About djgrieser

I have been Rector of Grace Episcopal Church in Madison, WI since 2009. I'm passionate about Jesus Christ and about connecting our faith and tradition with 21st century culture. I'm also very active in advocating for our homeless neighbors.

The Conversion of St. Paul (or another excuse for posting a Caravaggio image)

Posted on January 25, 2010 by djgrieser

Today is the Conversion of St. Paul. There are at least three versions of this event in the New Testament. The most famous is Acts 9:1-22. From there we have all of the juicy details–Paul’s persecution of the early Christian community, the road to Damascus, his ensuing blindness. Luke gives us another version of the same event in Acts 22:3-16. Paul describes the same event in rather different terms in Galatians 1. Paul’s account describes a different sequence of events following his “conversion,” but more importantly, he doesn’t use language of conversion at all. Instead, Paul writes of being called:

But when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased ¹⁶to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles (Galatians 1:15-16)

The notion that Paul’s conversion was a dramatic break from the past is firmly fixed in Christian thought and devotion and there is some legitimacy to it. Paul himself describes a radical break from his past of persecuting Christans. However, in another way, it wasn’t a conversion. He does not see himself “converting” from one religion to another, from Judaism to Christianity.

Still, conversion holds a powerful grip on Christian reflection, and indeed that grip has strengthened over the centuries, especially since the 18th century Evangelical Revival (led by the Wesleys and George Whitefield).

Whatever one thinks of the historicity of Luke’s account, and the utility of viewing the Christian life in terms of conversion, perhaps the most powerful depiction of Luke’s version is that of Caravaggio:

The Year of the Lord’s Favor: Third Sunday after Epiphany, Year C

Posted on January 24, 2010 by djgrieser

The Year of the Lord’s Favor

Grace Church

Epiphany 3, 2010

January 24, 2010

Today’s lessons are all about great preaching. The lesson from Nehemiah is one we rarely hear; indeed, it comes from a book that is read only rarely in the three-year lectionary cycle. And since this is an Episcopal Church, probably none of you, unless you were raised in a different Christian tradition, could even find it in the bible. Still, it’s a great story, and an important one for the history of Judaism, and for the history of scripture itself.

For scholars think that this story captures one of the key moments in the development of the Hebrew Bible, the Torah. As I’ve mentioned before, Babylon conquered the Kingdom of Judah and carried off the political and religious elite of that kingdom to exile in Babylon. Now in the ancient world, when you were conquered by another people, that pretty much proved that not only were they more powerful than you, but their gods were more powerful than yours, too. So most conquered peoples came to accept the religious superiority of their conquerors, along with the military and political superiority.

That didn’t happen to the exiles in Babylon. Instead, they began to rethink their theology, their faith, and sought a way to fit their experience into a new understanding of who God was. Along with that, they compiled and organized texts. Some they wrote in Babylon; others they brought with them. It was in exile in Babylon that most scholars believe much of the Hebrew Bible came to take something of the form we have today.

When they were released from exile, many returned to Jerusalem; among them Ezra and Nehemiah. They brought with them their new theological understanding, and these new scriptures. In today’s lesson from Nehemiah, we hear Ezra reading that text to the assembly of people. It took all morning, and he didn’t just read; he also interpreted the text.

The gospel story relates Luke’s version of Jesus’ first public sermon. Jesus has just been tempted in the wilderness and Luke reports that “filled with the power of the Spirit” Jesus begins his public ministry, a preaching tour through the synagogues of Galilee. Eventually, he finds his way back home in Nazareth. When he gets there, his reputation seems to have preceded him. He goes to the synagogue on the Sabbath (Luke tells us it was his custom, signaling to the reader that yes, Jesus is a good Jewish boy) and as is not unheard of for local boys made good; he is asked to perform. We can imagine that there’s quite a crowd in attendance; people want to know what the fuss is about, they’ve heard about Jesus’ activity in Capernaum and the other towns of Galilee.

