Justin Martyr on why we gather together

The continuity of the Christian faith over the centuries serves as a source of encouragement for the contemporary believer. The earliest Christians are linked to us by a real and living communion, a consoling fact which is an essential part of our own celebrations of Eucharist. It is a precious thing when some of the earliest Christian writings survive to instruct and inspire us, and this is particularly true of the works of Justin Martyr (c. 100-c. 165). A Gentile convert to Christianity, Justin is a valuable witness to early Church teaching and practice. He tells us what he had been taught as a convert, and describes the activities and rituals he himself participated in as a Christian believer. Justin wrote as an educated spokesman for the Christian faith, and his articulate writings are made even more poignant by the fact that his witness was eventually sealed by his martyrdom.

In The First Apology, after explaining the Christian faith and answering various criticisms made by pagan intellectuals, Justin towards the very end of the tract describes the Eucharist. He tells how the Christian community gathers together in one place on Sunday morning. First selections from the writings of the prophets and the Gospels are read aloud, followed by a homily given by the president of the assembly. All then rise and pray together, followed by a prayer of thanksgiving offered by the presider over the gifts of bread and wine mixed with water. Those present then receive the consecrated elements. Justin stresses that only those who are baptized, truly penitent and accept the Christian faith can be allowed to participate in these sacred mysteries:

And this food is called among us the Eucharist, of which no one is allowed to partake but the one who believes that the things which we teach are true, and who has been washed with the washing that is for the remission of sins, and unto regeneration, and who is so living as Christ has enjoined. For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Savior, having been made flesh by the Word of God, had both flesh and blood for our salvation, so likewise have we been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer of His word, and from which our blood and flesh by transmutation are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh.”

Justin stresses the apostolic origin of this faith and practice by citing New Testament texts. As beautiful and meaningful as this partaking of the Body and Blood of Christ in the assembly is, there is more to the Eucharist than this. Deacons are to bring the Eucharist to those who are sick or otherwise unable to attend. Although absent from the assembly in physical terms, they too will share in its fellowship and communion, the reality of its life-giving power. Finally, an integral part of the Eucharist is the collection and distribution of alms for those in need:

“And they who are well to do, and willing, give what each thinks fit; and what is collected is deposited with the president, who succours the orphans and widows, and those who, through sickness or any other cause, are in want, and those who are in bonds, and the strangers sojourning among us, and in a word takes care of all who are in need.”

A third century fresco showing the Eucharist

As Justin describes it, the prayer of the assembly, led by the presiding celebrant and sealed by the “Amen” of the congregation, is the glue which holds the Christian community together throughout the week. The Eucharist is the special time when they gather to listen to the scriptures, receive moral exhortation, offer prayers of petition, and receive the Body and Blood of their Savior. What happened during this quiet time, early in the morning on the day of the week on which Christ rose from the dead, gave them the strength to serve those in need, and witness together to the world.

Despite all of our words, the Eucharist remains a Mystery, just as it did in Justin’s day. Our attempts to explain what happens at the eucharistic celebration may be inadequate, but our subsequent actions can demonstrate a loving reality which animates the life of the Church, and show that the Eucharist, and all occasions on which we gather together for prayer, really does make a difference in our lives:

“And we afterwards continually remind each other of these things. And the wealthy among us help the needy; and we always keep together; and for all things wherewith we are supplied, we bless the Maker of all through His Son Jesus Christ, and through the Holy Ghost.”

 

All quotations from The First Apology of Justin, found in The Ante-Nicene Fathers.Volume I. Republished by Eerdmans, 1989.

 

Of Solitary Caves and Gardens

Recently I watched online a tourist documentary from a few years back concerning Arran Island, located in the Firth of Clyde off the west coast of Scotland. It is sometimes referred to as “Holy Island”, due to the fact that once the area was associated with early Celtic monastic establishments. In fact, to this day, one can visit the cave of St. Molaise, an abbot and then hermit from Ireland who is said to have come to the island around the year AD 600.

The island and cave is an incredibly tranquil place, and one can imagine the appeal it had for someone seeking solitude for their devotions. As the documentary went on to show, not far from the cave is located a retreat centre run by several Buddhist monks and nuns today. It too is a place of calm, quiet and rest, open to people of all faiths and none, who come there for their own reasons to experience a time of peace, immersed in the natural world. Throughout the island are several examples of traditional Tibetan Buddhist art painted on stones. This art and the tradition it represents coexist quite happily, and it seems to me, naturally, the cave with its ancient carved Christian symbols, and the Buddhist art, neither one crowding the other.

Cave of St. Molaise

As I reflected on this, it reminded me of something I had felt many times on Staten Island, growing up as I did only a few minutes from the Jacques Marchais Museum of Tibetan Art. This wonderful and unique place is located on Lighthouse Hill, and is essentially a stone mansion built to resemble a Tibetan monastery and temple, with lovely gardens and sacred art. In fact these days it has resident monks who live there and run various educational programs. Visiting it as both a young person and adult, it always filled my heart with peace and calm, and a respectful attitude for this monastic tradition which formed it. In my case, while it certainly filled me with a desire to learn more about Tibetan Buddhism, it also filled me with an even stronger need to explore the sages of my own tradition, the Biblical Wisdom, the Desert Fathers, and for me personally the Mothers and Fathers of the Celtic and Benedictine monastic traditions. So as I thought of the Buddhist centre not far from St. Molaise’s cave on Arran, I could not help but also think of the gardens at the museum on Staten Island, of a garden where St. Molaise could also have felt at home, appreciating the similarities of environment without giving up his own tradition and way of seeking the Divine.

Jacques Marchais Tibetan Museum on Lighthouse hill.

 

Gateway to the Beginning

Abbot Martin Veth, the second abbot of St. Benedict’s Abbey in Atchison, Kansas, once wrote that the Church surrounds the Christmas crib with beautiful and significant feasts of saints, bringing out the full implications of the Christmas story. Yesterday was St. Stephen, among the first martyrs and among the first deacons, a person whose life ultimately joined sacrifice and service. And tomorrow will be the Holy Innocents, powerful and poignant witnesses themselves. Today the Western Church commemorates St. John the Evangelist, the traditional author of the fourth Gospel.

St. John the Evangelist, 16th century stained glass from the former Premonstratenisan abbey of Steinfeld in Germany.

Unlike the gospels of Luke and Matthew, John does not include stories of the infancy and childhood of Jesus. Instead his Gospel takes us even further back in the story, with its incomparable and profoundly hopeful opening, quoted in part by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth in her Christmas message this year (2015):

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God;  all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

 

The Infancy Narratives as found in Matthew and Luke take us into the mysterious and wonderful darkness of dreams and caves and mangers, dark rooms, temples and rough roads, illuminated at times by ecstatic prophetic utterances, starlight and the presence of angels. John’s Prologue takes us even deeper into the Reality behind the Christmas stories, to a “place” that predated Creation and Time itself. He takes us there, guided by the Holy Spirit, to begin to give us a glimpse into just who this God is who created us and everything else, became one of us, what he has done for us, and can do for us.

Above the gate to St. Mary’s College and Divinity School, in Latin, are the words of the beginning of this Prologue, In Principio erat Verbum. Fitting, I think, for many reasons, as St. John’s inspired words serve as a gateway into the profoundest considerations of the meaning of  Creation, Incarnation, Redemption, and yes, Christmas.

 

Rejoice, Tabernacle of God the Word

Some years ago when I was a doctoral student at Cornell University in upstate New York, needing a break I drove several hours to visit the Russian Orthodox monastery of the Holy Trinity in Jordanville, NY. I had begun to develop a deep appreciation for Russian spirituality ever since reading Russian Mystics by Sergius Bolshakoff, with its marvelous preface by Thomas Merton. I enjoyed the beauty of the church and grounds, and then spent time in their large shop.

Holy Trinity Monastery in Jordanville, NY

Among the books and icons was a little pamphlet with a photo of a lovely icon of the Virgin and Child. In it was the text of the great prayer known as the Akathist to Our Most Holy Lady, Mary the Mother of God. An “akathist” refers to any prayer recited or sung standing, but this particular one is the most famous of all in the Byzantine tradition. I began to use it myself in private devotion. In exuberant and rich phraseology, it guides the worshipper through the story from the Annunciation through the familiar events of the Infancy Narratives, presenting in its way an incomparable theological reflection on the meaning of these events. Each section of the hymn, known as a Kontakion and Oikos, contain endless food for devotion, as in this example:

Kontakion 12

When the Absolver of all mankind desired to blot out ancient debts, of His Own will He came to dwell among those who had fallen from His Grace; and having torn up the handwriting of their sins, He heareth this from all: Alleluia!

Oikos 12

While singing to thine Offspring, we all praise thee as a living temple, O Theotokos; for the Lord Who holdeth all things in His hand dwelt in thy womb, and He sanctified and glorified thee, and taught all to cry to thee:

Rejoice, tabernacle of God the Word: Rejoice, saint greater than the saints! Rejoice, ark gilded by the Spirit: Rejoice, inexhaustible treasury of life! Rejoice, precious diadem of pious kings: Rejoice, venerable boast of reverent priests! Rejoice, unshakable fortress of the Church: Rejoice, inviolable wall of the kingdom! Rejoice, thou through whom victories are obtained: Rejoice, thou through whom foes fall prostrate! Rejoice, healing of my flesh: Rejoice, salvation of my soul! Rejoice, O Bride Unwedded!

Rejoice, O Bride Unwedded!

Despite what retailers might say, this feast of the Nativity is the beginning of the Christmas season, not the end! Might I suggest that one way to keep this season of Christmastide is to pray this great hymn every day, or parts of it each day? Like the beloved Litany of Loreto, more familiar to Catholics in the western tradition, it provides profound and endless depths for prayerful reflection. But if this ancient hymn is new to you, let me suggest on this Christmas morn it can provide fresh perspectives on stories that can grow in some ways too familiar. It can guide us through ancient but joyful pathways to new appreciation of how the splendid variety of the Christian tradition can renew the hearts at Christmas and help us approach the Mysteries with a childlike wonder.

Christ in His Mysteries

Since the time of Pope Gregory the Great and St. Benedict in the sixth century, liturgical prayer has always been very close to the heart of monastic spirituality. Throughout the medieval period, at such centers as Cluny and Vezelay, the Benedictines played a crucial role in developing and promoting liturgical reform and renewal. In the nineteenth century, Abbot Guéranger of Solesmes did much to restore important aspects of the liturgical heritage, and his work on the liturgy was followed by that of many Benedictine scholars of the late nineteenth and twentieth century, such as Fernand Cabrol. The work of these European Benedictine scholars was in turn to have a profound influence on prominent American monks and early leaders of the liturgical movement in this country, such as Virgil Michel.

Among Benedictine spiritual writers of the twentieth century, perhaps none has been more influential than Dom Columba Marmion (1858-1923). Born in Ireland, Marmion went on to become abbot of Maredsous abbey in Belgium. It was a great and moving moment for me to visit Maredsous and pray at his grave in the abbey church there several years ago.

Dom Columba Marmion

 

Abbot Marmion cultivated an intense Christ-centered piety, drawn primarily from the scriptural teachings of St. Paul and St. John, as well as many patristic and medieval sources. His published conferences and letters are regarded as some of the most influential Catholic spiritual writings of the twentieth century. Throughout his writings, Marmion’s use of liturgical texts is quite striking. For him, almost every word and phrase of the liturgy, whether prayers, sequences, antiphons or hymns, are seen as inexhaustible sources of grace to animate the hearts and minds of believers. Marmion’s explication of the spiritual significance of the liturgy was so great that one pioneer of the Liturgical Movement, Lambert Beauduin, once called Marmion “the theologian of the liturgy”.

Maredsous Abbey

The whole course of the spiritual life is set forth in a series of conferences entitled “Christ the Life of the Soul.” The purpose of the work, as Marmion himself describes it, is

“to fix the eyes and the hearts of my readers on Jesus Christ and on His Word. He is the Alpha and the Omega of all sanctity and His word is the divine seed, from which all sanctity springs.” (Christ the Life of the Soul, b. Herder Book Co, 1925, p.13)

This Christocentric focus leads Marmion to develop the scriptural image of the church as the mystical body of Christ, and the far-reaching consequences and responsibilities of membership in this body. In a beautiful section, Marmion stresses how the diversity of individual members of the church should not lead to discord, but rather to what he calls a “harmony of unity”. Our common baptism, Marmion urges, should make us people of joy, gratitude and confidence, for whom every action becomes an opportunity to develop our calling to identify with the work of Christ on earth.

Dom Marmion

Our Christian activity finds its ultimate source in the Eucharist. Marmion explains with great depth of beauty the fruits and graces which come from full participation in the Eucharist. In discussing the eternal priesthood of Christ, Marmion stresses how participation in the Eucharist brings about our complete identification with Christ as both priest and victim. Far from envisioning a passive role for the laity, Marmion develops the concept of the priesthood of all the faithful: “As you see, it is the faithful united to the priest, and through him, to Jesus Christ, who offer this sacrifice.” It is our whole selves, “with the eyes, the mind, and the heart”, that we enter into union with Christ and experience spiritual transformation:

“It is in this union with Christ that, as I have said, the true life of the soul is to be found. Jesus is the vine, we are the branches; grace is the sap that rises up into the branches to make them bear fruit. Now it is principally by the gift of himself in the eucharist that Christ makes grace abound in us.” Ibid., pp. 256-261.

The significance of the Eucharist and the great feasts of the liturgical year is thoroughly developed in Christ in His Mysteries. In this magnificent work, Abbot Marmion stresses how through reading the scriptures, we come to know Jesus Christ in our lives, and how this is deepened through participation in the public liturgical life of the church:

“We know that it is especially by the liturgy that the Church brings up the souls of her children in order to make them like unto Jesus and thus perfect that image of Christ which is the very form of our predestination.” (Christ in His Mysteries. London, Sands & Co., p. 21)”

According to Dom Marmion, when we approach the Eucharist in faith, the result will be the gifts of reverence, and most of all love for God and neighbor. Transformed by these gifts, we truly can go forth to serve God and one another, and the Eucharist can become a source of personal, ecclesial and societal renewal. So as the seasons of the liturgical year begin once more to unfold before us, let us embrace them, one Mystery at a time.

Pope Leo the Great on Christmas Joy

The middle decades of the fifth century were a time of genuine crisis for the church and the Roman empire. Internal decay and invasions by Germanic tribes had left the infrastructure of the western portion of the empire beyond repair. Rome itself had been sacked by the Goths in 410, and Italy lay at the mercy of various chieftains and generals vying for control. Meanwhile, the bishops in the eastern parts of the empire were divided over vehement disputes concerning the nature of Christ, with various groups challenging the traditional Catholic doctrine that the man, Jesus Christ, had maintained in the unity of his person the distinctive natures of divinity and humanity intact.

In the midst of this chaos, it is difficult to exaggerate the importance of the fact that the Roman See came under the guidance in these crucial years (440-461) of the person whom history remembers as Pope Leo the Great. Leo was a true pastor for the whole church, and explicitly enunciated and put into action a style of church leadership which would play a critical role in the troubled times ahead. As normal societal structures crumbled, Leo held synods and wrote encouraging letters to bishops and others throughout the empire. In the mid-fifth century, Rome was full of refugees, seeking  safety in an Italy ravaged by invasion and war. On one dramatic occasion, the elderly bishop confronted the infamous Attila the Hun in the marshes north of Rome, and convinced him to spare the city and move his army out of Italy. With regard to the theological disputes of the time, the Pope’s letter to the Council of Chalcedon in 451, known as the “Tome of Leo”, became and remains the definitive definition and defense of the two natures of Christ.

Pope Leo I the Great meets Attila the Hun

Fortunately many of the sermons Leo gave over the years to the people of Rome have survived. Among these are his Christmas orations, perhaps the most poignant and instructive treatments of the meaning of this feast to survive from the patristic era. The constant theme of these sermons is the implication for all humanity of the redemption made possible by the Incarnation. First and foremost, Christmas must be a time of joy:

“Our Savior, dearly beloved, was born this day. Let us rejoice. No, there cannot rightly be any room for sorrow in a place where life has been born. By dispelling fear of death, life fills us with joy about the promised eternity. No one has been cut off from a share in this excitement. All share together a single rationale for joy. Our Lord, finding no one free of guilt, has come to liberate all. Let saints exult, for the palm of victory lies within their reach. Let sinners rejoice, for they have been called to pardon. Let heathens take heart, for they have been summoned to life.”

The Incarnation involves all people. The fact that God really and truly took on human nature allows our fallen human state to be transformed. The angels rejoice at the Nativity of Christ, because they see the New Jerusalem being built from our humble state, out of all the nations of the world. In many beautiful passages Leo urges the Christian soul to ponder its role as a member of Christ’s Mystical body:

“Remember, O Christian, your dignity! Remember whose head it is and whose body of which you constitute a member!”

The Holy Spirit fills every human being who is reborn in Baptism as it filled Mary’s womb in the Incarnation.

