Category Archives: Spirituality

Rule of Life Resource

Whilst poking around websites of churches in my new area (with some helpful pointers from Brian M…) I came across this very nice write-up an a rule of life from an Anglican perspective.

I say “from an Anglican perspective” because it properly begins with the rhythms of Mass and Office shaped around classical prayerbook spirituality, then proceeds from there.

M and I have been talking for a while about a family rule; I’ve been thinking more and more about a personal rule that fits inside of the former. (Actually–that’s one of our key findings so far—a family rule needs to have the openness to embrace different personal rules within it.)

We’ve both been hitting the gym a lot more since our move (more on that later) and I was confronted quite sharply yesterday. I set the treadmill for 35 minutes and about halfway through said to myself, “you know, I’ll just do 30 today…” To be completely honest the change wasn’t because I was hurting, it wasn’t because I couldn’t or shouldn’t do—it was because it was hard and I didn’t want to do. Then it hit me: I’m a physical fitness sarabaite! (I figure that since we’ve joined the Y I no longer fall under “gyrovague”…)

I need a rule and perhaps a session with a decent trainer to help me get it set up—and with the electronic tracking system I know that the trainer can log on at anytime and check my fidelity…

As with my physical fitness, so with my spiritual fitness…

A rule, a spiritual director: both good things—and a new start in a new place is the best possible time to get it going.

On Guitars in Worship

This is a response to David E in his comment on the last post. I started a comment but it got out of hand, so here it is in an expanded form.

Read here on the St Louis Jesuits. As the first adopters of vernacular music in a vernacular idiom for Roman Catholic worship, the music of the St Louis Jesuits holds an appeal (and a disdain) for some not based on its musical or theological properties. For what it’s worth, I think the musical and theological qualities of much of this repertoire is rather limited. However, it is of immense symbolic importance, especially for Roman or Rome-leaning people (like some progressive Anglo-Catholics) of a certain age (read: Baby-Boomers) who were coming of age in the Vatican II years and its aftermath. That is, their attachment to the music is due to what it represents–the American Catholic Church getting to do things its way , a new generation literally getting its voice heard and overturning old ways of doing things. Now that a new “new generation” is rising, certain elements are in classic back-lash mode and despise SLJ music for precisely the reasons their parents loved it. I’ll admit to having one foot in this camp.

To avoid dwelling in knee-jerk generational generalizations, I’d rather cut to what I see as the real reason why this is a fight and/or why a fight exists–and should exist.

It’s not really about guitars and folk songs or not-guitars and not-folk songs, rather what lies at the center of the argument (as I see it) is competing notions of immanence and transcendence and their place in divine worship. Should church music sound like secular music? Why or why not? Speaking personally, I like guitars quite a lot whether it is in classic country or the virtuosity of Van Halen, Hendrix, Gibbons, Morelli or others.  But that doesn’t mean I want to hear that style of music in church. (I mentioned this briefly in my critique of a U2charist we attended a while back.) I generally don’t like American Folk Revival music  from the 60’s and 70’s anyway; I especially don’t want to hear that style in church.

For me, it’s too immanent; I crave something more transcendent. Some have argued that people can generally be grouped as Platonists or Aristotelians. That is, they either have a sense of reality as something “out there” or of reality as something “really here” intimately bound up with daily mundanities. I intuit that the same is true of spirituality. Some find their connection with God as the God who is immanent and bound up in the holiness of quotidian mundane life. Others find that connection in the God of the transcendent who is “out there” and Other and speaks a word of challenge against what we think is our mundane life.

Both sorts can learn from each other; both sorts need to learn from each other. But a basic orientation one way or the other will still endure.

I’m the second kind. I’m a Platonist by natural inclination. I find God “out there” and in the transcendent and in the different and in the things that shocking me out of my business-as-usual way of living and, through those experiences, can find God and the Hoy in the mundane and the everyday in the ways that I can identify God shocking and surprising me towards transcendence.