So Jesus stands up, reads from the Torah, and sits down to interpret it. The text he reads is itself dramatic: “The spirit of the Lord is upon me, he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free. To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

Now there’s a puzzle here. In the first place, this quotation is a combination of several verses from Isaiah 61 and 58 so we don’t know if the formula as it stands goes back to Luke or to Jesus himself, but it certainly wouldn’t have been a logical reading from scripture in the synagogue. The second thing that’s interesting is what it leaves out. The verse that reads “to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” continues in Isaiah, with another phrase, “and the day of vengeance of our God.” So Luke, or Jesus, leaves out a prophecy of gloom, doom, and destruction. Instead, it’s a message full of hope and promise.

Luke puts this story at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry to tell us something very important about Jesus. It’s a summary of the key themes of Jesus ministry. We can see how important it is for Luke by recognizing how he has changed the story from the versions in Mark and Matthew. In both of those gospels, the visit to the synagogue in Nazareth comes after a significant portion of Jesus’ ministry. Both gospels put it after big chunks of Jesus’ teaching and a number of his healings. For them, it is only a story about Jesus’ rejection in his hometown. They don’t tell us anything about what Jesus said. By placing it here, by putting these words in Jesus’ mouth, Luke is telling us to pay attention—this is what Jesus is all about.

So Jesus reads these verses, then he sits down and tells the congregation, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” The people are amazed by the power of his words. There are several fascinating things about this text. In the first place, we see Jesus behaving like he’s supposed to do. He’s a good Jewish boy, he goes to synagogue on the Sabbath, he knows his scripture. But then, when he begins to speak, he blows away people’s expectations. Perhaps the congregation was expecting to hear how all this might happen when the Messiah comes. Instead, Jesus tells them, it’s happening right now!

Another key element of the text is the importance of the spirit. It’s something Luke stresses throughout his gospel, and I’m sure we’ll have more to say about it as we go through the gospel this year in the lectionary. Today’s reading begins, and Jesus, filled with the power of the spirit. And of course, the words Jesus reads from Isaiah begin with the phrase, the Spirit of God is upon me…” So, Jesus filled with the spirit, proclaims the year of God’s favor, preaches good news to the poor, recovery of sight to the blind, proclaims release for captives, and freedom for the oppressed.

To put it into contemporary language—this is Jesus’ mission statement according to Luke. He makes this clear later in the gospel when the John the Baptizer, now in prison, has gotten word of Jesus’ activity. He sends two of his disciples to Jesus to ask him if he is the Messiah or if they are to wait for another. Jesus response to them, and to John is “Go tell John what you have seen, the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the poor have good news preached to them.”

Jesus’ mission statement, but is it ours? I suspect that, just as in the case of the wedding at Cana, where our usual focus is on the miracle, here, we want to see Jesus’ words as relating only to him, and to his miraculous powers. But we’re not so easily left off the hook. If we follow Luke’s gospel, and then read in the book of Acts, which is the second half of Luke’s story, we see the same emphases being stressed. In Acts, the disciples, filled with the Holy Spirit, do amazing things, like give sight to the blind and set the oppressed free.

Ezra and Nehemiah came back from exile in Babylon with a vision for what God’s people might become. Jesus came back from the wilderness with a vision for his public ministry.

In the coming weeks and months, we will be talking a great deal about what the future holds for Grace Church. During the vestry retreat last weekend, we spent a lot of time talking about Grace’s present and future. We analyzed our strengths and weaknesses as a parish—what we do well, and what we don’t do so well. We looked at the challenges that face us, and the opportunities that we haven’t fully exploited. We also shared what we hoped Grace might look like in five years. All of this is part of a process that will help us clarify what our ministry and mission is and should be in this place. In the coming weeks, we will begin to share our work with the parish, and invite all of you to reflect on and contribute to this effort.

But however we articulate our own mission and ministry, the standard by which we must judge it is the Gospel. And it’s not inappropriate that we use this passage as our guide. Is this the year of the Lord’s favor? How are we going to bring good news to the poor? Help the blind to see, the lame to walk, the oppressed go free? Do our ministries match up to that job description? If not, why not?

What might it mean to grab hold of Luke’s vision of Jesus’ ministry, for ourselves, for our church and our community? What difference might that make? Oh, I know there are all kinds of things that get in the way. We lack the funds, the time, the commitment, the people, there’s so much else to do.