It is always right to ponder the worth God has placed upon us. Leo goes to the heart of the purpose of the liturgical cycle by asserting how on Christmas day the Mystery of the Incarnation is “made present” in a unique way. Christmas should make us realize we are children of God, not outsiders looking in at the manger:

“As we worship the Birth of our Savior, we find ourselves celebrating our own origin as well. For the Conception of Christ is the origin of the Christian people, and the birthday of the head is the birthday of the body.”

Consumerism and the stress of the holiday season can sometimes obscure the meaning of this festival of our restoration in Christ. And like in Pope Leo’s day, personal and political events do not always lend themselves to joy, and can generate anxiety. Despite this and our busy schedules, we must remember how the birth of our Savior remains a joyful and astounding mystery. We must never remain silent, even if we can never fully understand what God has done for us. Towards the end of his long life of service, Leo encouraged us that although “the birth of the Savior exceeds all wonders and the whole measure of human intelligence,” we can never cease reaching for the true meaning of Christmas:

“Let us rejoice, therefore, in the fact that we cannot measure up to expounding a mystery that involves such great mercy. Since we are incapable of expressing the profoundness of our salvation, let us think it good to be overwhelmed. No one draws closer to an understanding of the truth than the one who realizes that, when it comes to divine things, even if much progress has been made, there always remains something to be sought after.”

All quotations taken from St. Leo the Great. Sermons. Translated by Jane Patricia Freeland, C.S.J.B., and Agnes Josephine Conway, S.S.J. Catholic University Press, 1996.

 

 

Syriac Fathers

Most modern Christians tend to view the early centuries of church history in terms of the two great traditions of the Latin West and Greek East. This approach is incomplete, however, as it neglects the great Coptic, Armenian and Syriac churches, all of which developed unique theological, artistic and liturgical traditions. The Syriac tradition in particular, from its centers in modern day Syria, Iraq and Iran, extended as far as India and China. Although influenced by Byzantine culture, the Syriac church has always maintained its direct connections to the earliest Christian Aramaic communities of New Testament times. The unfortunate divisions in the church following the Christological controversies of the fifth century, followed by the Muslim conquest, left Syriac Christians isolated from the Greek and Latin churches for many centuries. Sadly, over the past quarter century, the homelands of these Syriac Christians in the Middle East have become devastated by armed conflict, and they are often in the news as refugees and victims of war, but with little reference to or understanding of their ancient culture. In recent years, the rich patristic Syriac heritage, epitomized by authors such as St. Ephrem and St. Isaac of Nineveh, is fortunately becoming better known. Besides these two authors, whom I hope to talk about in future posts, there are many others whose writings can contribute important insights to the relationship of the Eucharist to prayer and the Christian vocation.

St. Isaac of Nineveh

One such figure is Bishop Philoxenus of Mabug, who lived in the sixth century. In a letter to a friend, he considered the question of whether sinners despite their faults still retain the presence of the Holy Spirit. Philoxenus answers the question with reference to the Eucharist, which he refers to as the Holy Mystery. Our baptism bestows upon all Christians an indelible “sonship,” which our sinful actions do not erase. The Holy Spirit remains within us, and moves us to repentance. The words of the liturgy make this abundantly clear. Neither priest nor people are without sin, which is exactly why they need the Eucharist. All Christians are imperfect, but nevertheless are still temples of the Holy Spirit and children of God, a fact which enables us to dare to pray the Lord’s Prayer before approaching the Holy Mystery. Philoxenus argues that it is imperative we remain confident that despite our sinful tendencies and actions, God is still with us, and that the healing action of the Eucharist deepens this bond:

“ Now, in as much as a sinner receives our Lord’s Body and Blood in faith, he is in our Lord, and our Lord is in him, as our Lord himself says; and where the Lord dwells, there is his Spirit too.”

St. Philoxenus

The relationship of the Eucharist to all forms of prayer is brought out very well by the sixth century monk Sahdona, sometimes known by the Greek name Martyrios. In his most important work entitled The Book of Perfection, Sahdona describes how prayer “polishes away the rust of the mind.” Prayer is not merely a vocal or even mental activity, but to use imagery central to Syriac spirituality, an interior offering of the heart. Such a movement towards God of our whole being results from the descent of the Holy Spirit into our hearts:

“ The fire of the Spirit will consume our sacrifices and raise up our mind along with them to heaven; then we shall see the Lord, to our delight and not to our destruction, as the stillness of his revelation falls upon us and the hidden things of the knowledge of him will be portrayed in us.”