As a result, I want my worship to be transcendentally oriented. I want it to help me get in connection with the God “out there” so that I can learn the feel, the touch, the taste of the Other and transcendent God in order that I might recognize that same God in my daily eating, breathing, and moving. Chant is to the ear what incense is to the nose what stained glass and icons are to the eye: culturally conditioned signs of the transcendent but—cutting through the culturally-based significance—vehicles that truly assist me to touch the face of God.

That’s why I don’t want guitars in my service.

And that’s why I understand that other people want them—and need them.

The other side is that I sang for a couple of years in seminary in a Catholic Mass choir that did Marty Haugen’s Mass of Creation with a guitar front-center. (i know; most rad-trads hate Haugen—I don’t. I think its better than a lot of the alternatives [especially Metho-Baptists worship settings ones I’ve experienced].) I’ve served and preached at folk services. I’ve even led with guitar in hand a Taize-style service with guitar and recorder.

Yes, there can be a place for the guitar. Yes, it can be done well, reverently, worshipfully.

But it’s not my taste. And when I’m choosing a congregation where I worship—especially given the recognition that as the spouse of a priest or if I become a priest myself I will not have any choice in the matter—I will choose a service without guitars.

Shout-out to bls for the spelling corrections… ;-)

Denuo…

The Anglican Scotist put forward some thoughts on how Anglicans can share the wealth of Marian reflection with our protestant brethren. It has occasioned some thoughtful reflections from Christopher as well as a few dribbles from me. In his latest round, the Scotist takes issue with my comments, arranging them under three headings. I shall deal with these in turn.

I.
The Scotist takes issue with my deployment of the early history of devotion to the BVM. He argues that the origins of devotional practice need not have a major bearing on the shape of doctrines concerning the same person, especially as they develop over time. I would agree with the Scotist in principle. I do think, though, that had a doctrine this major been held by the universal church, it would have left its mark in the history of devotion—and that’s where I’m lacking the evidence.

I prefer to take what I consider a Vincentian view of the development of doctrine that is, there is a fundamental body of truth handed over at the time of the apostles. As time as progressed, as errors have emerged, as problems have arisen, we have elaborated on truths already contained within that fundamental body. To use the metaphor, we have added detail and flesh to the body—not an extra arm or leg.

The reason I point to the early devotion to the BVM is that I see “co-redemptrix” as a fairly major step. Is it indeed contained within the original body of truth in nascent form? Since I do not find it in the fist-millennium forms with which I am familiar, I do regard it with suspicion. Show me the evidence, Scotist, that this was held by the undivided Church, and I’ll be happy to consider it more deeply.

I’ll happily hold to the high view of Mary contained in, say, Bede’s Homily I.3 on the Annunciation. He indeed affirms that the BVM dwelt in a special state with regard to sin when he writes:

“The power of the Most High overshadowed the blessed mother of God because when the Holy Spirit filled her heart, he tempered for her every surge of fleshly concupiscence, he thoroughly cleansed her from temporal desires, and with heavenly gifts he sanctified her mind along with her body.”

However, I just as surely agree with him when a few lines later he states:

“Indeed, we human beings are all conceived in iniquity and born in moral faults; however by God’s granting it, as many of us are preordained to eternal life as are reborn out of water and the Holy Spirit. In truth, our Redeemer alone, who deigned to become incarnate for us, was thereupon born holy because he was conceived without iniquity. He was born the Son of God since he was conceived of a virgin through the working of the Holy Spirit.”

While holding the BVM in special esteem and regarding her as cleansed by sin—as we all are in Baptism when the Holy Spirit is bestowed on us, and it taking root in her perhaps more firmly and fully than in me—he denies the doctrine (currently held by the Romans as dogma) of the Immaculate Conception of the BVM that holds her guiltless of any taint of original sin.

II.
The Scotist takes notice of something that I pointed to in my comments—the exegetical and theological connection between Mary and the Church. He sees nothing wrong with this connection and thinks that it bolsters his point. I don’t see anything wrong with the connection either—but it behooves him to tread quite a bit more careful when and where he does not see implications that he does not intend. The Roman Catholic Church takes this connection quite seriously. Indeed, the current edition of the catechism contains a subtitle: “Mary—Eschatological Icon of the Church” (preceding Para. 972). To what degree do the characteristics of the icon pertain to its object? What is resemblance and what reality? To put a finer point on it, the Second Vatican Council initially planned to produce a statement on the BVM. Indeed–it did so, but not as a separate statement. Rather, it was rolled into Lumen Gentium, the statement on the nature of the Church and its relationship with other “ecclesial bodies”. Do you think, then, that dogmas concerning Mary can be considered atomistically apart from their wider implications? What light, for instance, does the dogma of the Immaculate Conception throw upon the dogma of an infallible Church? I don’t know myself—I’m still working through it—but this is another reason for my calls for caution.

III.
The Scotist then attempts to answer my main issue. And does not. He does describe well the differences between Abraham and Mary—and I don’t disagree. He produces a nice reflection on seeing with the heart of Mary–again, I don’t disagree. But what he has produced here is a fine show of devotion—and does not support thereby why Anglicans should embrace Marian dogma. Because that’s the real sticking point.

Therefore, I’ll try to be more clear in this response than in the pat and lay out specifically my objection to his initial post, an objection still unanswered.

IV.
I’ll begin with a rough and ready definition: a doctrine is a belief that we hold about the faith; a dogma is a doctrine that we must hold about the faith. The Roman Catechism is more specific, defining it as “[truths], in a form obliging the Christian people to an irrevocable adherence of faith,…contained in divine Revelation or when it proposes, in a definitive way, truths having a necessary connection with these.” (para. 88).  Therefore, dogmas are absolute and binding in a way that the more general term doctrine does not require. I am willing to identify and entertain the doctrines of the Immaculate Conception and the Assumption of the BVM; I reject them as dogma. That is, they do not have the same character as the dogmatic doctrines of the Incarnation, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection—or the identification of the BVM as Theotokos, the God-bearer.

The Scotist, in his original post, pushes for Anglo-Catholic reception and promulgation of the Roman doctrine-which-some-push-as-dogma of the BVM as “Co-Redemptrix”. As several of the quotes he provides make clear (especially that of JPII), this doctrine itself builds on the two prior Marian  “dogmas”, most especially the Immaculate Conception. I contend that while these are interesting doctrines worthy of consideration, they are not true dogmas, they need not be held for one to hold the full faith of Christ Crucified—and neither is this newcomer. This is the bar the Scotist has set for himself with his own words. Perhaps he intends that we examine the doctrine—which I tend to regard as popular devotion gone awry—but this is not what he has said.

Contra Scotistam I

So much to do, so little time… I’m slowly working through a large backlog of things that have to get done, things I want to do now, things I may want to do in the future, and things that ought to be commented on. And yes, I’m delinquent on correspondence too—for those of you waiting on emails from me: they’re coming…

Part of the backlog involves dealing with some things that the Anglican Scotist has posted recently that I couldn’t get to due to the move(s). I’ll take the easiest first—Marian dogmas.

I treat this first because, to my mind, it’s the easiest to dispense with, and long-time readers probably already know where I’m going to go with it…

To my mind, the Scotist has once again confused devotion with doctrine. That is, yes, classically the English and Anglicans have held a high opinion of the Ever-blessed Virgin Mary and I see that as a good thing. However, why that would make us beholden to post-Scholastic doctrines with questionable roots in the Scriptures and in the tradition of the Undivided Church is beyond me. In contrast to his Scholastic/Post-Scholastic approach, I propose something much simpler and, well, a bit more early medieval…(big surprise there…)

As I’ve discussed before, Christian devotion to the saints is fundamentally about relationships and was originally modeled on social structures of Late Antiquity. (For those interested, I’m drawing on Peter Brown’s The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity. [Anastasia—what’s your take on this one?]) That is, patronage was what made the system work—getting things done, receiving justice, etc. was intimately related to who you knew in the hierarchy. Following the standard cross-cultural notion that things are above as below, “patron” saints were literally just that: folks you knew or had a special “in” with who would put in a good word to the King on your behalf. And, as we move more through Late Antiquity and enter the Early Medieval period, kings’ courts because notoriously dangerous places due to factional politics. A powerful man at court was constantly in danger of becoming too powerful; kings had to watch their backs against potential usurpers. As a result, even knowing somebody well placed was not always enough to guarantee your safety. However—there was one person at court who was safe, who would always be on the king’s side and have his ear (yes, we’re talking Latin not Byzantine here…): the king’s mother! Again, as below, so above… The Blessed Virgin Mary, as the Mother of the King, is always a good choice for an intercessor.

Thus, early devotion to the BVM as I see it was not fundamentally about doctrine. Yes, there certainly was doctrine about the BVM, but as Christopher notes, it was in relation to Christology.

The other important thing to note is something that the Scotist touches on briefly and, I think, without a full understanding of the inner workings of Marian devotion. Exegetically and then theologically, patristic and medieval sources understand Mary as the pre-eminent figure of the Church in Scripture. Mary represents the Church/Mary is the Church. I’ll give you a quick medieval exegetical for instance—look at medieval commentaries on the Song of Songs: One speaker is Christ, the other is, at turns, Mary , the Church, and the soul. There’s a fusion here that the SoS commentary tradition helped make insoluble. This fundamental connection has to understood to make full sense of Mary in the contemporary Roman Church. Without this connection, the logic seems less clear and more mysterious.

The bottom line for me is this: Yes, Anglicans should honor Mary, giving her the veneration she is due. And, as is proper with veneration distinct from worship, all veneration of the created objects in the history of our redemption (the cross, the saints, etc.) ultimately point to the Uncreated, the classical Marian text being her words to the servants (read: us) at the wedding of Cana: “Do whatever he tell you” (John 2:2). She is the God-bearer. She is the perfect exemplar of those who wish God to grow within them—we hope spiritually for what she experienced physically. She is the exemplar of the contemplative spirit in the active life who “kept all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Luke 2:19) and whose soul was pierced by the sword (Luke 2:35), and yet lived in the world as a wife and mother. Too, she who was the bride of God is a symbol of the Church and participates in that mystery that we live under and fumble towards.

But does this mean we must embrace modern Roman dogmas in her regard, especially the contentious issue of “co-redemptrix”? I think not. Yes, our salvation comes through her as she bore the Christ and shared with him her humanity, but redemption proper is a function of the Uncreated Godhead. If she were to be “co-redemptrix” for her role, by extension the patriarchs must also become “co-redeemers” for their role in the unfolding of salvation according to both the flesh and the spirit. (And you won’t see the Roman church pushing for that anytime soon…) So, devotion to Mary? By all means. Scholastic dogmas of Mary? Unnecessary, I think. Illicit? No, I don’t think that either—but not required.

Feast of the BVM

Happy Feast of the BVM to all!

M reminded the girls that today is the feast of Mary and Lil’ G replied “Great! Let’s celebrate! I know, we could have a pot roast…”

[In our house Fridays are generally vegetarian pizza nights; pot roasts signal Sunday dinner.]

I’m back in Mary’s Land from the second clean-up trip but chaos reigns–and will for the next few weeks probably as we settle in and get used to new schedules. I probably won’t be online too much in the near future.

On the BCP and Benedictine Values

Scott points us to this wonderful reflection on the Daily Office, the BCP and a life formed in prayer. I’ve not encountered this blog before, but if Scott gives it high marks, it’s worth a read.

One tiny quibble, however. Fr. Hayes writes:

Prayer is the heart and soul of any life. Benedict was/is so correct
when he states that “To pray is to work; to work is to pray.” THAT is
why the church exists – to help people to pray.

Unless I’ve both misremembered and missed it in a quick electronic scan of the rule, Benedict doesn’t actually say this. It’s present by implication through Benedict’s practice of referring to the fixed hours of prayer as the Work of God (opus Dei). But it’s not explicit. Rather, this formula  is very similar to a quotation from Cassian’s Institutes (can’t give you a citation; my Institutes are 600 miles away…) but Cassian’s intent is something different.

In this passage, he’s talking about the twinned manual labor and prayer of the Egyptian monks. In it, he marvels at how long and hard they work and wonders if it is the work that makes the prayer possible or the prayer that makes the work possible.

Don’t get me wrong–I think Fr. Hayes is absolutely right in what he’s saying about prayer being the heart and soul of life and that the great function of the Church is to connect people with the reality of the life hid in God with Christ through prayer (including the sacraments). The reason I take the trouble to bring this up is because I think fussing with this point is necessary for a healthy and helpful understanding of the priesthood of all believers, the theological vocation of those of us who are not clergy or monastics.

I’m still wrestling with what it means to fulfill the Pauline and deeply monastic command to “pray without ceasing”. On one hand, virtuous work well done can be a kinetic act of prayer for those of us who live and work in the world. On the other hand, I wonder if we sometimes let ourselves off the hook too lightly when we take that tack. I sometimes think that the manual labor jobs I’ve done in the past lend themselves more fully to a true mingling of work and prayer of the sort Cassian describes than my current forms of intellectual labor. That is, aren’t there varying levels of passive mindfulness and active prayer that can still be pursued by those in the world?

I don’t know–I’m still fussing with it. In any case, go and read the post and tell me what you think…

Mass without the Faith; Roof without Walls

There’s an interview up at WDTPRS with +Fellay of the schismatic Roman Society of St Pius the Xth. As you may recall, they’re the ultra-traditionalists who believe that Vatican II introduced grave errors into the Roman Church and thus split off to preserve their orthodoxy. Clearly I disagree with them on a number of points…

In any case, I noted this particular exchange:

Q: Contrariwise, would you say that the fight for doctrine has become more important?

Fellay: No, the fight for doctrine is and remains always as important. If we do not have the Faith, we have nothing, not even the Mass. The Mass without the Faith is like a roof without the walls. Doctrine is and remains the fundamental reason for our battle.

While Fellay and I no doubt disagree as to what is included within “the Faith”, I do believe this is an essential point. The liturgy—Mass and Office—is our great entry into the mysteries of reality as we understand them in light of the Triune God. It is the entrance into the encounter with the Living God that shapes us intellectually, emotionally, affectively, and morally. I sometimes emphasize the affective elements of the liturgy because I think the tendencies of the protestant tradition (and my personal tendencies) over-emphasize the intellectual. Indeed, I think the bishop’s words could be interpreted that way as well, but I read them as I believe the tradition has always read them: the liturgy alone without the way of being that the liturgy calls us into and calls forth within us is empty. There is intellectual content and affective direction that we must hold to and actively engage.

And if the Anglican “prayer book catholicity” that I and others speak of is to be fully realized, it’s those things I think we need to be more explicit about.

…And I’m Back…

…with a some update and a bleg. And no, I haven’t yet begin to wade through my back feeds so more may be coming later as I sort out what all’s gone on since I left…

  • We got a place. We like it. M, as many of you know personally, is both wise and beautiful. At the moment, though, I’m doubting her sanity. She is planning for us to move in on August 1st. As in, the one 11 days from now… But–the girls are with the grandparents so we’ll be in a packing frenzy. Expect posting to be light…
  • I did see that Christopher is setting up a new blog to talk about a rule of life. I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about this, especially how it can be achieved in a busy…well, okay, chaotic…household with two preschoolers. I’ve got some solid ideas but nothing yet written. These will come later…
  • Thanks for keeping an eye on the pointy-hats for me–they seem not to have done anything too silly. Yet… 

On now to the bleg. This is for those who use the 1662 BCP or are familiar with its use particularly in the English Prayerbook Catholic paradigm:

  • Both the original 1662 lectionary and the 1922 update have quite a number of options in them. What patterns of use are favored–and why?
  • All of the red-letter days are supplied with collects, readings etc. Black-letter days obviously don’t change the readings–but how are they observed, there being no Commons of Saints?
  • The lectionary and kalender seem to indicate that 1st Vespers are not the custom of this prayer book. However, reading through the Rules to Order the Service, item 5 legislates it (“shall” be said) for all Sundays and red-letter days and item 6 leaves the option open. Is there a standard practice or much variability?
  • Also, the Rules to Order the Service make much causal mention of “memorials”, which I take to be supplementary collects in the fashion of commemorations. Are there other directions on memorials that I’m somehow missing?

Of course, I’ll consult my older written sources: Directorum Anglicanum and the 1st edition of Ritual Notes on these but I’d like to here about current use as well… Thanks in advance!

Monastic Mysticism: Diadochus of Photice

I’m doing some reading around to prepare for my next Cafe article that’s in the works and ran across some good stuff from Diadochus. There’s no way this’ll make it into my final text, but I thought this was pretty cool and definitely worth sharing.

I’m looking at Andrew Louth’s The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition (Oxford: Clarendon, 1981) and his chapter on “The Monastic Contribution”. Of course, he’s doing a quick survey of a huge field and subject and the thinkers about whom he speaks are representatives of types that contribute to his synthesis. It’s not comprehensive nor exhaustive by any means, nor is it intended to be. In this chapter he looks at three folks/texts: Evagrius of Pontus, the Messalian homilies attributed to Macarius, and Diadochus. Those who know their history will note a common thread between the first two—they were both condemned as heretical… The way he sets it up, Diadochus is the synthesis between the thesis and antithesis set up by the first two. That is, Evagrius is an intellectualist and emphasizes the spiritual nature of prayer while the Messalians are intensely practical and center themselves very much on feeling.

The best part of Louth’s treatment of Diadochus and what really caught my eye was his discussion of the place of baptism:

The center of Diadochus’ spiritual theology is perhaps his clear grasp of the significance of baptism. Neither of the monastic traditions we have discussed in this chapter gives any place to baptism. Evagrius does not mention baptism, and even his understanding of the basic significance of faith cannot be related to baptism, as he regards faith as an innate capacity. The Messalian position explicitly rejects any place in the spiritual life for baptism. [ed: Indeed, this is an issue with monastic theology as a whole—even in Cassian, monastic vows seem to trump baptism…] In rejecting this tenet of the Messalians, Diadochus is led to develop an understanding of the spiritual life that sees God’s work in the soul through the sacrament of baptism as the foundation of that life.
. . .
In baptism, according to Diadochus, two gifts are given. The first, given at once, is restoration in the image of God. [ed: cf. Athanasius, On the Incarnation—to the delight of M and Anastasia…] The second, which far surpasses the first, is restoration according to the likness of God, and this is not given at once but depends on our cooperation.
. . .
Diadochus uses, as Macarius [of the Messalian homilies] has done, the analogy of a painter who, in this case, first traces the outline and then applies the colors. The grace of God first traces on man in baptism the form of the image that he had in the beginning, and as he begins:

“with all his will to desire the beauty of the likeness and stands naked and undaunted in his work, then grace causes virtue upon virtue to blossom in us and it raises the form of the soul from glory to glory and bestows on the soul the form of the likeness. So the spiritual sense reveals to us that we are being fashioned after the likeness, but the perfection of the likeness we know through being illuminated.” (Century 89)

The spiritual sense, then, is that by means of which we progress in the spiritual life. It is by discovering it and using it that we cause the image (eikon) in ourselves, which has been restored in baptism, to take on the full glory of the likeness (homoiosis). Through it we acquire virtues . . . and thus adorn the soul with spiritual beauty. But beyond all that our spiritual sense can do there lies perfection. This is to receive ‘spiritual love’ and it can only be received when the soul is enlightened in complete assurance by the Holy Spirit. The final perfection of the likeness can only be accomplished through love: ‘no other virtue can acquire impassibility for the soul, but only love.’

I love this image of the spiritual life! Through baptism, a line-drawing (as it were) of the image of God is restored in our soul. Then, through the cultivation of the virtues and our own opening to the working of the Spirit, the drawing is painted in (or perhaps the colors effaced as we slip between virtue and vice) until we hold in ourselves a portrait of the likeness of God, only completed by the iridescent glow of love.

Musings on Independence and Interdependence

Christopher and I have been thinking recently about independence or self-sufficiency and interdependence. Well, we’re not alone; here’s a great musing at the Daily Episcopalian that wrestles with them in combination with Benedict’s Rule and delves into one of my favorite MP collects.

In my opinion, this is what good Anglican writing looks like—measured, rational, grounded in the Prayer Book.