‘The Lord will always guide you, giving you relief in desert places. He will give strength to your bones and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water whose waters never run dry.‘
Today’s reading from Isaiah repeats some of yesterday’s text and it too ends on a hopeful note. I hear in Isaiah’s words the motif of the covenantal bond between God and Israel. While the demands are high and far reaching for Israel, God promises to sustain them
Isaiah’s words were originally for a people in exile. He holds out the hope of their triumphant return to their own land. This will need a change in political fortunes and also a change in their hearts and minds. If they can make this change they are promised strength in their bones and relief from what has been the ‘desert’ of their lives in exile.
Is not this the sort of fast that pleases me – it is the Lord who speaks – to break unjust fetters and undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke, to share your bread with the hungry, and shelter the homeless poor, to clothe the man you see to be naked and not turn from your own kin?
Whenever I hear this reading from Isaiah I am struck by the fact that humanity has always struggled to act with integrity. We so easily say one thing and do another. I am pulled up short when I examine my own life and remember the times when things were done for show and my motivations were questionable. Lent gives me the chance to own those times.
Isaiah’s words ring so true today. We don’t have to look far to find ‘unjust fetters’ and ‘the homeless poor.’ In the centuries that have passed since Isaiah preached, the human story has unfolded in triumph and tragedy. Each generation has the chance to take stock and to work for change. We are familiar now with what theologians call ‘structural sin’. There are concrete things that we can do to highlight this. This is important. But of equal importance is our own inner work.
Are there those whom we ‘oppress’ with our attitudes? Are there those whom we have burdened with a yoke? Are there people with whom we refuse to share the ‘bread’ of our time, our love?
Choose life, then, so that you and your descendants may live in the love of the Lord your God, obeying his voice and clinging to him: for in this your life consists…
Today’s reading from Deuteronomy offers us a mini framework for our Lenten path:
choosing life, living in love, obeying his voice, clinging to him.
Each day God invites us to choose life. It happens in all the small choices, the things we’d hardly notice. The big things are more obvious. Just as we can choose life, we can also live in a way that gives life to others.
How can you choose life today? How can you give life today?
‘Now, now – it is the Lord who speaks – come back to me with all your heart, fasting, weeping, mourning.’ Let your hearts be broken, not your garments torn, turn to the Lord your God again, for he is all tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in graciousness, and ready to relent. Who knows if he will not turn again, will not relent, will not leave a blessing as he passes, oblation and libation for the Lord your God?
To our British ears ‘fasting, weeping, mourning’ can sound more than a little dramatic. We prize the understated and controlled response to almost everything in our daily lives. But Lent asks of us something radical and perhaps dramatic. Lent invites us to turn our hearts to God. It is a time for us to take stock and to notice the ways in which we have become lukewarm.
However we make the journey of Lent, God is waiting for us to turn to him. Into our lukewarm hearts God waits to pour tenderness, compassion and graciousness. One of the tasks of Lent is to ensure that our hearts are open. The armour that we often feel need can be laid aside.
On this last day of Advent the Church lays before us a pivotal text in the Old Testament, 2 Sam 7. Walter Brueggemann describes it as ‘the taproot of the Messianic idea in Israel’.
After successfully bringing the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem and putting it in a tent, David now wonders if he should build something much grander. There’s a wordplay at work here. The word for ‘house’ can also mean ‘dynasty.’ The prophet Nathan tells David;
‘The Lord will make you great; and the Lord will make you a House.’
The roles are now reversed as David will no longer need to build God a ‘house’ as God intends to build David a ‘dynasty’. God makes a ground-breaking promise that in the lineage of David his faithful love will be made manifest. Up until this point God’s promises have been conditional, but now the dynasty is guaranteed in perpetuity. None of this is David’s doing. David is to be bound in relationship to the Lord: ‘I will be a father to him and he a son to me.’ The tender language of father and son always strikes me. God’s covenant is not a legal contract, but a relationship of love. As the story of salvation unfolds there are many falls from grace along the way. God’s promise remains.
