Becoming a Prayer

Posted on November 16, 2011 | 12 comments

 In fact, everything that we have in our minds before the time of prayer is inevitably brought back by memory when we are praying.  So whatever kind of people we want to be in our prayer time, we want to be before we begin to pray.  St. John Cassian, Conferences.

I found  this quotation from Cassian in today’s reading in a wonderful little book, Drinking from the Hidden Fountain: A Patristic Breviary.  In The Conferences (written between 426 and 429 A.D.), Cassian surveyed much of the work of the Desert Fathers.  The Desert Fathers, along with Cassian, provided the foundation of the monastic movement.

St. Cassian reminds us that we cannot separate our prayer life from the balance of our lives.  We cannot separate the way we pray from the way we live.  If our lives are rushed, jumbled and frantic, our prayers will reflect that.  If our lives are self-centered or consumed by pettiness, our prayer lives will not be much different.  If our relationships with our brothers and sisters are shallow and insincere, our relationship with the One God will reflect that as well.

We work so hard to compartmentalize our lives.  We tell ourselves: “This is the face I show at work; this is the way I act with my friends; and this is the kind of person I want to project at prayer.”  Ultimately, I think we’ll find that God sees through these persona, sees beyond the walls we try to build.  We can trust that His love exceeds even our capacity to fool ourselves.  Rabbi Heschel wrote that “To pray is to dream in league with God, to envision His holy visions.”

Cassian rightly notes that as we approach the Almighty in prayer, we bring our lives before Him, whether we intend to or not.  Thus, the Christian life calls us into that process of continual conversion, until our daily lives perfectly reflect the kind of person we want to bring to God in prayer, a person who can rightly share in God’s “holy visions”.  We are all already in a conversation with God, whether we know it or not.  Cassian asks how authentic, how honest and how loving we want that conversation to be.

God watch over thee and me,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

12 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Why I Am a Dominican

Posted on November 13, 2011 | 8 comments

Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

As novices in the Dominican Order, we regularly engage in study and reflection together.  On a weekly basis, we will take a passage or a concept and each write an essay.  Each of us will then comment on each other’s work, so that our study becomes part of the bond of our community.  This past week, our topic required us to reflect on our experience of worship.  Mary, one of my Dominican sisters,  wrote the following piece:

Well the week of worship started a little differently.

