St Norbert, Peacemaker

My Sermon given at All Saints, St Andrews, January 29th, 2017

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

The liturgical year up until this point, following the Creed, has been attempting to make clear exactly who Jesus is, fully God and fully human, the long hoped for fulfillment of ancient prophecy. The seasons of Advent and Christmastide made this joyful news quite clear, and the season of Epiphany and Theophany continued to reveal and confirm just who Jesus is. Likewise, the latter days of Lent and Holy Week and Easter are on the horizon, where the Church will lay before us and graphically illustrate in incomparable Scriptural imagery what Jesus will do for us and for our salvation. While it is very important to understand and appreciate what Jesus did for us, today we have the task of beginning once again to grasp and come to terms with, and reflect upon what Jesus, the Incarnate Word, had to say to us, including how we should behave if we want to follow him and imitate him and aspire to be his disciples. The creed tells us what he did for us, the deeds of Christ, but Christ also instructs us on how to live, and never more so than in the famous Sermon on the Mount, initiated by his proclamation of the Beatitudes which we heard today. The tradition of the Church urges us to pay close attention to every line of this sermon, for as St Augustine puts it:

“He who reflects soberly and devoutly will find in this sermon, in respect of all that regards the conduct of our daily life, the perfect manner of Christian living.”

I today would focus on one particular verse, “Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

I would like to briefly discuss and draw what I hope are helpful lessons from the life of someone who has been an important part of my own study and research in medieval history, namely Norbert of Xanten, who lived in the twelfth century, and was a great reformer of the clergy, founding a new religious order known as the Premonstratensians (their most famous abbey in Scotland being Dryburgh in the borders, where Sir Walter Scott is buried), and later became archbishop of Magdeburg in Germany. This Norbert came as we shall see to have a reputation as the great peacemaker of his troubled times.

Norbert was born around the year 1080, in Xanten, near the modern German-Dutch border on the west bank of the Rhine. He was an aristocrat of the highest level, with close relationships on both side of his family to the German and French royal houses. Around the time his father and brother went off to fight in the first crusade, Norbert, who seemed to have been a pleasant, handsome fun loving and rather spoiled young man, began his own family destined predictable path as a cleric in the German church, finding himself before long in the retinue of the Emperor. His rather steady but unremarkable careerist trajectory seems to have been disturbed when he accompanied the Emperor when during one phase of the long power struggle with the papacy known as the Investiture controversy, the German ruler invaded Italy, took Rome by force, and imprisoned the elderly pope in hopes of convincing him to accept the emperor’s point of view. Norbert we know visited the pope in prison, and seems to have become disillusioned with the whole type of life he was living in the emperor’s service. When they returned to Germany he left the imperial service and refused promotion in the Church, and soon underwent a radical conversion and call to a serious religious life. He gradually divested himself of his wealth and began what today we would call vocation discernment, living in turn with hermits and various types of monks and canons, before deciding to become a poor, wandering preacher. It is a fascinating story, which perhaps I can tell in more detail at another time. While Norbert had many enemies who distrusted his radical way of life, he also had friends among the bishops, and eventually received papal permission for his way of life. He founded a group of religious communities centered on the new abbey of Premontre in France, who became known as “white canons” due to the colour of their habits. As the Cistercians under the leadership of Bernard reformed the monks, so Norbert, his friend, helped spark reform of clergy all over Europe. Even St Bernard, not known for being self effacing, considered Norbert to be the finest preacher of the age. Eventually Norbert was made, to his own reluctance and chagrin, archbishop of Magdeburg on the eastern frontier of Germany, where until his death he supported missions, church reform and tried to mediate in continuing struggles between the popes and German emperors that caused so much distress in those days.

In what ways was Norbert a peacemaker? In good medieval fashion, I would suggest  three, all of which have potential relevance in principle for every Christian in every age, regardless of the differences in state of life and circumstances.

First of all he allowed himself to be guided on the road to inner peace by surrendering himself to God. Through a process of gradual and painstaking discernment, punctuated by dramatic moments, He let Christ take over his life; Norbert gradually came to see that if he became poor in spirit, and let God lead him, his former way of life could be left behind and he could be transformed from the conventional into something that was genuinely centered on God, and because it was centered on God, he came to see that he needed to love others, and to bring to them the peace he had found within. This inner peace, a purity of heart centered upon God and manifested in charity, is something the Beatitudes direct us toward, something we are called to aspire to. As St Jerome puts it about the verse we are considering this morning:

 

“The peacemakers are called blessed who first make peace within their own heart, and then between their dissident brethren. For what does it profit you to make peace between others, while vice is at war within your own heart?”

 

And that is just what Norbert did. After his conversion and years of prayer and recollection, at peace now with himself and God, the focus of Norbert’s itinerant preaching became peace in a second sense, the restoration of hope, and reconciliation in the villages he visited throughout France, Germany and the Low Countries. He would enter into a village, and in those days of feudal violence, he often would attempt to reconcile warring and broken families. We are told how when the villagers knew he was approaching, they would ring the church bells, and children would run out and escort him to the village. He would often preach and hold meetings with those at odds with one another, and after celebrating the Eucharist with them present, would have them make peace over the relics of the saints. More humbly but no less significantly, he would counsel and help reconcile the distressed, the ostracized, and those in need of healing for one reason or another, often women who had been marginalized and accused of demonic possession. He also ministered to the powerful, often stricken by their own form of alienation and inner turmoil. One great example was the German nobleman Count Godfrey of Cappenburg. Godfrey had led a troubled life as a warlike nobleman, and in those tumultuous times had burned down the local cathedral. Dejected in remorse and alienation, he eventually joined Norbert, gave over his wealth, and found peace as a simple lay brother as Norbert’s dear spiritual friend and confidante. For all of these activities of Norbert, we are told by Norbert’s early biographer that while traveling through France,

“the next day early in the morning he rose and departed for another village not far away in order to preach to the people. He was very devoutly received here because they had heard he was a bearer of the Word of God and a bringer of tranquil peace.”

Not a bad epitaph!

 

Thirdly. When he was made archbishop of Magdeburg, essentially a prince archbishop and one of the most important advisors in the Empire, Norbert found himself called to be a peacemaker on yet another level, what we might call today the realm of international politics. The intense conflicts between the popes and emperors continued, with all the distress this brought to people of all levels of society, and Norbert found himself in the often unenviable position of trying to keep things together, or at least from further deterioration. In this he was for the most part successful, but like all great peacemakers, it did not make him universally popular, and I think that is one of the reasons that despite his widely acknowledged sanctity and that he founded one of the major medieval religious orders, the Premonstratensians, which at their height before the Reformation numbered 600 abbeys from Ireland to the Holy Land, he would not be formally canonized until over four centuries after his death. Peacemakers, as the sermon on the Mount brings home so powerfully and poignantly, are not always appreciated, however much they are always desperately needed.

St Norbert and his followers tried to live out the Beatitudes, as best they could with God’s help. They knew there was much darkness in their own hearts and in the world around them, and led by a great and inspired teacher, they hoped to bring the light of Christ wherever they went. As one early Norbertine put it, they prayed, trained and worked that they might be lanterns illuminating the shadows wherever they went, whatever they did. Like their master Christ, they were called, as they often put it, docere verbo et exemplo, to teach by word and example, to let their deeds and teaching go together.

I learn from St Norbert of Xanten that if we really want to be effective peacemakers on all levels, then we must begin in our own hearts, with ourselves. Then we can turn to our families, and our own relationships, in churches, schools, the workplace, to reconciling the alienated, broken and tender souls and hearts within our own, every day reach. Then, when and if we are called, to discern how to do this in a more public arena, perhaps for a few even on the scale of Norbert, perhaps for most of us as engaged citizens. But we will not be effective in bringing peace to others if we do not allow God to bring it to our own hearts first. Follow the previous beatitudes, if we want to know what it takes to be a peacemaker. Listen to the parables in the coming weeks, for they will tell us that if we really want to work for the kingdom of God, we must first recognize and accept and nurture it within ourselves. Then our efforts as true peacemakers, following St Norbert and countless others, from John the Baptist to our own day, will be modeled and centered on Christ, who as it says in the last words of the song of Zachary, sung to his newborn baby son John the Baptist, the canticle Benedictus which the church sings every single morning in her common prayer throughout the world,

 

And thou, Child, shalt be called the Prophet of the Highest : for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways;

To give knowledge of salvation unto his people : for the remission of their sins,

Through the tender mercy of our God : whereby the day-spring from on high hath visited us;

To give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death : and to guide our feet into the way of peace.  Amen.

 

Flight into Egypt

The seasons of Advent and Christmas receive no small amount of attention, both culturally and liturgically, and of course that is how it should be. The festive nature of Yuletide joined to the power of advertizing naturally place these images before us in countless ways, and the liturgy of the Church does not disappoint in celebrating the joyful nature of the Incarnation. Likewise, although modern western culture’s short attention span leaves the commercial aspects behind, the Church celebrates the richness of Epiphany and Theophany throughout the early weeks of January, focusing in turn on the Mysteries of the Adoration of the Magi bearing their gifts, the Baptism of the Lord by John the Baptist, and the first Sign performed by Jesus at the Wedding at Cana. But there is one story that in all of this sometimes liturgically does not get the attention it deserves, namely the Flight of Mary and Joseph with their young infant Son into Egypt. Joseph, having been warned by an angel of King Herod’s nefarious plans, takes his family to a strange land, no less strange due to its rich and rather intense associations with the earlier history of the Israelites.