Our final Gospel text in Advent brings us to the threshold of the fulfilment of all of God’s promises. In the Benedictus Zechariah sings of rescue, salvation and the promise proclaimed by the prophets. His son, John, will prepare the way for the Saviour. All of this is possible ‘by the tender mercy of our God’. Through the desert and exile, through the poor and the easily forgotten, our Advent journey has taken us to the very heart of God.
You may feel your Advent journey hasn’t quite ended and you are not really ready for Christmas to begin. Perhaps your plans have been radically changed and you are left disappointed. Into every situation of your life God is waiting to pour his tender mercy.
I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that tender mercy is the heartbeat of monastic living. The opening words of the Rule set the tone for all that is to follow:
Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart. This is advice from a father who loves you; welcome it and faithfully put it into practice.
Although there can be some limitations to the father/son metaphor, overall it is a solid basis for monastic living. I see it primarily as a metaphor for boundary setting and consistency. From the outside it might look like very strong control. But any superior will tell you that you can’t force a person to do something or be a particular way. All you can do is to try to model a middle way of mercy and love.
Throughout the Rule there are pointers to the role that mercy plays in community living. Every body, not just the superior, is tasked with making sure that others are considered. It’s not a competition where the strongest and toughest win. Rather it is an environment where ‘the strong have something to yearn for and the weak nothing to run from.’ Whether it is your job to provide clothing and footwear for the community or prepare food, all is to be done with mercy and love.
I am firmly convinced that there is a loving and merciful way to do just about everything that happens in a monastery.
Where is God calling you to show tender mercy this Christmas?
Read through the Scripture texts, notice the words and phrases which strike you.
‘And the Lord you are seeking will suddenly enter his Temple; and the angel of the covenant who you are longing for, yes, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts.’
What do you most long for as Advent draws to a close?
All their neighbours were filled with awe and the whole affair was talked about throughout the hill country of Judaea. All those who heard of it treasured it in their hearts. ‘What will this child turn out to be?’ they wondered. And indeed the hand of the Lord was with him.
What have you treasured in your heart this Advent?
Today the Church lays side by side the story of Hannah bringing her precious child Samuel to the Temple, with Mary singing her Magnificat.
I don’t think I could imagine a more poignant scene if I tried than that of Hannah leaving her child Samuel in the Temple at Shiloh. Hannah had longed for a child and saw the birth of Samuel as the greatest blessing. And yet, she had made a vow that he would be given over to the Lord.
Perhaps we need to take a step back from the poignant details and see this episode as part of God’s overarching plan. By growing up in the sacred place of Shiloh, Samuel is shown to have been trained from a very young age to listen to God’s word and to act upon it. It is Samuel who will anoint David as King, and from David’s line the Messiah will be born.
We can trace a thread through the stories of the Old Testament of people who were faithful to God against all odds. Each small choice and each big ‘Yes’ paves the way for the fulfilment of God’s promise. Maria Boulding, in her book, The Coming of God, expresses this beautifully:
‘The chosen people were created to be a centre of attunement, receptivity and expectation, a place of felt need and desire. They were to listen to God’s word, to long for him, and to be the womb-community which would bring forth the One who was to come.’
And still today, God longs for our whole-hearted participation in the promise of salvation. We are still called to be that place of longing for our communities, for our country, for the world.
The story of Hannah and Samuel only makes sense if we see love at its heart. So too Mary’s words in the Magnificat. The depth of her praise and thanksgiving in this song will be matched by the depth of her love as she watches her son take the road to Calvary. Hannah and Mary have both taken the narrow road.
It is love impels them to pursue everlasting life: therefore, they are eager to take the narrow road of which the Lord says: Narrow is the road that leads to life (Matt 7:14). (Chapter 5, Obedience)
St Benedict wants his monks to be eager to take the narrow road. It’s only love that can make sense of the desire to embark upon this path. In his chapter on Obedience St Benedict is clear that his monks are to live ‘no longer under their own judgement, giving in to their whims and appetites’. This is a hard teaching. It sometimes requires being able to take the long view. Often you have to put yourself in the position of another, trying to want what God wants. This is very much the focused work of the novitiate and beyond.