Last week I was driving my son to the doctor and we passed the sign leading to one of our prominent suburban parishes currently in a rector search. My son said, “Mom – don’t you really wish you could be preaching THERE on Sundays instead of at Saint Otherwise?” Translated from his tone of voice and prior verbalizations – instead of at your hopelessly small, hopelessly underfinanced, hopelessly eccentric and, generally hopeless little congregation. To my surprise I said “yes. I really would.” And then rattled on a bit about frustration and other human emotions. I hate to confess having said this or felt this. I have a very faithful (to the Lord) and loyal (to the church and if truth be known, to its not always so humble rector) congregation. Which is or at least so far has been, persistently small, persistently underfinanced, as eccentric a collection as one would find in any given Episcopal parish, albeit without a lot of average types to absorb the eccentricity. After almost eight years of what sometimes feels like slogging [as our neuralgic deacon likes to point out] (in the most neuralgic ways possible, without ever demonstrating the desire to do anything other than get dressed up on Sundays and chant things) no visually apparent results, I hate to confess that it is harder than I would like it to be to stay with it. And of late I have more often than I would like to confess to you all had a harder time than I should in putting in the prayer, the time, the study, the listening, and all the things that go into the relationship of priest and parish, and preacher and assembly. And I wonder if there will ever be an answer to what seems to be the most lingering congregational question, asked every Sunday possibly since the parish was founded 126.3 years ago: does anyone remember which can has the decaf in it?
Yet when I come on Sunday morning, wondering as I always do whether there will actually be a minyan’s worth of people in the pews, and feeling alone and somehow unblessed in my priestly ministry, getting over the weekly “what do you mean you’re not coming to church and can I ever get out of here on Sunday morning without an argument” conversation at home, we begin the celebration of the Eucharist, with whoever is there, there and whoever is not somehow brought present perceptibly by those who are (I don’t know how they do it but they do – could it be, well love?), and somehow a change begins. Not in them but in me. I look at them and listen to them, and I get up to preach the word with the gospel open behind me. I walk into their midst and they change me. And I don’t remember anything about the suburban church or the congregation replete with potential foursomes for golf and loads of well-groomed acolytes and articulate lectors. And the sermon I didn’t think I had, has me instead, and the words start to remold themselves from what I imagined and hacked away at into living connections to lives and I am somehow between the gospels and those lives as the connections are knit. And I wash my hands among the innocent and begin the Eucharistic prayer. And I look up and down the center aisle through the glass windows of the doors someone came and put in because they knew the old ones needed replacing. And I see a world from which they have gathered. And I look down and the way the sun plays with the reflections of things around the foot of my chalice I see myself, and I see them and I see the high altar cross, all reflecting from the cup from which our Lord asked us to drink together. and I am where I should be, with them, in their dyings and risings and dying again. And I am graced. And I am humbled. And I am home. And another week will turn. Ethel has died at 92 and her son didn’t want a service. and Sophia will have her tenth birthday prayer. Nicholas will insist he is not a saint, and his mother will agree with him. Carolyn will tell us about the family for which we prayed for a year while their six-year-old son died of cancer giving birth to twins. The senior warden will ask if we can have a secret location for the vestry meeting so that the deacon doesn’t come. I will try to think of a canonical way this could happen. Joyce will go back to her husband and son for another six months of abuse in a remote part of Florida and she will weep as I pray a blessing for her and tell her to come back safe in April. George will have laughed at the jokes in my sermon. Mary Kay and Mike will be at home because Mike is sick from the fourth to the last radiation treatment on his spine. When I say “take them in remembrance that Christ died for you” Trish and I will catch each other’s eyes and she will know we are with her when she goes to painful divorce proceedings on Tuesday. The Organ will have ciphered, even though the repair guy said there was nothing wrong. Christ is among us, and hopeless is not a word that can be thought or spoken. That is my Sunday last. And if God is gracious, my Sunday next as well I think.
And I have tried to keep you all, as I do each Sunday, in the midst of its consecratory power.
Peace to all

I am both humbled and proud to call Mary my sister. When I read her piece, I found myself simply struck speechless.  And then I realized that I am too rarely speechless.    And that is why I am a Dominican.
Shabbat Shalom,
James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

8 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Marked as Christ’s Own Forever

Posted on November 9, 2011 | 10 comments

Heavenly Father, we thank you that by water and the Holy Spirit you have bestowed upon these your servants the forgiveness of sin, and have raised them to the new life of grace. Sustain them, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works. Amen. You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever. Amen. The Book of Common Prayer.

This past Sunday at my parish we baptized two children into the family of God.  Not twenty minutes earlier, I had taught a Sunday school class in which the discussion centered on the story of a judge in Rockport, Texas who had been captured on video in the process of “disciplining” his 16 year-old daughter.  The stark contradiction between that story and the sacrament of Holy Baptism left me astonished and wondering:  “How did we get from here to there?”

The video of the Texas judge and his daughter has now gone “viral.”  (I think one could make a pretty good argument that there was something viral in this family dynamic long before the release of the video.)  In case you haven’t seen it,   the video reveals a brutal, sadistic, beating of a teenage girl. The judge’s wife appears to encourage and facilitate the beating. It lasts for almost seven minutes, and I must confess that I was able to watch only about two minutes of it. Two observations emerge from watching this video.  First, this was not the first time this had happened.  This savage beating clearly occurred as part of a pattern of violence in the life of this family.  Secondly, this family did not honor or practice the rubric that one should never strike one’s children in anger.

I don’t think we get very far by simply observing that this was a bad man, or a dysfunctional family, or an instance of genuine evil.  (As I’ve said before, I try to make it a practice not to judge the content of a another man’s soul. Jesus taught us to pray for these people, and I have and will continue to do so.)  Rather, I want to pose a different question.

Knowing the Texas judiciary as I do, I’m fairly certain that this man, that this family, sat in some church in the area pretty regularly.  Whether they did or not, we should all ask ourselves how people can sit in our pews, nod their heads, and then go home to their families and beat, abuse and neglect our children.  Aren’t these the same children that we, at some point, presented for their baptism?  That strikes me as the real question.