I know it’s daunting. The needs are so great and we are so few, but my friends, that’s what it’s about. We come to church to be nourished, to be filled, to find spiritual growth and we do, in the fellowship, in the proclamation, and in the celebration of the Eucharist. But we need to remember that we are nourished at the table not only for our sake, but for the sake of the world and for the sake of Christ. We often leave our worship with the dismissal—let us go forth rejoicing in the power of the spirit. Like Jesus, filled with the power of the spirit, let us become a people of vision, empowered to do great things!

An embarrassment of riches

Posted on January 20, 2010 by djgrieser

There are times when the lectionary seems not to provide anything on which to preach; none of the readings have any meat, or seem to speak to the current situation. Other times, I can imagine numerous sermons, all of them quite different, emerging from the readings. Sometimes, there are profound connections among the texts. The latter was true in the Book of Common Prayer lectionary, which selected texts from the Hebrew Bible based on their connection with the Gospel.

The lessons for the Third Sunday after Epiphany in Year C offer an embarrassment of riches. Here are the texts. The text from Nehemia tells the story of Ezra reading the book of the Law to the assembled congregation in Jerusalem. It is set after the exile, and most scholars see this as evidence that the Torah (the Pentateuch) was compiled in exile in Babylon and brought back to Jerusalem after the exile ended.

The lesson from I Corinthians continues Paul’s discussion from chapter 12 of the body of Christ and that marvelous imagery of “we are all members of one body.” It’s important to note that he doesn’t assert that Jesus Christ is the head and we are the members. Rather, we are all members of the same body, none of us having priority. But he goes further. When discussing order in community, Paul asserts that it is gifts of the spirit that need to be ordered, not offices in the church. The editors leave out the end of verse 31: “but let me show you a better way.” That is Paul’s transition to chapter 13, in which he extols love as the greatest of all gifts, binding the community together across its diversity of gifts.

The gospel is Luke’s version of the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. I know that will be the focus of my sermon, but the question is how, and if , I will be able to weave the other texts into this. We’ll see. Check back on Sunday.

These are marvelous texts for the beginning of a new year, and the (relative) beginning of a new ministry. They challenge us to think about our mission, our call, and our responsibility.

You gotta give ’em credit for creativity

Posted on January 18, 2010 by djgrieser

There’s a report out that a Michigan company has been producing rifle scopes with verses from the New Testament etched on them. Talking Points Memo discusses it here.

The company is not shy about its belief system. It confirmed to ABC that its scopes have the Biblical codes. Trijicon’s Web site even says under a section titled “Values” that, “We believe that America is great when its people are good. This goodness has been based on biblical standards throughout our history and we will strive to follow those morals.”

I suppose I will never cease to be surprised by the outrages perpetrated by the Religious Right. The verses are tiny, probably illegible, but I’m sure that among them are not Jesus’ sayings from Matthew 5: “Love your enemies…” and “If anyone strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other also.” I would be thrilled if the scopes were produced with those verse printed large enough so the soldier would see them while sighting the gun.

Among the ironies, apparently the scopes have been issued to soldiers in the Iraqi army as well.

The Wedding at Cana; Epiphany 2, Year C

Posted on January 17, 2010 by djgrieser

That’s a whole lot of wine

Second Sunday of Epiphany

January 17, 2010

Grace Episcopal Church

This morning our hearts are of full of sadness and concern for the people of Haiti. We have seen the images on TV, read the accounts in the paper. Some of our members of Grace have been to Port-au-Prince and Jeanette, which is the location for our diocese’s Haiti Project. We have hosted Haitians in our homes as we have been hosted in theirs. Some count Haitians among their friends; some are almost like family members. Those of us who have been there are full of memories, wondering what it’s like now. But all of us, whether or not we are personally affected through friendship or travel, have seen the pictures and have some sense of the devastation. We feel helpless in the face of this destruction; the dollars we give seem a drop in the bucket compared to the vastness of the tragedy.

And inevitably, our minds turn to questions of why. Why now? Why Haiti? As human beings we want suffering of this magnitude to make sense, we want to try to fit into categories and systems we might understand. We want to manage it, intellectually, emotionally, spiritually.

