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
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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