I’m familiar with the biblical text in proverbs which seems to condone, and perhaps even recommend, the corporal punishment of children.  I’m also familiar with a good deal of literature and the testimony of several friends that corporal punishment does not work.  (Actually, it actually might work to change behavior in the very short-term, but we should rightly wonder whether it also fosters a culture of violence in our families and our children.)  But more importantly, Jesus said: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”  Matt.  25:40.  I don’t think the Savior was foolin’ around.

In my legal practice, I have volunteered as an attorney representing children in cases where the State has intervened in cases of abuse and neglect.  I have seen the cycle of family violence repeat itself too often and seen the tragic results.  Our churches should, no, our churches must, take their teaching responsibilities in this area more seriously.  We could begin by starting a serious conversation about this issue, or by teaching new parents about other disciplinary practices they could add to their parenting toolboxes beyond corporal punishment.

As part of our promises during the sacrament of baptism, every member of our congregation agrees we will:  (1) “seek and serve Christ in all persons,” loving our neighbors as ourselves; and (2) “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”  In those promises, we recognize the sacramental nature of our duty to keep our children safe.  I’m at a loss to reconcile those promises with what I saw in that video, and it’s well past the time that our churches did something about it.

Lord , make us instruments of your peace.

Pax,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

10 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Our Dangerous Habits

Posted on November 6, 2011 | 2 comments

Jesus said, “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, `Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, `Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, `No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, `Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, `Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”  Matt. 25:1-13.

In the Lectionary today, we encounter the Parable of the Bridegroom. The parable sounds a well-known warning to us:  “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”  While Jesus is teaching us about the need for preparation, I think he’s also pointing out just how difficult the Christian life will be.

In the field of law, we have a doctrine called stare decisis.  It means that once a case has been decided a certain way, future cases that present similar facts should generally be decided the same way.  The doctrine allows for consistency (the hobgoblin of small minds), predictability and promotes a certain sense of fairness.

We apply a similar practice in our own lives.  Each of us have developed a habit, a rubric, for dealing with telemarketers, panhandlers on the street, or older people who corner us to talk about their aches and pains.  We have a formula for how we deal with the coworker who stops by our desk to talk about their family problems.  These rubrics, these habits, offer us a certain level of efficiency.  But they may also pose a danger to our spiritual lives because they prevent us from having to think about individual situations or feel compassion when confronted with a unique situation.

The great German philosopher Martin Heidegger called this “unreflective everydayness.”  I think, in part, that’s what Jesus was warning us about in the Parable of the Bridegroom.  By relying on our preprogrammed responses, we miss the opportunity to see the face of Christ in those around us, and perhaps, to be the face of Christ for them.  I do not know how often God intervenes in the world around us, but I suspect it’s a lot more than most of us realize.  Christ’s advice “Keep awake” may well offer the best cure for the spiritual doldrums that obfuscate  God’s presence in the world.

 To paraphrase one of  the great prophets of our age, Ferris Bueller, “The Christian life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Shabbat Shalom,

 James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

2 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Where, O Death, Is Thy Sting?

Posted on November 2, 2011 | 2 comments

When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’ ‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’  1 Cor. 15:54-55.

Today, the Church marks the Feast of All Souls Day, which is the final day of the triduum (a three-day celebration) consisting of All Hallow’s Eve, All Saints Day and All Souls Day.  On All Souls Day, the Church recalls all the faithful departed.  We appropriately recall those we love who have crossed beyond that frightening door, and we know that for them it holds no fear anymore.  The Book of Wisdom teaches:

In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died,
and their departure was thought to be a disaster,
and their going from us to be their destruction;
but they are at peace. Wisdom 3: 2-3.

Thus, All Souls Day offers one of the great messages of the Church.  Those who have gone before us are not forgotten; actually, they’re not really “gone.” All Souls Day reminds us that our real home lies in that place where “Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more…”  Rev. 21:  4.

There’s an old Polish custom of leaving their doors and windows ajar on the night of All Souls Day, as a sign of welcome.  I’m very fond of that notion, as a reminder to us that we invite those who have passed away back into our lives.  In my part of the world, November 2nd is the last day of the celebration of the Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead.  It’s not uncommon for families to go to the graves of the dead with ofrendas (offerings), to have a picnic at the gravesite, or to build a shrine within the home.  These customs, and many others, serve to remind us of two vital lessons:  the dead remain with us, and death isn’t the end of the story.

