Christ, King of Peace: Fr. Joseph's Sermon for Christ the King

Melchizedek, The Righteous King of Peace, from St. Mary's Ridge.

The Gospel for today depicts a confrontation between Jesus and Pilot, between the King of heaven and Pilot who represents the emperor of the ruling secular power. Pilot probes and questions to elicit a confession from Jesus that he is a secular king. Jesus doesn't deny that he is king. He simply says, "My Kingdom is not of this world."

When we speak of Christ's kingdom as not being of this world, the first thought that comes to mind is the kingdom of heaven where, if we persevere in faith, we will experience intense peace and joy for all eternity. But this side of heaven we can have only a shadow of an idea of what that kingdom is about. We use our imagination, we use analogy, we have teachings to refer to, we may have had experiences in prayer that give us sense of what the kingdom will be. We may even come to have an intense desire for it after years of perseverance in the spiritual life. Yet it remains a mystery that we wait for and long for. We long for peace in this me and for all eternity.
In the Old Testament Abraham meets a mysterious figure, a priest by the name of Melchizedek, the king of Salem, who is a figure of Christ. The name Melchizedek means righteous king and “sal'em” means peace. He is King of Peace. Isaiah also prophesies of the Messiah that, "He has been anointed to give good news to the poor." He comes into the world to bring relief to those who suffer, not necessarily external peace, but an interior peace that brings balance and health to the soul. Again Isaiah says the Messiah will be "Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Prince of Peace." Christ's kingdom is a kingdom of peace.

In the Gospel of John, after the resurrection, Jesus said to the apostles, "My peace I give you." Then he breaths on them and they receive the Holy Spirit. From then on his peace and his Spirit remain in them and in us as well. This means the kingdom of heaven is already present here and now. How can we have peace in our lives? We are tempted to say that if only I could arrange the things around me in just the way I want, then I'll have peace. If I have just the right amount of money; if I surround myself with the right people; if I remove everything that's obnoxious from my life then I'll have peace. But is that what happens in reality? If we can only be happy when we have complete control of all the details of our life then the monastic vocation will soon become a type of purgatory. In the monastery the monk is often asked to accept things that go against the grain. There must be a better way to have a deeper abiding peace that doesn't vanish the moment our will is frustrated. I think this peace is what attracts US to the monastery and to Christ in the first place.

In the Prologue of the Holy Rule, St. Benedict says to the beginner, "Seek peace and pursue it." Does he mean, seek a merely external tranquility or seek the experience of inner calm; or does he mean something more profound, something that's not just a passing moment. He's referring to an inner change of heart and to the sense of wellbeing and order that we slowly begin to know when the kingdom of heaven takes root in our lives, within us and around us. "Seek first the kingdom of heaven and all else will be given to you." Jesus says. Isn't this what St. Benedict means when he says, "Seek peace and pursue it.;' We catch a glimpse of it and we follow, we taste it somewhere in our lives and we pursue it.

What do we have to do to apply ourselves to this pursuit? Once we know that this peace exists through our faith and service to Christ, what acts can we do to bring it fully into our lives? What does searching for God involve. The Cistercian author, William of St. Thierry sheds light on this in "The Golden Epistle."

There is nothing more worthy to seek or sweeter to find or more useful to possess than the on:ly thing which is superior to the mind, God alone. Nor is he far from any of us for it is in him that we live and move and have our being....all greatness and goodness for the spirit consist$' in looking upon and wondering at and aspiring to what is above it.

It sounds as if he's speaking of an exercise of pure contemplation, but listen to what he says. He brings it down to a practical level when he tells us what sort of acts we should in our search. He says, quoting St. Paul,

These acts are spiritual, peaceful, humble, adapting themselves to humble men.... They may be done exteriorly but there proper sphere is within a man's mind and spirit, where his renewal takes place and he puts on the new self which is created in God's image, justified and sanctified through the truth... These are the holy exercises for those who seek God alone: when we live with great patience in affliction, need, difficulty, hard work, vigils, in the cell, fasting, chastity, knowledge, graciousness, relying on the Holy Spirit, on unfeigned charity, on the word of truth, on the power of God. ...They call us deceivers and we tell the truth; unknown and we are fully acknowledged; dying men and see we live; punished but not doomed to die; sad men that rejoice continually; beggars that bring riches to many; disinherited and the world is ours...When we seek God alone in everything we do, in a disposition of prayer, the peace of Christ reigns in our hearts, and our kingdom is not of this world.

This is the paradox of Christ's kingship. Not by great works but by the simple and humble acts of our faith, our patience in difficulty, works of charity, by our prayer, the kingdom of heaven enters the world in a hidden way. William continues,

These are the things we practice which love silence, long for tranquility of heart in the midst of bodily toil, poverty of spirit and peace in the midst of outward distress, a good conscience and purity of body and heart.

When we seek God alone in everything we do, in a disposition of prayer, the peace of Christ reigns in our hearts, and our kingdom is not of this world.

-The Rev. Joseph Watson, O.Cist.

Two Hymns for Christ the King

Detail from the facade of the Chapel of Christ the King, La Crosse.

O Lord of ages, thee we sing;
We hail thee as the nations King,
O Christ; our only Judge thou art.
Thou Searcher of the mind and heart.

Though evil shouting mobs maintain
We will not have this Christ to reign’
Not such is our triumphant cry
Who hail thee King of kings most high.

OChrist, thou Prince of peace, subdue
All rebel thoughts; our minds re­new;
And gather into thy one fold
The wanderers whom thy love doth hold.

Forthis thou hangedest on the Tree
With arms outspread in fervent plea;
And showed then forth thy burning heart
Transfixed by the cruel dart.

Forthis thy pierced side doth shed,
Beneath the forms of wine and bread,
Thy grace upon thy sons; yet thou
Art hidden at the Altar now.

The rulers of the nations raise
To thee their meed of public praise;
Instructors, judges, thee confess;
Art, science, law, thy truth express.

Letkings be fain to dedicate
To thee the emblems of their state;
And let our homes and fa­therland
Be subject to thy kind command.

Allglory, Lord, to thee whose sway
The world’s dominion doth obey;
All glory, as is ever meet,
To Father and to Paraclete. Amen.

Te Sacuculorum Principcipcipem (O Lord of ages, thee we sing)
Hymn of Vespers

Now Christ unfurls in triumph high,
His glorious banner to the sky:
Ye suppliant nations kneel and praise
The king of kings with joyful lays.

He hath not won his kingdom here
By devastation, force, or fear;
But on the Cross uplifted high
By love alone draws all men nigh.

How trebly blessed is the land
Obedient unto Christ’s command,
Which urges laws that prove the worth
Of heavenly edicts here on earth.

No armed rebellion kindles there,
Peace strengthens union everywhere,
And concord smiles; upon all sides
The civil order safe abides.

There married faith is kept secure;
There ripening youth is ever pure;
And modest households flourish, fair
With sweet and homely virtues, there.

Pour down that longed for light of thine
Upon us all, dear King divine;
And let the conquered world adore
In shining peace for evermore.

All glory, Lord, to thee, whose sway
The world’s dominion doth obey;
All glory, as is ever meet,
To Father and to Paraclete. Amen.

Vexilla Christus inclyta (Now Christ unfufurls in triuiumph high)
Hymn of Lauds

Fr. Hawks Answers the Archbishop of Canterbury's Vision of Ecumenism ... in 1935

The Church of the Evangelists, Philadelphia, mother church of the C.S.S.S.

In 1908, several of the members of an American Anglican order of priests known as the Congregation of the Comanions of the Holy Saviour (C.S.S.S.) made their corporate submission to the Holy See after the General Convention of the Episcopal Church approved the Open Pulpit Canon, which allowed ministers of Protestant denominations to preach in Episcopal parishes. In what today seems an innocuous ecumenical gesture, they saw a provision that they believed would be the beginning of the end of their particular vision of catholic Anglicanism.

In 1935, Fr. Edward Hawks, then a priest of the Archdiocese of Pennsylvania, wrote a memoir of what had by then come to be known as the “McGarvey Secession” after the The Rev. William McGarvey, Master of the CSSS, which he titled William McGarvey and the Open Pulpit: An Intimate History of a Celibate Movement in the Episcopal Church, and of Its Collapse, 1870-1908. Fr. Hawk’s concluding words might have been written as a reply to the Archbishop of Canterbury’s plea for his vision of ecumenism and pluralism given this week in Rome.

Fr. Hawks’ language is that of four generations ago. It is definitely not the sort of thing one says in the present without a backlash of charges of being uncharitable and triumphalist, but what the book may lack in charity or guile is made up for in the clarity of the two diverging visions of the Church he contrasts.

When I read this book as an Anglican, I found its tone incredibly off-putting, which allowed me to skirt some of Fr. Hawks’ uncomfortable conclusions. Rereading his words this morning, I was struck by the substance of his words rather than the tone. A century ago, Fr. McGarvey and his followers were regarded as nothing more than another Anglo-Catholic lemming run into the Tiber. Today, their thinking seems a bit more prophetic:

…Protestantism had revealed itself stark naked under the name of Modernism. Other sects had already made terms with it, after a period of conflict. The Episcopal Church had done the same in its own characteristic manner. It had sought refuge in equivocal expressions. It had resigned itself to its destiny whilst still pretending to remain distinctive. The appearance of ecclesiastical continuity would be preserved; the words of the creeds would be unchanged; yet both might be treated as antiquarian heirlooms...

...It is true that no one is any longer interested in the Open Pulpit. It is taken as a matter of course. It did not bring the various Protestant sects any nearer to Anglicanism than they were already by identity of origin.... To be invited to preach an occasional sermon without being given the privilege of the communion table, whether as ministers or communicants, was almost an insult. Until the Episcopal Church accepts all ordinations as valid, there will not be any corporate reunion. In view of this the Anglicans are as ready to juggle with the word "valid" as they were with the word "sermon." The way is prepared for the "open communion table." Indeed, under certain conditions the Lambeth Conference has already established it. It has been the same story in every practical question that arises. The Episcopal Church allows divorce so long as it is not asked to marry divorced people with the same ritual as is ordinarily used. It allows birth prevention under the term "eugenics." The terms "heresy" and "schism" have passed out of the vocabulary of her theologians. There are no longer any disturbances between ritualists and anti-ritualists, for the externals of worship no longer symbolize any distinctive doctrine. If Bishop Manning preaches a sermon in defence of sacerdotalism, he is contradicted by the most prominent clergy in his diocese as a matter of course; but no one is disturbed. The Church Times in England and The Living Church in America sometimes remind their readers that there are principles at stake which were once the subject of bitter conflicts. Since 1907 these conflicts have been losing their force, because the idea of the Church as the pillar of dogmatic truth has lost its ancient appeal. The principles of the Oxford Movement are still powerful amongst a small body of pro-Roman Anglo-Catholics, who have no influence on the Episcopal Church, no organ of expression, and no hope of representation. How long they will be able to maintain their strange position is a matter of conjecture. The Anglican Church as a whole has ceased to regard them as a danger. It has found that the best way to avoid unpleasant conflicts is to tolerate everything. The bishop who wishes to counteract the influence of Anglo-Catholic congresses finds that it is best to be present at them in cope and mitre.

As to the Anglo-Catholics who are not pro-Roman, they have secured toleration. They can hope for nothing more. This toleration has been secured at the cost of uniformity and unity. One hundred years ago the Anglican Church was intelligible. It was loyal to certain fundamental principles. This can be said no longer. There are those who profess to see in this "comprehensiveness" the hopeful sign of a future federation of the sects. They may be right. In the same measure as they are right, the Anglo-Catholics are deprived of reasons for being separated from the unity of faith which is guaranteed by the Holy See.

...Since the days when Dr. Percival drew his disciples together, the world has changed. We have all become besmirched with a detestable vulgarity which is not, as it professes to be, a broadening of the mind and a widening of our sympathies. It is rather a passion for what is obtained without effort, and for what is cast quickly aside as one superficial interest succeeds another. Humanity is an intensely vulgar thing when deprived of its spiritual ideals. Every kind of human excellence is inseparable from the sense of permanence. It must have its roots deep in the past and send its branches far out into the future. The attempt to live in the "now" is utterly futile, for what is the "now" but a fleeting moment whose only worth lies in its fruit of past labor and in its seeding for futurity. One cannot live, for the moment as a human being: such a course is only fitted to the brutes. The moment is momentous truly, but only as it weaves the fabric of abiding history, and unending destiny.

...Our forefathers of the Catholic movement anticipated all we are experiencing. Newman prophesied the results of Liberalism which had no constructive principles, because it was not based upon dogmas. The Oxford Movement, which was clearly a movement toward Rome, has ended in a movement away from Rome. Liberalism has been brought to bear against it at an angle, and has swept its onward course into an endless circle.

The Rev. William McGarvey as an Episcopal priest.
He ended his life as a monsignor in the Diocese of Bethlehem, PA.

Those are harsh words to contemporary ears, but they answer the Archbishop of Canterbury's vision in terms cogent to a Roman Catholic. We all pray that we may be one, but the ground of that unity must be truth--the excellence that is inseparable from permanence. We can pray for and with one another; we can share the corporal works of mercy; we can arrive at better understandings of our points of agreement and disagreement; and we can grow in love; but the Roman Catholic Church cannot be her authentic self and espouse a Rodney King theology of ecumenism.

* * *

The full text of William McGarvey and the Open Pulpit is available at Project Canterbury.

Jeffrey Steel has his thoughts on this at De Cura Animarum.

Fr. Giles Pinnock takes issue with the ABC from the (just barely) Anglican side at One Timothy Four.

There is a bit more on the C.S.S.S. in the post Past Anglican Religious Who Swam the Tiber.

(HT to the commenter at A Conservative Site for Peace who reminded me that the Fr. Hawks' book was available online.)

The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the Temple

Presentation window, Maria Angelorum Chapel, La Crosse, WI.

All faithful souls, with joy revere
The Blessed Virgin’s childhood years;
With holy wonder think how bright
The grace of God in her appears.

A Gentle maiden, yet in her
A woman’s wisdom flourished green,
And God, who dwelled within her soul
In all she did was clearly seen.

Busied with good, maturely wise,
Exemplary in holiness,
She trod the highest peaks of grace,
Peerless, yet filled with lowliness.

Thus by the great Creator’s gift
So wonderfully endowed was she
That worthily her spotless womb
Might carry God, her child to be.

O Lord, to Thee be glory given,
Whom once the Virgin Mother bore;
To Father with the Holy Ghost
Be glory now and evermore.

So was I established in Sion: likewise in the beloved city he gave me rest, and in Jerusalem was my power; and I took root in a honourable people, even in the portion of the Lord’s inheritance, * and my abode is in the assembly of the saints.

V) God shall help her with His countenance.
R) God is in the midst of her, therefore shall she not be removed.

Hymn, Little Chapter, & Versicle for the
Presentation of the BVM in the Temple

The Contemplative's Apocolypse: Fr. Robert's Sermon for the 33rd Sunday of the Year

The community of the Cistercian Abbey of Himmerod in the 1940s.

Today could very well be called the Apocalypse Sunday – the readings speak of the dead rising, of the sun, moon and stars darkening and falling, of the Son of Man sending angels to assemble his chosen ones. It is a time of judgment, of destruction and recreation, the end of psychical time and space as we know it. We are to discern the signs of these times, even though no one knows the exact day or hour – only God the Father, himself. In the meantime we are are to be patient and ever watchful. - looking for signs, and living out the “Words which will never pass away”.

It may seem at first that this apocalyptic aspect of Christianity is contrary to our own monastic way of life. I, for one, never cared for apocalyptic spirituality – too much noise, too big a show, too many hypocrites thinking they will be the chosen remnant – so much better to check out quietly and have your sins judged in private. And yet, the monk is to live as if these are indeed the end times: to keep death before his eyes daily, to not presume salvation, but to never despair of God's mercy. He is to live expecting the Lord to come as a thief in the night, but also expect a long, earthly life of forbearance, suffering, self-denial and selfless charity.

What the monk is not supposed to do in these last days is think he is sure just when it will occur, not to think of himself as a special remnant having an edge over other people, not to wish most of these other people to hell while he goes to heaven, and not to count up his merits and good deeds like tally marks, to assure that he gets there. Monasticism is not presumptuous, but it is ever hopeful. The monk realizes the he is the biggest sinner of all, but spends his entire life trying to do something about it. And, in doing something about it, he realizes that Grace is all – that no good work can be accomplished, except through God's good favor.

Monasticism has already been through one millennium – and has been part of the millenarianism that goes with it. Doomsday cults, inexplicable natural catastrophes, devastating diseases, social and economic instability, these are nothing new. They abound today – worry over global warming, terrorism and holy jihad, what 2012 will bring, and all those people who just know that they will not be left behind. It is a very good time to be a monk. Why? Because while we may not know the time or the hour, the last days are here, and have been here since Christ ascended to heaven. There will continue to be signs of the times – perhaps for another day, perhaps for another trillion years. The monk does not need to worry about these things-only saving his own soul, and the souls of others through intercessory prayer and offering up his trials and penances for the salvation of the world.

The things that a newcomer to monastic life learns is that despite the many passion-filled discussions at recreation, ones' own verbal platform cannot be the basis of a vocation. There are never dragons to slay or causes to be championed in the monastery, but there is always boring and tedious work to do. Faith is not based on ideology or the latest “ism”, but on the darkness of abandonment to the Holy Mystery that is Christ--Christ present in the other brother, present in our own weakness, aridity, and self-doubt. The monk must base his vocation on the certainties of the Faith, but realize that the most certain thing is that God cannot be grasped in an underdeveloped mind and a proud and limited heart. Holiness is not static, but must grow constantly. Purgation will not be cut short by an all too convenient “end times”--occurring just when we would like it to occur – so that we do not have to do any work.

Some say that the monastery is a great place to become dull. Others think that it is a good place to escape, and even some think that the monastery is that place where I can go and none of my opinions, beliefs or constructs of the universe will be challenged. The monastery is dull, you cannot escape from yourself, and your house of cards will be knocked over. This is the contemplative apocalypse – all falling, all dying, so that the Son of man may have Pride of place in our hearts, minds and souls.

In the meantime, discern the signs. Assume these are the last days, for indeed it is the time and the hour for oneself. Salvation is now, and the monk's penances and prayers are for the world caught in that constant now. With so much to do, it is rather impossible, don't you think, to be dull, self-opinionated, escapist or least of all proud.

-The Rev. Robert Keffer, O.Cist.

Christ the Widow: Dom Bernard's Sermon for the 32nd Sunday of the Year

Alms box, Church of St. Catherine, Bethlehem.

Today we visit a pair of generous widows. Two of the anawim, God’s special one’s, the poorest of the poor in Hebrew society. In that day there were no life insurance policies, pensions, or social security. And if they had no children, then they truly were without means of long term support. Widows and orphans, let us also remember, were to be especially cared for and watched over by those who sat on the throne of David. Most had little income or ways of supporting themselves – much less being able to help and support others.

But today we have two, who offer to God, present in his prophet and his temple, quite literally what they had to live on. As our Gospel passage relates – they gave from their very sustenance, not from their surplus. Indeed they had no surplus to give from.

Typical lessons to be drawn from these stories include “giving till it hurts,” “not counting the cost” when we are charitable, and putting the kingdom of God first and all else will be provided.

But what does this have to say to monks? To monks who personally have renounced all possessions, who have given their very lives to God, who work day in and day out with no pay, who rise in the wee hours to serve the Lord and serve him long hours of every day, who, as St. Benedict says, “have not even the use of their own bodies” having given over all to Christ under obedience in their monastic life? What more can we give?

Monks and the widows of old are remarkably similar in many ways. We monks have simply chosen to be anawim, among the special poor of God, with no spouse, who are on the fringes of society, and in the case of today’s two widows, who give everything we have for the service of God.

Lest we be too smug in our generosity, perhaps we should be careful in looking at ourselves and piously identifying with the poor widows. Listen again to the first part of our Gospel passage today, listen to what our Lord has to say: “Beware of (those) who like to go around in long robes, and accept greetings in the marketplaces, seats of honor in the house of God, and places of honor in banquets. They devour the houses of widows and as a pretext recite lengthy prayers. They will receive a very severe condemnation.”

Which are we then, widows or leaders in our society? “What haven’t we given to God?” you complain. “What more can we give?”

Dear brothers, we’ve missed the point. We are not the widows today. Christ is. He comes to us daily, offering to us food for the journey and riches from his poverty. From our own poverty we have but to receive what he offers and return it to him with thanksgiving.

The widow offered Elijah, the man of God, flour and oil made into a little cake to sustain him on his journey as he served God, and the widow in the temple put two small coins in the treasury to help in service of the Father. Like at the sacrifice of Isaac, the Lord himself will provide for you. The flour made into bread is given to you today on this table, that you may offer it back as the Lamb of sacrifice. And the Word you have received today in this celebration, two poor widows are given to you, that you may in turn offer them up in the temple on the altar of your heart. Christ, himself, offers up all He has to the Church and to the Father, His two small coins of his divinity and humanity. He empties himself (kenosis) of what He has, of his very being, so that we may be filled with what He has offered – so that we share in the divine life and become more like unto him in our own humanity. Listen, offer, eat and drink, and the widow’s mite will make you full.

-The Very Rev. Bernard McCoy, O.Cist.

St. Edmund: Archbishop of Canterbury & Cistercian

The Shrine of St. Edmund at the Abbey of Pontigny. (Source.)

In past centuries, Archbishops of Canterbury knew that when the going got tough at home, the tough got going to the Cistercian Abbey of Pontigny in France. Three Archbishops of Canterbury spent time at Pontigny: St. Thomas a Becket, who took the Cistercian habit while in exile there, completing his transformation from worldly courtier to saintly ascetic; Stephen Langton, who spent several years there when he was on the outs with King John over the Magna Carta; and, finally, today’s St. Edmund, known as St. Edmund Rich or St. Edmund of Abingdon, distinguishing him from the saintly king of the same name on whose feast he was born.

Here is what the Cistercian Menology has to say of him:

At Pontigny, St. Edmund, Archbishop of Canterbury and Confessor. In his youth, he studied at Paris. Fasting and haircloth were customary with him, and he merited to behold the Saviour of men in the guise of a beautiful child. Later on, he was Professor of Sacred Literature, and was distinguished therein. Then, after having been a Canon of Salisbury for some time, he had to accept the Episcopal charge, in spite of his long, persistent resistance. As Archbishop of Canterbury, he fought bravely for liberty and justice, so that he was forced into exile. Like his predecessor St. Thomas, he went to Pontigny, took the habit there, and soo after died at Soissy Priory.

St. Edmund was the son of a prosperous merchant and a pious mother who encouraged his asceticism. At Paris, he studied then taught mathematics, championing the works of Roger Bacon, before giving himself over to theology and returning to Oxford, where St. Edmund’s Hall still bears his name. He was renowned for his corporal works of mercy, even selling his own books to aid the needy, a reputation which probably made him a particularly attractive candidate for treasurer of Salisbury, where he aided in building England’s most famous cathedral. Between Paris and Salisbury, he became disenchanted with scholasticism, perhaps already showing his Cistercian vocation. Even as Archbishop of Canterbury, he was noted for his simplicity and humility, though he was an ardent defender of the rights of the English church both against kings and also against the financial claims of a cash-strapped papacy.

Miracles were attributed to him almost immediately after his death and his tomb was placed over the high altar of Pontigny. The abbey was suppressed during the French Revolution and eventually came into the possession of the Edmundites who, a century after the revolution, fled a renewed wave of anticlericalism and made foundations in the United States where the Saint’s incorruptible right arm is preserved at Ender’s Island, Connecticut.

St. Edmund's right arm at Ender's Island, Connecticut. (Source.)

St. Edmund’s feast was formerly observed on November 16, the day of his death, but was moved to the 20th when St. Gertrude the Great was placed on that day in the Cistercian calendar.

Lord, into your hands and into the hands of your holy angels, I entrust this day my life, my relations, my benefactors, my friends and enemies, and all people. By the merits and prayers of the Blessed Virgin Mary and all the Saints, keep me, Lord, this day from all vicious and unruly desires, from all sin and temptations of the devil, from sudden unprovided death and the pains of hell.

Enlighten my heart with the grace of your Holy Spirit; grant that I may ever be obedient to your commandments; never let me be separated from You, living and reigning with God, the Father and the Holy Spirit for ever. Amen.

-St. Edmund’s Prayer