Prague - the Velvet Revolution

Our tour guide Olga explained that the Czech people are not religious, pointing to the many churches we passed along the way. We noticed that there were lots of concerts advertised in front of these magnificent structures and she told us that’s mainly what they’re used for now. In the context of her tour, there was a logic to it.

Until 1985 what is now the Czech Republic was controlled by the Soviet Union. For two generations any religious observance was ridiculed if not actively put down.

The word “God” was forbidden in media of any kind. Churches became property of the state and used for storage or concerts, but often simply closed. This apparently has had a major impact. Today, the percentage of self-described “non-religious” is close to 75%. This includes people who do not even baptize their children or have church weddings. Olga mentioned that the only time she’s seen a wedding in church, for example, is on American TV or in the movies.

Many of the great churches we saw had been built as Roman Catholic dating before the 1500’s as shrines to saints with wonderful histories. She told us of one story where an early King Wenceslaus (not the good king of Christmas carol fame) suspected his wife of infidelity and forced her confession to the Archbishop, John of Nepomuk. Hearing her confession, the Archbishop refused to divulge the information to the Emperor since all confessions are sacrosanct. The furious Emperor had the Archbishop tortured, and while still resolute in his denial, hung over the side of the Charles Bridge and flung to his death. It was said that as he hit the water five stars appeared around his head. His statue is a common site around Prague and recognized by the brass stars that still surround the many heads of St. John. Olga told the story dutifully, and shrugged.

Despite her clear feelings about religion, I detected a bit of national pride when she later pointed out a statue to Jan Hus, who started the Protestant Reformation almost 100 years before Martin Luther. Hus is historically overshadowed by Luther because of the larger impact of Luther’s work. But Hus was first, Olga said shrugging as though such things mattered, and we walked on. Hus was burned as a heretic by the Roman church but over the next generations 90% of the people adopted his reforms breaking with Rome eventually and the majority became “Hussites.”

The Protestant era ended abruptly when Europe’s 30 year war established Austria’s Hapsburg Emperor over Bohemia and Moravia (now Czech Republic). The Austrians were devout Catholics and as is the sovereign, so are the people. Protestant churches were changed almost immediately to Catholic. Clergy had the choice to emigrate to Protestant Europe or be burned. I suspect the people just shrugged. Never the less, the Rococo style favored by Austrian Catholics became vogue as visible changes to the scenery glossed over sentiments that lay beneath.

It was also during this period that a small statue was donated to the Catholic church that had been in a wealthy, prestigious family for generations. This statue of the infant Jesus has a wonderful story attached to it originating in Seville, Spain. Its travels and healing abilities became the stuff of legend and now known as the Infant of Prague holds a special place in the religious terrain of the world wide Roman Church, and perhaps somewhere in the hearts of the Czech people.

By the time the Soviets came, the Czech people had what appears to be a skeptical religious history of being told what to think and believe. One gets the sense that the shrug hides the true beliefs and beneath the denial is a pride of the heritage and contribution to the world’s religious topography.

People come to faith. They are not pushed or pulled. Compliance does not indicate adherence. Olga used the term “Velvet Revolution” to describe Czech independence from Russia without major bloodshed. As they continue to rebuild their country and identity, who knows what directions their faith and use of churches may take. But one thing is for sure, no one is going to force them.

Ulm and Munich and Prague - O My

After Taize my original plans were to go to Chartres outside of Paris. I had my train and hotel reservations in order and then a strange thing happened. During the silence of the Taize prayer service, that inner voice came to me and said, “I don’t want to go to”. All that day I had worked to make those reservations. The internet wasn’t working right, the machine that provided phone and internet cards was down. When something is right, plans usually fall into place. When each step along the way seems forced, it’s time to reconsider.

Finally, after a couple hours of frustration and forced actions, I had the reservations. It was later in the quiet of the prayer that I listened to what was deeper. I cancelled my reservations in favor of the unknown. I told my new friends in the Taize group this latest development. Then one of them, a German, said, come with me to Germany, I’m driving. It was that simple. I still didn’t know how the schedule would shape up, but it was time to let go of scheduling and see what happens.

Volker and I drove with one of the Permanents from Taize whose time had come to a close - ironically for that title. The six hour drive from Taize to Ulm was full of talking about our experiences and companionable silences.

The side trip to Germany allowed me to do two things I had not thought to be able to do. The first was to visit a good friend who moved to Munich from New Jersey about a year ago. The second trip to Prague was a rather last minute decision to join up with some other friends from Massachusetts who were part of a tour going from Prague to Vienna with stops along the way.

My handy Eurail pass allowed me to make these changes in itinerary without any problem. I enjoyed the spontaneity and have become quite enamored of traveling by rail. Flying doesn’t let us see all the subtlety that land changes offer. Houses and towns, fields and lakes roll by from country to country with a character all their own. The distances are not so great that it’s a burden and it’s calm - for the most part.

Crossing the German border into the Czech Republic we were going through a beautiful, dense forest when the train slowed and stopped in a small town with a run down station. Police came on and with no English motioned for us to get off. I remembered to breathe, though also remembered having detoured from my original plan, no one knew where I was. We were loaded onto busses and traveled for about 30 minutes, without explanation. Brought to another train station, we were told to board with another person’s cryptic English. The train was more rustic than the first one, and smelled of stale cigarette smoke. We made it to Prague but I still don’t know what that unscheduled stop was about. I met up with my friends from Massachusetts and was able to tag along on their tour of the city.

The trip is taking some other spontaneous detours as a result and I’m glad. I used to be nervous about making connections - or more to the point missing them. But the trip has been easy when I let it be easy. Self imposed deadlines and schedules get in the way of some really wonderful blessings. Meeting friends and spending time with familiar people in unfamiliar places is a magical treat. Exploring and discovering is part of the spiritual way and over planning can threaten some of it. Travel, like faith is moving ahead confidant in the ability to find the way or be guided, it doesn’t always require a blueprint. In fact the blueprint will likely block the view of subtlety and magic in the uncharted path.

I’ll make it to Chartres, but after the rich experience of Taize I needed a break to process some of it. To go immediately into another very different spiritual setting would have been too much, almost like eating fudge after chocolate. I don’t know exactly where I’m going after Prague, and that’s just fine.