There is nothing morbid, maudlin, or tragic about these traditions.  On the contrary, they serve as occasions of great joy and happiness.  They provide us with a foretaste of the reunion that our faith teaches, and toward which our hope directs us.

Now that’s “good news.”

Paz de Cristo,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

2 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , , ,

Don’t You Think It’s Time?

Posted on October 30, 2011 | 10 comments

On the third day 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. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”  John 2: 1-5.

I absolutely love the story of the Wedding at Cana in the Gospel of St. John.  Among other things, I love the apparent reluctance of Jesus to begin his public ministry with this first miracle.  It’s as though Christ hesitated to begin the process of revealing his true nature to the world.  He tells Mary, “My hour has not yet come.”  And within the subtext of the story, we can almost see the Holy Mother nudging Jesus and whispering in his ear, “Don’t you think it’s time?”

I love this story, in part, because I had a mother like that.  Anne Dell Dennis died seven years ago tomorrow, on October 31, 2004.  At her funeral service, the priest remarked  that she died on the Eve of All Saints Day, and her funeral mass was said on All Souls Day.  Anyone who thinks that was a coincidence did not understand my mother’s life very well.

My mother came from a very long line of Irish Catholic women who attended Daily Mass because . . . well, because that’s just what they did.  She and my father did not always see eye to eye (a trait I happened to share with my father).  My mother was a force of nature:  faithful,  obstinate, charitable, and immovable.

At her gravesite, my brother Sean Michael observed that she and my father were like two tectonic plates.  Their collision, while not always fun to watch, generally produced some pretty spectacular results.

One of the most important lessons my mother taught me was that our generosity with God’s children bears directly on our relationship with the Almighty. The authentic Christian life must be lived charitably.  She also taught me that  our faith, our relationship with God, is a terribly important matter.  During my fairly lengthy periods of indifference toward the Church, my mother regularly suggested, “Don’t you think it’s time?”

So, for every mother who has nudged, prodded, cajoled, and even nagged her children into taking their spiritual life a bit more seriously:   Well done, and thanks.

Shabbat Shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

10 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , , , ,

The Sin of Hopelessness

Posted on October 26, 2011 | 10 comments

One of the seven deadly sins recognized by the medieval church was acedia, which gets poorly translated into “sloth.”  The words “despair” or “hopelessness” offer a  much better translation.  I’ve encountered these far too often in my life:  suicide, alcoholism and depression run deep in my family.

It’s important to offer a couple of clarifications at this point.  First, I’m not so much talking about clinical depression here.  (Clinical depression generally arises from a complex miasma of environmental circumstances and chemical imbalances.)   I’m also not talking about the sort of transitory sadness that is an appropriate response to a loss or to tragedy.  I’m talking about that deep, spiritual despair most of us encounter at some point of our lives.  Acedia involves a kind of spiritual resignation: the conclusion that not only can I not do anything about this situation, but also the suspicion that God cannot or will not help either.

It seems cruel to suggest that people like this, who live with genuine pain which they may have had little role in, are somehow in a sinful state.  And that would be true if we view sin as simply doing something forbidden or naughty or wicked.   I think it’s important, however, that we recognize this notion of sin is too narrow and ignores the true nature of sin.  Sin, simply, is separation from God.  And anyone who’s encountered deep spiritual despair knows quickly we can fall into feeling distant from God and God’s help.

In other words, I think we need to re-imagine sin as not just something we’ve done, but as a state in which our souls are in peril.  Sin may or may not involve some act of the will or volitional conduct.  (The question of whether our brothers and sisters had some role or fault in their current state must not be our concern.  That determination lies exclusively within the Almighty’s province.) Regardless of whether it’s volitional, the danger to our souls is just as real, and the danger lies in our separation from the Source of our lives and healing.

To paraphrase Woody Allen very roughly, eighty percent of the Christian life is just showing up.  I sometimes wonder if that’s not an important distinction between Judas Iscariot and St. Peter.  Both betrayed Jesus; both broke trust and listened to their lesser angels.  Judas despaired, and resigned himself to his failure.  Peter, on the other hand, kept showing up.

