The last day of 2011. Hmmm . . . .

Well, from a liturgical perspective this is not a big deal really – as the liturgical New Year was back in September. Today we commemorate Nelania the Younger, and tomorrow is the leave-taking of the feast of the Nativity. But never fear Theophany is just around the corner.

Melania the Younger was a fourth century ascetic who not only built two monastaries, but also famously – and perhaps a bit mythically -  ransomed 8,000 captives.This year (as well as in recent years past) we witnessed the horror of Somali pirates, and extremist groups abducting innocent people and holding them for ransom. Terrorising them, and their families for months. Many are still being held.

Perhaps today, on this last day of the year, as we remember the heroine Melania the Younger – we ought not forget those who are being held for ransom in our 21st century – perhaps too we ought to ask: ‘what can we do to bring relief to the suffering of these captives and their families?’

In this year of famous abductions – not all of them liberated through ransom – perhaps we ought to reflect on the work of this fourth century nun.

This morning’s news trawl dropped me into a number of posts and articles that touched on what one article referred to as “biblical literacy”. That is to say, it explored the amount which people understood modern UK society to be influenced by, or shaped by the biblical narrative. It’s a fascinating idea but one that will have to wait for another post, because I (as you might expect) went wandering off on a tangent.

Where does the Bible “fit” into your OC/IC praxis? There’s the question, now how did I get here. One of the sources that intrigued me was a summary of a study being conducted to guage the level of “biblical literacy”. It had a series of preliminary questions that were interesting; asking if the respondant had a Bible, how many, a modern or traditional translation, and how often they used it.

I started thinking about my own “Bible usage”. In my case as a clergyman you’d expect me to “use” the Bible quite a bit. So lets level the playing field a bit and exclude those forms of use that are directly related to my being ordained – such as liturgies and services. Its probably also a good thing to exclude writing & research purposes – since I’m a theolgian by training and this is, shall we say, “work related”. Now, I’m on the same level playing field as everyone else in the community (in theory at least). So, where does the Bible fit into my praxis as an OC/IC believer?

Oh my. Well. I have multiple copies of the Bible (as you might expect), in different languages – I’ve got two Russian editions, and OCS edition, a Greek edition, a German NT, a New Jerusalem Bible, and the NAB. I did have an NRSV once – hated it – and gave it away. We have a copy of the KJV floating around somewhere but we don’t like it much either and only keep it because it was a confirmation present for my other half when still an Anglican. So what does this say about my “approach” to the text? An interesting thought really, and I’ve not got an answer other than to say that I’m not a huge fan of English translations (grin).

Once a year, usually during Lent, I sit down and read the whole Bible cover to cover – except Revelation which I think should never be read if you wish to stay sane. How, I started doing this remains I mystery – I just do it, almost without rhyme or reason – there is no “thought” that: “Oh, its Clean Monday – time to start Genesis . . . ” But I’ve been doing this now for more than a decade and see no reason to stop. Occasionally I find myself feeling somehow disconnected from a particular text and will sit down and read it. But I don’t have a systematic daily or weekly “Bible study” plan. I tried that once during my first two years at university and hated it. I found that “Bible Study” often broke up the text in unnatural chunks.

What is interesting – sitting here and consciously considering my own approach to “using the Bible” on a personal rather than official, or “work related” level is how it is almost erratic. This has lead me to my main question – how is the Bible used, in the praxis of other indie folk?

I find it interesting that in over 20 years of public ministry in the OC/IC community – I’ve never once experienced a community that held an organised Bible study. That is not to say it does not happen – only that I’ve never witnessed it. Indeed in the communities I’ve served in, or participated in there was never expressed an interest for such a thing. Furthermore it is more common – in my experience – for indie folk to read theology and spirituality texts and experiment with those rather than to read and experiment with the Bible as a part of their indiviual devotion and praxis. Why is this so?

Is it because we are sacramental christians who don’t accept the notion of “sola scriptura”? So it is not a “natural” part of our religious culture outside of a liturgical or formal context. What changes would our communities experience if we were to begin to cultivate a greater emphasis on “Bible use” outside the context of the liturgical assembly?

Faithlab has this interesting snippet about a fundamentalist in California who is openly “praying” for the death of President Obama. They observe (I think correctly) that this is contrary to Jesus’ own example.

What is “prayer”? If we accept that it is that dialogue we have with God throughout the day – then is it not reasonable to expect that the lanuage of our prayer best reflects our aspiration to faithfulness to the teaching of the Gospel?

