Huw’s essay on Lenten praxis is well worth the read.

It’s finally here – today is “clean monday”, the fast has begun. So here’s the question: what is “the fast” all about anyway?

Athanasius writing in the fourth century said that a bit of moderate asceticism was useful for everyone – not just ascetics (read – monks, virgins, nuns and vowed widows). But the age of “asceticism” which has played an enormous role in shaping Christian praxis – is ostensibly over (something lamented by fifth and sixth century writers). Does this mean that the Great Fast no longer has purpose?

The fast before Pascha has taken on a life of its own – originating in an act of solidarity with those preparing for baptism it has grown from a one week communal event to a 50 day extravaganza. This is not a bad thing – rather it is simply the natural progression this practice took.

Similarly – in modern practice at least – many of the “mini lents” that preceded the major feast days are no longer observed – instead our communal act of asceticism and solidarity has been collected, sorted, and sunk into “Great Lent”. Are we not perhaps missing out on a valuable opportunity for re-investing in personal and communal praxis?

Stepping away from the mechanics of the when, and how of fasting – lets look at the connection between the act of fasting and the theology of food, and the relationship we as sacramental Christians have with food, and with one another through the symbolism of foods and eating. Without looking in your copy of the Gospels – recall some of the major “it” moments in the Gospels: the wedding at Cana, the feeding of the multitude, dining with Zaccheus, Jesus annointed by the woman with the alabaster jar, the last supper, the revealation on the road to Emmeus . . . Each of these major moments in the unfolding of the Salvation narrative happened in the context of a meal – of sharing food. Food, the act of eating together and alone has theological value in sacramental Christianity. If you missed that, what were you doing when you last went to liturgy?

But “food” and eating is something we in Western Europe often take for granted – it is unconsciously separted from our experience of the sacred. We rush out to grab a sandwich or a take-away during the working day – in order to inhale it at our desk, and continue ploughing through work. We attend lavish balls and parties because it is an expression of the host’s largesse (read – wealth and self importance), and it gives us a notch on the bed-post of our own accumulated status. Food is a means to an end, a means of aquiring status, but it has no overt or intrinsic link with our spirituality in day to day affairs. Periods of “fasting” throughout the liturgical year then can help us re-tune that link, restore awareness of the value and meaning of choosing, preparing, and eating a meal. Cooking and eating as praxis – who would have thought!

Revisiting the idea of solidarity for a moment – many of us are increasingly aware of how our consumer choices are having an impact on the environment, and on others. The recent mad dash for bio-fuel has meant that poor nations seeking to reap the immediate benefits of a cash crop switch from food production that is consumed locally, to crop production which is then taken away in exchange for money. The problem of course is that when you are no longer producing your own food – you have to buy it, possibly from a more expensive, non-local source. Throughout the Great Fast we can take the opportunity to choose differently, and in so doing perhaps make a positive contribution to those who have fewer choices available. This by the way ought not to be taken as a replacement for our duty to give alms during Lent.

For the reasons of solidarity with others, of re-investing in the relationship between food and praxis, I’ve wondered out loud for the past few years if it would not be better to resurrect the older model of multiple mini-fasts throughout the year. This would have the effect (in theory at least) of developing a year round awareness, and praxis rather than the mad dash to cram an enormous amount of meaning and activism into one month.

Today we commemorate the expulsion of Adam & Eve from Paradise – in preparation for the beginning of Lent tomorrow (Monday), and Cyril & Methodius Enlighteners of the Slavs. Notice something missing (ha ha ha)?

The expulsion from Paradise cannot, must not be seen as “history” in the strictest sense of the word. Rather it can only be appreciated as mythology – and there is nothing wrong with that – indeed it is through the imagery of mythology that some of our most nuanced perceptions of the divine-human relationship can be communicated, reflected upon, and even acted upon.

Adam & Eve’s exile is not about a petulant divinity having a bad hair day and giving the first humans a very long time out in the cosmic no no corner. This overly simplistic view of the opening narratives of scripture only leads to some very bad theology – such as the abominable belief that humans are intrinsically evil, naturally bad, or loathsome. To be sure we often act that way towards one another but it is certainly not the natural state of play.

