Week 12, Pentecost: Citing this week’s readings, what recommendations would you give churches today celebrating the Pentecost?

The Pentecost feast is the climax of the Easter-Pentecost Season. On this day, Christians celebrate the redemptive act in its entirety—from Christ’s death, resurrection and ascension to the sending of the Holy Spirit to empower our ministry and cultivate our relationship with God.[1] This day is an expression of the Joy embodied on Easter Sunday and through Eastertide. Like the Jewish understanding of the covenant of Redemption as a process of participation, to be passed on from one generation to the next[2], Eastertide and Pentecost are celebrations of the human relationship with Jesus Christ. As Brown points out, those who come together for worship enter into a relationship of unity[3] (which, by definition, is inclusive), with all generations of all people.
As Brown stated just a few pages earlier, “Baptism is a public action.”[4] Thus Salvation is collective process; unless we come together as human beings, committing ourselves to each other on an individual and collective level, we cannot know God. As Gilbert Meilaender writes (I’ve quoted it elsewhere, I know.): “to give ourselves to no one and no place in particular is not to be more like God; it is just to fail as a human being.”[5] If the Pentecost feast is a time to rejoice in our relationship with God, it is also a time to celebrate our humanity, to be grateful for this life we have been given and to do what we can to live well, thus turning toward (rather than away from) God.
Aside from the festive meals and bright colors on Pentecost, I would suggest an atmosphere of play. Through play, we develop relations and begin to see each other more fully. Tension is released and joy is found. Play moves beyond, and somehow transcends the tensions between suffering and happiness, between dark and light. It cuts through to what is most intimate, and to what is, most essentially, human.
Another part of Eastertide and Pentecost is the pure physicality of these springs and summer months. In Lent, we have been hibernating, as Persephone deep within the Underworld, or Jesus in the tomb. In “leaving the tomb,” or in returning from the underworld, we must step outside of ourselves and back into the world, working passionately to cultivate the seeds sown in late winter, to plant the gardens planned during Lent. This is physical work, our bodies breathing in light and sweating out toxins. In cultivating our gardens, we revel in pleasure, in the bloom, in beauty and fragrance. We engage in the community, sharing our abundance with others and participating in communal life. We cook feasts with fresh harvest, inviting neighbors to share meals over laughter; we sing songs around fire pits and tell stories on back porches filled with moonlight.

*

As I’m running out of space, I’ll end here with a quotation from an interview with Terry Tempest Williams in The Iowa Review, 1997. I was reminded of this during the second part of our conversation in class today:
“…When we’re in relation, whether it is with a human being with an animal, or with the desert [or God?], I think there is an exchange of the erotic impulse. We are engaged, we are vulnerable, we are both giving and receiving, we are fully present in that moment, and we are able to heighten out capacity for passion which I think is the full range of emotion, both joy and sorrow that one feels when in wild country.” [Perhaps God is wild country, no?]
[1] Handbook 235
[2] Greenberg 68-70
[3] Brown 285
[4] Brown 281
[5] Meilaender, 18: Meilaender, Gilbert. 1997. “Creatures of Place and Time: Reflections on Moving.” First Things, April: 17-23.

Holy Saturday

these photos, paired with this reflection...

Week 11: Holy Week II

Week 11, Holy Week II: Citing this week’s readings, what recommendations would you give churches today celebrating Easter Sunday and Eastertide?

In “The Origins of Easter” Paul Bradshaw points out that the modern day Easter celebration has evolved from two separate ancient traditions. One feast tradition (practiced by the “Quartodecimans”) memorializes the suffering and death of Christ. The other celebrates Christ’s passage from death to life.[1] While the latter tradition is understood to be more universal than the first (as it celebrates Christ’s resurrection rather than memorializing his death), it is important to recognize that modern day practices of Easter have evolved from a combination of both. Just as the “Quartodecimans” memorialized Christ’s death in the context of the whole redemptive act,[2] on Easter Sunday and during Eastertide Christians celebrate the Resurrection only after they have first recognized and mourned Christ’s death during the season of Lent.
The contrast between Lent and Eastertide is essential to the Christian understanding and experience of the whole redemptive act. This is one reason why the Easter Vigil rite, “the original core of the liturgical year,”[3] is at the heart of the paschal mystery. The Easter Vigil, beginning sometime after dark on Saturday night, marks the transition from Lent to Eastertide, the passage from death to life. The Vigil readings communicate that God is no longer absent from our lives:
For a brief moment I abandoned you,
but with great compassion I will gather
you.
In overflowing wrath for a moment
I hid my face from you,
but with everlasting love I will have
compassion on you,
says the LORD, your Redeemer (Isaiah 54.7-8).