This action of the Spirit on our heart parallels the descent of the Holy Spirit on the bread and wine during the Eucharistic prayer. At this moment, our own prayers and personal sacrifices become perfectly united to those of Christ, and Jesus is more accessible to us than at any other time. Such an encounter with the Trinity cannot leave us unchanged. The key to living the Christian vocation is to extend this liturgical union with God into every aspect of our daily lives. As the eighth century ascetic Joseph the Visionary states in this excerpt from a prayer for use before holy Communion, the Spirit of God must become as important to us as the very air we breathe:

“And now, when your Spirit descends from heaven upon your Mysteries, may I ascend in spirit from earth to heaven. At this time when your power is mingled in with the bread, may my life be commingled with your spiritual life. At this moment when the wine is changed and becomes your blood, may my thoughts be inebriated with the commixture of your love….Create in me a pure heart so that your holy power may reside within me, so that, through the power of your Spirit I may in a spiritual fashion inhale your salvation.”

 

All quotations taken from Sebastian Brock, The Syriac Fathers on Prayer and the Spiritual Life (Cisterican Publications, 1987).

 

 

 

 

Maximos the Confessor and the promise of Advent

An important theme in ecumenical thought is the eternal union we hope to have with God and one another, whatever the differences between churches and individual Christians here and now. For God, to whom past, present and future are all one moment, in a mysterious sense Christian unity already exists, despite our painfully apparent schisms and personal estrangements. The season of Advent, with its ancient meaning of preparing us for the Second Coming of Christ, and the unity that will follow, is a good time to reflect on this. The eschatological unity of the faithful is expressed symbolically and made into reality by the transforming power of the Holy Spirit in the celebration of the Eucharist. Perhaps the most profound expression of this thought in the Greek Christian tradition can be found in the Mystagogia of Maximos the Confessor (c.580-662).

The Mystagogia is essentially a work on the Church and the liturgy, and their effect on human life. In this complex text, Maximos describes the liturgy as a sublime reflection upon the unity of Christians, and the hope of recalling those to Christ who for whatever reason have fallen way. The Church is conceived to be an “icon of God,” in which God is truly present to the community, never more so than when the church comes together to celebrate the Eucharist. In this context individual Christians experience an increase in faith, hope and ultimately charity, and it is the latter which brings about the deepest level of union with God. For Maximos, it is this union with God which allows individuals to overcome differences and grow near to other people. Simply put, the liturgy exists to make us more Christ-like:

Therefore let us not forsake the holy Church of God. By the sacred arrangements of the religious rites it contains such great mysteries filled with meaning for our salvation; through these mysteries she fashions each of us living, each in his own way, as much as possible like Christ, and brings into open manifestation through Christ-like behavior the gift in the Holy Spirit given once by holy baptism, of adoption as sons.

It is this very process of divine adoption which Maximos feels is the central purpose of human life, and the Mystagogia is a detailed discussion of how this transformation takes place in every human being who is open to full participation in the liturgy. Maximos describes how the progression of the liturgy leads the participant on a spiritual pilgrimage from attachment to carnal things at the outset to a recognition of the primacy of God in our lives. The physical structure and images in the church, the prayers of penance and praise, the readings from scripture and of course the eucharistic prayer and rites of communion, all hold great symbolic meaning for Maximos, and are means of receiving grace:

“Each person who is found present there grace transforms, remolds, and truly remodels into a more divine image, conformed to the Spirit Himself; it guides him into the mysteries celebrated, even if he himself may not notice it . . . grace also effects the particular grace in him signified by each of the divine symbols of salvation enacted, leading in regular sequence and order from what is immediately present on to the final consummation of everything.”

The structure of the liturgy mirrors our common spiritual journey. We acknowledge our need for penance and seek knowledge of virtue from listening to the scriptures proclaimed in the assembly. In a spirit of growing joy and enlightenment, we profess the faith which unites us despite our acknowledged weaknesses, and join with the angels in hymns of praise and thanksgiving. As we pray we are changed by the Holy Spirit, just as the bread and wine are changed. The reception of the risen Christ in communion represents not only a physical assimilation of the consecrated elements, but also our complete identification with Christ on a higher level. This final union Maximos expresses in terms of divine adoption, and also with the even more provocative term of the soul’s deification.

