, are capable of accepting the presence of eternal life in each passing moment and receiving ever fresh the good news of hope[5].

 

We brothers discover this paradox in the vows we take at profession. Just as the disciples found riches in the following of Jesus fo[...]

Feast of St Basil the Great

1 Corinthians 2: 6-13

Psalm 139: 1-9

Luke 10: 21-24

Those of you who have worshipped with us for any length of time will no doubt have spent some time gazing at our windows. Made by the Connick Studios here in Boston in the late 1940’s they are quite distinctive in their use of colours, especially reds, blues and greens. Having lived with these windows for nearly 30 years, I now notice Connick windows whenever I go into a church that has them.

The windows here in the chapel follow a number of themes. In the Lady Chapel the five lancet windows depict the rosary. Read horizontally each of the bottom, middle and upper sections show the Joyful, Sorrowful and Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary. The back Rose Window shows in the bottom section images of the Nativity and in the upper section the Twelve Ranks of Angels and in the centre medallion, the Coronation of the Virgin. Over by the door that leads out into the cloister is a window depicting St. Jean Vianney, Patron Saint of Parish Priests and Confessors. That window is located there, because in the days when confessions were heard here in a confessional, that was located near that door. The windows in the St. John’s Chapel show the vision of St. John from the book Revelation. The two windows by the High Altar are of the Virgin and the Beloved Disciple standing at the foot of the cross. The windows of St. Luke and St. Joseph here by the door to the Guest House were given by the workmen who built the chapel and are known as the Workmen’s Windows. If you haven’t looked at them before do so, as you’ll find the various tradesmen shown, including my favourite, a plumber trying to fix a leaky tap.

But it is the windows above us, in the clerestory, the ones most difficult to see, that are the defining windows in this chapel, at least for me. Installed in the late 1940’s they show, beginning with Antony of Egypt and ending with Father Benson, the significant founders of monasticism from the third to the nineteenth century. Each window shows a particular monastic founder, and then in the bottom section of the panel there is a small image of the individual, and part of their story. So with Antony we have him in conversation with St. Paul, the first hermit, thereby bringing together the two strands of monasticism, the hermit life and the communal life. In the last window we have Father Benson praying the midday Office of None at the Taj Mahal reminding us, not just of his journey to India in 1891, but his cherished dream of being a missionary there. He wrote of that visit I walked to the Taj. It has been called a dream in marble. Indeed, it was once the dream of [my] life to see it. Sometimes dreams are realized more easily than realities.[1]

But the window that attracts our attention tonight is the third one, the window of Saint Basil the Great. Basil was born in the year 330 in what is now central Turkey. While he lived, at least by our standards, a relatively short life, dying at the age of 50, his influence on the church has been profound. He was born into a Christian family of wealth and distinction and amazingly his grandfather is regarded as a martyr, and his grandmother, mother, father, sisters and two brothers are all celebrated as saints of the Church. That’s an entire family who are saints! We celebrate the feast of his sister Macrina, who had a profound influence on Basil’s life and theology, on 19 July.

Basil was first educated in law and rhetoric but at the age of about 26 had a spiritual awakening. He wrote that I had wasted much of my life on follies and spent nearly all of my youth in vain labours, and devotion to the teachings of a wisdom that God had made foolish. Suddenly, I awoke as out of a deep sleep. I beheld the wonderful light of the Gospel truth, and I recognized the nothingness of the wisdom of the princes of this world.[2] For the rest of his life Basil was consumed by a search for that which no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor h[...]

What is striking about the Centurion is that in spite of all his power and authority, he is in touch with his humanity. He knows he has limits and that at least in this one instance, he is powerless. This is something that has brought him to his knees. And so he hands the situation over to someone whom he knows to be more powerful than himself. He offers his helplessness to Jesus and says, “….but only speak the word, and let my servant be healed.”

The Body and Blood of Christ in heaven, in the consecrated bread and wine and in human hearts is one and the same. We expose our blindness when we perform reverences before altars, tabernacles, monstrances and such and fail to see and honor Christ present in our neighbor. The same reverence is due them. And didn’t Christ himself on that last night also genuflect before them and wash their feet?