But this isn’t the first time for such horrendous tragedy. There was of course 9-11 which now seems like a distant memory; there was the tsunami in Indonesia and South Asia in 2004; there was hurricane Katrina in 2005. Each of them seemed more horrific than the last. Each one brought misery as well as miraculous human efforts. Each one brought questions of why.

We want to know what it all means. We want to put it in a theological framework that we can make sense of; we want to say it was God’s punishment, or God’s will; or perhaps we want to say suffering of this magnitude proves God doesn’t exist. These are hard questions and demand coherent answers, but it may be the answers don’t come.

We are in the season of Epiphany, that time when we celebrate the presence of God among us, the presence of God’s glory. It may be hard for us to think about God’s glory; indeed it may be difficult for us even to think about the presence of God in a world that experiences such tragedy and human misery. Yet our Christian faith lives in the paradox between what is and what will be; what we see with our eyes and what we know by faith. Epiphany is a time to reflect not only on the reality of God’s glory and God’s presence in the world, but also on that paradox. There is no better place to explore that paradox than in today’s gospel reading.

OK. Let’s do the math. 6 jars for purification, each holding between 20-30 gallons of water. That’s between 120 and 180 gallons of water. That’s how much wine Jesus made. And in case you can’t get a clear sense of just how much wine that is, let’s do some more math. A bottle of wine is 750 milliliters; that’s roughly five bottles of wine in a gallon. So we’re talking between 600 and 900 bottles of wine, between 50 and 75 cases. That’s a lot of wine. That must have been quite a party. Now remember, Jesus made the wine because they had run out. In other words, like any good party, the wine had been f lowing for quite some time, and either the guests were drank more than was expected or the hosts had not planned very well.

600 to 900 bottles of wine. Given that the wine had been flowing, assuming the guests were a little tipsy already, what was Jesus thinking? After all, how much wine does it take for your average person to get, well, pretty drunk? That must have been quite a party!

Before we explore the meaning of all this, there’s a little more math in the story that I would like to talk about. John 2 begins, “On the third day …” Now when you hear that phrase, what pops into your mind? Of course, the resurrection. And I have no doubt that the gospel writer is making an allusion to the resurrection. But there’s more to it than that. If we go back to Chapter 1, we see something very interesting. The gospel of John begins “In the beginning was the Word” so quite literally, it begins at creation. But very quickly it moves down to the present day of Jesus. After the gospel begins describing the ministry of John the Baptizer, three times it begins an episode with the phrase “the next day.” So if you add those three, actually four, days to the three days mentioned in John 2:1, you get seven days—seven days from “In the beginning was the word,” to the wedding at Cana.

In other words, for the Gospel of John everything converges on this point, on a wedding, in Cana of Galilee—it is the point to which all creation has been moving, the moment at which the disciples, and we, see the glory of God. It is also, to hearken back to Genesis, the completion, the fulfillment of creation. On the seventh day, God finished the work that he had done… God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it. On the third day, there was a wedding at Cana.

All of this—creation, redemption, resurrection, all of it converges on this point, on this story. But to note that is only to deepen the mystery. Why wine? Why so much wine? How does that reveal Christ’s glory? As we search for an answer to that question, our first impulse, temptation, really, is to place the emphasis on the power involved in turning water into wine. But that is not what the story emphasizes. The change takes place off stage. Jesus is expressly not involved in the miracle. He simply tells the servants to put water in the jars, and to take some for the steward to taste. There is no magic involved, no Hollywood special effects.

So the important part of the story is not that Jesus turned water into wine. The important part of the story is the amount of wine, the occasion itself, a wedding party. And if we think about the gospel writer’s chronological references, it all becomes much clearer. A wedding banquet set “on the third day” or “on the seventh day.” This is no simple miracle. In this story we learn about Jesus Christ, and we learn about what it means ultimately to follow Christ. It is a foretaste of that eternal Sabbath, the messianic banquet of which the Jews of Jesus’ day hoped, and which Jesus proclaimed in his own language as the Kingdom of God.