 

All of this of course does not happen immediately, and our appreciation of what the Eucharist means to us deepens over time. But the goal is clear, and the destiny of the Christian faithful is nothing less than total transformation and transportation to an eternal realm where, our differences long forgotten, we will join the angels in eternal praise of the Triune God:

“As the final end, the imparting of the sacrament comes: transforming into itself those who receive it worthily, it makes him, by grace and participation, similar to Him who is good essentially, in no way inferior to Him, as far as that is humanly possible and attainable for man. Consequently, by adoption and grace, it is possible for them to be and to be called gods, because all of God completely fills them, leaving nothing in them empty of His presence.”

 

All quotations taken from St. Maximos the Confessor. The Church. the Liturgy and the Soul of Man: the Mystagogia of St. Maximus the Confessor. Translated with Historical Note and Commentaries by Dom Julian Stead, OSB. St. Bede’s Publications, 1982.

 

Divine Office

A poem of mine from a few years back….

Winchester Cathedral in afternoon light

 

Divine Office

Today I clean the candlestick,
carved and colored years ago.
Lit while I pray,
it helps somehow.

But as I scrape the wax,
Gently kneading with my finger
Like a cat,
Afternoon Sun floods the kitchen;
No need for Psalms or candlelight at a
Time like this.

Clouds will come though,
So I’ll keep cleaning.

A Peruvian Pilgrimage

I was very privileged to spend the month of July in Peru with my wife Dr. Sabine Hyland, who is a Reader in Social Anthropology here at St. Andrews, and an expert on the Inca and Andean cultures. I was a co-investigator with Sabine on her research project, sponsored by National Geographic, concerning Andean texts written on corded strings known as khipus. Besides the fascinating details of the research, I found the time in Peru wonderful, whether in several small villages in the Andean highlands, or in Lima itself. At every turn I was delighted by the food, customs and friendliness of the Peruvian people. I have always been an admirer of Spanish colonial architecture, and central Lima did not disappoint. The beautiful churches, with all of the major religious orders represented dating back to the sixteenth century, contain paintings and sculpture of the highest quality, as well as many objects of more popular but no less interesting styles, combining Spanish and indigenous forms in beautiful and sometimes startling ways. But what struck me the most about these large, elegant churches is that they are very vital, living spaces of heartfelt prayer and devotion. All of them have several well attended Masses every day, and are open late into the evening, full of people of all ages engaged in both personal and corporate devotions. When one leaves the churches, there are also shrines and statues of Christ, the Virgin, and saints everywhere, permeating the whole cultural landscape. This moved and struck me, and was also something I found very encouraging and inspiring. It was also wonderful to tour some of the monastic cloisters in the city, which still function and form peaceful oases in the bustling city of endless neighborhoods, many of them marked by extreme poverty.

A sixteenth century cloister of Santo Domingo, Lima

Lima is located in a coastal desert, and one of the high points of the trip was a visit to the pre-Hispanic oracle shrine and temple complex of Pachacamac, whose oldest parts date back almost two thousand years. It was a powerful moment to stand on the heights of the Inca Temple of the Sun, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, imagining the various peoples who came to Pachacamac over the centuries on pilgrimage. Working as I do in St. Andrews, one of the great centers of medieval pilgrimage, this especially resonated with me. The pilgrim impulse is a strong and vital one across the world and cultural and religious boundaries, summoning all of us in so many places to a deeper and dynamic relationship with the divine as present in our world.

At the ancient coastal shrine of Pachacamac with Sabine Hyland

 

Traveling up into the Andean high sierra was very interesting, and a real contrast to Lima. The switchback roads afforded breathtaking views, while at times could be quite terrifying! The villages we visited all had churches dating back to the 17^th century, decorated with colourful statues and paintings that are still the focus of ritual life and centers of important festivals. This aspect of Peruvian life reminded me of some of the medieval European cultures I study. The low level of technology and material goods, and the lack of many of the basic things I have always taken for granted was both sobering and thought provoking. Our encounters with the local leaders and elders as part of our research, who had such a dignified and respectful bearing in the midst of such simple and often impoverished circumstances, made a deep impression on me. It will take me some time to process this wonderful land and people of such beauty, vitality and stark contrasts, and I am very grateful to have had the opportunity to experience all of these things, in such a unique way.

In the porch of a colonial church in the Andean highlands