In time, you will be given a responsibility and you will rely on the goodwill and obedience of others. What you ask of others, you will need to model yourself.
It’s only love that can make sense of this.
Is God calling you to take the narrow road this Advent?
An air of joy and urgency weaves through the readings and prayers of our liturgy today.
The first reading today comes from the Song of Songs. It’s not used very often in the lectionary, though is an option for Weddings and Religious Professions. The writer imagines their Beloved as a young gazelle and in poetry celebrates the dynamic of a relationship of love. There are verbs of motion and details that engage our senses:
‘see how he comes leaping on the mountains’ ‘bounding over the hills’ ‘he looks in’ ‘he peers through the lattice’ ‘winter is past’ ‘flowers appear’ ‘the cooing of the turtledove’ ‘vines giving out their fragrance’ ‘your voice is sweet’ ‘your face is beautiful’
The urgency of the Beloved to meet his lover can carry us along. There’s a similar urgency in Luke’s story of the Visitation; ‘Mary set out and went as quickly as she could to a town in the hill country’.
By all accounts Mary’s journey to Elizabeth won’t have been easy. Whatever we imagine the terrain to be like, the journey was long and not without danger for someone Mary’s age. Luke gives us none of these details. His focus in on the joy of two women meeting. Mary and Elizabeth have lived lives of faithfulness to God’s Word. Their faithfulness has made them so open and ready to receive that God can find a home in them. On the Feast of the Visitation we sing a hymn written by one of our Sisters. This verse always strikes me:
Virgin mother, childless wife, Vessels of his will; In their flesh his kingdom grows, Secret, holy, still.
Advent calls us all to be vessels of God’s will.
I hear in the phrase ‘secret, holy, still’ a deep resonance with monastic living. A good deal of what happens in the monastery is not really seen by many people. It’s not that it is secret, it’s more that enclosure means that some parts of the buildings are a ‘protected space’. I often speak about the monastery as an ‘intentional space’ where everything is ordered to ensure that God’s kingdom can grow. St Benedict is keen that his monks have all that they need within the enclosure of the monastery. In Ch 68, The Porter of the Monastery, he writes:
‘The monastery should, if possible, be so constructed that within it all necessities, such as water, mill and garden are contained, and the various crafts are practised.’
Benedict is trying to guard against his monks ‘roaming’ around and losing their focus. He knows that human nature is such that many things can be more enticing than the job in hand.
Mary and Elizabeth are both called to make space for God’s Kingdom to grow. Benedict wants his monks to make that same space.
How is God calling you to make space for the Kingdom?
As Christmas draws closers our readings focus on the key figures in God’s plan for humanity.
The text from Isaiah 7 in the first reading provides the background to Gospel story of the Annunciation. Isaiah’s words speak directly to the political situation of 736 BC. In the face of the growing power of Babylon, Judah is tempted to make an alliance with Assyria. Isaiah warns against this and when King Ahaz requests a sign this is what he hears:
‘The Lord himself, therefore, will give you a sign. It is this: the maiden is with child and will soon give birth to a son whom she will call Immanuel, a name which means God-is-with-us.’
Isaiah’s message is very clear: trust in God and don’t be tempted to organise things yourself. From our vantage point the words are very comforting. In the turmoil of our daily lives we need to know that God is with us. The image of a pregnant maiden also tells Ahaz that there is a plan and the difficulties will pass. God’s plan will unfold in months and not years.
Since the pandemic we’ve had to trust that our government has a plan and it hasn’t been easy. More than ever we have needed to believe that God is with us. We’ve been pretty much powerless in the face of the big issues, but perhaps have learnt the value of doing the small things consistently.
