George of Sylvania

Category: theology

  • “Awaking” from our “Dullness”

    “We shall awaken from our dullness and rise vigorously toward justice. If we fall in love with creation deeper and deeper, we will respond to its endangerment with passion.” – Hildegard of Bingen

    This morning in the Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals, I came across this quote. In one of the many iterations of a blog, I wrote a series on Hildegard. This included writing on her life and going through some of her works. As a recovering evangelical-received-Episcopal, I am still familiarizing myself with the saints and quite a bit of church history. Spiritual practices like reading the Daily Office, and others were okay to adapt to. But the idea of “awakening from our dullness” struck me this morning. And I think I know why.

    I have a two and a half year old who has been awake between, 3:30am and 5am, for two months. Some days he naps well, and others he does not. At times he’s fighting his two year molars. Other times, he just wants to get a jump start on the day. My wife and I take turns getting up with him. Depending on how the morning goes, it is a long day for everyone. At this time in our life, there is no awaking from our dullness.

    There is only dullness.

    Dullness, Ms. Rachel, Elmo, and the Toy Story saga.

    Without knowing it, in an attempt to break the dullness, I started decorating my yard for Halloween a month early. This year I decided that instead of spending one marathon day getting it all up, I’d take my time and enjoy it. This is something I look forward to every year. This has been a small way of awaking from the dullness for me. But it has done it in a different way that I awaken from the dullness with my kid. Right now, as we are in “second summer,” our kid’s favorite pastime is turning on the hose and watering our house and everything else he can. He will do this every day, and he will find joy in it. I, at times, find it monotonous.

    Dullness and monotony are synonyms, they are ways to describe mediocrity.

    I have one compact disk in my car, and it is the second half to the Mars Hill Bible Church worship album that came out in the early 2000s. Between songs, Aaron Niequist, former worship pastor (I think that’s the title), quoted a G.K. Chesterton book. In Orthodox, Chesterton writes:

    The thing I mean can be seen, for instance, in children, when they find some game or joke that they specially enjoy. A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun, and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

    It is hard to awaken from the dullness of life without coffee and being sleep deprived. But this guy, God bless him, awakes every day saying, “do it again!” and I’ve been too old to hear him. Instead, I have been trying to re-enter practices, and trying to find different ways to awaken from the dullness, when one person right in front of me is showing me how to do it.

    Grace and peace.

  • Thomas: The Relatable Disciple

    Doubting Thomas and Jesus.

    I wrote this back in April for the Noon Day Prayer Meeting reflection for work.

    "But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."
    A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."     - John 20:24-29 (NRSV)

    I doubt there is anyone more relatable in the Gospels than the Apostle Thomas.

    I mean, you miss one hangout with the crew and all of a sudden, you’re supposed to believe your teacher is alive. It sounds like a giant practical joke if you’re Thomas. It would be difficult not to respond with the, “I won’t believe anything until I put a finger through his hand!” After all, it was not like people came back from the dead all the time then. But when Jesus comes back, Thomas sees him, and while we are not told he touches the wounds, we know for Thomas, the world is turned upside down. Jesus has pulled one over on humanity, and the rest of the world because he has moved from death to life. When he asks Thomas, “have you believed because you have seen me?” what answer could be expected other than yes?

    While Hebrews tells us that faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. I for one cannot imagine how it was expected of Thomas to believe without seeing. It reminds me of Exodus when Moses is tending Jethro’s flock and he walks by Mount Herob and sees the burning bush. Something that is on fire but not being consumed by it. If Moses had told me he’d seen a burning bush I would have believed him. After all, I have three in my yard. If he had told me he’d seen a bush that was on fire but not being consumed by it, it would take me a little time to let that sink in.

    But both of these interactions have something in common. It is the space between Jesus showing Thomas the marks, and Moses absorbing what God had to say that action comes forth. The Apostle Thomas eventually goes on to take Christianity to India and is eventually martyred for it. Moses, as we all know, after some convincing by God, goes on to free the ancient Israelite’s from slavery. Both of these actions have humanity partnering with God to bring about sharing the love of God.

    It is easy to ignore the holiness of space, and for that matter the time that takes place in the space. In his book The Sabbath, rabbi, and philosopher Dr. Abraham Joshua Heschel states:

    “we know what do with space but do not know what to do about time, except make it subservient to space. Most of us seem to labor for the sake of things of space. As a result we suffer from a deeply rooted dread of time and stand aghast when compelled to look into its face. Time to us is sarcasm, a slick treacherous monster with a jaw like a furnace incinerating every moment of our lives.”

    When I read this section of John’s Gospel this week, the space of the crucifixion wound and the time between Thomas hearing of Jesus’ resurrection, and seeing him really stood out. How many times do you think the Spirit tried to make contact with Thomas that week? Where there times when Thomas was sitting alone at night? Did he lay awake wondering if this was true that Jesus was back? Was he pushing the door shut while the Spirit was trying to break it open? What makes the Apostle Thomas so relatable for me, is there is space for his doubt. Space for his thoughts. And space for him to allow God to enter his midst and partner with him.

    I’d like to end with a meditation from Dr. Heschel’s book Between God and Man. Just so we are all aware, “man” in the title refers to humanity:

    “The presence of God is a majestic expectation, to be sensed and retained and, when lost, to be regained and resumed. Time is the presence of God in the world. Every moment is His subtle arrival, and man’s task is to be present. His presence is retained in moments in which God is not alone, in which we try to be present in His presence, to let Him enter our daily deeds, in which we coin our thoughts in the mint of eternity. The presence is not one realm and the sacred deed another; the sacred deed is the divine in disguise. The destiny of man is to be a partner of God and a mitzvah is an act in which man is present, an act of participation; while sin is an act in which God is alone; an act of alienation. Such acts of man’s revelations of the divine are acts of redemption. The meaning of redemption is to reveal the holy that is concealed, to disclose the divine that is suppressed. Every man is called upon to be a redeemer, and redemption takes place every moment, every day.” (pg. 80)