"Discipline" carries unpleasant connotations. When we say somebody was “disciplined,” it usually means somebody did something to them we wouldn’t want done to us. When I was a boy, “disciplined” and “punished” meant the same thing; it bespoke the strap, the paddle or being sent to bed without supper.
So when we talk about the Lenten disciplines of Fasting, Prayer and Almsgiving, we start out with a few strikes already. It’s worth noting, though, that the word “discipline” is related to the word “disciple” (or, “disciples,” as in “The Twelve”).
If we can lay aside the notion—at least for a few minutes—that “getting disciplined” and “getting whipped” mean the same thing, and focus briefly on the relationship between “discipline” and “disciple,” a more profound meaning emerges. The traditional Lenten disciplines aren’t punishments for our sins, but ways we train ourselves; they’re the sprinting and deep-knee bends and bench-presses of the spiritual life.
St John of Damascus says “Prayer is the lifting of the heart and mind to God.” It is a way of continual fellowship—friendship—with God, Who has made us for Himself. We’ve been created to enjoy this “friendship with God,” as St Thomas Aquinas says, from now till world without end.
If it’s supposed to be all that, why is it listed as one of the Lenten disciplines? How is “prayer” different in Lent than at any other time?
The short answer is, it’s not. But Lent is a time of “training.” If prayer, fasting and almsgiving are the “exercises” of Lent, Lent itself is our spiritual “two-a-days”: a season of the spirit, a time we specially devote to prayer.
The Common Prayer Book provides a special daily collect for Lent. It’s on page 124. Eastern Orthodox Christians have a daily prayer they recite during Lent, the beautiful Prayer of St Ephrem the Syrian. The season provides us special devotions, like the Stations of the Cross, but Lenten prayer means more than that. These special prayers and devotions help focus us on the penitential character of Lent. But the real emphasis of Lenten prayer is prayer itself, not special prayers for the time of year.
To “lift the heart and mind to God,” doesn’t just mean to engage in what teachers of prayer call “colloquial” or “conversational” prayer. Such prayer is good, but it doesn’t so much to “lift the heart and mind to God” as much as to bring God into the daily activities of our lives. The short book, The Practice of the Presence of God, by the French 17th century kitchen-monk Brother Lawrence, is the best thing yet written about “colloquial” prayer. Lawrence shows how such a conversation becomes a high prayer, transcending what most of us know as “conversational prayer.”
To lift “the heart and mind to God” is to put yourself, your time, your emotions and thoughts, at God’s disposal. It requires time, which most of us think we don’t have much of. There is money to be made, families to be cared for, places to go, people to see, television to watch.
In the old John Wayne movie The Alamo, one of the characters asks Davy Crockett if he ever prays. Crockett bitterly answers “I never found the time,” implying he’s always had more pressing things to do.
If our prayer is to lift the heart and mind, it takes the time. Not just now and then, but the regular gift to God of yourself, your energy, your time. In other words, it requires discipline. An excellent book to help with this is on this site, under the tab "Readings for the Spiritual Life." Tito Colliander's book is available in weekly, digestible chunks.
Praying through Lent means making the time, offering the Lord all you are. He’s already given you all He Is.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
St Joseph's Unexpected Calling
A Meditation for St Joseph's Day
St Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary, comes and goes quickly in Scripture. Quickly, but not quietly.
Almost all we know about St Joseph comes from a handful of verses in St Matthew’s Gospel. He was betrothed to the Blessed Virgin, but, when he learned she was pregnant, “he was,” the Gospel says, “minded to put her away privily,” to quietly divorce her. Regardless of what he thought of her, he didn’t need that.
While he pondered (and you can imagine the internal conflicts and sense of betrayal that fed his pondering), an angel appeared to him in a dream, telling of Mary’s Child as fulfilling ancient prophecies, redeeming Israel and establishing the Kingdom of God. As Mary is the Woman of Faith, Joseph is shown to be the Man of Obedience. Both listened to God’s call and obeyed. As a result of their faithful obedience to God’s call, neither of their lives went as they’d expected from that day.
Joseph made his generous resolution about Mary (technically, he could have called for her to be stoned), even though he no doubt was hurt, perhaps embittered, by the unwelcome news. His daytime resolution faded under the influence of a nighttime dream, a visitation of angels.
Joseph gave himself to God. He gave God his doubts and fears—and even his hopes for the future. He gave up everything he knew—his village, his reputation—to care of the Virgin and the Child God entrusted to him. He gave up his anger, and it turned his life upside down: protecting and providing for St Mary and her Child led him from the narrow streets of Nazareth to Bethlehem and nearby Jerusalem, where he and his family were visited by eastern mages, hunted by Herod’s soldiers, made an escape to exotic Egypt, and finally, after the evil king’s death, slowly plodding their way back to the hills of Galilee. Not the staid carpenter’s life he’d anticipated!
He gave up his hopes and plans and turned his life to God, and because he did, God did with him wondrous, sometimes scary things. Not a bad patron for us here at St Joseph’s parish—where God calls each of us individually and all of us together to follow St Mary’s faith and St Joseph’s obedience.
St Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary, comes and goes quickly in Scripture. Quickly, but not quietly.
Almost all we know about St Joseph comes from a handful of verses in St Matthew’s Gospel. He was betrothed to the Blessed Virgin, but, when he learned she was pregnant, “he was,” the Gospel says, “minded to put her away privily,” to quietly divorce her. Regardless of what he thought of her, he didn’t need that.
While he pondered (and you can imagine the internal conflicts and sense of betrayal that fed his pondering), an angel appeared to him in a dream, telling of Mary’s Child as fulfilling ancient prophecies, redeeming Israel and establishing the Kingdom of God. As Mary is the Woman of Faith, Joseph is shown to be the Man of Obedience. Both listened to God’s call and obeyed. As a result of their faithful obedience to God’s call, neither of their lives went as they’d expected from that day.
Joseph made his generous resolution about Mary (technically, he could have called for her to be stoned), even though he no doubt was hurt, perhaps embittered, by the unwelcome news. His daytime resolution faded under the influence of a nighttime dream, a visitation of angels.
Joseph gave himself to God. He gave God his doubts and fears—and even his hopes for the future. He gave up everything he knew—his village, his reputation—to care of the Virgin and the Child God entrusted to him. He gave up his anger, and it turned his life upside down: protecting and providing for St Mary and her Child led him from the narrow streets of Nazareth to Bethlehem and nearby Jerusalem, where he and his family were visited by eastern mages, hunted by Herod’s soldiers, made an escape to exotic Egypt, and finally, after the evil king’s death, slowly plodding their way back to the hills of Galilee. Not the staid carpenter’s life he’d anticipated!
He gave up his hopes and plans and turned his life to God, and because he did, God did with him wondrous, sometimes scary things. Not a bad patron for us here at St Joseph’s parish—where God calls each of us individually and all of us together to follow St Mary’s faith and St Joseph’s obedience.
Friday, March 11, 2011
How and Why We Fast
The ancients had a saying, "You are what you eat." For a Christian, who feeds regularly on the Body and Blood of Christ, that is an especially happy thought. It is certainly true that, even in our daily food, what we eat - and don’t eat - has a profound impact on us. Too many delicious sausages will most certainly produce heartburn.
The Church has long recognized the importance of feasting and fasting. In our practice we follow both our Lord’s prompting and the teaching of the Church from her earliest days.
The Book of Common Prayer exhorts us to the practice of Fasting and Abstinence.
“Fasting” refers to the amount of food we eat - we might say, the quantity. On Fast Days we eat less food than usual. We might, for example, have a very light breakfast and lunch with a normal evening meal. Some days, like Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, are days of strict Fasting and Abstinence. The usual practice is not to eat at all until after sunset.
“Abstinence” refers to the sort of food we eat - we might say the quality. Usually on days of Abstinence we refrain from eating certain foods - meats, sweets or the like. For many centuries Christians have observed Fridays as days of Abstinence, remembering that our Lord was crucified on Friday. We abstain as a way of remembering and, in a small way, sharing His Sacrifice. The Prayer Book teaches us the same, counting among the days of fasting “All the Fridays of the Year, except Christmas Day, and the Epiphany, or any Friday that may intervene between these Feasts” (BCP page li).
While both Fasting and Abstinence can be very useful in private spiritual growth, these are best undertaken with the guidance of a Spiritual Director. The Church calls all of us, though, to follow the guidelines of Fasting and Abstinence fixed in her liturgical cycle. The Book of Common Prayer lists these days:
Strict Fast with Abstinence: Ash Wednesday and Good Friday
Fasting with Abstinence: The Forty Days of Lent, the Quarterly Ember Days
Abstinence: All Fridays of the year (save those which fall within the Octave of a Major Feast)
Generally speaking, we can say that these rules should apply to healthy individuals from roughly the age of Confirmation until the time of retirement (for those who need numbers - from about 12-65 years). Those beyond this spectrum are usually excused as are sick or infirm persons, who should eat whatever their doctor says, regardless of the season.
THE EUCHARISTIC FAST
From very early times the Church has encouraged Christians to receive the Holy Communion fasting. It is very fitting that the first food we receive each day we communicate should be the Bread of Heaven. For this reason, many Christians fast from midnight on until the morning when they communicate at Mass. In these days when the Eucharist is also offered in the evenings, this is not, for those who intend to communicate at an evening Mass, very practical. For this reason it is customary to fast for three hours prior to attending Mass.
Communicating is far more important than fasting, but proper preparation for Holy Communion is more important yet. Fasting before receiving Communion is a good part of a proper preparation.
Once again, to those whose medical condition will not allow them to fast, there is no obligation of any sort.
THE PURPOSE OF FASTING
We fast not because foodstuffs are evil, but because we need to be reminded that our fallen natures tend to abuse the good things that God has given us. Fasting reminds us (what we often want to forget) that we are sinners, and that the struggle in which we Christians are engaged is a spiritual one, but with its roots firmly set in this world.
Fasting helps keep us spiritually balanced. Of itself, Its value is indeed limited; in conjunction with prayer and the Sacraments, it's an indispensable tool in living the Christian life.
The Church has long recognized the importance of feasting and fasting. In our practice we follow both our Lord’s prompting and the teaching of the Church from her earliest days.
The Book of Common Prayer exhorts us to the practice of Fasting and Abstinence.
“Fasting” refers to the amount of food we eat - we might say, the quantity. On Fast Days we eat less food than usual. We might, for example, have a very light breakfast and lunch with a normal evening meal. Some days, like Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, are days of strict Fasting and Abstinence. The usual practice is not to eat at all until after sunset.
“Abstinence” refers to the sort of food we eat - we might say the quality. Usually on days of Abstinence we refrain from eating certain foods - meats, sweets or the like. For many centuries Christians have observed Fridays as days of Abstinence, remembering that our Lord was crucified on Friday. We abstain as a way of remembering and, in a small way, sharing His Sacrifice. The Prayer Book teaches us the same, counting among the days of fasting “All the Fridays of the Year, except Christmas Day, and the Epiphany, or any Friday that may intervene between these Feasts” (BCP page li).
While both Fasting and Abstinence can be very useful in private spiritual growth, these are best undertaken with the guidance of a Spiritual Director. The Church calls all of us, though, to follow the guidelines of Fasting and Abstinence fixed in her liturgical cycle. The Book of Common Prayer lists these days:
Strict Fast with Abstinence: Ash Wednesday and Good Friday
Fasting with Abstinence: The Forty Days of Lent, the Quarterly Ember Days
Abstinence: All Fridays of the year (save those which fall within the Octave of a Major Feast)
Generally speaking, we can say that these rules should apply to healthy individuals from roughly the age of Confirmation until the time of retirement (for those who need numbers - from about 12-65 years). Those beyond this spectrum are usually excused as are sick or infirm persons, who should eat whatever their doctor says, regardless of the season.
THE EUCHARISTIC FAST
From very early times the Church has encouraged Christians to receive the Holy Communion fasting. It is very fitting that the first food we receive each day we communicate should be the Bread of Heaven. For this reason, many Christians fast from midnight on until the morning when they communicate at Mass. In these days when the Eucharist is also offered in the evenings, this is not, for those who intend to communicate at an evening Mass, very practical. For this reason it is customary to fast for three hours prior to attending Mass.
Communicating is far more important than fasting, but proper preparation for Holy Communion is more important yet. Fasting before receiving Communion is a good part of a proper preparation.
Once again, to those whose medical condition will not allow them to fast, there is no obligation of any sort.
THE PURPOSE OF FASTING
We fast not because foodstuffs are evil, but because we need to be reminded that our fallen natures tend to abuse the good things that God has given us. Fasting reminds us (what we often want to forget) that we are sinners, and that the struggle in which we Christians are engaged is a spiritual one, but with its roots firmly set in this world.
Fasting helps keep us spiritually balanced. Of itself, Its value is indeed limited; in conjunction with prayer and the Sacraments, it's an indispensable tool in living the Christian life.
Friday, March 4, 2011
A Lenten Toolbox
Last week I mentioned the practicality of Lent. Our Lord kept His own Lent, His own Forty Days of prayer and fasting, and the Church calls us to follow His Lenten discipline, to make His fast ours. Not only does she call us to follow Him in His fasting, she calls us to fast for the same reason He did and for the same purpose.