‘Such people as these immediately put aside their own concerns, abandon their own will, and lay down whatever they have in hand, leaving it unfinished. With the ready step of obedience, they follow the voice of authority in their actions.’ (Chapter 5, Obedience)
When you enter a monastery the overall plan is clear: to seek God with these people, in this place. Most people don’t report a ‘Damascus moment’ in their vocation journey. The journey often involves a very gradual dawning that God is calling. It involves saying ‘Yes’ to somethings and ‘No’ to others. Sometimes several events and perhaps people, will all point in the direction of the monastery. The path you follow is more or less marked out for you. There will come times of crisis when you’ll need to reconnect with that first inkling that God was calling you. The rhythm of the life will mean that you are asked to set aside your own will on a daily, if not hourly basis. These are little moments of ‘annunciation’ on your journey. Sometimes your ‘Yes’ will be strong and clear and at other times it will be weak and a little half-hearted. God honours every ‘Yes’.
One day the unexpected will come. There will be something that turns your world upside down. That day God will wait for your ‘Yes’ just as the Angel Gabriel waited for Mary’s ‘Yes’. You’ll step out in faith.
During this week the Liturgy of the Word lays before us the stories in our history that tell of the promise of a child to childless couples. We know this motif so well. A God-fearing couple long for a child, they pray and what had seemed impossible, is now possible.
Elizabeth and Zechariah appear on our Advent journey as the archetypal God-fearing couple. Zechariah’s name means ‘God remembers’ and as the story unfolds we will see that God has indeed remembered his faithful servants. Elizabeth’s name probably comes from the Hebrew ‘Eli’ meaning God and ‘sheva’ meaning oath. Her name reminds us that God keeps promises.
‘Both were worthy in the sight of God, and scrupulously observed all the commandments and observances of the Lord.’
Both Elizabeth and Zechariah are from priestly families. The faithful keeping of the Torah is a way of life for them. Prayer and worship are woven through their lives. New Testament scholar Amy J Levine invites us to savour the scene as Zechariah performs his duties:
‘The Jewish tradition has always been one of sensory delights: sights and sounds, scents and tastes, attention to the body. Worship not only is spiritually uplifting and beneficial for us but should also be aesthetically pleasing: it gives us, when it can, the gift of beauty, something often needed in a world marked by bullets, poverty and disease.’
Up until now I have rather skated over the details of this story. I have imagined that Zechariah has offered incense many times before. However, scholars suggest that this was a once in a lifetime event. Lots were cast and once you had been chosen, you wouldn’t be included in further lots. The incense offering takes place in the sanctuary. The priest goes there alone. It is one of the most sacred tasks that a priest can perform. Zechariah performs this sacred duty on behalf of the whole Jewish people. But today the revelation he receives is personal. All his hopes and longings as a faithful follower of Torah will now be honoured with the birth of a child. While carrying out the most sacred of duties his prayer is answered. God has remembered Zechariah and Elizabeth.
From the sacred duties in the Temple Zechariah, Zechariah now moves to the sacred duty of preparing for the birth of a child. I’d like to think that his years of dutiful service in the Temple will have equipped him for the life-changing event of the birth of a child.
Monastic life has a rhythm of its own. This is largely set by the cycle of prayer, meals and recreation. It’s all about faithfulness to a path that has been trod for centuries. It’s very ordinary.
I have always been struck by two lines from the Cistercian constitutions: ‘Only if the sisters prefer nothing whatever to Christ will they be happy to persevere in a life that is ordinary, obscure and laborious. And may he lead them altogether into eternal life.’
Few monastics report mountain top moments or anything that would parallel Zechariah’s experience in the Temple. Largely monastic men and women experience the sacred right amongst the very ordinary things of life. The line between the ‘holy’ and the ‘ordinary’ begins to blur after a while. The solemnity with which Vespers is prayed is somehow paralleled by the care and attention given to very ordinary domestic tasks.
When St Benedict writes about the qualifications of the monastic cellarer he suggests that the person chosen should, amongst other things, be ‘God-fearing’ and ‘like a father to the whole community’. Every person and everything with which he comes into contact is to be treated with care and reverence. Nothing is left to chance:
He will regard all utensils and goods of the monastery as sacred vessels of the altar, aware that nothing is to be neglected. (Chapter 31, Qualifications of the Monastery Cellarer)
How is God calling you to show care and reverence this Advent?