The exile from paradise is about a loss of trust, a breakdown in confidence, and its consequences. Eve was persuaded by the slick presentation style of the Serpent and in a momentary lapse of good judgement, reason, and trust in God – she lost everything. Eve was not evil, nor was she treacherous, or deceitful, rather she heard the argument, and made a choice, thinking that the grass just might be greener on the other side.

What she and Adam soon discovered however, was that there was nothing but dust and rocks on the other side and now they were very much alone.

There is another piece of the puzzle here. When we loose confidence in another, and the intimacy once shared dissipates, or is held in suspension, our sense of who we are shifts, our identity is altered. Adam & Eve were created out of an expression of love. As such the finite nature of created things was intolerable to God, and so he infused them with the image of the Logos. When Adam & Eve instead chose a relationship with Death (through the deception of the Serpent) their identity shifted, and that infusion of divine reason, of Life itself, was lost. Thus, Adam laments his nakedness: “before the gates of Paradise, bewailing his nakedness and crying out – “Woe to me the loser who have listened to wicked deceit and have been driven away from glory!”

Reuters reports (Wed. 10 Feb 10) that the Synod of the Church of England criticised broadcasters – the BBC in particular – for the steep reduction in “religious broadcasting”. Claiming that this actively marginalises religion and treats religious programming as “freak shows”.

I’m sitting here thinking about the report and a few things come to mind about this. First – what qualifies as “religious” programming? Is it historical/documentary? Is it an exploration of current theological trends? Is it a balanced presentation of the positions on a current issue from the perspective of different traditions? Or, is “religious” programming praise, preaching, and televised services?

I think it is very difficult to get the shape of a program right in both categories. The BBC recently offered Diarmaid MacCulloch’s excellent History of Christianity. But much of the “documentary” programming on historical and current religious issues falls into the realm of thoughtless agenda pushing, or mind-numbing “lets stick to the script” surveys. Both extremes neither inform, nor encourage deeper interest and exploration. Then we have the worship/service category – and the “flagship” show for this here in England is “Songs of Praise”. I don’t know about you but from the perspective of one in the sacramental/liturgical tradition this sort of programming . . . is simply awkward. When I lived in the States there were often channels that televised the Liturgy once a week. “Watching” the Liturgy is not the same as “participating” in the Liturgy – it becomes an anthropological exercise rather than a participatory experience. I think if I were a non-liturgical Protestant, it would be less awkward because preaching, prayer, and praise can easily be done regardless of the environment (though I suspect if that’s your devotional bent – it is still more comfortable to be in the presence of others, sharing the experience).

Aside from the occasional well designed documentary, or exploration of a particular topic within a given tradition, or among various traditions – religious programming is awkward. It seems to me that part of this freakishness is as much about context as it is about content. Simply televising a worship service, or liturgy is not good religious programming because it takes that “experience” out of its natural context and plops it in the viewer’s lap. Something else, something more tailored to the media is needed – and that almost never happens. Even Songs of Praise – which clearly makes an effort to do this – does not quite make it.

Something like 50% of internet users connect to their faith tradition on the web. Because the net is relatively “novel” individuals and communities putting the good material up are tailoring the shape and substance of their presentation to better fit the medium of the internet. The benefit of this avenue of presentation of course is that the material can be produced for different audiences, within the spectrum of a tradition, and not be pigeon-holed to suit the lowest common denominator so as to attempt to “make good TV”. The medium throws open the doors to better quality material, more in-depth exploration, and the possibility of graduating from the mere bullet points of an issue to a developed presentation of the finer points; allowing the viewer to stop and start as needed.

Nicephoros was the friend of a priest called Sapricius. However, shortly before Sapricius was outed as a Christian during the persecution of Valerian, their friendship failed bitterly. Nicephoros tried to reconcile with his friend both in person, and through intermediaries, but Sapricius would have none of it. Sapricius was seized by the authorities, and was being tortured. Nicephoros heard of this, and sent intermediaries to Sapricius begging his forgiveness. But his friend still refused to forgive him. As Sapricius faced beheading, Nicephoros tried one final time to be reconciled with his friend, and met him on the way to his execution, prostrated himself before him and begged his forgiveness; but Sapricius was obstinate to the very end.

Sapricius’ refusal to follow one of the central teachings of the faith meant that his suffering and immanent martyrdom would be meaningless – because the simplest act, the most meaningful act of reconciling with his friend and neighbour went unfulfilled. As such – he was abandoned – his confidence slipped away – and in order to save his own life, he told his executioners he would sacrifice to the gods. Nicephoros on the other hand, confessed his faith in Christ, and was immediately beheaded in Sapricius’ place – receiving the martyr’s crown that Sapricius cast aside.

The hagiography of Nicephoros is interesting, falling as it does this year, just after Forgiveness Sunday. Nicephoros’ story is a multi-layered one. At first glance it addresses the teaching on forgiveness so prevalent in the Gospels; and falling, as it does this year just after Foregiveness Sunday, it is a highly relevant story. Nicephoros sought to be reconciled with his estranged friend before the persecution broke out, and once he learned of Sapricius’ impending death, that desire for forgiveness became all the more pressing. Forgive one another as God has forgiven you.

There is another avenue of interpretation – not entirely un-related; this time focussing on the actions of Sapricius, rather than Nicephoros. Jesus criticised the religious leaders of his day for their fastidious attention to points of law and custom that, on the scale of what is important, and what is not important, don’t even rate. “You pay tithes of mind and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier things of the law: judgment and mercy and fidelity. But these you should have done without neglecting the others. Blind guides, who strain ou the gnat ans swallow the camel!” (Mt. 23.23-24). Here we find Sapricius bearing witness to Christ as a confessor, while simultaneously not bearing witness to the core of the faith itself: to love God, to love one’s neighbour, and to forgive as one has already been forgiven.

Finally the story serves as a warning. Sapricius’ bravery and boldness in the face of persecution and death slip away as he remains obstinate before Nicephoros’ simple request to be forgiven. Thus, through his hardness of heart in the face of this, the simplest, and quietest of Christian acts – forgiving his estranged friend Nicephoros, Sapricius’ bold “confession” of his faith is rendered meaningless. And he is now remembered not as a martyr or confessor, but as a fool, and a traitor.

Theodore was a general in the early fourth century during the reign of Licinius. He was renowned for his skill as a strategist and commander of men. However, he was a believer. Licinius wanting to pursuade Theodore to revert to paganism, and through him those who honoured and respected him, went to see the general in person at Heraclea.

The two men recieved one another with great honour, finally the emperor asked Theodore to make an offering to the gods. Theodore asked instead that he might take the emperor’s personal idols home with him to worship in private, and that the following day he would restore them, and make a public offering. Licinius was re-assured that his plan was working and granted Theodore’s request.

At home, the general, far from worshipping the gods, broke up the gold and silver statues and distributed the pieces to the poor. The next morning a centurion reported to Licinius that he had seen a pauper carrying the head of Artemis (goddess of the hunt, wilderness, fertility and virginity).

Theodore confessed his faith in Christ, and the enraged emperor had him crucified, and tortured while on the cross. The following day, he sent soldiers to dump the body in the sea, but they found the saint whole, and alive. Seeing that his own entourage were beginning to be persuaded themselves, Licinius ordered Theodore to be beheaded.

Today is also cheesefare, and the seventh day of the feast of the Presentation.

Martyred in AD 251 Agatha was a Virgin from a noble Sicilian family and lived in Catania. She was tortured to death in part because she refused to abandon her asceticism and marry the local governor. Legend says that when she was buried an angel placed a stone inscribed with the words: “A righteous mind, self-determining, honour from God, the deliverance of her father-land” over the grave. The following year Mt. Etna erupted Catania was spared the devastation of the surrounding region. The belief is that it was through Agatha’s intervention that Catania was spared. She is now the protectress of Sicily.

My question is – surely there were saints and martyrs buried in the other areas around Catania – so  . . . um . . .what were they doing at the time? . . . Step away. I hear the flapping of wings!

Today is also Meatfare the run up to the Great Fast.

The story of Symeon & Anna is told in Luke 2. Symeon was an old man, righteous and devout, who recieved the revealation that he would not die before seeing the Messiah (Lk. 2.27). Symeon was in the Temple when Jesus was presented for his circumcision; he took him into his arms and declared:

Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you prepared in sight of all the people, a light for revelation of the Gentiles, and glory for your people Israel.” (Lk. 2.29-32)

Symeon’s utterance forms one of the main chants of Vespers.

Anna an elderly widow who spent her time in prayer and fasting came forward too, gave thanks to God and prophesied about the child. Sadly Luke does not include any of her utterances in the text – which might suggest that Symeon’s words had already served some liturgical function when Luke was compiled?