Taize

Taize is the name of a small village in the Burgundy region of France. It’s name has taken on a wider significance in church circles since it is also the home of a religious community founded in the late 1940’s by a man known as Brother Roger. Raised in a Reformed Protestant tradition, but heavily influenced by his Roman Catholic grandmother, it became Roger’s dream to be part of a religious community that was ecumenical. As the German forces began their march into what became World War II, his dream included the themes of reconciliation and peace. One day not long after the war he left home riding a bike carrying his dream, faith and a few dollars. He left his Swiss homeland, rode through the hills of France, rested in this village, liked it and stayed to begin his life’s work. Over fifty years later the community has grown and thrived and is known around the world.

Roger was joined by friends who shared his vision and the farm they started became also a haven for displaced Jews and other war refugees. Their hospitality began in a way that included a sensitivity to other cultures, people and languages. They were all people united by prayer and a desire for peace. In the intervening years the ministry grew and pilgrims came from parts of Europe who wanted to experience this idea of ecumenical prayer. What has become for many Christians a familiar word, “ecumenical” was radical, misunderstood and suspect. Yet, the simplicity of the idea and the gentle way in which it was lived on a hillside in France attracted many visitors.

During the 1960’s peace movements and a distrust of the institutional church seem to have increased the popularity of Taize among younger pilgrims. Today, the ministry caters to youth under the age of 30. While “older” people are certainly welcome, there is no doubt that the youth command center stage and attention. Somewhat subject to the academic calendar, the attendance swells from a few hundred in the winter to as many as 8,000 in the summer months. Relatively few cabins are supplemented by as many tents as are needed for such a crowd.

All visitors become part of the community for the duration of their stay. Though not required, it is expected that all will observe the three daily prayer times, attend the “bible orientations”, and be assigned work. The complex systems needed to organize so many people seems to flow simply and young people are the hub. Those who have been on previous visits have more responsible tasks. The young volunteers also organize the “adults”. The adult group meet in a separate facility and are housed at the far end of the community grounds. This dynamic can be seen in different ways - and is discussed from each vantage!

The heart of Taize beats in the chapel. All ages, races and nationalities are represented in the visitors as well as the community of brothers. Because of it’s proximity, French is the dominant language although German, Dutch, Spanish, Russian , and English are very evident. The brothers have written their own chants and hymns over the years born out of their experience welcoming such diverse people. Its repetitive, simple melody line allows those who don’t know the language it’s written in to participate. Verses of the hymns are sung by the brothers while everyone else chants the refrain. Even the verses follow different languages so everyone can hear their own tongue at some point. Long periods of silence at each prayer service and Communion at the morning service round out the experience. Benches and chairs are available but the most common seating is on the floor which slopes to the front and a backdrop of sheets of orange fabric against a yellow wall. Icons are arranged throughout the church. After the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the surge in Eastern Orthodox visitors, onion domes were placed on the front as a welcome sign!

Some years ago when the brothers became aware of the rapid increase among young visitors, they faced the question of limiting the number or expanding their facility, especially the church. Their solution was to knock down the back wall of the church and put up a circus tent. Enough time has passed that the tent has been replaced by a solid structure, but it’s a series of expansive rooms separated by garage door partitions, opened or closed as the number of visitors swells or diminishes. The focal point remains the colorful front wall and the brothers who sit in a rectangular formation in the middle making them both part of the whole, yet still within the ranks of their community.

Taize was born out of the dream and idealistic energy of a young man. That energy is still part of the community and experience. It is a dream that offers hospitality to all people, prays with them in their own language, but also the universal language of love and acceptance. Communities form in small study groups that put together people from different countries and languages who must then find a way to communicate and share their faith. Hundreds of thousands have now come through Taize and it’s believed that the prayer for peace and reconciliation so vivid here has opened doors politically as the young people who visited came of age in leadership positions around the continent. The young have a way of seeing simple solutions to complex issues. At Taize they are supported in that skill and encouraged to bring it outward.

In my study group there were four Russians, three Americans, three Germans and a man from Holland. Fortunately many Europeans are multi-lingual and among the Russians was an English interpreter. The denominations represented were Russian Orthodox, Episcopalian, Roman Catholic, Moravian, Dutch Reform, Lutheran and one without affiliation who was seeking. The assigned questions from the morning Bible Orientation simply provided a springboard to learning about each other, our faith, traditions, experiences and anything else we could think of. There was lots of laughter and some serious sharing. The man from Holland confessed he had prejudice against Russians that he would have to rethink. It was that kind of breakthrough that makes Taize so important and is a seed of peace and reconciliation. That kind of discovery multiplied hundreds of thousands of times throughout the years, especially among the young is the making of hope.

A couple years ago during a service, while people were chanting, a woman approached Brother Roger and in her deranged state took out a knife and fatally stabbed him. The potential chaos was quelled by the brothers who continued the chanting while some took care of the situation. The community misses Brother Roger but transcends him. The fulfillment of a dream is it’s continuation past the life of the dreamer. The tragedy of Roger’s death underscores the triumph of the dream of a young man that found root in the idealism and energy of so many other young men and women.

“Alleluia” is a word that is the same in all languages. It’s used a lot here. God draws us all together and unites people while preparing them to go into the world committed to peace and reconciliation.

Lindesfarne

The word “farne” means “island” in some now unspoken language. Lindesfarne is one of a series of small islands off the coast of England just below the Scottish border. In fact, during the many border wars before England and Scotland were united under the rule of King James these islands were alternately owned by both countries. Today they’re considered out of the way, but back in the old shipping days, they were far more traveled and Lindesfarne in particular was on the trade route.

Lindesfarne has an important role in the history of Christianity in England. What we know of this time was written by the Venerable Bede in the early 700’s. Of his history, some is clearly reliable, some is clearly entertaining and much lies vaguely in the middle, unsubstantiated by other sources. He tells us that King Oswald invited the monks from Iona on the west coast of England, where he had been converted and was a student, to send a missionary team to his kingdom on the east coast. The first monk chosen was not successful, but the next one, Aidan, turned out to be uniquely suited for this mission and it thrived. Oswald gave him choice of any land in his kingdom to build a priory and he chose the uninhabited Lindesfarne. The year was 634 AD.

Colorful stories abound of Aidan’s pastoral and missionary successes. The priory grew, the Gospel spread to the British people and all should have been well. Two problems emerged however, the first concerned competing kings fighting over land, and the other concerned competing forms of Christianity fighting over followers. Oswald’s successor Oswey , having won and settled the first issue called a council held at Whitby to settle the second. Aidan’s gifts of diplomacy surfaced, but the one who saved the day was Hilda, abbess of Whtiby, recruited by Aidan for that post. Her strength of character brought the sides together and a decision was made. The issue at hand was Roman Christianity vs. Celtic Christianity.

Roman teachings favored Apostles Peter and Paul with an emphasis on original sin and earned redemption. Celtic Christianity favored the Apostle John with an emphasis on the inherent goodness of people and God’s free grace. Rome won the day. Hilda, glad they reached a decision, regretted the decision they reached.

The day Aidan died, Cuthbert was sixteen tending sheep miles away. He had a vision of angels coming to guide the soul of Aidan and understood it to be a call to religious life. He became a monk and went ultimately to Lindesfarne where he too became prior of what had become a thriving monastery. His fame spread, as did Aidan’,s as a spiritual director, healer, pastor and saintly man. Their combined work solidified Christianity in northern England as well as beyond.

There is a causeway now that connects Lindesfarne to the mainland that is subject to the tides. It is covered during high tide and unpasable and only usable during low tide. In older days, the low tide exposed mud flats to the mainland that people could walk. So technically Lindesfarne is only an island twice a day. The island’s reality becomes a spiritual teaching. There are times we need to be connected to the main part of life and times we need to be apart in prayer and solitude.

The land is rich in this history and you can sense Aidan and Cuthbert walking along the beach or on the smaller farne each used for solitude. Ruins mark the priory that honored Aidan remains and many of the buildings date back centuries. The stone work is stark and the angles sharp and precise. Yet in the cracks, yellow flowers have taken root and hold on tenatiously. They witness a soft beauty amid the rough terrain, and a strength of spirit in a harsh environment. A “thin place” is said to be where heaven and earth touch lightly, where we can see a little clearer from one side to the other. They call Lindesfarne “Holy Island” because it is believed to be one such place. I believe it is too.

The Feast of St. George

It was the perfect day to arrive on the holy island of Lindesfarne. Overcast and breezy, yet warm enough to enjoy a brisk walk. Unfortunatley the internet service doesn't allow me to post pictures but it's a rugged beauty that holds this island. I arrived in time for noon prayers at The Open Gate, a retreat house run by an ecumenical religious community called by the name of St. Aidan and St.Hilda. Flags of St. George are unfurled all over the village, with it's red cross over a field of white. George is the patron saint of England and is proudly remembered. I proudly remembered the parish which bears his name in Maplewood during evening prayers at St. Mary Church overlooking the North Sea. In the quietof that church I recalled the blessing from noon prayers:
The Three who are above my head;
the Three who provide my bread;
Watch over me wherever I tread.

Bredgar, Canterbury and Rochester - the Church ancient and modern

One of the striking things about church life in England is the number of churches. There are countless villages and each one has it’s own church. They are small and sturdy buildings centuries old, usually with cemeteries surrounding them and an ancient history of ministry to the people and families of those villages. The Church in Bredgar where I celebrated a family Eucharist on April 19 is such a church.

One of five churches under the care of Canon Smith (who preached at St. George’s the same day ) it is also recorded in the Domesday Book. In 1066 William the Conqueror inventoried everything in the country down to the last building, person and animal!

In there Diocese of Rochester alone there are over 400 churches. By comparison the Diocese of Newark has about 110 churches for roughly the same geographic area. As we just celebrated our centennial, it’s hard to imagine a church which has celebrated its millennium! The congregation was very warm and gracious to us - my parents flew over for an extended weekend and a wonderful visit. They were very enthusiastic in their family worship and show a strong team work. Five churches sharing the services of one priest have to be creative and independent, and they are!

That afternoon I preached at Rochester Cathedral. Created in 604AD on land given by king Ethelbert and rebuilt in the 14th century it is the second oldest Cathedral in England. Walking around history is wonderful. The music was absolutely beautiful and the Cathedral staff was also very welcoming. It was a thrill to preach to a congregation of regular attendees and pilgrims as they settled in the large choir stalls.

Rochester and Canterbury are very different in some ways architecturally and with different histories and influences. But each is also a contemporary Cathedral. These are not museums or crypts although they have elements of them. In Canterbury and Rochester priority is given to the worship. Sections of them are closed to tourists during worship by a set of uniformed ushers that are rather formidable. Pictures are not allowed during the services - though I did manage a couple video clips I’ll try to post! They are work sites since all bildings are in constant need of repair and upgrade. Scaffolding and the sounds of hammers, drill and saw fill the air as an earthly counterpoint to the angelic choirs inside!

In Canterbury the nave also housed the Archbishop’s lectures, and concerts during Holy Week. The many chapels are used for daily prayers and Eucharist. The day after the glorious Easter celebrations the chairs in the nave were removed and stacked while preparations got underway to receive hundreds of Diocesan youth for an event that included rock concerts, talks and break out groups in the chapels. I saw the Archbishop change hats (figuratively) from the Archbishop of Canterbury to the Bishop of Canterbury overseeing the arrangements and getting ready to greet the youth.

I learned that the Cathedral in Rochester is used similarly. In fact as my parents and I were leaving after Evensong, a saxophone concert was starting in the nave. If we didn’t have to get to the airport we would have stayed!

It was both a surprise and yet obvious that these buildings are still living into their ministry. Although they contain shrines, they are not shrines to the past. They are living, breathing places of worship and ministry. Contemporary and ancient expressions exist side by side as they always have. What was a modern update in the 14^th century is still as ancient as pilgrims will consider 21^st century updates in another few hundred years.

Cathedrals use height, light, darkness and detail to point to God. The soaring pillars and archways draw our eyes and attention heavenward in awe. Light emanates from huge windows illuminating the sculpted and illustrated word of God, thereby illuminating the spirits of God’s people. Shadows and darkness draw our quiet selves into contemplation and prayer. There is no detail too extravagant or unimportant. Just as God created the world in its infinite, unique variety, so the cathedrals reflect the joy in small wonders of perfection seen and unseen by human eye.

What is Anglicanism??

It’s a difficult question. The Church of England brought its churches around the world as its empire grew. Primarily brought to minister to the English subjects who went to these foreign lands, a missionary zeal grew as well, thereby planting not only Christian communities in these places, but the Church of England in its ceremony, polity and theology. Within the strict confines of the British communities, the forms of the Church of England remained intact, but over time, the indigenous influences came to bear on the communities outside the British subjects. Music and rhythms, colors, local traditions and even indigenous religions impacted on the shape the Church of England was to take in these other places.

The world is both large and small. In its largeness the diversity of traditions has stretched the understanding of Anglicanism beyond its original lines to where it is nearly unfamiliar among its varied outposts. However, even in today’s world of independent nations and independent church provinces, there remains a tantalizing similarity even though there is no judicial connection anymore. So what does it mean to be Anglican?

The Reformers of the 16^th century rebelled against the political and financial corruption and abuses of the Roman Church, but more significantly shifted a theological understanding of salvation as a free gift of God, not one that is earned by good works. The reformers were also committed to the accessibility of scriptures to all people, not only those educated in Latin, therefore translating them into secular languages. Sacraments were seen as a hold the clergy had over lay people and not necessary beyond Baptism which anyone can administer and a symbolic re-enactment of the Eucharist.

The Church of England emerged as a blend of traditional faith and significant reform. Scriptures and worship were translated and written in English., yet the sacraments and hierarchical forms remained. The big difference there was to negate the authority of the Pope in favor of the English Sovereign and elevate the importance of the Archbishop of Canterbury as the symbolic head of the English Church with far reaching authority. To this day the King or Queen appoints the Archbishop of Canterbury who technically has authority over the other Bishops in the country. In the days of the Empire, that authority was very far reaching. Today, it’s become a relationship of respect rather than authority since political independence of former British colonies has brought ecclesiastical independence as well.

England’s stormy history has shifted the Church of England widely between Roman and Protestant Churches depending on the conviction of the monarch. As a result, part of the DNA of the church is to embrace a wide expression with tolerance of diversity. This has become it’s strength and part of it’s defining character. What we call “high Church” and “low Church”, charismatic, evangelical, catholic (small c!), and protestant has all fit under the umbrella of Anglican. There has been no central ruling to determine one shape of the doctrine or expression. A phrase coined during the reign of Elizabeth I was “via media” - the middle way. Sometimes seen as intended ambiguity, it has the character of valuing the richness each form has to offer and ultimately embraces one of the Protestant pillars that each person finds their own way. God calls us and we have a responsibility to answer from our heart, not the dictates of another.

Canterbury is the iconic seat of Anglicanism. It represents the history and character of the Church of England as well as it’s former subjects and now, hopefully, friends in faith. The Archbishop of Canterbury is a fulcrum on which balance the seemingly opposite ends of an ideological spectrum. It has always been this way and continues.

I’ve attended three lectures given in the nave of Canterbury Cathedral by the current Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams. In the presence of memorials to his many predecessors, he taught us about prayer. He is a natural and gifted teacher with a sharp intellect and command of history even as he makes complicated ideas accessible. He can be whimsical and comic, understated and profound. He makes historical characters like Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, Theresa of Avila, Thomas Merton and Simone Weil real and even intimate. His commitment to prayer is moving. His commitment to prayer being the solution to the Church’s struggles is clear and unwavering. He says that prayer doesn’t change the problem, but it changes people and allows God to speak through them to each other.

People look to him to take sides and be decisive. It occurred to me during Holy Week that people asked the same of Jesus. Archbishop Rowan is a student of Jesus as well as a disciple. He will create and enforce the environment for people to find God in each other and allow the love to flow into the love of God. It is not according to timetables or desired shapes. Expanding on a verse of scripture the Archbishop said we are to “Knock at the door”. It will be opened as promised, but we don’t know what is on the other side even though we think we do. The same for seeking and asking. God’s promise is to respond, though not as we command.

A definition of Anglicanism is still elusive. But I think a compelling definition is embodied in Archbishop Williams. It is a faith that seeks God to be revealed. It allows the multi-faceted prism of faith to shine not wanting to limit God by one definition. It is not threatened or manipulated. It is not hurried. It seeks, knocks, and asks. Quantum physics teaches that at some point parallel lines come together. Anglicanism might very well be that point.

Out of Africa

Who can resist a title like that? I arrived in England without incident after a long flight. It was sad to leave behind new friends, but since I’m discovering the world is such a small place, I have no doubt we’ll meet again.

England is a world away. Africa is so vast that from whoever you travel you can see miles that must stretch into the hundreds. Hills and mountains fade into the distance and the night sky pulsates with stars. By contrast England is compact and tightly organized. Deplaning in London I found the trains to Sittingbourne from which I taxied to Bredgar, a small village south east of London. The trip was roughly an hour and a half. Canon John and Rosemary Smith have a wonderful ministry among five small churches in the area as well as John’s work as the Diocesan Education officer for the Rochester Diocese.

Though not ordained, Rosemary is every bit as active in the parish life as John is and they are a wonderful team and delightful hosts. Their son Joe, daughter-in-law Gina and grandson Jack are members of St. George’s which is how we became acquainted in the first place.

The Vicarage of Bredgar is a stunning 18^th century home and as long as I remember to duck I’ll have no problems with the ceiling beams or doorways. It’s a quiet setting with gardens beginning to come to life, pastures behind the house on acres of farm land all around. The neighborhood pub is just around the corner and perfect for lunch!

I’ll be covering the services on the Sunday after Easter for John while he and Rosie will be at St. George’s visiting their family. I’ll also be covering for John and preaching at Evensong at Rochester Cathedral.

I arrived on Wednesday and Friday I went into London to walk around and take in the city. Victoria Station, Westminster Abby, walking the Victoria Embankment along the Thames, and an obligatory stop at Cheshire Cheese made a good sightseeing day. From Isibindi to Big Ben within a week’s time again made me realize how fortunate I am to making this trip and experiencing the wide ranges in land and people.

As I write this I hear the Cathedral Choirs rehearsing for a concert tonight of Stainer’s “Crucifixion” and Faure’s “Requiem”. Last week I heard and swayed to African drums. Although it’s Holy Week, it has a ring of Pentecost - each praising God in their own way, singing and speaking in their own languages.

　

　

　

A Time for Healing

One the activities I’d planned before coming to South Africa was a series of events around the Healing Ministry. I was asked to preach at the Cathedral of St. George and St. Michael on the third Sunday of Lent at both their early and main Eucharist and later that evening at a Eucharist they have geared for university students. The next day (Monday) we scheduled a special workshop open to anyone interested from the Cathedral and surrounding areas. There was a healing Eucharist on Tuesday and a final preaching date on Lent 4 at Evensong at the Cathedral. Or so I thought, I was invited back for a follow up workshop Monday, Mar 30, my last full day in South Africa.

The response to each of these events was wonderful, and the workshop drew people not only from the Cathedral but neighboring parishes, Rhodes University students, members of religious orders and workers from shelters for battered women and others from the orphanage system. Some had experience with healing prayer and for some it was a new area of exploration. In each case the need is felt for healing in their lives, their communities and their country. Preliminary conversation delineated between “cure” and “healing” which many found helpful. Cure affects the body, healing affects the spirit. These words are often used interchangeably but a distinction in understanding is important.

Stories emerged of the many varies sources of pain and suffering both physical and spiritual. Family issues, personal struggles, divorce and grief over death were brought up. As the trust level grew in the room, other stories of issues pertaining to cultural differences - forced marriages, sanctioned abuse of women and children, rape, and the staggering level of HIV and AIDS. Tears flowed quietly in what became a safe place. Healing began in the ability to share stories and open a door to God’s love conveyed through the people gathered. Prayer and laying on of hands gave space for soul healing. Like so many of us, hurts that were decades old came out fresh in the conversation Telling the stories affirmed each individual’s dignity in the face of hurt they experienced.

I heard first hand stories of things more painful than I’ve ever heard. The level of suffering is profound. The wounds of the country cut deep into the lives of the people and they bear the scars. We’ve heard of the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Council, but the window of time they set for their work has mainly closed. What remains is the truth and reconciliation that requires years in the lives of individuals. Healing Prayer is a way that can help. The response to the conversation that opened up and the profound prayer it inspired is an indication of the need. The Dean of the Cathedral and his wife, Andrew and Clare Hunter, are a clergy couple. They later told me this workshop and series of sermons helps them demonstrate the cross section of interest and need. It inspired them to talk of the next steps in their own healing work at the Cathedral. I provided a catalyst for a conversation that was long in coming. They were open and responsive and they seem committed to creating a healing ministry that is intentional and will cross social and racial lines. A lot of ministry is getting people together and providing an environment for them to share what's in their hearts. That's how healing begins and it flows from the indiviual to ever growing circles. At the center is God from whom al healing comes.

"I will blot out your sins..." (Isaiah 43:25)

This quote from Isaiah is given by God to the people of Israel as assurance that they will be forgiven. It has the sense of a slate being wiped clean and is especially familiar in Lenten readings. This quote came to my mind in a very different way as I walked around the Cathedral of St. George in Grahamstown where I preached and for whom I led workshops on healing.

Typical of English style Cathedrals, memorials line the walls extolling the virtues and accomplishments of those they remember. One plaque was in memory of a verger who after decades of service dropped dead in the aisle. The brass plaque gave him the credit such service merited and lauded him even as he “entered glory not far from this spot.”

Many of the memorials are for young men killed in the various wars and battles between the English and Xhosa people in the 1800’s. Curiously, marble strips have been placed on the plaques blanking out references to that time that are today unacceptable. It was done some years ago and no one today knows what those references are. It seems there’s another way to blot out sins!

History is mostly written by the winners of conflict. The pride of victory too frequently negates those vanquished, their lives and dreams, and their humanity. Loving one’s enemies, as Jesus taught, makes battle a horrific enterprise since we have to be aware that we are hurting and killing our brothers and sisters, even as we seek to protect ourselves. Battles of offense are unacceptable.

Victors of offensive battle do not usually see the hubris of their causes. Words that were engraved with great pride in the 1800’s are shockingly shameful in this millennium. I can’t imagine what was blotted out of those plaques, but given what they left untouched, it had to be very bad!

Words, phrases and references that are hurtful to people need to be challenged and stopped. Making real our belief in the dignity of all people extends to the words we use that hurt. We wince at words and music written in times gone by that shock us with today’s awareness. But what do we do with Shakespeare, Wagner or Disney? They all have examples or racist, misogynistic, or anti-Semitic words. Do we throw out the words and music we no longer tolerate? Do you store them on a shelf or change them?

There is a debate in the Cathedral about keeping the plaques up at all. Some want them removed and disposed of in an undignified way. Others are content to remove them and store them for historic value. Still others want them to remain up and like having the portions blotted out as a witness that we cannot forget the past but will not tolerate their offensiveness. Similar arguments are forceful in memorials to the Jewish Holocaust. To blot out all reference is to risk forgetting the atrocity. As the debate continues the plaques remain on the wall. However, newer plaques, musical instruments, and works of art witnessing the new South Africa with bold colors and vibrant spirit are up and witness a triumph of their own. These are up, not at the cost of another people, but in celebration of them.

Safari

A trip without distraction is not worth taking...

(Justin Marozzi, The Way of Herodotus)

Women of Courage

Isibindi means courage. The Isibindi Program has about 50 sites throughout South Africa located mostly in the black townships - often referred to also as "locations". Women from the townships are recruited and trained to be case workers who then go into homes of families who have requested their help in caring for children orphaned by AIDS. Most often the children are related in some way, though some are taken in my neighbors.

The help a case worker offers ranges from teaching about medicines and condoms to helping with home work. Advocacy is also a big part of their work in the legal, educational and even social arenas. There is emotional support for girls and women abused and raped by neighbors or family members. They will visit, travel with, sit with and fight for the women and children in their care.

The squalor of these townships is appalling and the conditions under which the families live and these women do their work is heart breaking. Yet living in the townships they earn trust by making relationships not only with the clients but those watching to see how this program works - before they too request help.

Sisters Monica and Heidi (from the order of the Little Sisters of Jesus) have management oversight for three Isibindi sites and are formidable advocates in directing the program and raising funds to offset the meager support from the Easter Cape Province. They train managers who train and give support to the case workers. Their office is the mini-van they drive in hundreds of miles each week. A focal point for each site is a playground with classrooms made out of storage containers or corrugated metal. Around the yard are swings and a slide with tables and chairs in whatever shade can be found.

A new initiative is creating Safe Parks, expanding into the rural communities with other fenced in yards. These are supervised so children can play away from crushing chores, often abusive households, molestation or attacks. Since the heat can be oppressive, shade coverings are constructed. Bathroom facilities are corrugated steel out houses. As hard s it is for most of us to comprehend this level of poverty, these safe parks are a stride forward to give these children safe environments to have a childhood.

The Isibindi Program began approximately eight years ago and is growing out of the desperate need. Heidi and Monica started this program four years ago with 18 children. They now have over 1400 registered. There are 14 case workers and 5 managers. Each case worker has about 45 families they visit.

The staggering need would overwhelm most people. These women have a courage and conviction that dwarfs anyone I've ever met. Some told me stories of their lives and what led them to what they describe as their vocation. Rising from cultural conditions that keep women down, they found voices that freed them and they call out to other women with life giving hope.

As I was leaving I asked if I could take their picture. Not only could I, but they wanted to sing a song for me. I'm unable at this point to upload the video I took with my camera, but their voices sang out with strength and beauty. I was speechless and stood there in tears. When I finally could talk, I asked them if I could pray with them. They smiled wide and we held hands praying God's blessing on their work and the children they serve.

Feast of St. Cuthbert

Br. Robert asked me to preside at their daily Eucharist today. I packed my alb knowing I would preach and celebrate at the Cathedral, but it was an unexpected treat to be invited to celebrate the Eucharist for the brothers.

I didn’t know in advance that it was the feast of St. Cuthbert. It’s customary in churches who observe lesser feasts to read a synopsis of the saint prior to the Eucharist. As it was read it was my turn to chuckle silently at God’s sense of humor. St. Cuthbert lived in the seventh century AD and was a monk and Prior of Lindesfarne in the north of England. He went on to live the life of a hermit monk on an island, ultimately founding a monastery there as well. That island has become known through the centuries as Holy Island, one of my next destinations.
Time waxes and wanes. Since I have passed the midpoint of my visit to South Africa I’m more aware of time waning. The reading about Cuthbert reminded me that I’m called not to stay here, but move on. Still, there is a lot I will do and see here. There is still much to learn and soak in. But I’m mindful that in many ways our lives move from location to location in bitter sweet pace. I second guess myself thinking I should have spent all three months of the sabbatical in this wonderful place. Yet, if I had, I wouldn’t be able to spend time in other places meeting other people and experiencing other ways of living and praying. Ultimately choices get made and each is of great value.

We are guests in this life of all the places we visit and people we come to know. Time waxes and wanes in each place and relationship often without knowing the duration. It’s so important to relish each day for what it has to offer and each person for who they are. While being mindful of the movement of time and making plans to the next transition, we can’t let it rob us of the pleasure of finding God in any particular place at any particular moment.

Cuthbert may be on the horizon calling, but I’m still here now!

Of Specks and Logs

“Why do you try to take out the speck that is in your brother or sister’s eye, when you have a log in your own?” (Mt. 7:4 )
While in Cape Town Clark and I had the opportunity to meet and talk with some white South Africans. It became clear to us that there is a wide spectrum of interpretation of the Apartheid years and those since. Their opinion of the Apartheid period is that is was a bad thing but that it was falling apart even before it was ended officially. They believed it was ended non violently and told us of the lack of information that white South Africans were given of the conditions and happenings in the townships. At times the conversation was tense and could have gone in a negative direction. We were left dumbfounded by the lack of concern or collective accountability for the obscenity of Apartheid. We were similarly struck by the complacency around the horrendous living conditions in current townships.
In later reflections, I had to swallow my indignation as I thought of the above biblical quote. I suspect Native Americans have their own reflection of the topic of Apartheid still in effect. Our history of slavery, Jim Crow, and active racism in society today is a shame we’ve made our peace with. Our general complacency that greets the horrendous living conditions of projects and unequal education in the US makes criticism of other countries border on hypocrisy.
Even moral outrage must be conducted in humility. Critique of another without self examination can be self righteous and empty. Jesus told them , “Take out the log that is in your own eye before you can take out the speck that is in your brother or sister’s eye.”

Robben Island

Thursday was dubbed “tourist day” and Br. Clark and I made our way up to Table Top Mountain via the gondola on a spectacular day to be treated to a magnificent view of Cape Town and the surrounding region. Since we were able to do this in the morning, we were able to catch the ferry to Robben Island in the afternoon. This island is best known as the location of the prison that held Nelson Mandela for 18 years. The other 9 years of his total imprisonment were in other locations.

Robben Island (the Dutch work for seals) was first a trading post, then a leper colony, a military site during the world wars and finally the prison for which it is best known today. The tour is in two parts, the first is a bus ride around the island with a talk about each phase of its history and the buildings that were added for them. The second part of the tour took place in the prison buildings. Whereas the bus tours are directed by younger South Africans, the tours of the prison buildings are given by former plitical prisoners. The impact of their pain and experience within these walls was conveyed in the quiet, yet forceful description of those years. Physical and psychological torture were employed routinely. Many broke, which was the intent. But those who survived were galvanized in their resolve to build a new South Africa that would have to rise from the old.

Having driven by and seen the lime quarry where many prisoners worked in searing heat and freezing cold, we learned that the cave along the far end was known among the prisoners as the “university” where leaders such as Nelson Mandela would debate and strategize while also taking time to teach the illiterate prisoners by drawing in the lime dust on the ground of the cave.

Despite the sounds of the birds and buses, there is a quiet on the island. A peace has descended on this place where healing is also happening. A location that housed those suffering from leprosy and later political prisoners is now a teaching place telling the story and uncovering the secret shame of this country. Most of the white residents of South Africa were given heavily censored information and kept ignorant of that island’s deeds. Part of the healing work involves not only the anger, bitterness and inequities of the Black and Coloured people abused through Apartheid, but the guilt and shame of the White people who lived side by side with them. It’s an immense task. But as the truth is being spoken, hope for that same healing grows.

These words are inscribed on a plaque in the prison yard: While we will not forget the brutality of Apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument to our hardship and suffering. We would want it to be a triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil. A triumph of wisdom and largeness of spirit against small minds and pettiness; a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness; a triumph of the new South Africa over the old. (Ahmed Kathrada, imprisoned 26 years)

Cape Town

My decision to go to Cape Town was made when I learned that my Seminary roommate was going to be there leading a retreat. We’ve been close friends almost 28 years and being this close in Africa made the trip a “must”.
Br. Clark joined the Franciscans a few years after we graduated and is now the Minister General which is the highest office in that order. It’s his role to visit each house and brother in the world once a year. No small task. Most people don’t know that the Episcopal church has monastic orders and they are relatively small communities, but they are strong and engaged in witness and ministry around the world. The diversity of members in any of the traditions (i.e. Benedictine, Franciscan, etc) makes uniformity a challenge. Having brothers in the US, England, Korea, Columbia, Papua New Guinea and the Solomon Islands makes his work challenging to foster a wider sense of community among the brothers and address the issues that are unique to each cultural setting. Like a microcosm of the worldwide Anglican communion, the brothers in different regions hold different views on sexuality and social witness. Tension can be creative or destructive depending on the commitment of the parties involved. For the Franciscans, their commitment to unity is a model for the rest of the church to work through our differences.
I tagged along with Clark’s official visits to Diocesan dignitaries and attended Eucharist at the Cathedral of Cape Town and later a Taize service. The Cathedral of St. George is a beautiful structure in a classic stone design whose newer windows draw in contemporary images of the church. Seeing the pulpit and chair from which former Archbishop Desmond Tutu preached against Apartheid had a deep effect on me. History was made here and for an important period of time this was the front lines of Christian witness. I’ve hard Bishop Tutu preach before and I imagined the quiet thunder of his voice reverberating from these stone walls to the furthest reaches of the world. Many in South Africa saw him as a terrorist and trouble maker. The world outside gave him a Nobel Peace Prize.

Egazini Outreach Project

“They shall beat their swords into plowshares…” (Isaiah 2:4) In 1819 the Xhosa tribe fought a combined army of Dutch and English and were driven out as they lost the battle. Engazini is the Xhosa word for this battle and it’s considered a turning point in South African history for the European settlers expanding into the country. The Joza Township was built for the Black South Africans on this site since it‘s well outside the commercial range of town. Placed in the corner of the township was a detention center during the Apartheid era called an Internal Stability Unit.
The building is a stark construction fit for it’s grim purpose. Since 2001, however a local group of artists have entered the space and use it to create art, sell their work on commission and stage dramatic performances. The bloody history of that site is a common theme of the wood carving, painted fabrics, and linocut prints. The artists also provide a prophetic voice for current events and conditions in modern South Africa. But most prevalent is the pride in the beauty of the land and their traditional ceremonies. The building itself has become a artistic canvass with a relief of historical references.
Art is healing. Creating beauty out of the rubble of unconscionable abuse is the ultimate triumph of the spirit. Art is the voice deeper than words to salve the pain deeper than words. The artists’ pride is not only in their craft but the strength of their people, as well as their courage and determination to overcome. Each work shines a light on the place where evil lived in secrecy and moral darkness. It makes sacred that which was profaned and witnesses that the deepest Spirit of God living in human frailty will overcome evil.

The Monastic Hours

The monks of the Order of the Holy Cross are of the Benedictine tradition. St. Benedict began what became the order bearing his name in the early 500’s AD. He placed an emphasis on prayer, study, and work creating an order to the day, or Rule, that basically continues to the present. Benedict’s Rule became adapted by Monastic communities in later years.
The first community prayer is called Vigils and begins at 6:00am.The opening words of this service are from the psalms, “Lord, open our lips…” ending the great silence begun the night before. Breakfast at 7:15 is in silence. Lauds and the Eucharist have been combined and happen at 8:00am and talking is allowed after this service. The morning is to be used for personal devotion and study.
Noon prayers and lunch shift the day into work. Originally Benedictines were self sufficient communities with their own farms and services. Work was concentrated in doing what needed to be done to feed and take care of the essentials of the community as well as create the beautiful manuscripts for which monasteries were known. Today work involves local parish programs, social services or education. The monks here divide their time in the hospitality of the guest house they run as well as lead quiet days and retreats for individuals and groups. They also run an after school program for local children and youth to supplement a troubled public school system.
Vespers brings everyone back together at 5:30pm followed by supper and conversation. Compline at 8:00pm ends the day and begins the Great Silence, after which all go to their rooms or quietly read in the common rooms.
There is a gentle rhythm to the day that draws in both brother and guest. The schedule of services or “hours” as they are called take their names from the Latin words describing the time of day they occur. It sets the focus and maintains the pace of the day keeping God at the center and the chanting or recitation of the psalms the heartbeat of the monastic life.
Parishes that we’re used to follow a similar order of worship and yet each is very different in character. The same can be said for monastic houses. Even by its name Mariya uMama we Themba (Mary, Mother of Hope) this monastery’s commitment to the people of South Africa is evident in their multi lingual services, the worshippers they draw from the area and the work they do in education. White, Black and Coloured South Africans are welcome during the week but mostly join on Sunday at 9:00am in a beautiful reflection of the hope they each carry for a united South Africa gathered in love and service to God and each other.

Arrival

The plane left Newark as scheduled despite the snow on Monday Mar 2 at 8:30pm. Deacon Chris McCloud drove me to the airport and as she drove off, I knew again that I was on my own now. Boarding passes were easy. Security a breeze. I even found internet service in the airport after a long struggle, even on my new laptop! As of this writing it’s eluding me again - I had to borrow the monastery computer to make these entries. I prepared myself for what I knew would be a long trip.
The first leg was Newark to London’s Heathrow. The ten hour layover there was helped when I saw that two men who sat next to me were reading books related to ministry. In conversation I learned they are a father and son ministry team currently working in Birmingham Alabama, but on their way to Tanzania where the father was born. His family is still there and his brother is seriously ill. His son has never been and it seemed time to return for a visit. Although our African destinations were different, the layover time was similar and our conversations easily passed the time. Especially since I learned an important part of their ministry is healing. Traditional father and non-traditional son spanned experiences that I found fascinating. I shared about the ministry at St. Georges and my own traditional and non-traditional ideas about healing. This is the first in what is usually a lot of “coincidences” that emerge on a pilgrimage - as I have begun to term this sabbatical. Off to a good start!
The next stage was a ten hour flight to Johannesburg. By the time we touched down, over twenty four hours had passed and jet lag clearly arrived. Realizing I had a two hour layover I slowed down, until the size of that airport and the place of my next departure dawned on my foggy brain. Since it was the first stop in Africa I had to pick up my previously checked bag, go through customs and re-check it as well as train for a marathon in covering the large distances between each of these checkpoints. I only made the next flight thanks to an observant check in clerk. She saw the time and allowed those of us going to Port Elizabeth to form a new and much shorter line.
When this third plane landed I wasn’t sure what day it was, or the time, nor did I care. I was so glad to be done I didn’t even care which city I was in. If it was wrong, I’d make do! I’d reserved a car and grimaced at my next challenge in this travel gauntlet. (I never cared for the Amazing Race reality shows, but my sympathy for their obstacles might lead me to give those shows a second chance.) It’s now 35 hours since I left Newark. I’m tired, disoriented, intestinally distressed from the airline food, and aware that my reflex response is not up to snuff. When I paused to figure out how to pick up a glass of water, my long lost self awareness was getting concerned. It was at this point that I discovered my rental car had the steering wheel on the right side of the dash, and that the stick shift (stick shift??) was on the left of the driver. This stunning realization gave way to the panic of never having driven this type before. Then the dread of driving on the opposite side of the street rose as well.
During the two hour drive, I was really feeling the effects of the trip, missed the turn off for the monastery and went into Grahamstown proper. I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it’s quaint appearance and turned around to try again. New Jersey, it seems, is not the only place that omits key street signs. Finding the correct turn, I was presented with three road options. One led to the SPCA (Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals) facility, the next was to the maximum security penitentiary facility, and the third apparently - and thankfully- was the one I needed. Even as tired as I was, there was a theme here whose dots I did not want to connect. The tar road became gravel, the last building was a good distance behind, and the hill before me became a challenge to my left handed stick shifting ability.
Like a miracle a sign finally appeared humbly stating “UMariya uMama weThema Monastery.” The beauty and simplicity of the buildings and grounds say “welcome” and extend Christ’s promise of rest to those who are weary. At first I didn’t know where to go and identified what I reasoned to be the guesthouse. I was greeted by a fellow guest who steered me to the Guestmaster’s empty office. My wait wasn’t through, but at least I was in the right place. I went to the chapel and sat, prayed and snoozed. Movement in the garden some time later revealed a brother and I was directed to my room. As we passed the guest I had spoken to in the hallway, the brother greeted him as Bishop, whereas before he had only given me his name. One of the nice things about monastic retreat is the extended simplicity and humility of those who often visit. Formalities are checked at the door and we are all fellow seekers of God in these places.
The main business of a monastery is hospitality. The provide a “place apart” for clergy and lay people to be restored for the work God has called them to do. So far I’ve met several guests whose ministries I will come to know better and volunteer to help. Orphanages and schools are the top priority so far. In a country still struggling so hard to overcome it’s past, children suffer the most and those who work to help them need time to rest and gather strength to continue their work. It is a beautiful corner of the world filled with challenge, hope and strength. There is violence and brutality as well, yet with God all things are possible and it God to whom we turn at such times.
High on this hill the morning wind is fierce. Vigils (Morning Prayer) is at 6:00am and a verse from a psalm mentioned the voice of God as loud and thunderous. With the wind outside it seemed very true. I thought at that moment, that I’ve arrived and I’m listening.

Why Aelred's Garden?

I thought of this name for my blog for two reasons. The first is that St. Aelred is the name of my ordination day Saint, and I like gardens.
In 1985 the Bishop of Rhode Island chose January 12 for me to be ordained a priest - the earliest convenient Saturday in his schedule. Recent Seminary grads are usually ordained Deacons at their home Cathedral in June. The ordination to the Priesthood occurs no less than six months later. I was ordained Deacon with three others on June 23, 1984 and it was unlikely that I would become a Priest two days before Christmas so January 12 it was. The calendar of Saints revealed that St. Aelred was also celebrated that day. Saints are remembered on the date of their deaths, or more importantly, birth to everlasting life.
I didn’t know the name of Aelred prior to my ordination plans but what I found out made me quite fond of him. Born in 1110 AD in northern England he became a monk at a young age and over the years the Abbot of Riveaux, a large monastery also in the north of England and important in the early history of the Church of England. Aelred was a scholar and writer as well as Abbot and at the urging of St. Bernard of Clairveaux wrote what became an enduring work called “Spiritual Friendship”.
This book, short by modern standards, plumbs the depth of friendship from a Christian, spiritual point of view. Far from being didactic, it’s touching, insightful and ultimately revealing. Taken together with his written instructions as Abbot and published letters, he departed from other monastic traditions and allowed monks to explore friendships with each other. Normally discouraged or even prohibited, deep friendships were suspect as being possibly sexual or at the very least divisive in community life if conflicts arose between the friends themselves or the friends against the others in community. Aelred saw the deep nature of friendship as being able to transcend such conflicts, and used the example of Jesus’ friendship with His apostles - and by extension Jesus’ friendship with the believer and even further, the church. Our earthly friendships are reflections of the divine friendship.
Aelred’s letters are sometimes directed to his particular friend. Modern scholars read what we would describe today as a gay relationship into these letters. While love between male friends doesn’t’ have to be gay, it’s plausible that the emotions and intimate love between Aelred and his friend was that of lover and beloved. Given Aelred’s writings and today’s controversies, Aelred has been given the unofficial title of “Gay Saint” and adopted by gay religious organizations as a patron saint. Another reason to love Aelred and what a nice coincidence for me as a gay priest to share his feast day! I also refer to him as Patron Saint - one who is important and worthy of emulating.
As for gardens - they are beautiful, peaceful and invite the visitor to slow down, relax and even go deeper into meditation. This sabbatical is a time for me to enter that garden in this point of my ordained life. I’ve chosen places that are far flung in geography and tradition. I want to experience faith, spirituality and friendship with God in as many human contexts as I can. A garden is made up of more than one flower for the beauty of the many. Faith is like that for me and the experience is wonderful. God is in more than one tradition and place and friendships with God and people call me deeper and deeper into the mystery of his love.
That’s why this blog and the spiritual theme of this trip is called Aelred’s Garden!