Our meals participate in and provide a foretaste of that messianic banquet. The Eucharistic celebration, in which we partake of bread and wine bring us into the presence of Christ and promise of that great feast to which all people are invited and in which we will all share. But it’s not just the Eucharist. One of our great obligations as the body of Christ is to offer hospitality, to welcome others in, and to offer them food and drink. The gospels agree that a major part of Jesus’ ministry took place at meals. But he didn’t just preach or teach at them; he used them to demonstrate the inclusiveness of his message. He welcomed everybody to the table, and he was constantly criticized for doing so, for eating with tax collectors and sinners.

There’s a sense of that in the story of the wedding at Cana. Jesus is a guest, what business it of his or of his mother to make a beer run? Yet here he acts as host, ensuring that there will be plenty of wine to go around, that a good time will be had by all. Cana reminds us that we are not the hosts here; Jesus is; Jesus has sent out the invitations, but Jesus is also throwing the party. And like Cana, we need to remember that we aren’t in control of what happens here, Jesus is. As we come to the table, we open ourselves to the possibility that we might be transformed by our encounter with Christ, just as the water was turned into wine.

Ordinary water, ordinary jars, a run-of-the-mill wedding celebration. In the middle of these Jesus turns everything upside-down. Can you imagine what the servants, or the steward might have thought when they saw that the water had been turned into wine? Suddenly, the ordinary has become spectacular. Jesus turned water into wine, and revealed his glory.

That surprise, that unexpected, transformation of the mundane is at the heart of Epiphany. In John 1, the gospel writer tells us that the Word became flesh and lived among us—now we see, as the disciples did, we see the glory of his presence. Jesus was an ordinary human being, like us, but he was also God. The water was transformed into wine. Epiphany reminds us, demands of us, that we be ready to encounter the glory of Christ in the world around us.

Epiphany also demands that we help others see that glory as well. In the Gospel of John, Jesus repeatedly offers his listeners a way into a fuller life; often it is called abundant life. We usually think that he is referring to eternity, to life after death. But the miracle at Cana shows us that the full life Jesus offers us is here around us; in the enjoyment of the creation God has given us, in the celebration of life’s transitions, in a good party.

Just as ordinary water in ordinary jars become extraordinary wine, our presence here, our faith proclaims the hope, the danger, that we might be transformed into something quite new. When we encounter Christ, whether it be at the table here, or in the face of another person, we run the risk that everything will change. We might not like that. Just as we are made a little bit uncomfortable by the math of the wedding at Cana, there’s nothing moderate, or respectable, or seemly about the amount of wine at Cana, we can’t control what might happen to ourselves, to our church, or to the world, when we open ourselves to encountering Christ. All bets are off. So let’s party on!

More on God and Haiti

Posted on January 15, 2010 by djgrieser

It’s inevitable that questions of theodicy arise when natural disasters occur. The problem of suffering may be one of the oldest and most intractable problems in all of human thought. It certainly is a concern in Christian theology (and all monotheistic religions; polytheism tends to come up with better answers to the problem). The Book of Job and Ecclesiastes both struggle with suffering, although in different ways.

Theological pronouncements on why this or that happened are inevitable. Seldom are they as crass as that of Pat Robertson’s, but to be satisfied with “It’s God’s will” is no better. Philosophers distinguish between natural evil, such as earthquakes, and moral evil, that brought on by human activity or human will. We can explain an earthquake scientifically; what we can’t explain is why now, and why such devastation. Yet the human spirit wants to make sense of such events, to claim that life and natural events have meaning, especially in the face of what seems like meaninglessness.

I’m intrigued by the way people use such tragedies, to reinforce their own religious or political ideas, their own world views. It’s as if the desire to make meaning becomes even stronger at times like this.

But I’m also beginning to become rather annoyed with the inevitable “Where’s God in all this?” that comes from more progressive religious voices. They too want such events to have meaning, or at least, to be teachable moments. I’m just not sure such answers are more satisfactory in the end than the simple, “It’s God’s will.” Sometimes I think the least productive thing we can do is try to make sense of natural disasters like Haiti. Sometimes, the answer might be, like Candide’s was “let’s cultivate our own garden;” or in this case, let’s raise some money for Haiti relief.