The Lord Christ went to the desert to be tempted, to face down the supernatural wiles of the devil with His humanity, the humanity He shares with each of us. Scripture tells us of three temptations He endured: temptations of the flesh, expressed in everyday human hunger; temptations to power and wealth, being shown all the kingdoms of the world; and the devil’s constant and most powerful temptation, in his bag of tricks since he used it on Adam and Eve. The wily serpent whispered “You can be like God.” That’s the one all of us fall for, though we call it many things. It’s the temptation to put ourselves at the center of everything. To say to God “Not as Thou wilt, but as I will.”
This is why the Lord Jesus kept the first Lent: to face the temptations of human nature and turn that nature over to God. That’s why we keep Lent, too. We don’t need to wander off into the wilds of West Texas to find our temptations. We just need to pay a bit of attention to how we’re living our lives. The Lord Jesus never sinned. We each have plenty of experience with sin. We’re all experts at it; experts, too, at hiding our sins—from each other, but even more so, from ourselves.
We know the temptations of the flesh, to pervert pleasure to lust and gluttony and sloth. We share the temptations of the soul, to hoard and conceal and lie, amassing the trinkets of life. We want to lord it over the people around us, twisting the relationships of our lives, our family, friends and neighbors, in a grotesque game to bloat our sense of self-worth. And the temptation of the spirit that runs through it all, to turn from God and make ourselves the measure of all things.
To face these temptations and to beat them down, we have the same old tools the Church has been laying before us since Christians began keeping Lent. They’re the same old tools because we each of us are addressing the same old problems.
Temptations of the flesh, temptations of the soul, temptations of the spirit: they never change. We’ve been falling for the same old Seven Deadly Sins over and over again since the days Adam and Eve crept around the Garden looking for fig leaves.
Prayer, fasting and almsgiving: these are the Lenten tools to deal with our everyday temptations.
How do we use them? We use tools to take care of specific problems. Banging with a hammer at something requiring a screwdriver usually doesn’t work. Why fast? Why pray? Why give alms? What are we intending to do with these things?
God made us as sacramental creatures, men and women whose bodies, souls and spirits are intimately linked. Kneeling, kissing, eating and drinking, saluting, bowing, hugging: these are acts of the body with meaning for the soul and spirit. When I fast, I’m not just refusing to eat—I’m refusing to eat for a reason. My spirit is telling my body that pleasure isn’t everything. Pleasure isn’t a bad thing, but there are things much more important. For us to understand that, we fast. We don’t eat. We let our stomachs growl and our spirits grow. St Augustine said, “Give your prayer the wings of fasting.” In past times, when Christians were less timid than today, they abstained not just from food but from sex during Lent: they understood—and believed—the links between body, soul and spirit better then, and were less afraid to say so. Give up not just tacos for Lent but sex? I’m not saying you should, but I’m not saying you shouldn’t, either!
In this “modern” world, we’re described principally in statistical and economic terms. Our families are “units,” we are “consumers.” We “buy into” the notion ourselves. Money and power, security and status, these have become the stuff of our lives, how we understand ourselves. Almsgiving, giving away money and all it implies, is intended to show us we are not “of this world.” The Prayer Book teaches us graphically in the Funeral Service that it doesn’t matter what we have when we die, it’s all lost to us. The Lord Jesus Himself teaches us no less graphically that it doesn’t matter what we have when we live either, dead or alive, we’re in God’s hands. Lent reminds us to not forget the poor, to give to those in need. But with equal force Lent says we don’t need most of what we have anyway. “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
Prayer is, according to St John of Damascus, “the lifting of the heart and mind to God.” Prayer is asking God for the things we need, physically and spiritually. But that’s only the beginning of prayer, not its goal. Every day for many years, the Cure d’Ars, a French priest of the early 19th century and the patron saint of all parish priests, saw an old peasant sitting near the Altar of the church, looking up at the crucifix. Finally the Cure asked him, “What are you saying to Him?” The old man replied, “Nothing. I look up at Him, and He looks down at me, and it is good.” Prayer is being with God, giving ourselves to Him; prayer is the only real antidote for the poison of selfishness.
What are the temptations you face? What is your favorite sin, the one you so cling to? The Church’s toolbox contains just what you need to address it. Come this Lent, will you pick up the tool you need and use it?