Jesus said that the devil did “not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks according to his own nature, for he is a liar and the father of lies.”  John 8:44.   One of the most powerful lies our Ancient Enemy ever tells us is:  “This will never change.  This will never get better.  Things will always be this way.”  As Christians, hope provides our greatest weapon against the despair and resignation which the world so often pulls us toward.

In an earlier post, we discussed the Parable of the Good Samaritan (https://dominicanes.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/go-and-do-likewise/).  Most of us will never encounter someone lying on the road, beaten almost to death.  We are far more likely to meet a friend, neighbor or co-worker deep in the well of despair or hopelessness.  Sometimes, we may merely let them know that “it gets better.”  Sometimes, we may take them into our prayer lives, our hearts, or simply offer them a cup of coffee.  Sometimes, the situation calls for nothing more than sacred listening, or the ministry of simply being present to the struggle.  Either way, when we act as the hands, the voice and face of Christ, we engage in good and holy work.

Our faith often demands that we muster hope when it seems extraordinarily foolish, that we recognize God’s power to recreate when desperation has overcome us.  Our confidence lies in knowing that our Redeemer lives.  Thus, we pray in the Collect for this week that the living God increase our faith, our charity, and our hope. Like faith and charity, hope is a gift from God: a gift for which we should all pray.

God watch over thee and me,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

10 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Go And Do Likewise

Posted on October 23, 2011 | 10 comments

“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.  So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.  But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity.  He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.  The next day he took out two denarii,  gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’  Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”  He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”  Luke 10: 30-37.

In this morning’s readings in the Daily Office, we encounter the Parable of the Good Samaritan.  It’s an extraordinarily familiar story, although it appears only in the Gospel of St. Luke.  Perhaps we know the story so well that it’s lost some of its impact.  Familiarity, after all, breeds indifference long before it breeds contempt.  So, we may have forgotten just how shocking this story was to the audience in first century Palestine.

Part of what’s been lost to us is the geography.  The story takes place on the long, downhill road between Jerusalem and Jericho, a road also known at the time as the “Bloody Pass” or “The Way of Blood.”  The road meanders and the topography provides the perfect environment for an ambush:  a paradise for bandits and robbers.

There’s nothing surprising then about the man being beaten, robbed and left for dead on that road.  Nor would Jesus’ audience have been particularly surprised to hear Jesus tell that the priest and the Levite both passed the man by, in fact they walked by “on the other side” of the road.  (The laws of ritual purification at the time might actually have recommended this practice to devout Jews.)  We aren’t surprised by Jesus’ casting the priests and Levites in the role of the villains:  both Jesus and John the Baptist had been doing that for a while.

But the notion that the Samaritan showed the quality of mercy, the notion of the Samaritan as the hero of the story, that would have astonished and befuddled Jesus’ first century audience.  The Samaritans and the Jews had hated each other for hundreds of years at the time Jesus told this story.  The Samaritans had desecrated the Temple with human bones.  The Jews reciprocated.  According to the Mishna (the first major work of Rabbinic Judaism), “He that eats the bread of the Samaritans is like to one that eats the flesh of swine” (Mishna Shebiith 8:10). So, hearing about a “good Samaritan” would have bewildered Jesus’ audience.  It would be the equivalent of a modern parable about the “good Klansman” or a “good Zeta” (one of the Mexican drug cartels) or the “Good Al-Qaeda fighter.”

Thus, part of Jesus’ message continues the message of the sixth chapter of Luke’s Gospel.  “But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”  Luke 6:27-28.  This commandment teaches that there is nothing soft or squishy or indulgent about the Christian life.  It is, as C.S. Lewis observed, “as hard as nails.”  And this teaches one of the many ways that Christianity must remain counter-cultural:  loving our enemies, caring for those who’ve wounded us, will never be a popular position.

I think, however, this parable suggests at least one more critical lesson.  Jesus teaches us about our most common sin, if not our greatest sin: indifference.  Jesus contrasts the compassion which overtook the Samaritan with the indifference of the priest and the Levite.  It’s a sharp criticism directed at the religious leaders of his day, and I’m not so certain it doesn’t apply with equal force today.  Indifference, perhaps even more than hatred, may have the greatest power to separate us from God.