Downtown Madison

Posted on January 14, 2010 by djgrieser

One of the first things I did on arriving in Madison was to join Downtown Madison, Inc. Grace Church is the only church on Capitol Square, and as such has higher visibility than any other church in Madison. Because we are home to the Drop-In Shelter, we are also in the center of conversations surrounding homelessness and quality of life issues downtown. So I joined, in part to make our presence more than a matter of stone, mortar, and stained glass, but also because I believe that we have an important voice to bring to the conversation about the future of downtown Madison.

We also live downtown, in the Mansion Hill neighborhood, and are members of Capitol Neighborhoods.

I attended my first DMI Quality of Life committee meeting today and realized how important my place is at the table. Of course there was discussion about the Edgewater development. If you’re not from Madison, don’t bother trying to understand it. It’s a project that wants plan to redevelop a hotel on Lake Mendota that was originally built decades ago and expanded in the 1960s. Other than an office building monstrosity next door, it is surrounded by single family houses and student apartments. It is an enormous controversy.

Later in the discussion this morning, the topic turned to soliciting membership from among the downtown condo associations and residents. That’s where the disconnect hit me. Here’s an organization, DMI, that basically exists to promote the downtown. Someone in the meeting said that we (DMI) is are perceived to be the “developers” organization, and it seemed to be an open question whether soliciting membership from downtown residents was useful. I’ve only lived in Madison for five months, but my experience is that the loudest boosters for downtown are people who live here, and that more than anyone else involved in the conversation, they are concerned about quality of life issues.

Sometimes, I just don’t get it.

The Earthquake in Haiti

Posted on January 13, 2010 by djgrieser

Others are keeping much closer track than I. I’ve posted on Grace’s home page links to Episcopal news sites, ERD, and our diocese’s Haiti project. Bishop Miller’s appeal is here.

Natural disasters bring out the best and worst in Christians. The best is the immediate response to help; the worst is the inevitable assertion that the earthquake is God’s will, or even worse, statements like that of Pat Robertson today.

Of course, it’s the same Pat Robertson who thanked God after praying that Virginia Beach might be spared a hurricane and not caring that the hurricane instead hit North Carolina.

Hilary of Poitiers, 367

Posted on January 13, 2010 by djgrieser

Hilary was bishop of Poitiers and an important defender of Nicene trinitarianism. Conflict with Emperor Constantius led to his exile in Phrygia. He authored hymns, one of which appears in The Hymnal 1982. His most important theological was probably On the Trinity. Theologically, this was overshadowed by Augustine’s On the Trinity of the early fifth century.

But it is interesting in itself. He begins with himself, with his spiritual autobiography, but also with theological anthropology, just as Augustine would later do in his own trinitarian reflections.

7. Therefore, although my soul drew joy from the apprehension of this august and unfathomable Mind, because it could worship as its own Father and Creator so limitless an Infinity, yet with a still more eager desire it sought to know the true aspect of its infinite and eternal Lord, that it might be able to believe that that immeasurable Deity was apparelled in splendour befitting the beauty of His wisdom. Then, while the devout soul was baffled and astray through its own feebleness, it caught from the prophet’s voice this scale of comparison for God, admirably expressed, By the greatness of His works and the beauty of the things that He has made the Creator of worlds is rightly discerned. Wisdom 13:5 The Creator of great things is supreme in greatness, of beautiful things in beauty. Since the work transcends our thoughts, all thought must be transcended by theMaker. Thus heaven and air and earth and seas are fair: fair also the whole universe, as the Greeks agree, who from its beautiful ordering call it κόσμος, that is, order. But if our thought can estimate this beauty of the universe by a natural instinct— an instinct such as we see in certain birds and beasts whose voice, though it fall below the level of our understanding, yet has a sense clear to them though they cannot utter it, and in which, since all speech is the expression of some thought, therelies a meaning patent to themselves— must not the Lord of this universal beauty be recognised as Himself most beautiful amid all the beauty that surrounds Him? For though the splendour of His eternal glory overtax our mind’s best powers, it cannot fail to see that He is beautiful. We must in truth confess that God is most beautiful, and that with a beauty which, though it transcend our comprehension, forces itself upon our perception.

8. Thus my mind, full of these results which by its own reflection and the teaching of Scripture it had attained, rested with assurance, as on some peaceful watchtower, upon that glorious conclusion, recognising that its true nature made it capable of one homage to its Creator, and of none other, whether greater or less; the homage namely of conviction that His is a greatness too vast for our comprehension but not for our faith. For a reasonable faith is akin to reason and accepts its aid, even though that same reason cannot cope with the vastness of eternal Omnipotence.

9. Beneath all these thoughts lay an instinctive hope, which strengthened my assertion of the faith, in some perfect blessedness hereafter to be earned by devout thoughts concerning God and upright life; the reward, as it were, that awaits the triumphant warrior. For true faith in God would pass unrewarded, if the soul be destroyed by death, and quenched in the extinction of bodily life. Even unaided reason pleaded that it was unworthy of God to usher man into an existence which has some share of His thought and wisdom, only to await the sentence of life withdrawn and of eternal death; to create him out of nothing to take his place in the World, only that when he has taken it he may perish. For, on the only rational theory of creation, its purpose was that things non-existent should come into being, not that things existing should cease to be. (from New Advent)

What fascinates me is how he speaks of his “soul” and “mind” as independent things, certainly independent of the “I” speaking, and also of his body, as weighing down the soul’s efforts to attain to the mind of God. Perhaps I’ll read more, if I have time.

Aelred of Rievaulx

Posted on January 12, 2010 by djgrieser

Today, January 12, is the commemoration of Aelred of Rievaulx in the liturgical calendar. Aelred was abbot of the Cistercian Abbey of Rievaulx in Yorkshire, England and part of that twelfth-century flowering of Cistercian spirituality. Bernard of Clairvaux overshadows all of the other Cistercian authors of the period and indeed many of their writings seem derivative or pale imitations of his. But one might think of it another way. Bernard was the genius of course, but others like Aelred were so imbued with the same spiritual perspective that when they wrote about it their experience and about the spiritual, they were bound to use language and imagery that echoes Bernard.

In fact Bernard urged Aelred to write his most popular work (at least in his own day), The Mirror of Charity.

I read the following from another of his works Spiritual Friendship this morning:

How right and proper it then becomes to grieve for one another, to toil for one another, to bear each other’s burdens, when each finds his pleasure in neglecting himself in favour of his friend, in preferring the other’s will to his own, in putting his friend’s needs first, in setting himself in the way of whatever threatens. How delightful it is meanwhile to talk together, to confide one’s aspirations, to try and ponder and weigh, and arrive at the same conclusions! And on top of all this, reciprocal prayer, which gains in efficacy with the depth of the affection that inspires it, accompanied by the tears precipitated by anxiety, released by emotion or called forth by grief. And while one is entreating Christ in one’s friend’s favour and seeking to be heard, one is stretching out towards Cjhrist himself in love and longing, and comes the moment when suddenly one’s affection passes from one object to another without one’s being aware; and as though one were experiencing at close quarters the sweetness of Christ in person, one begins to taste for oneself the delights of his presence. So it is that we ascend from that love, already holy, with which we embrace our friend, to the love with which we embrace Christ, thus savouring joyfully and freely the fruit of spiritual friendship; whose plenitude we look for in the future, when the mutual anxieties that beset us will have been wiped out, and the difficulties that we now must bear for one another’s sake have been dispelled, when death’s sting is no more and death itself destroyed–that sting whose wearisome pricks compel us so frequently to weep for one another–when security at last is ours. Then shall we enjoy that sovereign good for all eternity, then will the friendship to which here we can admit but few be poured out upon all, and thence back into God who shall be all in all.

While there is a great deal of Bernard in this text–I think especially of the use of very physical imagery like “taste” and “embrace” to describe spiritual experience, this passage at least is also highly evocative of Augustine. He may be describing his own experience of spiritual friendship, but I also could read this as a commentary on Confessions Book IX in which Augustine describes his relationship with his mother, and especially their shared experience at Ostia and her subsequent death.

Preaching Grace on the Square

Scripture, Tradition, Theology, Random Thoughts from Capitol Square in Madison, WI

Author Archives: djgrieser