Not a legalistic exercise but a spiritual discipline

In the midst of a lengthy post concerning the Byzantine Lenten fast, John, at Ad Orientem, offers these sage words which we do well to heed:

[F]asting is not a legalistic exercise. God does not particularly care how
strictly you are able to observe a 5th century dietary code. Eating a
Cheeseburger during Lent on a Friday is not a mortal sin (except possibly to
your waistline). If you do eat one and happen to die before going to confession
you do not need to plan on being buried in an asbestos suit. Point in fact very
few Orthodox laymen keep the fast in its full rigor. I certainly have yet to
keep the fast with anything close to perfection.

That said one should not just blow it off. Fasting is a spiritual
discipline intended to stretch the body and help tame the passions. And it is a
very important weapon in the spiritual warfare that we are engaged in more or
less continuously until we die. So when you fall, don't give up. Pick yourself
up, dust yourself off and get back on the wagon.

Also it serves no purpose to abstain from all manner of food and drink if
we do not also give up our vices. In particular be wary of gossip.
Your fast is your own business and no one else's (save God's and your
confessor's). Likewise how others are keeping their fast is not your
concern.

Dying to Self: The Lenten Fast

With its fast and penitential exercises, Lent enables us to associate ourselves with and participate spiritually in Christ’s work of redemption. In rebellion against God, our souls have truly become slaves of the world, the flesh and the devil. To break that slavery, we need the grace of God which comes with abstention and fasting coupled with prayer and almsgiving. For as the holy fathers teach us, our fasting from food is unhelpful unless we are striving to fast from sin by subduing our passions of our flesh, which are enticed by the devil and fueled by society’s aberrant morality. Therefore, during the holy season of Lent, we are invited by the Church both to put into practice the teachings of Christ and to follow His example in fighting the devil and the powers of evil by means of self-denial as we attend to His holy Word.

Lent is a kind of retreat from the world. Just as Our Lord, after His baptism, retreated from the world for forty days to immerse Himself in fasting and prayer, so we follow His example. Yet our retreat is not to fight our own battles, just as Our Lord’s retreat was not to fight His own battle. Our Lord retreated in order to enter into our fray; and we retreat in order to participate in His passion. He strove against Satan so that, on the cross, He might overcome Him and win for us the victory. We wrestle and strive “against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places” so that we might not lose the blood-bought victory, and might attain the crown. This retreat, then, ought not be seen as a means of winning what we do not have, but as a means of not losing what we’ve already been given, and also a means of growing in what we already have.

Dying to ourselves so that we might live to God in Christ is the purpose of this holy quarantine. The question the devil continually put to Christ is little different from the question the accuser asks us. To Our Lord he said, “Are you truly the Son of God?” To us the devil asks, “Are you truly a child of God?” As the accuser, Satan produces evidence of which we are all too familiar—evidence from our past, evidence from our desires and passions, evidence that may even lurk deeply within us. This evidence the devil with throw up against us in order to cause us to question our status as a child of God. Because this evidence comes to mind especially when we fast, we need to be more reliant upon the grace of the absolution of God. Frequency in the Sacrament of Penance, then, is necessary during the Lenten fast.

Yet we must not also lose sight of the devil’s desire. With Christ, the devil desired that He not re-enter the world as the Savior and Messiah. With us, the devil desires that we not re-enter the world as children of God. His goal is to beat us down so that we question both Our Lord’s love for us and our desire to live for Him, and thereby give in to our passions thinking that we can put off holiness for another moment or day. So during this Lenten fast, let us be clear-minded by recalling both that Our Lord was tempted in all points as we are so that He might overcome our adversary; and also that we retreat not to avoid re-entry but so that we might increase in holiness. To increase in holiness means that we decrease in self-reliance while increasing in our dependence upon grace.

Decreasing in self-reliance is the death of self that fasting seeks to instill in us. No longer do we live to gratify our flesh; now we live to love God by gratifying whatever another desires. Our hold, then, on the things of this world must loosen, as Christ teaches us so plainly in His great sermon (cf Luke 6.27-36). Likewise, our fear of missing out—which so often drives the “need” to feed our passions by the feeling that we need to experience all that “life” offers—also must die. Fasting, when properly practiced, teaches both our body and our soul this self-mortification. As we put to death the desires of the flesh, we will see, through prayer, that the desire of the spirit will enhance our life and thereby increase our joy. A greater detachment from the empty pleasures this world offers will lead us to be more generous both in our almsgiving to others as well as in our time to God in worship and prayer.

Let this Lenten fast, then, be the occasion and means for leaning less upon our desires and more upon God’s unending grace. Let it purify our souls as we seek to cleanse our bodies. Above all else, let this holy season by a time when we immerse ourselves more and more in the faith and love which the Spirit has so generously poured upon us so that we might truly seek and find our happiness and treasures not in the pleasures of this world but in the unfading riches of the life of the world to come.

Orthodox Ash Wednesday

For all Orthodox Christians, the Holy Season of Lent begins on the First Sunday in Lent (4 March in 2012), and the Lenten fast begins a few days prior. For Byzantine Orthodox Christians, the First Day of the Great Fast is on the Monday before the First Sunday in Lent; and for Western Orthodox Christians the Lenten fast begins on the Wednesday before, commonly known as Ash Wednesday.

While both traditions observe a 40 day fast, the different starting dates for the fast are related to how the fast is calculated. Among the Byzantine Orthodox the 40 days include only weekdays (not Saturdays or Sundays), and are figured by including two weeks of pre-Lenten "preparation" when abstention from first meat and then dairy are enjoined. (The Sunday before abstention from meat is known as "Meat Fare Sunday" and the Sunday before abstention from dairy is known as "Cheese Fare Sunday.") Early on in the West, however, the Lenten fast never included Sundays and the pre-Lenten "preparation" was limited to monastics and clergy. (This preparation begins three Sundays before Ash Wednesday on Septuagesima Sunday). Therefore, in order to achieve 40 days, since at least the 7^th century the Western Orthodox have fast not only for six fully weeks (i.e., 36 days) but also four additional days. Hence, for about 1400 years the Lenten fast in the West has begun on the Wednesday before the First Sunday in Lent.

It is not clear when the Wednesday beginning the Lenten fast began to include the imposition of ashes. Originally, the imposition of ashes was one of several public rites required of those penitents who wished to be restored to the church. As early as the 4^th century, these rites were associated with a 40 day fast. Most likely this fast was the Lenten fast, but the evidence is too thin to be conclusive. What does seem clear is that, by the end of the 10^th century, it was customary in western Europe (but not yet in Rome) for all the faithful to receive ashes on the first day of the Lenten fast. In 1091, this custom was then ordered by Pope Urban II at the council of Benevento to be extended to the church in Rome. Not long after that, the name of the day was referred to in the liturgical books as “Feria Quarta Cinerum” (i.e., Ash Wednesday).

The ashes that are placed on the heads of the faithful are made from burning the blessed palm branches from the previous year’s Palm Sunday. Parishioners are taught to place these blessed palms behind crucifixes and icons in their homes throughout the year, and then return them to the parish church during the weeks before Ash Wednesday. After they are burned, the ashes are then blessed by the priest, usually immediately before the Ash Wednesday mass.

While they may be distributed outside of the mass or any liturgical service, commonly the faithful receive their ashes immediately before the Ash Wednesday mass. As the choir sings various chants, the priest places the ashes on each person while saying, “Remember, man that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.” (Gen 3.19) These words indicate that the ashes are a sign of mortality, and thereby spiritually call each person to mortify their flesh during the season of Lent through the sacrificial acts of prayer, fasting, almsgiving. In fact, the Scripture readings for the Ash Wednesday mass say as much. From the prophet Joel, the faithful hear that they are to return to the Lord with all their heart by means of fasting, weeping, and mourning; and in this way, they rend their hearts and turn to the Lord God. Likewise, in the Gospel lesson the Lord admonishes the faithful to fast in order to recall that their hearts are to be fixed not on earthly but heavenly treasures.

For Western Orthodox Christians, the reception of ashes together as a community on the first day of the Lenten fast is a tactilely poignant sign that their fast is not simply the denial of foods, but the ascetic discipline of subduing the passions and putting to death ungodly ways so that they may strive to attain, with repentant joy, not only the great celebration both of the Queen of feasts, but also the heavenly riches and abundant life that await those who remain faithful in word and deed.

Changing Churches - A Recap

The announcement of the publication of Changing Churches has caused me to reflect, once more, on my move from Lutheranism into the Orthodox Church.

As I recapitulate this move, I realize that my answer to the differences between Lutheranism and Orthodoxy has crystallized over the years.

Early on, when I was a Lutheran minister trying to diagnose how to remain faithful to the Lutheran Confessions and yet remain in an heterodox church body, I wrote (with some help from Rev Dr Charles Robb Hogg and Rev William Weedon) and delivered an essay entitled, "What Options do the Confessions Give Lutherans." In that paper, I argued for what I called the "catholic principle" in the Lutheran Confessions which, in terms of ecclesiology, led the early Lutherans to see themselves not as a denomination but as the continuation of the Catholic Church in the West. I still maintain that, although I now think that the attempt by Luther and Chemnitz was doomed from the beginning due to the inheritance of systemic flaws in medieval theological constructs. (Louis Bouyer exposes one of these in his book "Eucharist.")

In a statement written for laymen, I pointed to some of these systemic flaws in the Statement of Resignation that Rev David Stecholz (President & Bishop of the English District) graciously permitted me to read to my beloved parishioners when I left Zion Ev. Lutheran Church in Detroit. What I wrote then I still maintain, although I would now sharpen, with more careful nuance, some of the phrases.

Over the years, I've also made other attempts at explaining the differences; most notably, a presentation on "Creeds and Confessions" at the "Faith of Our Fathers" colloquium for Lutherans. (I highly recommend all the presentations at this colloquium.)

In the final analysis, however, I would boil all the differences down to these main points:

• The Church is not a Platonic Republic (i.e., intrinsically or primarily invisible); i.e., an assembly of believers. Rather, it is and must be a visible entity, traceable through an unbroken link to the time of the Apostles. (The Lutheran Confessions, in my view, speak with two minds about this doctrine.)

• The end or purpose of salvation is not merely to be safe or make it to heaven, but to be in an undying union with God through Christ and the Spirit. That end or purpose is never fully achieved, just as a relationship is never exhausted. (This is a summary of theosis or, what "Lutheran Orthodoxy" called unio mystica.) This leads me to resonate with St Maximus the Confessor's speculation that sin and death did not necessitate the incarnation of the Son of God; rather, the original design, from eternity, was that the Son of God would become incarnate so that man could be in union with God.

• Tradition is not a custom nor merely a lens through which the church reads the Scriptures; rather, Tradition is the ongoing life of the Church (the Spirit in and of the Church) which, of course, cannot contradict Scripture but which also amplifies Scripture. (The Lutheran Confessions state that some of Tradition - e.g., liturgy - is indifferent; and insist, for those who take a quia subscription, that it is a lens.)

• Sin is certainly serious and is inherited; but it is not part of man's nature nor is it the primary problem. Rather, death is the primary problem, as seen by the fact that Christ purposefully took on passable flesh in order to suffer, die and rise. (The article on Free Will [FC SD II], when read understanding the philosophical underpinnings of the language, agrees that man is not by nature sinful.)

There are, of course, other differences. But these are the ones that I would identify; at least, these are the ones that were uppermost for me.

In the final analysis, however, with my understanding that liturgy is what drives the everyday experience of every Christian, what tipped the scale for me was this question: "What gave Luther (or whomever) the right to change the Mass, Office and Ritual which he had received ultimately from the Holy Spirit."

Homily for Easter Sunday

“By being killed, Christ killed what was killing everyone.”

Let us linger a while on these words from our holy father, Saint Peter Chrysologus. And as we linger, let us ponder these questions: What is killing everyone? Is it cancer or heart disease; is it wanton murder or senseless accidents; is it unhealthy eating or lifestyle choices; is it lack of food or lack of medicine? Those are not things that kill, but things that may cause or contribute to our death. So what is killing everyone? Is it not death? Is it not death that kills all men?

If that is true—and you know it is—then today we celebrate the death of death, and the resurrection of Life. We celebrate that death has been killed, and that Life Himself has risen triumphantly. We celebrate that in that combat stupendous between death and life, the Prince of Life, who died, overcame death and the grave, and killed death, and so reigns immortal.

Let us hear more fully, then, what our holy father among the saints declares:

“Christ accepted death so that death would die. Christ, by being killed, killed what was killing everyone. Christ entered the tomb in order to open up hell. So, having abolished the authority of death, having destroyed the prison of hell, and having annihilated the very power of death, Christ now should not be anointed as a dead man, but should be adored as Victor.”

And yet the women, in their pious devotion, bring ointment and spices to care for the body of one who has died. They keep vigil, they stay awake all night, they make costly and time-consuming preparations, and they perform the godly duties of mourning—yet not for death, but for Christ Jesus. And so they hasten to the grave in the early morning, not in faith in order to celebrate the death of death, but in sorrow in order to honor another one of death’s victims.

Yet the victim they intend to honor is no victim. And the shrine they intend to erect refuses to be enshrined. For a shrine honors the dead. But when the women entered into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed with a white robe: and they were astonished. He saith to them: Be not affrighted; you seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: he is risen, he is not here, behold the place where they laid him.

And in beholding, did they believe? When they saw the empty tomb, did faith arise in their hearts? When they heard the joyous words from the young man, were those words too incredible and unbelievable?

Initially, Our Lord’s resurrection was hard to believe. And despite our annual celebration, Our Lord’s conquering of death is still hard to believe. For the stone was very great; the stone of fear, the stone of unbelief, the stone of death and the grave.

And that stone is still very great. For who could ever think that death had died—especially when we still see death taking its toll? And who would now believe that the victory still remains with Life—especially when we hear how sickness and disease, how murder and recklessness, still destroys so many lives. Has the reign of death truly ended?

When we believe that death still has the upper hand, that death still reigns, then in fear we run ourselves to death and toward death. And so we feed death with our life-destroying sins of pride and despair and lust and greed. We feed death, hoping to get the most out of life. We feed death, believing deep down that he will have the final say. We feed death, and so we gorge our passions and indulge our appetites and let anger and hopelessness and misery get the upper hand.

Notice, however, how the angels gently call us to faith; how they urge us to believe against what we feel, what we experience, what we see, what we hear. Notice how the angels plead with us to look beyond the evidence; how they exhort us to overrule our fears. But most of all, notice how those angels proclaim that we should no longer run from death, that we should no longer cower at the grave. Yet listen not first to what they say. Instead, observe what they have done.

The women wondered aloud, “Who shall roll us back the stone from the door of the sepulchre? For the stone was very great. Which stone? The stone of the tomb, or the stone of the heart? The stone that announced that death had claimed another? Yet now the stone announces that death has been defeated; that the grave had not swallowed a dead man, but death itself; and that the house of death had become a life-giving home. For looking, they saw the stone rolled back. By whom? By the angels.

Now when a stone is rolled forward, it declares that the grave is sealed, that death has done its worst. But this stone is rolled back. And so it announces that death has died, that Life lives, and that Life Himself can both call the dead out of the graves, and restore to us the hope of life, even as we live surrounded by death.

Yet the stone, and the angels, declare even more astounding things. They preach that the death we see, the death we fear, the death we feel deep down in our bones—this death is not only dead, but also converted; that death itself has become the highway for Life, and the road we get to trod so that may reach our heavenly home. “Blessed, then, is the stone which could both conceal Christ and reveal Him! Blessed is the stone which opens hearts no less than graves! Blessed is the stone which produces faith in the Resurrection, and a resurrection of faith!” (St Peter Chrysologus) And blessed is the stone which no longer entices us to give in, but now draws us to revel in the Lord’s death-defying mercy!

Christ indeed from death is risen. And in rising, He has both killed our enemy, and at the same time raised us in Baptism from death to life. Let us not, then, prefer defeated death, by returning to our old ways and indulging our sinful passions. So let no death, through sin, reign in your mortal body, so as to obey its passions. Neither yield your members as instruments of iniquity unto sin; but present yourselves to God, as those that are alive from the dead. For Christ Our Lord has overcome death. By being killed, Christ has killed what is killing you.

To this Lord Jesus Christ, who is the only-begotten Son of the Father, together with His all-holy and life-giving Spirit, belongs all glory, honor and worship, now and ever and unto the ages of ages.

The Hidden Jesus - A Homily

NB The following homily was preached last evening at Holy Trinity Orthodox Church (OCA) at the Vespers sponsored by the Council of Orthodox Christian Churches of Metropolitan Detroit.

After Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, the Jews began plotting in earnest to put Jesus to death. The high priest Caiaphas announced that “it is expedient for us that one man should die for the people, and not that the whole nation should perish.”

The holy evangelist St John tells us that when the Jewish leaders plotted to kill Him, “Jesus no longer walked openly among the Jews.” What does this mean? First, it means that he actually hid Himself; for John tells us that Jesus left Jerusalem and “went into the country near the wilderness, to a city called Ephraim, and there remained with His disciples” until he entered triumphantly on Palm Sunday.

Yet there is also a spiritual meaning. That “Jesus no longer walked openly among the Jews” means that He also hid deeply His divinity. No more feeding of multitudes, no more healing the sick, no more resurrections—in fact, no more miracles did He do, except healing the ear of Malchus on the night of His betrayal. It is not that He could not do miracles. Rather, Jesus hid His divinity—hid His power, His glory, His majesty—until it would be revealed in a most profound way, until His coronation on the cross. Then He would be crowned with thorns; then He would ascend His throne; for then He would be glorified by the Father.

As you may know, I serve a parish that follows not the Greek or Russian tradition, but the Western tradition. In the Western tradition, today begins that part of Lent that we call “Passiontide.” Last evening, as Passiontide began, we hid all our crosses and icons and other images with opaque violet veils. For us, the fast of the mouth now also becomes a fast of the eyes.

Like all liturgical traditions, Eastern and Western, the veiling of the crosses is not done for no reason. It is directly linked to the final weeks of Our Lord’s life, and particularly to this time when Our Blessed Lord no longer walks openly, when He hides His divinity.

This simple custom urges us to look beyond what Our Lord looks like on the cross, to look beyond His gentleness and vulnerability, and even to look beyond our notions of strength and power. For the Jesus we see in these last few weeks will not conform to our standard of maniless and strength.

These days, we are impressed with a show of force. We are impressed when men and women stand up for their rights; when they vigorously defend themselves against false accusations; when they defiantly argue that they have been maligned. And we are impressed with hitting someone strong and hard; with striking back with overwhelming power.

Yet that is not the picture we will see with our Jesus. That is not how He will resist the devil, or overcome the chief priests, or defeat all powers of darkness. His power will be veiled in defenselessness. His strength will be hidden in weakness. He will not defend Himself, or speak up for Himself. Instead, He will let them do what they wish to Him.

Yet it will be on His terms; in the way the prophets have predicted; at the hour He chooses. And that is true power. Our holy father among the saints Peter Chrysologus says it with these words:

“Jesus willed to suffer since of His own accord He went up to the place where He would suffer. Death has sway over the unwilling, but is the servant of those who are willing. Therefore, since He is willing to die, it is not a mishap but an act of power. He Himself says, ‘I have power to lay down my life, and I have power to take it up. No one take [my life] from Me.’ Where there is the power to lay down life and to take it up again, dying in this case is not something inevitable, but something that is willed.

“So death was not able to take His life away, nor was the underworld able to hold onto Him, since it trembled at His bidding, and lost even those souls it was holding in captivity. For St Matthew says [that when Jesus died], ‘The tombs were split open and many of the bodies of the saints rose up.’”

Now that is true power—the power to raise the dead even as He dies; the power to command heaven and earth to do His bidding as He passes away; and the power to kill death by being swallowed up by death.

Jesus tells us that when this happens—when He is lifted up on the cross, when His true power and glory are revealed—then He will draw all men to Himself.

Be impressed, then, with the Lord Jesus who does not walk openly. Be impressed with the One who wills to be weak and to suffer for your salvation. And, most of all, be impressed with Him who will hide His divinity so deeply during the last days of His life that He will trick the devil into believing that death has defeated life—when, in fact, Life Himself, by dying, will destroy death.

Let this power—this power that is looks so weak—let it draw you close to Him. For this is the power of the martyrs. By urging the lions to crush his bones like wheat, St Ignatius overpowered his captors. It is also this power that the non-martyred saints tapped into. For by putting to death her desires, by weakening her body with fasting, St Mary of Egypt became strong and power—not only in her day, but also now as our advocate and intercessor before God the Father.

By the prayers St Mary of Egypt and of the saints, may we be attracted, then, not by a show of force, not by those who stand up for themselves, but by Him who willingly, humbly and gladly takes up His cross, and suffers our weakness to death, so that He might overcome. Let the Jesus who is hidden in these next few weeks draw us closer to Him so that when His glory is fully revealed on Pascha, we may rejoice with exceeding joy!

To this Lord Jesus, whose strength is in weakness, be all glory, honor and worship, now and ever and unto the ages of ages.

Metropolitan Jonah's visit to a Lutheran congregation

As a former Lutheran minister in The Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, I find intriguing and heartening the visit of His Beatitude Metropolitan Jonah to Grace Lutheran Church (LCMS) in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

This event raises many thoughts and questions in my mind; but for now, I simply wish to share this video contain His Beatitude's address to the Lutheran congregation.

An Advent Homily

Those who earnestly sought the salvation of God earnestly sought St John the Baptist. They came quite a distance into a desolate wilderness, seeking an eccentric who was not easy to find, whose words sounded brusque, and whose manner seemed as rough as his clothes. They came with heavy hearts, filled with trepidation, knowing the sins they had tried so hard to hide from others that they nearly succeeded at hiding them from themselves. Yet they came to confess. And in that way, they came to smooth their rough places, and to straighten their crooked ways. So greater than their trepidation was their faith; and greater than their dread at what they knew they must admit aloud was their hope of pardon from God's mercy.

What gave these people the hope, the faith, the energy to seek our St John? No doubt, it was the words of the holy prophet Isaiah; most especially these words:

The land that was desolate and impassable shall be glad, and the wilderness shall rejoice, and shall flourish like the lily. It shall bud forth and blossom, and shall rejoice with joy and praise: ... [T]hey shall see the glory of the Lord, and the beauty of our God. Strengthen ye the feeble hands, and confirm the weak knees. Say to the fainthearted: Take courage, and fear not: behold your God will bring the revenge of recompense: God himself will come and will save you. (Is 35.1-4)

"God Himself will come and save you." Those are the words that drove these people into the wilderness seeking John. For those words promised what they yearned for -- salvation from God's own man. Not a salvation that would magically wipe away all suffering and make life easy; but the salvation that would help them to see beyond today's turmoils and heartaches; the salvation that would help them see and believe that there is more to life than the petty games and machinations, the fading experiences and unquenchable lusts, the flavorless events and the weary monotony of unending routine.

So these folks -- people like you and me, people seeking what you and I also seek, people longing for comfort and assuagement -- these folks clambered forward into the wilderness pursuing John, striving for the relief God's salvation brings. And when they arrived, they encountered not a reed shaken by the wind, nor a preacher dressed in fine apparel. They encountered a prophet--and more than a prophet. For they encountered a voice -- the voice of the One; the voice in the wilderness who spoke deeply into their being. He is the voice foreseen by Isaiah. And this voice said:

Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight his paths. Every valley shall be filled; and every mountain and hill shall be brought low; and the crooked shall be made straight; and the rough ways plain; And all flesh shall see the salvation of God. (Lk 3.4-6)

Yet what the voice declared was not merely more words. He declaimed and proclaimed the Word of God Himself. The same Word through whom all things were made. The same Word which had spoken through the mouth of the prophets. The same Word who took flesh from the womb of the pure, glorious, holy and blessed virgin Mary. This Word who is not about peace, but truly is the peace and mercy and consolation of God in His very being -- this is the Word that the voice voiced, and that the people strain to hear.

This Word is what John says He is. And so He is the lasting and unfading comfort these people -- all people, you people -- long to hear. The voice says, "Comfort, comfort ye My people; cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned: for she hath received of the LORD's hand double [mercy] for all her sins." (Is 40.1-2)

This comfort that St John declares is the Word of life to be heard, seen, looked upon, handled and tasted. The dew of the Holy Spirit has dropped down this Word from the heavens so that, in our hearts, His undying succor may bud and flower and grow within us as He first did within the Blessed Virgin's womb. And then Emmanuel comes, and we shall rejoice. For He shall graciously and mercifully relieve all those sins and hardships, all those self-made stresses, all those unkept promises and feeble excuses that have haunted our souls and weighed down our bodies, and so hindered us from basking in the glow of His exhilarating warmth.

By the prayers of St John, of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of all the saints, may we, in heart and mind, join this timid yet hope-filled throng by spending these last few days straining with all we are to heed the voice of the One who announces the advent of this consoling Word, our Lord Jesus Christ; to whom with the Father in the unity of the Holy Spirit, belongs all glory, honor and worship, now and ever and throughout all ages of ages.


Preached Advent IV 2010
Based on Luke 3.1-6 (the Gospel at the Rorate Mass)

Vox Secreta - Revisiting the Silent Canon

The changes of Vatican II included replacing the centuries old practice of saying the Canon Missae or Prex Eucharistica silently or in a quiet whisper (vox secreta). The arguments favoring this change to an audible declaimed canon (i.e., not vox mediocris but vox clara) were several relying on historical data as well as pastoral, personal or (in some cases) protestant inclinations.

This debate, largely dismissively disregarded in protestant communions, has continued amongst Western Rite Orthodox priests due, no doubt, to their greater or lesser regard for later 20th century liturgical scholarship. (It would not surprise if this debate resumes in Roman Catholic circles, particularly between those who strongly prefer and those who vehemently oppose the anachronistically and ironically named "Extraordinary Form.")

In considering the various premises of this debate, both historically and pastorally, chiefly so I could continue to defend the traditional rubric, I recently came across the following from Louis Boyer's Eucharist (1968):

We must admit that this question [what Bouyer terms "the silence of the canon" or "the silence of the mysteries"] is the most obscure mystery of perhaps the whole of the history of the liturgy. Yet we hardly get this impression when we read most of the studies on the subject that have been piled up since the seventeenth century. Whatever position the authors take--whether they believe the practice to be original and essential, or condemn it as late and unfortunate--one would think, in reading them, that the matter is clear and can be plainly settled by a few irreproachable texts. But when we go to the sources without any preconceived ideas, it is hard to share this optimism. Yet we do not deny that we can reach certain firm conclusions from examining them. But...they are neither so easily accessible, nor of a nature as to dispel all the obscurities of one of the most complex problems of the history of the liturgy. (366f)

Advantages of Celebrating Ad Orientem

Often I am asked about why I face the "wrong way" (ad orientem) when I celebrate Mass. These questions come mostly from visitors and the Catholic students I teach; however, sometimes parishioners also ask out of curiosity or because they have been asked by others. Since I've never (even as a Lutheran) celebrated Mass versus populum, I can't fathom celebrating Mass any other way.

When asked, I give a variety of answers--some better than others. Recently I came across an apologia for facing the Lord (tabernacle) when celebrating Mass written by Dom Mark Kirby, a monastic priest in the Catholic Church in Tulsa OK. Reading through them, I agree with all of the advantages that Fr Mark lists. Perhaps others can add to the list.

What are the advantages of standing at the altar ad orientem, as I have experienced them over the past two years? I can think of ten straight off:

1. The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is experienced as having a theocentric direction and focus.

2. The faithful are spared the tiresome clerocentrism that has so overtaken the celebration of Holy Mass in the past forty years.

3. It has once again become evident that the Canon of the Mass (Prex Eucharistica) is addressed to the Father, by the priest, in the name of all.

4. The sacrificial character of the Mass is wonderfully expressed and affirmed.

5. Almost imperceptibly one discovers the rightness of praying silently at certain moments, of reciting certain parts of the Mass softly, and of cantillating others.

6. It affords the priest celebrant the boon of a holy modesty.

7. I find myself more and more identified with Christ, Eternal High Priest and Hostia perpetua, in the liturgy of the heavenly sanctuary, beyond the veil, before the Face of the Father.

8. During the Canon of the Mass I am graced with a profound recollection.

9. The people have become more reverent in their demeanour.

10. The entire celebration of Holy Mass has gained in reverence, attention, and devotion.