If you don’t quite know how, ask. The clergy are expert sinners, too.—Fr Gregory Wilcox
The Lord Christ went to the desert to be tempted, to face down the supernatural wiles of the devil with His humanity, the humanity He shares with each of us. Scripture tells us of three temptations He endured: temptations of the flesh, expressed in everyday human hunger; temptations to power and wealth, being shown all the kingdoms of the world; and the devil’s constant and most powerful temptation, in his bag of tricks since he used it on Adam and Eve. The wily serpent whispered “You can be like God.” That’s the one all of us fall for, though we call it many things. It’s the temptation to put ourselves at the center of everything. To say to God “Not as Thou wilt, but as I will.”
This is why the Lord Jesus kept the first Lent: to face the temptations of human nature and turn that nature over to God. That’s why we keep Lent, too. We don’t need to wander off into the wilds of West Texas to find our temptations. We just need to pay a bit of attention to how we’re living our lives. The Lord Jesus never sinned. We each have plenty of experience with sin. We’re all experts at it; experts, too, at hiding our sins—from each other, but even more so, from ourselves.
We know the temptations of the flesh, to pervert pleasure to lust and gluttony and sloth. We share the temptations of the soul, to hoard and conceal and lie, amassing the trinkets of life. We want to lord it over the people around us, twisting the relationships of our lives, our family, friends and neighbors, in a grotesque game to bloat our sense of self-worth. And the temptation of the spirit that runs through it all, to turn from God and make ourselves the measure of all things.
To face these temptations and to beat them down, we have the same old tools the Church has been laying before us since Christians began keeping Lent. They’re the same old tools because we each of us are addressing the same old problems.
Temptations of the flesh, temptations of the soul, temptations of the spirit: they never change. We’ve been falling for the same old Seven Deadly Sins over and over again since the days Adam and Eve crept around the Garden looking for fig leaves.
Prayer, fasting and almsgiving: these are the Lenten tools to deal with our everyday temptations.
How do we use them? We use tools to take care of specific problems. Banging with a hammer at something requiring a screwdriver usually doesn’t work. Why fast? Why pray? Why give alms? What are we intending to do with these things?
God made us as sacramental creatures, men and women whose bodies, souls and spirits are intimately linked. Kneeling, kissing, eating and drinking, saluting, bowing, hugging: these are acts of the body with meaning for the soul and spirit. When I fast, I’m not just refusing to eat—I’m refusing to eat for a reason. My spirit is telling my body that pleasure isn’t everything. Pleasure isn’t a bad thing, but there are things much more important. For us to understand that, we fast. We don’t eat. We let our stomachs growl and our spirits grow. St Augustine said, “Give your prayer the wings of fasting.” In past times, when Christians were less timid than today, they abstained not just from food but from sex during Lent: they understood—and believed—the links between body, soul and spirit better then, and were less afraid to say so. Give up not just tacos for Lent but sex? I’m not saying you should, but I’m not saying you shouldn’t, either!
In this “modern” world, we’re described principally in statistical and economic terms. Our families are “units,” we are “consumers.” We “buy into” the notion ourselves. Money and power, security and status, these have become the stuff of our lives, how we understand ourselves. Almsgiving, giving away money and all it implies, is intended to show us we are not “of this world.” The Prayer Book teaches us graphically in the Funeral Service that it doesn’t matter what we have when we die, it’s all lost to us. The Lord Jesus Himself teaches us no less graphically that it doesn’t matter what we have when we live either, dead or alive, we’re in God’s hands. Lent reminds us to not forget the poor, to give to those in need. But with equal force Lent says we don’t need most of what we have anyway. “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
Prayer is, according to St John of Damascus, “the lifting of the heart and mind to God.” Prayer is asking God for the things we need, physically and spiritually. But that’s only the beginning of prayer, not its goal. Every day for many years, the Cure d’Ars, a French priest of the early 19th century and the patron saint of all parish priests, saw an old peasant sitting near the Altar of the church, looking up at the crucifix. Finally the Cure asked him, “What are you saying to Him?” The old man replied, “Nothing. I look up at Him, and He looks down at me, and it is good.” Prayer is being with God, giving ourselves to Him; prayer is the only real antidote for the poison of selfishness.
What are the temptations you face? What is your favorite sin, the one you so cling to? The Church’s toolbox contains just what you need to address it. Come this Lent, will you pick up the tool you need and use it?
If you don’t quite know how, ask. The clergy are expert sinners, too.—Fr Gregory Wilcox
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