Paul reminds us to pray for what we need – rather than what we desire. There is I think wisdom here – sometimes we want something, it has caught our attention, or captivated our interest, but rather than contributing to our well being, it is a distraction, even destructive. Our sense of “desire” can be fuelled by ill concieved ideas, half formed thoughts, envy, competition with others . . . you get the idea. If we prayed for what we “desired” and found that those desires were fulfilled – we might later regret having asked for it! In this light then – can any faithful Christian truly believe that praying for the death of another human being (or any being for that matter) does not fall into this category?

But it got me thinking – are there instances of prayers in our liturgies that do not best reflect the gospel ethos? I’m not talking here of instituting a campaign of political correctness – as many regulars already know I find PC language to more often than not be more offensive and distorting than the original texts – rather I’m wondering out-loud if some of the historic “traditional” prayers might need a bit of editing for the sake of faithfulness to the teaching of the Gospel.

Every week during the liturgy we sing the cherubikon: “Let us who mystically represent the cherubim . . . now lay aside all earthy care that we may welcome the king of all invisibly escorted by angelic hosts . . .” How often have we sat and reflected on what it is we are saying here? What does it have to do with the Great Fast?

Oliver Burkeman wrote an interesting column in the Guardian a few weeks ago. Citing Thomas Merton, Burkeman observes that the overload, and stress we create in our lives through “busyness” and “multitasking” has become a twisted form of self harm, a “frenzy that destroys our inner capacity for peace.” But the “problem” is not merely created by our modern way of life – though to be sure, unchecked it does have a way of gaining overwhelming momentum, dragging us through the streets of chaos – rather we are actively responsible for it as well. Psychologists have argued that this maniacal busyness is not only a perverted, inefficient method of bolstering our individual self worth, but it s also an avoidance mechanism enabling us to not delve into important questions, and make needed positive change in our lives. And so, we “claim” to have no time for X since we don’t even have five minutes for ourselves.

During the Great Fast our “discipline” (asceticism) changes radically. Because of the traditional food customs – no meat, no dairy, etc. – we are cutting things out, setting things aside. We have to consciously think about the ingredients we use, and often find that we have to do more food preparation ourselves because of it. This requires “time” and patience. It requires a degree of focus, not just now, but three days from now – not necessary to open a box of M&S ready meal and pop it in the microwave. There is therefore a quality of time spent issue here. How much of our “busyness” is time spent in quality activity? How much time in our day to we fill with insubstantial “stuff” treating it all with the same sense of value and urgency? How much of it really needs to be in our day? What can be dispensed with, making room for reflection, silence, companionship, and a quality meal – the things that transform our living, enriching our sense of “being” in the moment, with Christ, and with one another.

How full is your mental inbox . . . I mean truly how full is it? Now is the time – this is the season – to really, truly train ourselves to “lay aside all earthly care” and recieve the King of Glory.

**PS – yes, I’m behind a bit here . .  . . I’ve been .  . . “busy”

This is the door full of love,

and within it is love.

Enter, sinner, pray [much] for love from your Lord,

full of love.

For centuries pilgrims (Pagan and Christian) have left their mark on shrines and holy places – grafitti is just one method. Today we think of it as a marring, a desecration – but to many, such as the author of the above inscription, it was an act of devotion.

This inscription is found just inside the entrance to the church of St. Antony in the Monastary of St. Antony in Egypt. It is the only known Syriac grafitti and very much reflects the style of Syriac spirituality.

It caught my eye – and made me take a moment and reflect on the cause of our relationship with Christ, and through him, one another.

If you’d like to read more of the grafitti at St. Antony’s, as well as the wall paintings, history, and conservation of the monastary, check out the book “Monastic Visions: Wall Paintings in the Monastery of St. Antony at the Red Sea (ISBN 0300092245).

This post from Velveteen Rabbi is wonderful – go read it!

In it she talks about the competing “voices” that we encounter as we go about practicing faith. In her example she relates this necessary tension to the “mundane” practice of morning prayer. One says but this and that need to be done, and of course if you don’t pray this morning because of these, God will understand.

“Well, of course God understands. But that’s not remotely the point, is it? Prayer primes the pump of gratitude, and awareness, and praise. Prayer keeps my spiritual muscles stretched and ready. And, like writing, prayer shouldn’t be a luxury to be engaged in when I happen to feel so moved; it’s a practice which sustains itself and sustains me. But I have to overcome inertia and do it.”

Prayer is just one form of practice – there are others, like kindness, charity, and openness to “the other”. Throughout our active lives of faith we are challenged, “accused” by that voice that says – no, not today, not now, its embarrassing, its boring, later, do you really think this matters. . .

The third and final insatllment of Pete Owen-Jones’ series on spirituality is really rather good. Indeed it seems to me that while all three were interesting they got better as the series progressed. The show aired this past Friday – you can still view it by clicking here for the next few days at least.

This time he’s in the Egyptian desert following in the footsepts of St. Antony. For three weeks he lives in a cave, praying, and listening to the silence – and the occasional “wild dog”. I think I resonated well with this installment not only becuase it is a tradition that is familiar to me (both by academic training, and personal sprituality) but because having done so much back-country camping in the “wilderness” in the US before coming to the UK – I can readily appreciate some of the things he describes – and their connection to that particular spiritual discipline.

While this last installment did not have any profoundly moving reflections – like last week’s reflection on gratitude – it certainly goes a long way toward understanding a spiritual tradition within Christianity that is little understood; one that I think has a lot to contribute towards a re-evaluation of how we approach spirituality in our contemporary socieity.

The BBC is now airing a new series by the Anglican Vicar Pete Owen Jones – I’ve enjoyed his earlier series and looked forward to seeing this one. Extreme Pilgrim is a three part exploration of the disjunction between lived spirituality and the life we lead in modern Western society. What is more he makes a valid point (from his own Anglican point of view – but I think equally relevant across the Christian spectrum) that Christianity as expressed now, has become too abstract and intellectual.

G and I talked about this a bit yesterday at lunch and he pointed out – and I think I agree with him – that this process was really set into motion with the Reformation. Once your sole point of reference is the Bible and the customs and traditions of lived spirituality are expunged – there is little left but to read, and rationalise.

The first part of Owen Jones’ series was on the other day – he starts to reconnect body & spirit by first visiting a Shoulin monastary. You can watch the whole episode for the next few days by clicking here. Next week he visits Hindu renounciants and in the last episode Coptic hermits. I’ll be sure to post info on the other two when they are available.

This morning I happened to be looking through a collection of prayers published by the WCC some years ago and came across a lovely Armenian prayer at morning:

From the East to the West, rom the North and the South, all nations and peoples bless the creator of creatures with a new blessing. For he made the light of the sun rise today over the world.

O congregations of the righteous, who glorify the Holy Trinity in the morning of light, praise the Christ, the morning of peace, together with the Father and the Spirit; for he as made the light of his knowledge shine over us.

G looked at it and wryly commented: “its nice, if you like that sort of thing . . . . its a bit. . . . too religious” – he grinned.

“Erm . . . . Ok . . . ” I said, ” . . .but um . . . . it is a prayer afterall.”

Trying not to burst out in giggles G then said: “Yeah, but what’s wrong with – morning God. Ta!” That says it all and its much less wordy.”

True – I said – and have been thinking about the conversation ever since.

****************

Jesus said: “In praying, do not babble like the pagans, who think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them. Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.”

The morning prayer I cited is one of thanksgiving, rather than of request – which is what G captured in his one-line: Morning God. Ta! – I thought of this, and remembered the many moments of thanksgiving when I simply, silently appreciated the moment. Prayer does not have to be “voiced” – it can simply “be”.

I wonder too – how much is lost of that moment of doxology when we begin to “voice” it do the words sometimes have the opposite effect – rather than lending power to the moment, they detract from it’s power to express, and transform? One of my favourite writers – Martin Buber – in I and Thou says that in the presence of a mystical or numinous moment, the instant we begin to name, and describe it – the numen flees, it dissipates, refusing all description. The moment we describe – we border and inscribe (or we think we do) the “other” trapping it’s power for future reference. It is for this reason, that God refuses to disclose his Name to Moses; it is also for this reason that the mechanics of the Incarnation are very much a mystery.

**********

I’m reminded too of Tolstoy’s wonderful story of the bishop and the three hermits. Their prayer – a one liner much akin to G’s “morning prayer”: You are three, We are three, Have mercy on us. Did not fit with the bishop’s expectation of “prayer” and believing that he had a duty to them, he sat all day and taught them, with great difficulty, the Lord’s prayer before returning to his ship. Late in the night the bishop and his fellow travellers awoke to find the three hermits, in full and radiant glory floating at speed over the sea, to catch the ship: “raising their heads, all three as with one voice, began to say: ‘We have forgotten your teaching, servant of God. As long as we kept repeating it we remembered, but when we stopped saying it for a time, a word dropped out, and now it has all gone to pieces. We can remember nothing of it. Teach us again.’ The Bishop crossed himself, and leaning over the ship’s side, said: ‘Your own prayer will reach the Lord, men of God. It is not for me to teach you. Pray for us sinners.”

Is it the power of the words, or that inner life of the believer that transforms us. When we think of prayer – is it the welling up of our inner life, of the voice of our spirit that shapes the words, and expresses the image of Christ within, or is it a surface scan of theological platitudes, the “babbling” of pagans?