Artists throughout history however have not neglected this story, perhaps realizing the emotional impact of the episode in illustrating the vulnerability of the Holy Family as something not at all unique to them. And how quickly the hidden years as strangers in a strange land of this small family of refugees can be glossed over. But like many times in the past, our own times do not need to make too much of a leap of imagination to picture the difficulties and even desperation of a poor refugee family. Today, before we move on liturgically to the great Mysteries of the beginning of the adult ministry of Jesus, I think it is good and salutary to pause and think about the unknown people in Egypt who welcomed Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and their stalwart and patient donkey, and reflect on how these unsung heroes in the early Christian story can perhaps serve as models for us in the immediate present.

The Flight into Egypt. Murillo.

Tree Buds in Winter

One of the lovely things about Christmas break is the opportunity to take walks at home. For me that means a daily stroll down to our village harbour and time by the seaside. But also in Anstruther we are right on the edge of the countryside in the inland direction, with the lovely mesmerizing rolling hills and fields of Fife. The last few days I have begun to explore this direction more in the cold brisk sunshine with my daughters, and look forward to many more excursions, watching the fields and landscape change day by day. Walking up steps to cross an old bridge over the fast moving chill waters of the Dreel, I could not help to pause to look at some lovely tree buds already making their presence known, tentatively and almost furtively emerging in the winter light.

It was a lovely thought, and called to mind a passage from the seventeenth century French Carmelite spiritual writer Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection, about whom I have written on this blog before https://festinalentehyland.wordpress.com/?s=Brother+Lawrence . As an old man, speaking of the origins of his own spiritual awakening, Lawrence related the simple but profound insight he experienced decades earlier:

“That in the winter, seeing a tree stripped of its leaves, and considering that within a little time, the leaves would be renewed, and after that the flowers and fruit appear, he received a high view of the Providence and Power of GOD, which has never since been effaced from his soul. That this view had perfectly set him loose from the world, and kindled in him such a love for GOD, that he could not tell whether it had increased in above forty years that he had lived since.”

Each moment in each season contains within it, as Thomas Merton would some day eloquently write, countless “Seeds of Contemplation.” Brother Lawrence knew and lived that, and I hope I can too. As this new year unfolds before us, moment by moment, I wish all of us opportunities to allow God to make us fruitful soil for these precious seeds to blossom, and to see the miracle of Tree Buds in the cold but illuminating winter sun.

Mary the Dawn

A few years ago, when I had eyesight problems that effectively prevented me from reading the Divine Office, or anything else for that matter, I developed the habit of listening to the Office online. One site in particular, http://www.divineoffice.org, was particularly helpful. Although now my vision problems are thankfully a thing of the past, from time to time my wife and I enjoy listening to the Morning Office, joining in it with our own silent prayer, in communion with the countless people praying it across the world. Today it was prefaced by a lovely hymn entitled “Mary the Dawn”, written by Kathleen Lundquist and adapted from a medieval hymn written originally in Middle English:

Mary the Dawn, Christ the Perfect Day;
Mary the Gate, Christ the Heav’nly Way!
Mary the Root, Christ the Mystic Vine;
Mary the Grape, Christ the Sacred Wine!
Mary the Wheat-sheaf, Christ the Living Bread;
Mary the Rose-Tree, Christ the Rose Blood-red!
Mary the Font, Christ the Cleansing Flood;
Mary the Chalice, Christ the Saving Blood!
Mary the Temple, Christ the Temple’s Lord;
Mary the Shrine, Christ the God adored!
Mary the Beacon, Christ the Haven’s Rest;
Mary the Mirror, Christ the Vision Blest!
Mary the Mother, Christ the Mother’s Son.
Both ever blest while endless ages run.
Amen.

 

I was struck by the hymn’s beauty, rhythmically chanted, as one after another powerful images were applied to the Virgin and to her Son. One could spend a lifetime reflecting on these! Like many medieval hymns, much of the imagery is drawn from daily life, and in particular agricultural activities. This of course not only was something ordinary people could relate to, but was also, like most medieval thought, profoundly Biblical. This approach was shared by many great medieval mystics, such as Mother Julian of Norwich, to mention one contemporary to this song. While the language of systematic theology has its place, the images of song and poetry perhaps have the ability to reach beyond the intellect, to touch our imagination in a different way, cultivating our innermost heart to be fertile ground for the action of the Holy Spirit within us.

After prayer this morning, my wife Sabine and I walked down to the sea in Anstruther, the harbour quiet on a New Year’s morning. The early morning light, illuminating the centuries old waterfront, with the Isle of May and Bass Rock glimmering in the sea, seemed to bring home both the promise and fresh start of a New Year, and the quiet but certain hope of Mary the Dawn, Christ the Perfect Day.