Ambrose on the Mysteries

As Christianity gradually became the dominant religion of the Roman empire, the relationship of the church to the wider society began to change. In particular, the bishops of important cities in the empire began to take on public responsibilities scarcely imaginable to earlier generations. Few were better suited for this new role than Ambrose (c. 339-97), who, while still a catechumen, was chosen by the local Christian community to become Bishop of Milan. His natural leadership abilities, skill in preaching, and commentaries on scripture and theology, along with Milan’s important position as an imperial residence, soon led Ambrose to be the most prominent prelate in the Latin-speaking part of the Roman world. Perhaps the most dramatic episode of Ambrose’s illustrious career is when he refused, despite the threat of violence, to give the Emperor Theodosius holy communion until the ruler had done public penance for a massacre of some civilians in Thessalonica. I will never forget the powerful painting of this by the great Peter Paul Rubens I first saw in the summer of 1983 in Vienna, and it still makes a profound impression on me.

Peter Paul Rubens – St Ambrose and Emperor Theodosius – 1615

This confrontation with Theodosius is indicative of the seriousness with which Ambrose regarded the eucharist. He wrote about the sacrament extensively in two catechetical works, “On the Mysteries” and “On the Sacraments.” Both are especially important because they contain substantial quotations from one of the earliest liturgical texts we have from the Latin church. In these instructions for those who had recently been baptized, Ambrose exudes a profound and joyful sense of the eucharist as a heavenly banquet and the renewal of our spiritual youth.

Earliest known mosaic portrayal of Ambrose

Ambrose emphasizes that Jesus is the author of the eucharist. In what would become a central trend in all subsequent Latin liturgical thought, Ambrose focuses upon the words of institution in the eucharistic prayer. Just as Christ is himself the Word of God, through which all things were made, the words of Christ at the Last Supper, when repeated by the priest in the context of the prayer of thanksgiving of the church, change the bread and wine into Christ’s body and blood:

“By what words, then, is the consecration and by whose expressions? By those of the Lord Jesus. For all the rest that are said in the preceding are said by the priest: praise to God, prayer is offered, there is a petition for the people, for kings, for the rest. When it comes to performing a venerable sacrament, then the priest uses not his own expressions, but he uses the expressions of Christ. Thus the expression of Christ performs this sacrament. What is the expression of Christ? Surely that by which all things were made. The Lord ordered, the heaven was made; the Lord ordered, the seas were made; the Lord ordered, every creature was generated. You see then how the creating expression of Christ is. If then there is so great force in the expression of the Lord Jesus, that those things might begin to be which were not, how much more creating, that those things be which were, and be changed to something else.”

Ambrose goes on to argue that just as we acknowledge Christ has the power to change every creature and the designs of nature, we must accept that he has the power to change us through our participation in the eucharist. What the tongue confesses, we must hold in our mind and heart. Thus, when we receive communion, we must never indifferently say “Amen,” but rather approach this reception as an intimate and transforming encounter with our creator and redeemer. In a provocative image, Ambrose sees receiving the body and blood of Christ as prefigured by the opening words of the Song of Songs:

“You have come to the altar; the Lord Jesus calls you — both your soul and the Church — and He says: ‘Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth.’ Do you wish to prepare for Christ? Nothing is more pleasing. Do you wish to do so for your soul? Nothing is more pleasant. ‘Let him kiss me.’ He sees that you are clean of all sin, because transgressions have been wiped away. Thus He judges you worthy of the heavenly sacraments, and thus invites you to the heavenly banquet.”

At this ecstatic moment, we are doing nothing less than participating in the death and resurrection of Jesus, and by our presence at Mass are preaching the gospel to the world. In proclaiming his death, we are also proclaiming the remission of sins. By admitting we are wounded and in need, we are also professing our faith that we have a remedy in Christ Jesus, who unlike the manna which perished in the desert, is both host and food for a banquet which can never end.

Quotations taken from St. Ambrose. “Theological and Dogmatic Works.” Translated by Roy J. Deferrari. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1967.

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.

 

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.

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.

 

O Matchless Love

Many years ago, while an undergraduate doing my Junior year abroad at Oxford, I was browsing in a small bookshop on Turl Street. This street is the location of Jesus College, where I had a number of tutorials, and runs between High and Broad streets. There was an old joke, that Turl Street was like the Church of England, it passed from the High to the Broad, and nodded at Jesus along the way.

Turl Street, Oxford.

At any rate, while perusing their holdings, I came across something that immediately gave me pause, namely a copy of The Poems of Edward Taylor, edited by the great literary historian Donald E. Stanford, with a foreword by another eminent scholar, Louis Martz. I picked it up quickly and gazed upon it lovingly as if finding an old friend. And in many ways, although I had not seen this particular volume before, it was. Growing up in NYC, in my high school the sophomore English curriculum was based upon the Norton Anthology of American Literature. And that meant the first few authors we read included the colonial poet Edward Taylor (1642-1729), a “Puritan” who emigrated from England to Massachusetts in the late seventeenth century, and then spent decades as the minister in the then frontier town of Westfield. I always had enjoyed his poems, his use of homely imagery to discuss spiritual matters. And most of all, I appreciated his Eucharistic meditations. For decades Reverend Taylor would retire into his room and write these intense poems in preparation for celebrating the Eucharist four times a year. I had studied some of  the poems and liked them, but had not thought about them for a few years. Perhaps because they reminded of home, the thought of them stirred something deep inside of me, and I purchased the book and brought it back to my room on Merton Street.

For the next few months, the book became an important part of my time at Oxford. I was in the habit of attending daily Mass in the evening, and would read one or two of the poems to help prepare for the liturgy. It did not strike me as particularly incongruous, a young Catholic student reading the intense poems of a New England Puritan to prepare for Mass. Perhaps it should have! After all, there does not seem to be at first too much in common between my situation and his, my Catholic views on the Eucharist and his Reformed, particularly at that time in my life. But perhaps it also speaks to a deeper truth, that poetry can engage the soul and spiritual imagination in ways that help us cross the boundaries that our post-schism syntheses and defenses have placed as barriers between the Christian traditions. Perhaps poetry gives us a space to breathe and encounter the Holy Spirit in unique and profoundly important and authentic ways. More on this subject and my love for aspects of the early American tradition at another time. For now, on a cold windswept Scottish night, I will yield to the words of Reverend Taylor’s very first Eucharistic Meditation, praying for inner warmth in the midst of winter:

What Love is this of thine, that Cannot bee      In thine Infinity, O Lord, Confinde, Unless it in thy very Person see,      Infinity, and Finity Conjoyn’d?      What hath thy Godhead, as not satisfide      Marri’de our Manhood, making it its Bride? Oh, Matchless Love! filling Heaven to the brim!      O’re running it: all running o’re beside This World! Nay Overflowing Hell; wherein      For thine Elect, there rose a mighty Tide!      That there our Veans might through thy Person bleed,      To quench those flames, that else would on us feed. Oh! that thy Love might overflow my Heart!      To fire the same with Love: for Love I would. But oh! my streight’ned Breast! my Lifeless Sparke!      My Fireless Flame! What Chilly Love, and Cold?      In measure small! In Manner Chilly! See.      Lord blow the Coal: Thy Love Enflame in mee.

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