Though it may be difficult for many people to participate in a service beginning after dark Saturday and lasting through dawn Sunday, the Vigil would be an invaluable addition to the standard Easter service. Followed by an early breakfast and a service for those members of the congregation unable to attend, the evening/morning Vigil could help to re-establish Easter Sunday and Eastertide at the heart of the church—and with adequate preparation, planning and help, it wouldn’t have to be exhausting!
The vigil includes four parts: the Service of Light, the Service of the Word, the Service of the Water, and the Service of the Bread and Cup. Beginning after dark on Saturday, the vigil opens with the lighting of new fire. This fire is then used to light the Paschal Candle (which remains lit through Eastertide and Pentecost), a tradition carried over from ancient Jewish practice.[4] The Service of the Word includes biblical readings, many from the Old Testament, followed by a short sermon. Following the sermon, the Service of the Water offers the opportunity to commit or recommit to the Word of God through baptism. In addition, I’d suggest honoring those who have come before by naming the list of ancient and modern saints as recommended in The Handbook.[5] The remembrances of deceased loved one and prayers for specific people of the congregation could also be included during the Service of the Water.
Finally, I appreciate The Handbook’s suggestion of bringing in homemade breads to be used in the Service of the Bread and Cup or in the breakfast following the vigil.[6] The Easter Vigil and Sunday services should be designed to encourage the entire congregation to actively participate whether by baking bread, bringing fresh flowers to the service, taking these flowers to home bound congregants after the service, or participating in efforts to revitalize the community. As Raymond Brown points out, “those who were ‘scattered’ by the events of the passion at Jerusalem will once more become a community when they return to the place where they were first called together as disciples.”[7] Eastertide is an opportunity for community members to come together in celebration, sharing their joy and abundance with each other and with the larger community in which they live.
[1] Bradshaw 111
[2] Ibid. 113
[3] Ibid. 124
[4] Handbook 201
[5] Ibid. 208
[6] Ibid. 209
[7] Brown 202

The Rose

Casida of the Rose

The rose

was not searching for the sunrise:

almost eternal on its branch,

it was searching for something else.

The rose

was not searching for darkness or science:

borderline of flesh and dream,

it was searching for something else.

The rose

was not searching for the rose.

Motionless in the sky

it was searching for something else.

-Federico Garcia Lorca

translated by Robert Bly

Week eight: Holy Week I

Week 8, Holy Week I: Citing this week’s readings, what recommendations would you give churches today observing Holy Week, through Holy Saturday?

Jesus is completely abandoned in the hours leading up to his death. As Raymond Brown points out, while the first disciples left everything in order to follow Jesus, his last disciples left everything in order to get away from him.[1] Standing in church on an April afternoon today, it might be easy to think, “Well, if I had been there, I would have stood up for him. Or, we, as a congregation, would have stood up for him.” But in the previous chapter, Brown has suggested including Christians among the cast of characters opposing Jesus in the Passion play. He explains:

"Gospel readers are often sincerely religious people who have a deep attachment to their tradition. Jesus was a challenge to religious traditionalists since he pointed to a human element in their holy traditions—an element too often identified with God’s will. If Jesus was treated harshly by the literal-minded religious people of his time who were Jews, it is quite likely that he would be treated harshly by similar religious people of our time, including Christians. Not Jewish background but religious mentality is the basic component in the reaction to Jesus."[2]

In reflecting on the season of Lent for week five, I suggested that Lent be a time for us to slow down, to notice God’s absence, and to observe where we have turned away from God in our lives. Perhaps Holy Week is a time for us to ask, “Where is belief getting in the way of my relationship with God?” “Are their aspects of my worship that have become stale (“chametz”[3]) and that separate me from others and/or from God?” “What beliefs or practices do I need to let go of in order to deepen my relationship with God, with others, and with myself?”

In his description of the Jewish Passover, Greenberg writes, “True freedom means accepting the ethics of responsibility,” Several pages later, he adds “…sharing or reaching beyond the self is a fundamental mark of free people.[4] After the performance of a Passion play in which Christians also played the role of Jesus’ oppressor, it would be helpful to think creatively about the role of oppression in our current lives. In a group setting, it would be helpful to discuss the dual identity of oppressor and oppressed and to then explore how these identities take shape in our personal and communal lives.[5]

Though space is limited, I want to make two final points. The first point is that the practices suggested above are meant to help us to understand that like the Exodus, the crucifixion did not destroy evil in the world. “What it did was set up an alternative conception of life.” Greenberg writes of the Exodus. “…it points the way to the end goal toward which all life and history must go.”[6] I believe this holds true of the crucifixion and resurrection as well.

Secondly, I believe that to fully understand the Christian version of this alternative, we must remember that all life turned from God in the final hours of Jesus’ life. “Nature itself is plunged into a darkness that covers the whole land … from the sixth to ninth hour,” Brown reminds us.[7] Even Jesus turns away, asking “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” The entire world has rejected Jesus. Now he must let go of his God and face death. According to Father Bede Griffiths, it is in this surrender to nothingness, to darkness, that Jesus is taken to the total Love. “Behind death is this tremendous power of Love,” says Father Bede.[8] Ideally, the rituals and practices of Holy Week will help each one of us to experience the pain of being mocked and rejected, of being isolated and cut off from everything we know and love. And it will then allow us to gradually awaken and to be released back into the world, connected once again in God.

[1] Brown 156
[2] Brown 149
[3] Greenberg 41-46
[4] Greenberg 49-51
[5] The work of Paulo Freire would be useful in leading this discussion!
[6] Greenberg 36
[7] Brown 162
[8] http://thechristianliturgicalyear.blogspot.com/2009/03/father-bede-griffiths-surrendering-to.html

Father Bede Griffiths, Surrendering to the Feminine

If the video isn't working (I'm still figuring out this process of embedding videos) you can watch it here.

“...What my experience taught me was that when everything thing else goes, you discover this love, which is in you all the time, it’s there deep down and you know nothing about it. But let everything go and it comes. And I got a tremendous insight into Jesus on the Cross from this. It was very interesting. And at the words “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” you see, that was a climax for him. And I think at that moment he had lost everything. His disciples had fled, the jurors were all against him, the people rejected him, and now he had to let go of his God. Do you see? “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” And the moment he let go of God and faced death, darkness, nothingness, he was taken to total Love you see. That is the experience of death. Behind all death is this tremendous power of Love. ..."
Father Bede Griffiths

Sitting with desire

A note on the sweet tooth

(butternut squash)

(licorice assortments)

Hello sugar crash--

I know I'm supposed to be sitting with my desires. But I guess that's why they call for "practice, practice, and never-ending practice." Cause tonight I went just a little overboard... And I'm regretting it.

Imagine the Joy in one delicious spoonful of my creamy butternut squash. Imagine how long that warmth, that sweetness would last me.

But a bowl full, then a handful of licorice, and then, I admit, some of Bill's leftover cocoa b-day cake with chocolate morsels and strawberries on top.

After all of that, I'm feeling empty again, my gears screeched to a halt, and overflowing.

But--

With just this breath I begin again (over and over and over again).

Opening my lips to this glass of water, or to this cup of hot tea, like baptismal waters, their cleansing waters flow. And I know now --not Joy, not yet-- but emptiness. I know emptiness and I know hunger, sitting here, my desires washing (wave upon wave upon wave) through me.

Between Going and Staying
Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now at bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shae of their names.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
I find myself in its blank stare.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.
Octavio Paz

Throwing Flowers Against Evil

In an interview with Derrick Jenson (Listening to the Land: Conversations about Nature, Culture, and Eros, 1995) Terry Tempest Williams describes how for several weeks during Easter season, Yaqui people reenact the passion play by throwing flowers against evil. Her description of the Easter ceremony is worth quoting in full:

"Imagine this: a slow, inexorable build-up of evil against the forces of good. The fariseos, of pharisees, are dressed in black cloaks. They are masked and they march to a slow, steady dirge, to the haunting flute music that is accompanying them. They are carrying the weight of evil that is leaning against the village. In their long black capes they forcefully make their way through the crowd of onlookers. Their goal is to literally penetrate the church. They have stolen the body of Christ, they have violated every sense of decency within the community, they have marred and destroyed the sacred.

The fariseos charge the church in full run. As they do this, they are showered with flower petals thrown against evil by the children, by the women on both sides of the human gauntlet. The young girls--five, six, seven years old--are adorned in crisp white dresses. They are the final barrier to the community's holy altar that the fariseos must penetrate. The fariseos charge again. The girls raise boughs of cottonwood and mesquite and wave them over the fariseos. The fariseos are repelled.
They retreat, take off their black capes and return to the santuario in confession. A deer- the Deer Dancer--the most peaceful of animals, covered with flower petals, dances in the middle of the fariseos. The fariseos have been 'changed to good' and are 'forgiven.' The universe is restored, health and peace have been returned to the village."

After reading TTW's description of the Yaqui Easter Ceremony, I plucked the petals off of my Valentine's Day bouquet and stored them in the fridge, waiting for the perfect occassion to perform my own tiny version of "throwing flowers against evil." I decided to wait for a Sunday because, as I understand it, Sundays in Lent stand outside of Lent (as a time of exile) as days of epiphany, celebrating the manifestation of God in our lives...

So, yesterday, the second Sunday of Lent, I tossed my Valentine's Day flowers onto a pile of waste stacked outside of my husband's place of work (a barrel of compressor oil, and fan motor for an old heating and air conditioning system). Obviously, my gesture here is symbolic, but I think the symbols we carry with us from generation to generation and the stories we tell have power to change, and to heal.

before

and after

A gentle wind picked up after I distrubuted the flowers, circling them round the old engine in dance, as if to consecrate my simple gesture...

On the way back to our apartment, my husband and I passed a truck, its bed filled with flowers, mourning, honouring and remembering a marine lost to the war in Iraq. Attached to the truck was a trailer filled with crosses, flowers, photographs, names of soldiers, and the American flag. The words "faith" and "hope" framed the bumper:

Week Six: Jewish and Christian Time

Two Page Essay: Compare and assess these accounts of ‘time’ in Christianity and Judaism.

In reading Raddi Greenberg’s account of the Jewish holidays, I am reminded of Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor, writer, and professor and Bernie Glassman, a Jewish Zen Master from New York. A deep understanding of the “threefold present,” as identified in class, is reflected in the life and work of both Wiesel and Glassman, men deeply rooted in Jewish culture and tradition. It has been years since I read Man’s Search for Meaning but I remember that essential to Weisel’s survival was his ability to remember life before the concentration camps, to imagine his wife greeting him at the door, for example, and to bring these memories into the present, holding them safely in his thoughts of the future.

I am then reminded of Bernie Glassman’s retreats at Auschwitz, retreats including survivors, children of survivors, children of Nazis, children of German soldiers, and children of refugees. Though the Holocaust, as an event, is of the past, the pain and suffering of the Holocaust is very much present today. Through entering into relationship with this suffering, i.e. acknowledging it and giving it space, these retreats transform and heal this suffering in time. In shifting the very meaning of this suffering now, this healing penetrates all time: past, present and future.

In his chapter “The Holidays as the Jewish Way,” Rabbi Greenberg explains that the rhythm of the Jewish year leads the Jewish people through a reenactment of the Exodus with Passover, the covenant acceptance with Shavuot and a reconstruction of the exodus way with Sukkot.[1] Like the Christian (in the fullest sense of the word) experience of time, while these holidays commemorate the historical past, more importantly, they bring this historical past into the present and summon the future into the present reality.[2] Greenberg writes, “Uniquely, the human being can anticipate the future redemption and bring it closer. Thus, an event that has not yet occurred can have a profound impact on the present, an impact strong enough to overcome even powerful past conditioning”[3] and, I would add, terrifying and violent conditions in our current lives (as we see in the writings and teachings of Elie Wiesel). The Jewish year and its holidays are designed to teach us how to deal with sorrow, to remind us of suffering and death when we become too comfortable in our daily routines, and to nurture us with visions of a perfect world[4] and belief in a final, universal redemption.[5]

While there are many parallels between Christian and Jewish understanding and use of time, with the 8th day (with Christ rising the first day after the Sabbath) a new time evolves; with the resurrection of Christ, time itself is transformed.[6] According to Schmemann, the Church continued to use the Jewish festivals of Passover and Pentecost because these holidays anticipated the experience of time of which the Church was now the manifestation and fulfillment.[7] These holidays represented a period of passage into joy and salvation, into a new ‘eon’ of the Spirit[8] (as they represented passage from exile to freedom in the Old Testament). Therefore, the early celebration of Easter is the fulfillment of time itself. Namely, through Easter, meaning (Joy) is given to time, thus transforming the reality of Christian life in this world (for Christians are no longer waiting for the savior; He has come).

[1] Greenberg 25
[2] Ibid. 27
[3] Ibid.
[4] Ibid. 33
[5] Ibid. 19
[6] Schmemann 51
[7] Ibid. 56
[8] Ibid. 56-57

Fasting

I'm thinking of fasting today, of sitting with my desire, of giving it space to move through me, to wash me out and to undo me.

I'm thinking of what it means to live and love with a broken heart, raw, wide open, and exposed. I'm thinking about what it might mean to be, as I am, in the world, unattached to the labels I have been given, to the deep shame of being told how I've been broken.

into fragments.

that can't be pieced back together again.

I'm wondering what it would mean to unravel these broken pieces while standing strong, breath steady and deep.

Fasting: the practice of peeling back those layers built to divide and to hold apart, to protect us from being human.

I pray to be broken open.
...Over and over and over again.

Ah Holy Jesus

Played at the Ash Wednesday service I attended, just piano... hauntingly beautiful. Here's a version on YouTube I enjoy:

Ah, Holy Jesus

And Lent begins...

"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me."

Psalm 51:10

Rebirth

stars flashing through our hearts

A poem for today, Ash Wednesday:

REBIRTH

Corridors of the soul! The soul that is like a young woman!

You clear light

and the brief history

and the joy of a new life . . .

Oh turn and be born again, and walk the road,

and find once more the lost path!

And turn and feel in our own hand

the warmth of the good hand

of our mother . . . And walk through life in dreams

out of love of the hand that leads us.

* * *

In our soul everything

moves guided by a mysterious hand:

ununderstandable, not speaking,

we know nothing of our own souls.

The deepest words

of the wise men teach us

the same as the whistle of the wind when it blows,

or the sound of the water when it is flowing.

ANTONIO MACHADO

translated by Robert Bly

Invitation to Poetry: From Dust to Dust

ChristineValters Paintner writes: "Lent begins this week. During the imposition of ashes at the Ash Wednesday service some of us will hear the words “from dust you came and to dust you shall return.” The ashes are a tangible reminder of our temporal bodies. I love this beginning to the season of conversion and re-ordering of priorities. The reminder of our mortality is meant to confront us with the preciousness of our days and demands that we ask how we want to spend our time. “Return to me with your whole heart,” says the prophet Joel in the opening scripture for this service. Return, renew your commitment, begin again. This week’s Poetry Party is an invitation to explore through poetic imagery the reality of our shared limits and what stirs in us in response. How does the awareness of Ash Wednesday shape your commitment for the Lenten season ahead?"

image by Christine

There are many beautiful responses to her post. This is mine:
like dust on molten canvas,
I am. Now
my heart returns to You

Week five: the practice of Lent

Assignment, Week 5: “Citing this week’s readings, what recommendations would you give churches today observing the season of Lent?”

Many of the religious traditions practiced today survive from a time when the rhythm of daily life was shaped by the church.[1] They remain as powerful reminders of who we are, of where we come from, and of how we are to live in relationship, connected to the earth, all of its inhabitants, and God. The danger here, as Alexander Schmemann writes in Great Lent, is when “little by little one begins to understand religion itself as a system of symbols and customs rather than to understand the latter as a challenge to spiritual renewal and effort.”[2] For Schmemann, the burning question is: “How can we—besides introducing one or two ‘symbolical’ changes into our daily life—keep Lent?”[3] In determining how to engage with traditional Lent customs in ways that are meaningful in our current lives, we need to understand how the traditions of Lent were originally intended. We then need to consider how these traditions can be practiced in a way that is meaningful to our local communities while also preserving the authenticity of each traditions.

For example, fasting is one tradition that has been changed from generation to generation, at times required, other times banned. In his essay “The Three Days and the Forty Days,” Patrick Regan writes: “The meaning and value of fasting derives from its being the symbol of all that the Church during Lent is and always ought to be: emptied of any pretension to self-subsistence, and filled instead with the Gift and presence of him who is the Church’s life.”[4] Today, the fasting of Lent is traditionally represented by “giving up something you like.” If taken seriously, this could be a powerful practice. But what about adding in something that is hard for you? For example, if you spend most of your waking hours at work, why not commit to dinner with you family during Lent? Or, if you tend to order out or eat prepared dinners, why not commit to preparing (with great care) an evening meal, trying always to invite others to join you? When I think of an alternative to fasting for myself, I remember the meals I’ve eaten oryoki style during sesshin. Compared to them, fasting sounds easy! If the goal of fasting is to empty ourselves out and to make space within ourselves for God, alternatives to fasting would include any practice that encourages us to pay deep attention to the role of consumption in our lives.

In our current culture of busyness and individualism, I have found the qualities of love and care-taking (for both self and others) to be quite revolutionary. Lent is “sober, reflective, and watchful”[5] but this doesn’t mean that we have to treat ourselves harshly. Rather, Lent calls for us to treat ourselves and each other with great care. “‘The discipline of the forty days should heal us and restore the purity of our minds,’” writes Pope Leo the Great.[6] And as the Handbook reminds us, the discipline of Lent is meant sustain and refresh us in preparation for the Easter-Pentecost Season.[7]

Lent is a time for us to slow down and to notice God’s absence. It is a time for us to observe where we have turned away from God and to pay attention to those things we hide behind both individually and collectively. This process of purification includes the practice of fasting (which, in itself, includes various forms), the practice of clearing and planning a garden plot, the practice of reflective journaling, expressive dance, silent meditation, communal prayer, song and so on. What is important here is that we recognize our patterns of relating, paying attention to what works and what doesn’t. Then through our reflective practices, we work toward shifting what doesn’t work and emptying out new space for growth. Spring is on its way!

[1] Ibid. 87
[2] Ibid., 90
[3] Schmemann 87
[4] Regan 134
[5] Handbook 109
[6] Regan 130
[7] Handbook 106-107

"I live my life"

I Live My Life
I live my life in growing orbits,
which move out over the things of the world.
Perhaps I can never achieve the last,
but that will be my attempt.

I am circling around God, around the ancient tower,
and I have been circling for a thousand years.
And I still don't know if I am a falcon,
Or a storm, or a great song.

Rainer Maria Rilke / 1899
from Book for the Hours of Prayer
translated by Robert Bly

Sculpture: twig art

"Go back inside yourself and look: if you do not yet see yourself as beautiful, then do as the sculptor does with a statue he wants to make beautiful; he chisels away one part, and levels off another, makes one spot smooth and another clear, until he shows forth a beautiful face on the statue. Like him, remove what is superfluous, straighten what is crooked, clear up what is dark and make it bright, and never stop sculpting your own statue, until the godlike splendor of virtue shines forth to you. . . . If you have become this, and seen it, and become pure and alone with yourself, with nothing now preventing you from becoming one in this way, and have nothing extraneous mixed within your self . . . if you see that this is what you have become, then you have become vision. Be confident in yourself: you have already ascended here and now, and no longer need someone to show you the way. Open your eyes and see."

Plotinus, I 6,9,7-24

Reflections on Week One: Historical and Theological Groundwork

. . .What impresses me about this week’s reading is how time and space are used as grounding forces in Christian tradition and practice. As we see in Klein’s description of sacred architecture, places of worship and the surrounding space were designed to cultivate movement inward and closer to God (and here I am reminded of Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle). Similarly, times of prayer carved into daily life, mirroring the sacred times and cycles of the year, are reminders of the beginning of things, helping us to engage the wisdom of those who have lived before.

For example, the Christian Pentecost, held on the same day as the Jewish Pentecost, commemorates the descent of the Holy Spirit over the Apostles and the subsequent birth of the Christian church. On this day of celebration and remembrance, the spiritual birth of new Christians (baptism) is also celebrated.[1] Through connecting with and reincorporating traditions of the past into the present, we are more deeply rooted in this time and place. The tradition of Sunday worship is another example of this. While it reminds Christians of past events, it also celebrates their present experience of communion in Christ.[2]

With the support of these temporal and spatial structures, the realities most central to the church—manifestation, resurrection, and the indwelling spirit—are manifest.[3] Prayer cycles and sacred space help to extend prayer into all parts of the practitioner’s life. These practices remind me of how, in the practice of meditation, we pause in our day to focus on the breath. We are always breathing but in drawing our attention to the breath, we breathe more deeply. In pausing to sit on a cushion, we become more aware of ourselves in relation and attentive to the spaces in between. Likewise, the scheduled practice of prayer and the Christian use of space directly impact how we live our lives, helping us to be, most fully, human. Clement of Alexandria writes: “‘Holding festival, then, in our whole life, and persuaded that God is altogether on every side present, we cultivate our fields, praising; we sail the sea, hymning.’”[4]

As the rhythm of Christian prayer and the cycles of worship strengthen the connection between self and God, the sacred spaces of worship help to ground the human self in being. In other words, sacred spaces draw us inward and cultivate our sense of rootedness in the world. They also open our eyes to that which is greater than and beyond human comprehension. Thus reminding us of our partiality, sacred spaces encourage us to live responsibly in this particular time and place.[5] In his essay, Creatures of Place and Time: Reflections on Moving, Gilbert Meilaender reminds us: “to give ourselves to no one and no place in particular is not to be more like God; it is just to fail as a human being.”[6] The Christian use of temporal and spatial structures helps us, as human beings, to understand and to actualize our proper place in creation.

[1] The New Handbook of the Christian Year 21
[2] Bradshaw 77
[3] Handbook 24
[4] Bradshaw 73
[5] Here I draw upon the ideas of Wendell Berry: …No matter how much one may love the world as a whole, one can live fully in it only by living responsibly in some small part of it. Where we live and who we live there with define the terms of our relationship to the world and to humanity. We thus come again to the paradox that one can become whole only by the responsible acceptance of one’s partiality…” (The Unsettling of America 123).
[6] Meilaender, 18: Meilaender, Gilbert. 1997. “Creatures of Place and Time: Reflections on Moving.” First Things, April: 17-23.

About this blog

I've decided to create this blog as a project space for a course I'm currently taking: Christianity: The Liturgical Year, with Matthew Myer Boulton. The requirements for our final project are as follows (in his words):

(1) a focus on one element or cluster of elements in the Christian year;
(2) a fieldwork component, in which observation, interview, or like methods are employed;
(3) an historical component, placing the case in the context of the Christian year generally and the relevant tradition in particular; and
(4) a theological argument, drawing on resources examined in the course.

The professor is encouraging special attention to 'the arts' and is allowing for an alternative to the standard academic paper. I haven't yet decided on the format for my final project though I am leaning toward a photo essay (I've never done one and will have to research what exactly the phrase "photo essay" encompasses before deciding). In the meantime, I plan to use this space for my thoughts and reflections and hopefully some conversation and sharing of ideas...