So, I’m wondering, who did I not notice?  Who did I walk to the other side of the road to avoid?  As Bruce Cockburn wrote, “Lord, spit on our eyes so that we can see.”

Shabbat shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

10 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , , , ,

If You Want To Hear God Laugh ….

Posted on October 19, 2011 | 8 comments

“What the soul has to do in the time of quiet is only to be gentle and make no noise … Let the will quietly and prudently understand that one does not deal successfully with God by any efforts of one’s own.”  —Teresa of Avila

I ran across this bit of wisdom in today’s reading in the wonderful Celtic Book of Daily Prayer.  It reminded me of an important distinction I’ve earned.  No one in my parish, the Episcopal Diocese of West Texas, and perhaps even the Anglican Communion, needs this advice more than me.

Woody Allen once observed, “If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.”  If that’s true, the Almighty thinks I am a riot.  I am afraid to count the number of occasions of grace I have missed because I was busy reminding God of the “To Do” list I had for him.  Whether in prayer or worship or just living out my workaday tasks, the notion of letting God “drive” just doesn’t seem natural.  While I recognize the genuine spiritual wisdom of Teresa’s advice, this comes harder to me than exercising, visiting the dentist or eating my vegetables.

As Arthur Burt once observed, “My greatest struggle is the struggle not to struggle.”  Here, we encounter the really dangerous spiritual quicksand.  The greater our effort, the deeper we sink.  The deeper we sink, the harder we strive. Nothing much good happens from that point on.

I recognize at least some of my foolishness.  While God’s grace may be free for everyone else, I’m convinced that I’m going to get mine the old-fashioned way:  I’ll earn it.  It never works.  Never has so far, anyway.  The trick here lies in the recognition that God’s wisdom reaches into the dark places we can’t even see, that God’s efforts will far outrun our own, and that God will work in our hearts a joy that we can’t yet imagine.  The trick, in other words, is learning to trust God.

Sometimes, being faithful seems like it requires so much work.  Teresa reminds us that it does not.  God does not require our effort.  Approaching the Lord sacramentally, training ourselves to quietly and gently live in his presence, we may yet learn to be still and know that he is God.

Pax,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

8 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , ,

Thoughts on Stewardship and Michelangelo

Posted on October 16, 2011 | 4 comments

The Pharisees went and plotted to entrap Jesus in what he  said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with  partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting  me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they  brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this, and whose title?” They answered, “The emperor’s.” Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are
God’s.”   Matt. 22:15-21.

We find ourselves in the season of stewardship in most churches, and I thought we might discuss a few thoughts on the subject.  (Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a plea for you to give money to the Church or to the poor, although both are very good ideas.)  But we might discuss our stewardship over the most important asset we have been given:  our lives.

Scripture teaches that each of us were made in the image of God, and St. Paul instructs us that our lives are not our own:  we were bought with a price.  I wonder how often we treat the lives we were given with awe and reverence, and how often our lives are squandered?  We are appropriately reminded at the beginning of each Lent, “Dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return.”   Our time and lives are precious, and we are called to treat ourselves as craftsmen creating a precious work.

When asked how he sculpted a work as wonderful as David, Michelangelo supposedly said, “I looked at the stone and began to carve away everything that was not David.”  Other sources report that he said, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

It seems to me that our spiritual struggle works something like that.  As good stewards of our lives, we need to take stock of those things that stand between us and God.  Whether it’s our material possessions, a long-standing quarrel or some hell of our own making, we are called chip away those things that are not part of the authentic lives we were meant to lead.  Our lives do not belong to Caesar, to the mortgage company, to fashion, or to any addiction.  Rather we are, all of us, children of the Living God.

Reading today’s lectionary from St. Matthew, we might appropriately ask, have we given to the Lord those things that belong to Lord?  Have we welcomed his children, or fed them when they were hungry?  Have we offered our friendship to those who are outcasts?  Have we treated our time in prayer and worship as a treasured gift, or as an obligation to be met?  As good stewards, God calls each of us to look at the angels within our lives and (like Michelangelo) set them free.

Shabbat Shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

4 Comments

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged , , , ,