Baptism and Who We Are in Christ

With our grandbaby’s baptism coming up this Sunday, I’ve been thinking a lot about what this day means in her life. In Christ, the Christian, and the Church, E.L. Mascall has some wonderful thoughts about baptism as he considers the implications of the Incarnation:

It is almost universally assumed today that becoming a Christian means in essence the adoption of a new set of beliefs or the initiation of a new mode of behavior. A Christian would be defined as one who “believes in Christ” or “worships" Christ” or “tries to follow Christ’s teaching.” Now it is far from my purpose to belittle either Christian dogma or Christian ethics. Nevertheless, it must be pointed out that to define the essence of Christianity in terms either of belief or of practice involves the neglect of two principles that are fundamental to all sound theology. The former of these is that the act of God precedes and is presupposed by the acts of man: “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us”; “Ye have come to know God, or rather to be known of God.” The second is that what a being is precedes what it does; our actions are a consequence of what we are, operari sequitur esse. It will follow from this that the Christian should be defined not in terms of what he himself does, but of what God has made him to be. Being a Christian is an ontological fact, resulting from an act of God.

What, then, is this act by which God makes a man into a Christian? It is, the New Testament assures us, incorporation into the human nature of Christ, an incorporation by which the very life of the Man Christ Jesus is communicated to us and we are re-created in him. “I am the vine; ye are the branches”; “If any man is in Christ, he is a new creature,” or “there is a new creation”; we have been “grafted into” Christ like shoots into a tree. " […]

Now the normal and divinely appointed means by which this re-creation is initiated is clearly the Sacrament of Baptism, the sacrament of new birth, of regeneration. […] “This child,” says the Prayer Book, “is by baptism regenerate” (77-78).

What a magnificent day Sunday will be as we celebrate this outward sign of God’s grace as our grandchild is incorporated into Christ and His Church. It’s an act of grace coming from God, not based on her understanding or merit.

In the opening statement of the baptism service, the minister says:

DEARLY beloved, forasmuch as our Savior Christ saith, None can enter into the Kingdom of God, except he be regenerate and born anew of Water and of the Holy Ghost; I beseech you to call upon God the Father, through our Lord Jesus Christ, that of his bounteous mercy he will grant to this Child that which by nature she cannot have; that she may be baptized with Water and the Holy Ghost, and received into Christ’s holy Church, and be made a living member of the same. […]

Minister. Let us give thanks unto our Lord God.
Answer. It is meet and right so to do.

Life Can Be Complicated

I read a worthwhile piece in the Wall Street Journal the other day: “My Aging Mother Has Moved In. It’s Complicated” with the synopsis: “In her first moments here, I worried we had made a mistake. But there is something comforting about seeing her sipping wine on my porch” by Katie Roiphe (Aug. 7, 2025).

Whether it’s getting rid of cancer-causing dyes in our sweets or going back to the healthy oils or the ritualistic joys and healthy benefits of canning our own vegetables — it’s amazing how stupid we have let ourselves become. Taking care of loved ones, when we can, as opposed to moving them to a nursing home, is a similar issue.

This fact, as well as how generations encourage one another, is on my mind today. How often have our kids talked about the inter-generational aspect of our church. Generations worshipping together mirrors the Kingdom and encourages all. And it’s such a joy to see how our parents can encourage our kids like no one else can. A talk with Baba and Booie can encourage like nothing else can; Nana and Pappy can make them laugh and remind them of fun times in a heartbeat. Visiting our grandbaby with my Mom and Dad brought immediate smiles to their two-month-old greatgrand babygirl with my Mom’s high-pitched oo-ing and ah-ing over her very being. Sharing a cheeseburger encouraged their granddaughter that day to no end.

But just as wonderful is how the younger generations encourage us. It makes me think of how our youngest sprinkles her stories and texts — constantly — with booms, oofs, slaps, boofs, wait whas, lols, brehs, and no buenos. (The best thing is when I have my car audio lady read her texts aloud to me when I’m driving…) She really does make us laugh out loud.

Roiphe’s daughter reacted just like ours — she saved the day and made her grandmother beam. Nothing like these kids to break the tension and remind us of what’s important.

On the morning [my mom] moved in, she and I were both a bundle of nerves. A few glaring problems seemed insurmountable. Her walker wouldn’t fit through the doorway of the bathroom. The bed was too high for her to safely get on and off by herself. “Oh, I am fine,” she said as she struggled to get onto it. But she wasn’t fine.

An older woman using a walker, assisted by a younger person.

I felt a kind of birds-in-my-ribcage panic. Were we making a giant mistake?

In theory I like the idea of a big crazy household, the young and the old jostling together, three-generation family dinners, but would it be OK in practice?

Many of my friends seemed a little shocked that we are doing this. I imagine another culture, in India say or Italy, where generations crowd together into a single household. This seems strange only here where nuclear families are supposed to splinter off and live in isolated bubbles.

My daughter took a video of my mother’s first, slightly terrified ride up the stair lift we installed so she could reach our part of the house. “Hey, girl,” my daughter called out, and my mom beamed at her. For the first time that day, I thought maybe this will work.

“Hey girl!” … “for the first time that day…”

Just before the Lord’s Prayer, the Bidding Prayer (BCP 1928) ends with:

Finally, ye shall yield unto God most high praise and hearty thanks for the wonderful grace and virtue declared in all his saints, who have been the choice vessels of his grace and the lights of the world in their several generations; and pray unto God, that we may have grace to direct our lives after their good examples; that, this life ended, we may be made partakers with them of the glorious resurrection, and the life everlasting.

The several generations and their good examples…

“[…] that, as we grow in age, we may grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Permission to Behold the King in His Beauty

School starts back tomorrow and I’ve got a ton of things left I’d like to do, so I was debating whether or not to go to our Wednesday noon service (something I can’t do in the school year), but then I thought about M. Thornton’s admonition that it’s not about just missing a Wednesday service, I’d be missing the Transfiguration of our Lord. That’s how important the Church’s Kalendar is, I’m learning.

Thornton quotes Mascall who is quoting S. Bulgakov:

The Church’s worship is not only the commemoration, in artistic forms, of evangelical or other events concerning the Church. It is also the actualization of these facts, their reenactment on the earth. During the service of Christmas there is not merely the memory of the birth of Christ, but truly Christ is born in a mysterious manner, just as at Easter he is resurrected. It is the same in the Transfiguration, the Entry into Jerusalem, the mystery of the Last Supper, the Passion, the burial, and Ascension of Christ, ans also of all the events of the life of the Holy Virgin, from the Nativity to the Assumption. The life of the Church, in these services, makes actual for us the mystery of the Incarnation. Our Lord continues to live in the Church in the same form in which he was manifested once on earth and which exists for ever; and it is given to the Church to make living these sacred memories so that we should be their new witnesses and participate in them” (68-69).

In this chapter about the importance of recollection in our prayer lives, Thornton goes on to say: “Thus the Church’s Kalendar provides not just a useful means of conducting services in an orderly way, but a practical basis for our grasping eternity in our earthly lives, and it has obvious connections with the true practice of actual recollection.”

The collect for today is breathtaking: “O GOD, who on the mount didst reveal to chosen witnesses thine only-begotten Son wonderfully transfigured, in raiment white and glistering; Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world, may be permitted to behold the King in his beauty, who with thee, O Father, and thee, O Holy Ghost, liveth and reigneth, one God, world without end. Amen.”

Deliver us from the disquietude of this world and permit us to behold the King in his beauty.

There is so much to contemplate and wonder about in this story. I hope each of us will get glimpses of its magnitude and of its implications as we go through our day.

But I’d like to linger and consider the language some. Once again M. Thornton gets to the essence of recurring debates. He writes:

Modernists plead for a revised liturgy, in modern idiom, to bring our worship ‘more in line with the needs of everyday life.’ They argue that this would give a new impetus to spirituality by freeing us from the shackles of Medievalism, convention and indeed, misrepresentation. It is urged on the other hand that liturgy is a rightly formal thing which demands a language of its own, that our approach to God should be couched in a different and more majestic idiom that that of casual conversation.

It should be noted here, too, that another tiresome, and insulting in its arrogance, comment we often hear is that the average person can’t understand the “antiquated” language. Thornton sees both sides, though, and resolves the issue by considering the whole of our prayer life, which is both participating in the liturgical Eucharist and our individual, private prayer. He continues:

If Latin and Greek supply the former quality, and modern idiom the latter, then it looks as if Caroline English is the most perfect liturgical language in the world today; as indeed, I believe it is. But, and here is the real point, this language is not vaguely “religious” but definitely liturgical, and there is not the remotest reason why it should be carried over into private colloquy (89).

In his practical and droll way, Thornton goes on to say that it’s also a question of Christology, that modernized liturgies tend to be more subjective and human-centered with an “undue familiarity with God.” Yet, on the other hand, to use Caroline English in this day and age in our private prayers, “‘Oh Lord, vouchsafe in thy goodness to succour this thy humble servant in his dire distress,’ when we mean ‘Christ help me I’m in trouble” would only lead to insincerity and dishonesty (90).

May our corporate collect help each of us today as we walk the road between time and eternity, earth and heaven, and nature and grace (Thornton, 68). On this day of remembrance, St. Peter wants to stir us up: “For we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of his majesty” (2 Peter 1:16).

There's No Accounting for Taste

After glancing at its rave reviews, we decided on “The Taste of Things” (2023) yesterday evening. Juliette Binoche and Benoit Magimel headline this romantic film about the intricacies of gourmet French cooking. The French title is much more fitting, “La Passion de Dodin Bouffant,” in its double meaning of the protagonist’s passion for food and his cook, Eugenie, whereas the English titles conveys nothing about the plot with its generic “Things.”

“Patient” is a word that surfaces often in reviews of the film as well as an appreciation for its artistic impulses and nuances. There were indeed some beautiful moments, but on the whole, we found it long (even tedious?) and, interestingly, even uninspiring to someone who loves to cook. The couple has cooked together for 20 years and life is grand, especially since Eugenie can lock her door when she’s not in the mood. Even though marriage would only complicate things, in the end, they do decide to maybe give it a go in the autumn of their lives.

An allusion to St. Augustine helps to explain what bothered me most about the film. On the one hand, truth is always moving and beautiful, so towards the end when we hear that Augustine defines happiness as continuing to desire what we already have, we’re struck by the perceptive beauty of this statement. The best takeaway of the film also turns out to highlight its shortcomings, though. Since the film has such a puerile understanding of marriage and an almost deliberate refusal to mention anything spiritual, it’s deceitful to mention St. Augustine. In the end, even cinematic artistry can’t make up for the insipid plot and characters.

If you’re interested in French cooking and an entertaining film, look for “Haute Cuisine” (2012) with Catherine Frot. No comparison.

Ora Labora and Spurring Saints on through Song

Our branch of the Church celebrated our annual Synod Eucharist yesterday. Our town got to host this year, so I was able to attend. It was a Mass for Missions. The richer the moment, the more we tend to associate other things with it and yesterday brought a host of thoughts.

As we sang Charles Wesley’s text “O Thou who camest from above” about the “fire celestial” coming down, I thought about Bishop Chartres’ opening to his sermon on the occasion of William and Catherine’s marriage: “‘Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.’ So said St Catherine of Siena whose festival day this is. Marriage is intended to be a way in which man and woman help each other to become what God meant each one to be, their deepest and their truest selves.”

Chartres’ admonitions to the bride and groom hold true for us as well as we consider our role in the mission of God’s kingdom. When we come to our true selves in Christ, we can set the world on fire.

Wesley’s text resonated in new ways yesterday: “Jesus, confirm my heart’s desire To work, and speak, and think for Thee […]” My limited understanding of “missions” has always included working for Him, maybe even speaking for Him, but thinking? I need to ponder what that even means.

An aside if I may:

I recently came across a curious little publication written evidently by Lutherans about church music in the U.S. in 1898 and it includes a short chapter about the Anglican tradition. My reaction was almost visceral as I read:

“Coming to the period of the English Glee, say from about 1750 to 1830, the tunes produced are found to be less strong and more flowing in style. The modern tune, with few exceptions, is in the free style, often reminding one of the part-song, and not infrequently abounding in chromatic progressions. Though perhaps none of the English tunes are comparable with the melodies from the classical period of Lutheran Church song, having as a rule a totally different character, yet many of them are so infinitely superior to the light and sentimental tunes and adaptations so often heard in churches using the English language, and have such a noble dignity of their own, that we make no mistake in recommending their use. But here again intimate acquaintance with the true Church style and with the old treasures of Church song is absolutely necessary in order to choose wisely.”

I can’t / won’t even comment — partly because I can’t figure out what he’s saying — does he mean “them” being English tunes as compared to American tunes using the “English language”? And, what, pray tell, is “the true Church style”? (But since the “fact” remains that none are comparable, one can only conclude that this true style must be Germanic…)

But suffice it to say, it was pure delight yesterday to join my voice with other congregants as we lustily sang Samuel Sebastian Wesley’s hymn tune, HEREFORD (1872), to his grandfather Charles’ text. Almost laugh out loud funny is the designation in the 1940 Hymnal to sing this hymn “in flowing style!” Here’s the text and a recording from Hereford Cathedral (S.S. Wesley’s first post after his education). (It’s the final hymn in their service and an improvisation by organist, Peter Dyke, follows.)

1 O Thou who camest from above,
The fire celestial to impart,
Kindle a flame of sacred love
On the mean altar of my heart.

2 There let it for Thy glory burn
With ever bright, undying blaze,
And trembling to its source return,
In humble prayer and fervent praise.

3 Jesus, confirm my heart's desire
To work, and speak, and think for Thee;
Still let me guard the holy fire,
And still stir up the gift in me.

4 Still let me prove Thy perfect will,
My acts of faith and love repeat,
Till death Thy endless mercies seal,
And make the sacrifice complete. (Charles Wesley, 1762, alt.)

(I had forgotten, but Robert Bridges also talks of this “celestial fire” along with God’s grace and love in his poem, “My Eyes for Beauty Pine.”)

My intention here is most certainly not to pit Lutheran church music against Anglican, but another genius hymn tune was included in our service yesterday, namely David McK. Williams’ MALABAR. How appropriate is this text translated from a Syrian liturgy in turning our hearts and thoughts towards the mission of the Church!

1 Strengthen for service, Lord, the hands
that holy things have taken;
let ears that now have heard thy songs
to clamor never waken.

2 Lord, may the tongues which 'Holy' sang
keep free from all deceiving;
the eyes which saw thy love be bright,
thy blessed hope perceiving.

3 The feet that tread thy hallowed courts
from light do thou not banish;
the bodies by thy Body fed
with thy new life replenish.
Syriac, Liturgy of Malabar; Tr. C.W. Humphreys, alt. Percy Dearmer, 1906

Interestingly enough, just the other day, I was listening again to John McDonough’s reading of Jan Karon’s A New Song and Fr. Tim asked Miss Bridgewater during her organ audition for his new parish to play this hymn. It’s one of his favorite texts, “a communion hymn worth its salt and then some” — he especially appreciates the line “to clamor never waken,” but McDonough sings the alternate tune, ACH, GOTT UND HERR (taken from the Neu-Leipziger Gesangbuch, 1682). The meter for both tunes is 8.7.8.7, but the text, esp. stanzas 1 and 3 lend themselves more to 15.15. And in my opinion, Williams’ MALABAR’s long, flowing lines are wonderfully suited to bringing out the complete ideas of the text.

Hymn tunes aside, though, what was particularly meaningful about the day, was how our Bishop brought the crux of the Great Commission back to the altar and how the goal of the Gospel, this side of Heaven, is to invite others, the hungry and thirsty, to our union with Christ in and through the Eucharist: “Drawn by thy quick’ning grace, O Lord, In countless numbers let them come, And gather from their Father’s board The Bread that lives beyond the tomb” (P. Doddridge, 1755, alt.).

Wonted Thanksgiving for the Book of Common Prayer

One of the most oft-repeated, and yes, tiresome in its dullness, criticisms of any use of the Book of Common Prayer is a perceived lack of spontaneity and sincerity. In his Christian Proficiency, Martin Thornton takes issue with the German Lutheran Friedrich Heiler where his “much lauded ‘primitive prayer from the heart’ is compared with the mere ‘recitation of formulae.’” Thornton goes on to discuss the Lord’s Prayer, but we can expand recitation to include the more “formal” prayers and collects included in the Book of Common Prayer, too, I think. Later Thornton stresses the importance and efficacy of having Rule in our lives as Christians, which must include the Office, Mass, and private prayer. He writes: “And plainly [the discipline of watching and waiting for Our Lord] is closely linked with Rule; it is remarkable how often God chooses to speak to us when we least expect it, and terrible to contemplate how much we miss by putting feeling before regularity (86).”

Or put another way, how many countless times, literally, has the “regularity” of the Daily Office blown my mind and helped me consider and contemplate things that were entirely outside of what I was thinking about.

Case in point: the collect for Trinity V: “GRANT, O Lord, we beseech thee, that the course of this world may be so peaceably ordered by thy governance, that thy Church may joyfully serve thee in all godly quietness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

For a split second yesterday, I had the stupidity to think that this was one collect that might qualify as quaint and anachronistic in our day and age. What wishful, pie-in-the-sky, naive drivel, I thought subconsciously. Don’t judge - I said I was stupid. People are people, no matter the age, and Cranmer’s day was FULL of turmoil, of course.

What a bold prayer. What a censure of my timid faith and my mousy hopes.

Never on my own would I have prayed that this world would be so peaceably ordered by God’s governance that a joyful Church could possibly serve Him in godly quietness. And now I’m praying it annually at least twice a day corporately with Christians all over the world every day for a week.

E’en so, Lord Jesus, quickly come.

The Importance of Reflection

A recurring theme at church, in my reading and listening, and in my thoughts these days is the importance of maturation, making spiritual progress, moving from milk to solid food, and being purposeful about it.

I’ve just been revisiting an old friend, Eudora Welty’s One Writer’s Beginnings. As she thinks about her craft and her identity as a writer, we quickly realize that the process of writing is actually the process of living and what she has to say applies to any of us.

Welty concentrates on two of our senses and first considers listening and then seeing. This exposure to others and the world around us starts from day one, of course. Reflection, though, is what’s needed in order for us to make sense of it all or to understand how our experiences have shaped us. Gaining this critical distance comes through growing up, much thought, and an increased perspective.

Welty’s contemplations are profound and revelatory — worth reading slowly (and then reading again):

“The transience of living, and your awareness of it, wakes up love as it teaches you mystery. We come to terms as well as we can with our lifelong exposure to the world, and we use whatever devices we may need to survive. […] If exposure is essential, still more so is reflection. Insight doesn't happen often on the click of a moment like a lucky snapshot, but comes in its own time and more slowly, and from nowhere but within.”

Awareness or reflection, then, brings this insight that’s so necessary to make sense of life. Moreover, it “wakes up love” and teaches us “mystery.” Gaining this sense of mystery, to me, is about giving others grace and leaving them some room as we try to loom less large in ourselves.

Welty’s parents lost their first child and this loss affected them deeply, of course. Both parents tended to be over-protective and overly cautious as she and her other brothers came along. Listen to the way she reflects on her childhood, though:

“Even as we grew up, my mother could not help imposing herself between her children and whatever it was they might take it in mind to reach out for in the world. For she would get it for them, if it was good enough for them--she would have to be very sure--and give it to them, at whatever cost to herself: valiance was in her very fiber. She stood always prepared in herself to challenge the world in our place. She did indeed tend to make the world look dangerous, and so it had been to her. A way had to be found around her love sometimes, without challenging that, and at the same time cherishing it in its unassailable strength. Each of us children did, sooner or later, in part at least, solve this in a different, respectful, complicated way.”

I never in all my life.

Talk about depth of maturity! There’s a full recognition of the complicated nature of this love, but at the same time, there’s also a full appreciation of it.

So many times we stop at just dwelling on the exposures and concentrate on what life has dealt us, but I want my Rule of life to always include the next step, which is awareness and reflection and then moving on in mystery.

On the Fifth Day of Christmas...

we savored some Herve Mons Brebis Pyrenees and Gabietou, Colston Basset Stilton, and some Port during our annual viewing of “The Bishop’s Wife.” Happy, indeed.

The Power to Become the Sons of God

Certainly we love the music of Advent and Christmas and welcome it every year with eager anticipation, but the texts resonate so deeply with us as well.

They are words that don’t just affect us with their beauty, but stir our souls with the magnitude of their meaning:

One example is the Collect for the first Sunday of Advent that we get to repeat every day:

“ALMIGHTY God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life, in which thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal, through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, now and ever. Amen.”

Or the King’s College “Bidding Prayer” (written by Dean Eric Milner-White) that has almost entered into the vernacular:

“Beloved in Christ, be it this Christmas Eve our care and delight to prepare ourselves to hear again the message of the angels; in heart and mind to go even unto Bethlehem and see this thing which is come to pass, and the Babe lying in a manger. […]”

But these words can also speak change into our lives. Most years, I revisit Phillips Brooks’ Christmas Sermon about the Wise Men.

I want this year to be different. On this St. John the Evangelist’s Day, I really want to claim the promise and grow:

“[…] the very moment that the birth in Bethlehem was a fact it became a power. […] This is the day, dear friends, to bind two sayings of St. John together, and hold them in our hands and see them shine together with the Christmas glory: first, this verse: " As many as received him, to them gave the power to become the sons of God "; and then this other verse:" Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know . . . we shall be like him."

It is to such souls I most wish that I could speak this morning. Christ is real to them. They have indeed come from the East to Jerusalem. But who is this that he should save them? It is a mere child, this Christ of theirs. How weak he is, this Christ within them. But oh, my friends, if he be only there! If only, led by whatever star he has sent, by trouble or by happiness, you have indeed come from the vague open land of sacred aspiration and given yourself to him, then there is infinite growth before you, infinite entrance of his life into your life, infinite changing of your life into his. Remember that childhood means not weakness alone. It means likewise promise and growth.

“Before the Marvel of this Night,” led by the star, I give my life to Him and ask and look for the infinite growth before me, infinite entrance of His life into mine, infinite changing of my life into His.

Kyrie Eleison

The Book of Common Prayer is an absolute treasure trove in its almost unsearchable serendipity of planning readings for the Daily Office and the profound Collects throughout the year.

Fr. Paul was especially eloquent this morning in connecting the Numbers 20 passage with the Matthew 18 parable about forgiveness.

Our Old Testament reading from Numbers 20 about Edom’s refusing to allow the Israelites passage through their land and the feud going back to Jacob and Esau is situated in between the story of Meribah and Aaron’s death. It’s a story about forgiveness (or the lack thereof) just after what seems to us a harsh judgment of Moses and Aaron where God seems to forego forgiveness and instead refuses Moses and Aaron admittance to the Promise Land. They both die just within reach of their goal. Matthew 18 stresses the importance of forgiving others and showing grace in concrete ways.

If ever we could identify with someone, it would be Moses, I think. There is story after story of how stiff-necked the Israelites were after being led out of Egypt and we can only imagine how frustrating it was for Moses to have to lead them. He must have sort of hit a wall at Meribah; we read: “Moses took the staff from before the Lord, as he had been commanded. Then Moses and Aaron gathered the assembly before the rock and he said to them, 'Hear now, you rebels! Must we bring forth water out of this rock for you?’ Then Moses lifted up his arm and he struck the rock with his staff twice. Water came gushing out, and the community and their animals drank.” We hear the frustration in Moses’ words and then he hit the rock twice. The problem was that God had just told Moses to speak to the rock, not strike it. (Even in Moses’ disobedience, though, God provided the miracle to the people — isn’t that something!)

God wanted Moses to manifest the importance of His Word to the people, which takes on a momentous significance when we think of how Christ was the fulfillment of that Word and the Living Water in the New Testament. It’s devastating to think of how Moses missed this opportunity — even if it was due to an understandable frustration and weariness.

How often have I allowed my frustration get in the way of my obedience in my call as a husband, a parent, and a teacher. God forgave Moses, but there was still a consequence. Our lack of offering forgiveness often boils down to our lack of belief or not trusting, which was Moses’ issue. Forgiving seventy times seven can only result from believing God to make it right, from letting Him right the wrong.

Interestingly enough, after a number of changes, our choir ended up singing Purifoy’s setting of Frederick W. Faber’s (1814-63) wonderful hymn this morning:

1 There’s a wideness in God’s mercy,
like the wideness of the sea.
There’s a kindness in God’s justice,
which is more than liberty.

2 There is welcome for the sinner,
and more graces for the good.
There is mercy with the Savior,
there is healing in his blood.

3 But we make God’s love too narrow
by false limits of our own,
and we magnify its strictness
with a zeal God will not own.

4 For the love of God is broader
than the measures of the mind,
and the heart of the Eternal
is most wonderfully kind.

5 If our love were but more simple,
we should rest upon God’s word,
and our lives would be illumined
by the presence of our Lord.

Purifoy’s text uses “we should take Him at His word,” which emphasizes again the lesson for Moses and the importance of believing no matter what we’re feeling.

Lord, have mercy upon us.
Christ, have mercy upon us.
Lord, have mercy upon us.

Dangerous and Disgusting Habits

I used to have little patience for all the self-righteous naysayers who lamented too much Christmas too soon, and while I still subscribe to the idea of to each his own, I’m noticing my own affinities are shifting. Too much of a good thing, too soon, can often bring disappointment or even emptiness.

Even I was a little dismayed, then, to read today’s WSJ’s article, "It Must Be October in Britain Because the Beans Taste Like Christmas." The lead picture shows stars hanging like snowflakes as Christmas decorations were being installed on Oxford Street in London earlier this month. Discussing the “Christmas Creep,” the authors note: “When Liberty announced it was kicking off Christmas in August, things got a bit spicy on its Instagram account. ‘It’s August?! This is how retail has utterly wrecked the magic of the Holiday Season. How can it be special when it drags on for months?’ wrote one commenter. She was quickly accused by another commenter of being a grinch.”

In a comment left on the WSJ article, Francis Reich writes: “Just as bad as starting Christmas in October is seeing everything disappear by January 1. Let the season linger a little, at least through the traditional 12th day of Christmas.” Hear, hear!

Of course G.K. Chesterton has something to add to our discussion. Here’s his whole paragraph since I’d hate to shorten his hyperbolic fun:

There is no more dangerous or disgusting habit than that of celebrating Christmas before it comes, as I am doing in this article. It is the very essence of a festival that it breaks upon one brilliantly and abruptly, that at one moment the great day is not and the next moment the great day is. Up to a certain specific instant you are feeling ordinary and sad; for it is only Wednesday. At the next moment your heart leaps up and your soul and body dance together like lovers; for in one burst and blaze it has become Thursday. I am assuming (of course) that you are a worshipper of Thor, and that you celebrate his day once a week, possibly with human sacrifice. If, on the other hand, you are a modern Christian Englishman, you hail (of course) with the same explosion of gaiety the appearance of the English Sunday. But I say that whatever the day is that is to you festive or symbolic, it is essential that there should be a quite clear black line between it and the time going before. And all the old wholesome customs in connection with Christmas were to the effect that one should not touch or see or know or speak of something before the actual coming of Christmas Day. Thus, for instance, children were never given their presents until the actual coming of the appointed hour. The presents were kept tied up in brown-paper parcels, out of which an arm of a doll or the leg of a donkey sometimes accidentally stuck. I wish this principle were adopted in respect of modern Christmas ceremonies and publications.

I find myself wanting to help delineate that clear black line more and more. I want to be in the present; I want to celebrate the days and the seasons: St. Simon and St. Jude, St. Andrew the Apostle, All Saints’ and All Souls’, Thanksgiving, Advent, Christmas and the 12 Days of Christmastide… Savoring the moment. How many times have we heard that, said that? Maybe this year will be different.

20/20 Hindsight, our Frailty, and God's Succor

This past month or so has brought with it a lot of self-reflection about parenting, teaching our young people, and our society at large.

Jonathan Haidt’s The Anxious Generation and other concerning studies have sparked some very worthwhile professional discussions at school about students and cell phones.

Last week at church we heard about a new boys’ boarding school, St. Dunstan’s, whose goal will be to integrate life, school, and work with the rhythms of liturgical life. Grades lose their meaning and instead, getting the trig problem right means building a secure roof versus one that falls on your head. There’ll be no cell phones or social media. We were confronted with a real indictment of our society and how unique we are in allowing little to no independence along with little to no “curated” culture — such an apt description. We also no longer have any real rites of passage for our boys, especially.

Shaking our heads, we wonder how in the world we’ve gotten to where we are today — so many things to reconsider — so many things to question — so many decisions that missed the mark. How did our lives become so disjointed? But, the reason “hindsight is 20/20” has reached cliché status is because it’s so often true. We do the best we can in the moment and try to move forward with God’s grace.

I’m finding some encouragement in the Collects from last week and today: “Keep, we beseech thee, O Lord, thy Church with thy perpetual mercy; and, because the frailty of man without thee cannot but fall, keep us ever by thy help from all things hurtful, and lead us to all things profitable to our salvation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen” and “O Lord, we beseech thee, let they continual pity cleanse and defend thy Church; and, because it cannot continue in safety without thy succour, preserve it evermore by thy help and goodness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen”

There are a lot of hopeful truths here as we look to God’s mercy and pity for His cleansing, defending, and succor.

Another aspect of life that needs some serious reflection is our society and its understanding of (the) Church. We’re grateful for the path our lives have taken, but, again, we are almost dumbfounded at why it took us decades to realize the riches of Anglicanism.

We need to look to the whole of life as we integrate worship with our everyday lives. G.W.O. Addleshaw reminds us that we can’t separate our worship from the dogmatic truths that undergird it; he summarizes: “The liturgy is vitally connected with everyday life; it presupposes that the body, whose voice it is, should embrace every side of man’s life, and that the life of the body in all departments should reflect the justice and charity proclaimed by the dogma.” He asserts that we will never recover the “wholeness of life” unless “in the liturgy of the Church the Eucharistic sacrifice is given that emphasis and centrality which is its due.” Addleshaw concludes his work with this insight: “It is in the Eucharist that the community expresses itself according to its true nature, that which in the divine purpose it is meant to become; here it is offered in union with Our Lord to the Father and takes its place in the divine order; here it most truly adores the eternal Trinity for whose honour and glory it exists.” Here is the wholeness of life, the union between heaven and earth, God and man, eternity and time. Succor indeed.

On the occasion of rereading some notes from Jeremy Taylor's "The Worthy Communicant" (1660)

Routines are back in swing, school has started back, choir is resuming… Life sometimes gets in the way of offering our best, but I’m thankful for this silver-penned admonition from Taylor:

“But let us remember this, that there is nothing fit to be presented to God but what is great and excellent; for nothing comes from Him but what is great and best, and nothing should be returned to Him that is little and contemptible in its kind. […] An indevout prayer can never be joined with Christ’s prayers. Fire will easily combine with fire, and flame marries flame; but a cold devotion, and the fire of this altar, can never be friendly and unite in one pyramid to ascend together to the regions of God and the element of love. […] There is not indeed any greater indication of our worthiness or unworthiness to receive the holy communion, than to examine and understand the state of our daily prayer.”

It’s not for naught that our Holy Communion service begins with the General Confession…

Papa Haydn Saves the Day

Ruth had a conversation at work today that included Haydn’s “The Heavens are Telling” — that was all I needed — what a wonderful evening it’s been listening the Haydn’s masterwork. It’s a work I’ve loved my life long.

A sorry aside: Margaret and I got to attend the Salzburger Festspiele one year — I was beside myself —we had the opportunity to hear Haydn’s “Creation” with John Eliot Gardiner conducting — we were so excited. And then, we were so disappointed. Never have I been so disgusted that I got up and left a concert, but that was a first. Play your original instruments if you must, but play musically. The splats from the brass were almost funny at first and then it was almost offensive. Just an awful interpretation.

But it didn’t diminish my love for Haydn’s oratorio. If you want to be impressed and thrilled, check out Adam Fischer’s rendition of this great work. Fischer’s exuberance is contagious and he’s an absolute delight as he relishes Haydn’s genius. The marvelous soloists and chorus and orchestra come together here serendipitously to offer a truly exceptional performance for the ages. (If you want to follow the English as you listen, here’s a summary.)

Alas, the last chord was played this evening, and our glimpse of the Edenic garden came to end — it was back to the mundane, but the primordial conflict of darkness and light continued apparently. Turning the channel, we heard that politics is a “soul-craft,” that “soon and very soon” a political solution, not a spiritual one, will come to pass. They couch this political struggle now in the spiritual terms of darkness and joy. The answer is clear and common-sensical and “just feels right,” they say, like a family dinner with mac and cheese and a crazy dog — choose joy.

It’s a topic for another day, but words are dear to me. Haydn’s “Die Schöpfung” evokes joy unequivocally, but the political usage of this state of being irks and offends. A tawdry interpretation or usage doesn’t have to diminish the work or the word itself, however. So, yes — I’ll choose joy, but not the cheap imitation that the politicians peddle.

New Starts, New Year

Isn’t it interesting that both girls and a son-in-law are teachers now — we often joke with our son that he, too, might wind up teaching one day…

Seems like wisdom is a rarity these days and, if we’re not careful, there can be a paucity of hope as well, but that’s not really looking past the mundane, is it? Sorry.

So grateful for where our girls find themselves this year… One head said he hoped they would break the cycle of fear this year: admin’s fearing the board, teachers’ the admin, kids’ the teachers and instead, replace it with love. He proposed that the virtue of the year be courtesy. (They strive to cultivate virtues. !) The other head quoted Jeremiah 6:16: “These are the words of the Lord of hosts: Stand at the crossroads and look around; ask for the ancient paths. When you are shown where the good way lies, walk along it and your souls will find rest.” (Have I ever read that verse before?) Their school’s goal is showing the way of the tried and true, about souls finding their rest.

After how many years of teaching? I’m inspired. Goodness.

Booie’s prayer for our youngest could apply to us all: “God give you the grace to meet every challenge with gusto, so that your work shall be a song, thrilled with the sense of service and creative artistry.”

Amen.

The Liturgical Life

As I meditate on the truth of Christ in me (see my last post), E.L. Mascall’s rich understanding of the Eucharist and its transformative nature comes to mind. Directly related to Grafton’s thoughts, he writes:

“So, then, the Eucharist is the one perfect act of worship that we can offer to God. And far from Eucharistic worship being a matter merely of the sanctuary and the sacristy, it is of direct relevance to the world in which Christians live and work and love and die. For the Body which appears in its sacramental form upon our altars is the same Body which in its mystical form is at work in the world and of which we are members, in a quite true sense, therefore, what Christians do in the world, in their work and in their play, is identical with the offering made upon the altar and with the act of worship made by Christ in heaven. That is to say, for the Christian as a member of the Body of Christ, his whole life is liturgical […] For the Christian, then, in the Mystical Body, life and worship are but two elements in one great act, the self-offering of Christ the God-man to the Father in heaven. Life itself is liturgical, for whether the Christian serves God or whether he sins against him, he is acting as a member of the Body, and it is in the Eucharist that his life is given true interpretation as not merely his life, but the life of Christ in him: ‘I live; and yet, no longer I, but Christ liveth in me.’”

More from Grafton's "My Life in Christ"

Grafton’s comment about the prodigal son comes at the end of his consideration of the “Parable of the Tares.” His diagnosis (of my current mindset) is both astute and accurate.

He writes: “The formation of Christian character is a slow process. Think what it ought to be. Our Christian life is a supernatural life. It has a supernatural end, a union with God in glory. Now a supernatural end can only be attained by supernatural means. No man, by the cultivation of a mere natural virtue and by principles of philosophy, can attain heaven. Christians are the adopted sons of God. They have been made partakers of the divine nature. They have been incorporated into Christ. It is promised that they should be filled with all the fulness of God. They are to go on from strength to strength and attain a perfection in Christ. But look at thyself, O soul. Why these cares? These little mortifying sins? These daily imperfections? These interior disquietudes? These faults of speech? These little irritations? This gloominess or despondency? Why is not thine interior always calm, quiet, peaceful, resting with God? Some of these faults may come from our own selves, but also it is true that the enemy hath done this. Hating us with malignant hatred, and plotting against us with a tremendous experience in the art of ruining souls, Satan attacks the Christian with little and subtle temptations. If he tempted them to commit great sins, he is aware they would repulse him. But if he can only get them to commit a number of little ones, these will harden into habit, or the poor soul be thrown into a state of despondency. But Satan, with all his craft and knowledge of man, is ignorant of grace, and grace continually baffles him. Let it ever be remembered that God is never discouraged with us, because He knows His own power. And all those spirits, despondency, melancholic feelings, come either from physical causes or from Satan.”

Disquieted, irritated, gloomy — busted, in our lingua franca. As my mom used to say, my biorhythms have been down. But it’s more insidious than just that. My eyes have been on self, but, as Grafton says, it’s time for my soul to look at itself. Who am I in Christ?

But he doesn’t leave it there. But God. What perspicuity: “Let it ever be remembered that God is never discouraged with us, because He knows His own power.” Whew. I need to just sit with that for awhile. Christ in me, the hope of glory.

We are “partakers of the divine nature.” The word often calls a favorite Communion hymn to mind, Winkworth’s translation of Franck:

“Sun, who all my life dost brighten,
light, who dost my soul enlighten,
joy, the sweetest heart e'er knoweth,
fount, whence all my being floweth,
at thy feet I cry, my Maker,
let me be a fit partaker
of this blessed food from heaven,
for our good, thy glory, given.”

So,

“Deck thyself, my soul, with gladness,
leave the gloomy haunts of sadness;
come into the daylight's splendour,
there with joy thy praises render
unto him whose grace unbounded
hath this wondrous banquet founded:
high o'er all the heavens he reigneth,
yet to dwell with thee he deigneth.”

My Life in Christ

"Christ in me, the hope of glory"

So I discovered Charles C. Grafton today. The other day, Margaret was telling me about a conversation she had had with her rector about how it’s curious that some theologians often can be saying the same thing, but somehow we have an affinity for one and not the other.

So true.

Grafton just immediately draws me in. In A Journey Godward of a Servant of Jesus Christ, his chapter XI, “My Life in Christ,” — despite making me chortle as I remembered Lionel and his “My Life in Kenya”! — is strikingly eloquent:

“EVERY life is full of the wonders of God's providential care. The great Love watches over us and leads the responsive soul onward. It turns our very falls into stepping-stones for our progress. Every soul in glory will look back on a providentially lighted way and a guiding Hand. There will arise from all the saints an eternal song of thanksgiving to Him Who redeemed us. How unwearied was the love that perpetually restored and renewed us! How great has been His goodness! And how great His mercy! How everlastingly progressive shall be the response of our love! Angels adoringly love Him, but can they love Him as we must, who have been saved by His Precious Blood? The saints in Glory adoringly praise Him for the thousand pardons that perfected them in grace. The Christian soul here in its time of struggle, while feeling its sinfulness, yet trusting in the merits of Christ, presses on to the mark of its high calling. Every soul is a marvellous monument of divine grace, and its secret is with the Lord.”

Don’t you want to read that again? Goodness. Such a beautiful depiction of life, which he describes in his first chapter as a “stumbling on towards God.” Such a beautiful depiction of God’s grace. In his exploration of grace, Grafton brings in the experience of the prodigal son: “The sense of his misery may set him thinking, but it is the thought of the Father's love that leads him home.” Our lives in Christ, God’s love leading us home. Oh, the wonder of it all.

Gentle Hearts Mirroring Celestial Fire

A banner day today: the second wedding anniversary of Margaret and Ethan!

Joy abounds.

I’ve been reading the poetry of Robert Bridges lately and have been contemplating “My Eyes for Beauty Pine” this morning — (does that not describe M?):

My eyes for beauty pine,
My soul for Goddès grace :
No other care nor hope is mine ;
To heaven I turn my face.

One splendour thence is shed
From all the stars above :
'Tis namèd when God’s name is said,
’Tis Love, ’tis heavenly Love.

And every gentle heart,
That burns with true desire,
Is lit from eyes that mirror part
Of that celestial fire.

and somehow I chanced (!) upon this beautiful anthem-setting of it by Elizabeth and Thomas Coxhead (a brother-sister duo).

And then I could hear in my head Bishop’s Richard Chartres marvelous, sonorous opening of his sermon at William and Catherine’s wedding: “Be who God meant you to be, and you will set the world on fire” (St. Catherine of Siena). We should remind ourselves often of this weighty sermon which is especially appropriate for today.

Bridges writes of God’s love, spiritual love, but Chartres reminds us that a husband and wife’s love can be a “door into the mystery of spiritual life in which we discover this: the more we give of self, the richer we become in soul; the more we go beyond ourselves in love, the more we become our true selves and our spiritual beauty is more fully revealed. In marriage we are seeking to bring one another into fuller life.”

Happy Anniversary to two “gentle hearts” with eyes to heaven that mirror the “celestial fire” of Heavenly Love.

Independence Day

The Collect.

O ETERNAL God, through whose mighty power our fathers won their liberties of old; Grant, we beseech thee, that we and all the people of this land may have grace to maintain these liberties in righteousness and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP)