A Servant of God — a Servant to the English

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Pope Gregory I is a most fitting patron saint for an Episcopalian Benedictine monastery. After all, he is the one who sent a Roman mission to the English people in 597, arguably making him the founder of the English Church. One might wonder why Gregory would have been so concerned about an obscure people of little significance in a distant part of the known world when there were so many pressing problems right in Rome where he was serving as the Pope. In his own neighborhood, he had to deal with a plague, which had carried off his predecessor Pelagius II, economic hardships, and invading Lombards.

Although neglect of needs close at hand in favor of needs far away is a favorite target of satirical jabs, that is hardly the case with Pope Gregory. He took initiatives in food relief and in diplomatic negotiations with the Lombards. In distributing alms throughout the city, he showed great competence in accounting to make sure that his distributions were as efficient as possible. He was also attentive to the needs of the Church in many ways. He is credited with important reforms in the Roman liturgy and Gregorian chant is named after him. That doesn’t mean he wrote the music himself, but it does mean that he encouraged the development of the music. He also enjoined protection of Jews and their traditions, setting up the Papal tradition of sustaining these protections in the centuries to come.

As if all this is not enough, Pope Gregory was important to the development of monasticism. He lived the life himself when he could by founding a monastery on one of his inherited estates. Although he had to lead a more active life than he would have preferred, first as a papal ambassador to Constantinople, and then the Pope, he continued to practice contemplative prayer and he left us many teachings on the subject. He is also credited with writing the only biography of St. Benedict that we have.

As both a monk and a church leader, Gregory certainly followed the teachings of the Book of Wisdom by praying for wisdom and receiving it, (Wis. 7: 7) a quality that shows in his own teaching ministry. As is particularly clear from his Gospel Homilies, Gregory also followed St. Paul’s example of not preaching himself, but preaching Jesus Christ. (2 Cor. 4: 5) He was strict with others in matters of honesty and devotion to truth, but he was at least as strict with himself as he was with others. He also followed the example of Jesus in being uncommonly diligent about being among us as one who served. (Lk. 22: 27) The untiring social work he accomplished attests to this.

Fundamental to Christianity is caring for the least of people, which brings us back to the English mission that Gregory arranged for with great care. The Venerable Bede has preserved some of Gregory’s correspondence with St. Augustine of Canterbury to show his concern that the mission be carried out with dedication and good sense. According to Bede, Gregory was inspired to order the English mission by seeing some young men and boys in a slave market and being told they were Angles, from an obscure island at the end of the known world. Why should the sight of a few slaves inspire such a thing? Because even such as these are as important as the poor in a beleaguered Rome that he was also serving.

The glory of Sheer Silence

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The story of the Transfiguration of Jesus on Mount Tabor is as disorienting as it is blinding. It was also disorienting and blinding for the three apostles Jesus had taken up with him. Obviously, Peter didn’t know what to say, so we shouldn’t feel bad if we don’t know what to say, either.

One of the more fascinating and powerful reflections on this story is at the heart of the theology of the 14th century Greek theologian St. Gregory Palamas. He suggested that the light of Tabor was the working of the uncreated energies of God. This energetic light, the Light of Tabor, embodies God’s self-giving to us, a giving of Godself, that is deification. Not human self-deification, but deification as a gift from God who gives us everything that God has. This concept hasn’t gained much traction in Western Christianity, partly because it doesn’t compute well with many forms of Western theology. However, for those who find traditional Western theology problematic, the Palamite notion is perhaps an attractive alternative. For what it’s worth, I think the clash between Western and Palamite notions explodes into a powerful mystery which is deeper than one set of concepts alone.

There is much more to the radiance than blinding brilliance. The Hebrew word kabod, also means glory in the sense of honor. This is also true of the Greek word doxa that translates the Hebrew. When we glorify a human being for great accomplishments, there is a sort of radiance we put around them. Saints are often painted with a nimbus when portrayed in art. However, there is a tension at the root of glorification. It almost always seems to be accompanied by derision and dishonor. In fact, the Greek word doxa means dishonor as much as it means honor. The people we honor by putting on a pedestal are knocked over in a heartbeat if they don’t meet our expectations. Artists like Igor Stravinsky and Bob Dylan have both been greatly honored, but both were denigrated when they changed their artistic visions away from projected expectations. This is what happens when fans make idols of the people they adore; they create little boxes to put them in.

What about Jesus? Jesus had received much glory and honor from his numerous followers, not least the three disciples who Jesus took up the mountain with him. But the more some praised Jesus, the more energetically others denounced him. In all three synoptic Gospels, the Transfiguration marks a turning point where Jesus heads towards Jerusalem where he will be denounced, mocked, and crucified. The honor given Jesus turns to dishonor. What about the disciples who experienced the Transfiguration? When Jesus told them what was coming, they resisted Jesus’ resolve and argued among each other as to who was the greatest. I can’t help but suspect that they were basking in the derived honor given Jesus up to that point and, rather than receiving glory from God, wanted to receive glory from the other followers of Jesus. Like modern day fans of celebrities, they were putting Jesus into boxes of their own making, turning Jesus into an idol. The disciples were blinded by their warped understanding of honor at least as much as they were blinded by the brilliance of Jesus’ shining garments.

We can gain more insight into glory by reflecting on the presence of Moses and Elijah with Jesus on the mountain. They were the two most glorified figures in Jewish history. Moses, by receiving the Law on Mount Sinai from God himself shone with the reflection of God ‘s light to the extent that he had to wear a veil. Elijah was the greatest of prophets. Both, however, also experienced dishonor. Several times the people threatened to stone Moses, and Elijah was a fugitive from royal power. Both were implicated in violence, especially Elijah in his contest with the prophets of Baal. They were in the position to know well what was going to happen to Jesus. Moses’ best moments, when he was most Christlike, was when he was interceding for the people to turn God’s wrath from them, even when the same people were directing wrath at him. Elijah, alone in a cave, heard God in the sheer silence of the wilderness. As for Jesus’ disciples, the Book of Acts shows them breaking out of the idolatrous boxes they had made and acting like their Master in self-giving, preaching, and healing, the divine energies clearly working through them.

There is reason to believe that the Transfiguration of Jesus was, at least in part, to prepare the disciples for the suffering Jesus would have to endure, and that they, too, would have to endure. At a deeper level, they were being prepared for the challenges of the Resurrection Life of Jesus that would energize them when the time came. As we prepare for Lent, perhaps we can make it our Lenten project to let the light of the transfigured Christ reveal our own warped notions of honor and dishonor so that the divine energies championed by Gregory Palamas can energize prayer on behalf of other people, especially those who dishonor God, a prayer enveloped in sheer silence.

The People Who Walk in Darkness

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For most of the millennia since humanity appeared on earth, humans lived in darkness when the sun set. On moonless nights, the darkness was total. People did not know where they were going. The harnessing of electricity in the nineteenth century changed that for most people, especially for those living in cities. It allowed for a lively night life in New York and other places. But when the electricity failed, as in the 1965 blackout, or had to be given up, as in the London Blitz, the darkness was worse than it had ever been, not least because people were used to having light at night. All of this is recounted in a fascinating book by Jane Brox titled Brilliant: the Evolution of Artificial light.

The blackouts to protect against the Blitz, especially under the severe restrictions at the beginning of the War, were darker than almost anything experienced before. In medieval times, street lamps hadn’t been invented yet, but people could carry torches to give them sone sense of direction, but during the earliest days of the Blitz blackout, flashlights were forbidden as well as use of headlights on cars. People literally did not know where they were or where they were going. They didn’t know where there houses were. Thousands of Londoners died in accidents in the dark.

When Isaiah said that the people who walk in darkness have seen a great light, he was giving great news. Life really was dark in his day. The chaos and misdirection of living in the dark gives rise to many evils. It is understandable that darkness is traditionally a symbol of evil and light a symbol of goodness. During times of war, such as the days of Midian referred to by Isaiah or World War II, people do not know which end is up. With truth being the first casualty of war, moral compasses go haywire. We don’t know where we are going, we don’t know where our homes are. The 1965 New York blackout caused many problems, but many people helped out other people. But during the 1977 blackout, there was much looting and arson. The physical darkness had become moral darkness. This violence seems to have been a response to the darkness of injustice and racism that was blanketing the city and the nation. Back in time, Isaiah was prophesying the birth of a king who would give people the light of a moral compass. This is the kind of political leader we need today.

In his Gospel, Matthew quotes these verses from Isaiah right after noting the arrest of John the Baptist. This arrest is a particularly prominent example of the moral darkness fallen on Palestine and the Roman Empire as a whole. John the Baptist, a shining lamp, according to John, was put out, but a great light is still shining. Another prophet, who turns out to be more than a prophet, is preaching: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” (Mt. 4: 17) This preacher is telling us that we are all going in the wrong direction, but if we turn around and follow him, we will be following a light that shows us the way.

While preaching repentance and being the light, Jesus calls his first four disciples. By leaving their nets and following Jesus, they are turning their lives around in a totally new direction. Even for those of us who can pinpoint a particular time and place when we were converted, repentance isn’t something that is over with in a day or a year. Repenting is something we must do every day, every hour, for the rest of our lives. It is so easy to allow darkness to come over us and to turn us off in a wrong direction. We need to hear Jesus calling us in the darkness and turn to where we see the light.

Right after calling his first four disciples, Matthew gives us Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. This is a sermon full of light, showing us the way. It is also full of teaching that is quite opposite of the way we habitually do things in life. To follow these teachings, we will have to turn continually so as to be facing the light and to be walking in the right direction and towards the Kingdom of God.

See also: Blueprint of the Kingdon

Growing in Wisdom with Jesus

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The Christmas season is a time when we celebrate many wonders wrought by God, not least the birth of Jesus, the Son of God, the Logos. Among the many marvels performed by God in the past are the deliverance of the Israelites from the Egyptians at the Red Sea and the return of the Israelites from the Babylonian exile. Jeremiah, who prophesied the defeat and subsequent exile, and earned himself the reputation of being a most gloomy prophet, suddenly became unbuttoned in his excitement over the return that he knew God would bring about: “Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob, and raise shouts for the chief of the nations.” (Jer. 3: 7) Jeremiah goes on to exult that the blind and the lame and the women in labor would all be returning with great rejoicing. The joy of the returning exiles “radiant over the goodness of the Lord” spills over into the Christmas celebration. Surely the God who had done such a great wonder as to bring the exiles back home had many other wonders up God’s sleeve. But who could have guessed that the wonder would be a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger?

In his Epistle to the Ephesians, St. Paul says that God “has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places,” (Eph. 3: 3) that God has “destined us for adoption” as God’s sons and daughters. As if the wonders of the Return from Exile and the birth of Jesus were not enough, God has a plan that in the fulness of time God will gather all things in heaven and earth in God .

Compared to the drama of the return from the Babylonian Exile and St. Paul’s excited proclamation of God’s plan to adopt all of us as sons and daughters through God’s Son Jesus, the story of Jesus in the Temple at the age of twelve seems relatively prosaic, for all of the story’s charm and hints of mystery. (Lk. 2: 41-52) It is common for parents to have anxious moments when they don’t know where their child is, although it doesn’t feel common, let alone routine, at the time. The story shows Jesus as a typical boy in the sense of needing to begin finding his own way in life, building on what his parents have taught him, but going beyond that.

It is important to realize, however, that this very human event is part of the cosmic drama announced by St. Paul. God is reconciling the world by sending God’s Son into the world, and reconciling the world involves living through the stages of growth as a human being. This may be the only story of Jesus’ youth, but it tells us all we need to know about Jesus’ feeling his way from childhood to adolescence and on to adulthood. The earthly life of Jesus, then, gives the concrete lives of each of us the same cosmic importance. As Jesus seeks to grow in wisdom, Jesus leads us in our search for wisdom, to fulfill St. Paul’s prayer: that we will come to know the riches of God’s glorious inheritance among the saints and the immeasurable greatness of God’s power. (Eph. 1: 18–19)

God’s Christmas Gift

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At Christmas, we celebrate the birth of a baby. Babies are born all the time but this one is different. The baby we celebrate this night is God incarnate. What’s so special about that? Don’t we tend to treat babies like little gods, revolving our lives around them? Weren’t the shepherds oohing and aahing the way people do when they see a pretty baby? Such is the appeal of Christmas.

However, the startling claim made by various church fathers, Irenaeus probably being the first and Athanasius another early witness, is that God became human so that humans could become God. The antiphon for the Feast of the Holy Name is: “O marvelous exchange! [Our] Creator has become [human], born of the Virgin. We have been made sharers in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity.” It’s like a billionaire offering a person living homeless on the streets his or her bank account for the few coins the street person has collected that day. Who would do such a thing? The divine exchange is infinitely more lopsided that this. What kind of God would think of giving God’s divinity for the sake of our humanity? I suppose the answer is that only an infinitely and unbelievably generous god would do such a thing.

What these church fathers and the author of this antiphon are proclaiming is that our humanity has been radically altered for all time by this glorious exchange. There is a divine presence in each of us waiting for us to allow it to unfold in unbelievable and mysterious ways. Some people get the impression that the notion of humans becoming God leads to blurring distinctions between humans and God, or humans even supplanting God. There have been thinkers who have made suggestions along those lines, but in sound Christian doctrine that is not the case. In 2 Peter 1: 4, the phrase that inspired Irenaeus and Athanasius is “partakers of the Divine Nature.” That is, we participate in the divine nature. This leaves our humanity fully intact, just as Jesus’ humanity is fully intact even though he is fully divine. Moreover, this partaking of the divine nature is a gift from God, not an accomplishment on our part.

Before getting too excited about partaking of the divine nature, it behooves us to reflect on what we’re getting into. Since we don’t have any experience of being God, we don’t know much about it. All of us have fantasies about what we would do if we were God. For myself, I would readjust the social and political structures worldwide to my satisfaction. Never mind that everybody else with similar fantasies would do the same thing and we’d have an in infinite mess. However, the fact that God would exchange God’s divinity for our humanity does give us an important clue as to what being God, the true God, is about. The billionaire in the analogy who traded his or her bank account for the coins of a street person is amazingly generous, but God is infinitely generous. If I’m not so sure about being as generous as this fantasy billionaire, then maybe I’m not up to being as generous as God.

Partaking of the divine nature has some far-reaching consequences for our sense of identity. If I am inclined to clutch at what I think my identity is, I won’t want God coming in to mess with that and throw me off course; never mind that my own course is out of the ballpark. In order to partake of God’s nature, receiving it as a gift, I have to empty myself of all my favorite illusions about who I think I am. Mary pondered the mystery of her son’s birth in her heart. We, like Mary, need to spend time in stillness, pondering God’s Christmas gift to us, letting it sink into our depths with the new life it brings. As we ponder, we might think ahead to where the story of this birth took Jesus in a few years and where it will take us in a few months. Partaking of the divine nature entails partaking of the divine generosity of the Paschal Mystery.

On Welcoming Jesus

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Advent is a time when we anticipate God’s coming into our lives in mysterious ways. But are we really looking forward to God coming to us, or are we expecting business as usual, even if business isn’t all that good? Do we believe that God can affect our lives, or do we live on the assumption that such does not happen?

During a time of crisis, King Ahaz is urged to ask a sign of God but refuses to do so. (Is. 7: 1-12) Why? Asking God for a sign would alert him to the possibility that God might enter his life in some way. Business is bad, with the Assyrians threatening Jerusalem, but maybe he would rather be trampled by a powerful army then open himself up to what God might do. In the face of the king’s closing himself off, the prophet Isaiah announces a sign whether the king likes it or not. The sign doesn’t seem like much up against an invading army. How is a new born child going to solve the problem? Well, it isn’t exactly the baby who solves the problem; it’s God who solves the problem with a nudge that sends the invading army away. The baby was a sign of hope for the future, as babies often are. Nothing happens here that conflicts with the laws of nature. After all, God can accomplish much with the laws of nature. (The old translation that had a “virgin” conceiving in Isaiah’s time is considered by almost all scholars to be a mistranslation.) Now God’s little but decisive nudge wasn’t so bad was it? The only problem was that the king wasn’t in control of the situation. Not letting God control his situation would lead to Assyria controlling the situation. Is it easier to cope with being controlled by other humans that in some mysterious way being controlled, or at least led, by God? That is a particularly good question for us to ask ourselves during Advent.

Fast forward to Joseph confronted with a betrothed woman who has become pregnant, but not by him. Knowing the laws of nature as well as any modern gynecologist, Joseph decides to divorce Mary discretely, but before he can carry out his resolve, he is challenged by a dream to believe that God has intervened directly in violation to normal natural law. One could say it is once again just a little nudge. Once the conception of the child has taken place, the child develops in Mary’s womb like any other child and, when born, is just as fully human as any other child. But this little wedge, or nudge, is a big one, even a cosmic one. It is a nudge that has fundamentally changed the world for all time. And yet this little nudge, in spite of being contrary to natural law, did not send an army away. The Roman army stuck around and did its work, including the crucifixion of criminals, one of whom turned out to be the child conceived by the Holy Spirit. On the surface it doesn’t look like much of an intervention.

At this point we might ask ourselves: Do we need a decisive intervention from God such as Matthew claims to have happened with the conception of Jesus in the womb of Mary? Maybe business as usual has been bad, but at least we’re used to it. St. Paul, however, insisted that humanity had become a train wreck and needed the direct presence of God within humanity before anything could get better. St. Augustine and subsequent theologians have seconded the motion. The modern thinker René Girard has offered us anthropological insights to suggest that we are too entangled in rivalrous relationships for any of them to be disentangled unless there is intervention from outside the system, which to say: from God. So, business is bad, as I said, but do we prefer the bad business as usual to the unknown possibilities that might emerge if we embrace the child born of the Virgin Mary? Christmas is coming. Do we really want Christ to come?

Thankful for Jesus

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Thanksgiving Day is an occasion to reflect on gratitude and what it means to us. It raises questions such as: Am I thankful for what I have received? Am I not thankful because I wanted more? Should I be more grateful for what I have? All good questions.

In Deuteronomy, the Israelis are instructed to bring the first fruits to where God will have a dwelling place (the Temple ) in gratitude both for the deliverance from the Egyptians at the Red Sea and for the produce of the land which Yahweh has given them. (Deut. 26: 1-11) They are also reminded of their frailty as former aliens so that, in their gratitude, they will be generous to others in need. This is an ideal vision of gratitude for what God has done for us.

In Philippians, Paul urges his congregation to make their requests known to God with prayer “and thanksgiving.” (Phil. 4: 6) That is, we thank God with anticipation before we have received what we ask for. The implication is that we are to be thankful for what we receive, even if it isn’t everything we asked for, and possibly nothing at all of what we wanted. That is, we are to be thankful to God, trusting that God does give us what we most truly and deeply need, which might not be what we think we need, at least not at the time. Most of us find ourselves grateful later on for some of the things we asked for that God did not grant us.

In John’s Gospel, in the aftermath of Jesus feeding the multitude in the wilderness, (Jn. 6: 25-35) several dynamics of thanksgiving, and the lack thereof, come into play. The people want more, but more what? Are they grateful or greedy? Jesus perceives that they just want more bread; what they received was not enough. He urges them to see the feeding as a Sign, a Sign being an act with a deeper meaning than the surface action. “Do not work for the food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.” (Jn. 6: 26) The people themselves then refer to the manna their ancestors received during the desert journey. This inadvertently gives Jesus an opening for explaining the depth of the Sign. The bread came from Heaven as a gift of God. But this allusion to the manna in the desert also recalls the ingratitude of their ancestors, who complained about the manna. Will the people Jesus is talking to end up complaining with ingratitude as well?

At first, it seems that maybe they will receive the sound teaching. When Jesus says “For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.,” (Jn. 6: 33) the people ask him to give them this bread always. But when Jesus responds to this request by declaring that he himself is the Bread of Life, they complain bitterly, because they do not see how a man they think they know, a man from nearby Nazareth, can be the Bread of Life who will sustain them in anything at all, let alone Eternal Life. So, we don’t see from the people in this Gospel story a very good example of gratitude.

Being modest in what we ask for is a good ingredient in a recipe for gratitude. If less is enough to make us thankful, chances are we will be thankful more often than not. But the quality of what we want has even more to do with thankfulness. If we want Jesus Himself, the Bread from Heaven, then we will receive what we ask for and we will be grateful. We don’t need quite so many material goods if we are more interested in receiving Jesus, and we are more likely to be generous as Jesus is generous. This is the way to “ the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding.” (Phil. 4: 7)

On Hosting Jesus

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I like to think I know who the good guys are and who the bad ones. It’s a practical skill that helps one get along in life. When one meets a stranger, one way to find out if this stranger is good or bad is to note who the stranger thinks is good and who is not. If the stranger likes the people I like and hates the people I hate, chances are the stranger is good. But if the stranger offers friendship to a bad person, I write off the stranger.

In Jericho, at the time Jesus came to town with his disciples on the way to Jerusalem, (Lk. 19: 1–10) everybody knew that Zacchaeus was a bad guy. The ridiculous figure he made of himself by climbing a sycamore tree to gawk at the stranger come to town just proved the point. So it came as quite a shock when Jesus called out to the bad guy and said he needed to stay at his house. I know I grumble if somebody commends somebody I don’t like, so I can sympathize with the people of Jericho when they grumble at the stranger’s lack of discernment.

Now one might think the people of Jericho were envious of Zacchaeus, because Jesus had singled him out to go to his house. Although there is no indication that anybody in Jericho wanted to invite the stranger and his followers to their home, perhaps the fact that the bad guy, Zacchaeus, had shown a strong desire to entertain the stranger, suddenly made the stranger desirable. Or, more likely, they coveted the commendation that Zacchaeus had received without wanting to take on the burden of hospitality. Or did they want to have anything to do with him? This stranger had shown that he has bad taste in people.

At this point, we could each ask of ourselves: would I like to have Jesus come into my home? Into my life? We become much more conscious of what our home is like when company comes. We also become much more conscious of what kind of people we are when somebody comes to see us. We want to make both our homes and ourselves presentable in a way that we might not bother to do if nobody comes calling. So what would it be like to have Jesus into my home?

When Jesus was walking the earth and was limited in time and space, there was only one house he could have visited at a time. Today, we know that Jesus has no such spatial limitation. He can come into the home, into the life, of everybody on the planet and every other planet that has intelligent life. So there is no zero sum game when it comes to Jesus.

But do we really want Jesus with us? Imagine Jesus being with us every minute, every second of the day. This would make us constantly aware of Jesus, something Benedict in his Rule admonishes his monks to be. How do we behave if Jesus is with us, closely with us? Does it make a difference in how we conduct our lives? In the case of Zacchaeus, it made a very big difference. But what about us? Or, if we think about it, would we rather that Jesus pass us by and visit somebody else?

There is also the problem of the company Jesus keeps. Maybe we can put up with Zacchaeus because we see him being a good guy. But what about the people on our lists of bad guys? How do we feel if somebody we thought was bad shows good qualities of kindness and generosity? Are we edified, or disappointed that we have to cross the name off the list? The problem is that if Jesus comes into our lives, we get all the other people Jesus associates with as well. Are we ready to cope with that?

The Challenge of Gratitude

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Most of us believe in gratitude. But in the story of Jesus healing the ten lepers, only one of the healed lepers turned back to thank Jesus for what he had done. (Lk. 17: 11–19) If gratitude is so simple, why did nine out of ten not show it? Maybe gratitude isn’t as easy as we think. If we recall our childhood, expressing gratitude was not a spontaneous act, even though we were happy to receive nice things. As soon as we began to talk, our parents would ask us over and over again: “What do you say?” when given a present. So, what is the difficulty with gratitude?

Sometimes the problem is that we simply aren’t grateful for what we received. Most of us have childhood memories of receiving an ugly sweater or a toy three years beneath our current level from and aunt or uncle or grandparent. In such cases, we’re taught to care about the feelings of these people and, more important, to be grateful for the love they showed by giving us something. In Robertson Davies’ Deptford Trilogy, a man deprived as a child of any generosity, said that a book of Shakespeare plays that he never read was his most prized possession because it was the first time anybody had given him anything. It is also true that some people give in manipulative ways, which does not inspire gratitude. But this does not get at why we have trouble expressing gratitude when it is due.

The thing about receiving from others is that it shows our dependence on them. Children, of course, are totally dependent creatures, in need all the time for everything. I wonder if this has something to do with the difficulty of learning to say the magic words” “thank you.” If we are receiving gifts all the time, a gift is nothing special; it’s just part of the order of things. There is also a certain amount of frustration about being dependent all the time which gets in the way of feeling gratitude for what we are given.

But are we who are adults any better at gratitude, since we aren’t so dependent? My seminary professor of ascetical theology told us that thanksgiving was the hardest fundamental kind of prayer for most of us. It’s easy to pray for something but not so easy to give thanks for receiving it. Why is this, if we aren’t so dependent all the time as children are? Well, actually we are dependent on others for many things because of our human limitations. Most fundamentally, we are dependent on God. After all, each of us exists because of God’s creative energy that made our existence possible. On top of that, God redeemed us through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. How often do we get to the nubs of this dependence and thank God for it? Maybe, like children, we take it all for granted. Of course being grateful for redemption involves realizing our need for redemption in the first place, which is humiliating. And what about what we earn in money and social capital? St. Thomas Aquinas argued, contrary to Luther and Calvin, that humans can earn merit, but he said that the ability to earn merit is a gift from God, which puts him close to Luther and Calvin after all. So, like children, we are dependent all the time for everything. It takes humility to accept this.

As monks, those of us in the community of St. Gregory’s Abbey live a life of complete dependence, putting us into the position where gratitude has to be as much an ongoing facet of life as dependence. I think back on how often, during the intercessory prayers, Fr. Anthony would give thanks for his monastic vocation. I, too, feel this same gratitude, and it occurs to me that the monastic vocation is a gift from God, but also a gift of our supporters. Among other services, such as our guest ministry, is the importance of offering deep and continuous prayer for all people. It occurs to me that if giving thanks is so difficult, then continuous prayer for everyone needs also to be continuous thanksgiving.

Working with Unjust Wealth

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There is much puzzlement about the parable of the mid-manager who is dismissed from his office. (Lk. 16: 1–9) Not least is the question as to whether we should called him “the Dishonest Manger,” as does the NRSV, or the “unjust manager” as many other English translations have it. The Greek word here is adikaios. This is in the dikaios word group which normally is translated as “justice “ or “righteousness.” Here, it is preceded by the alpha privative so that literally it means a manager without justice or righteousness. Dishonest mangers do have that lack, but since the word dikaios occurs frequently in the New Testament meaning justice and/or righteousness, I think it is preferable to say that the manager is unrighteous rather than dishonest. The unjust Judge who would only do justice for the widow when pestered by the widow was also described by the word adikaios, which is clearly best translated as “unjust.” (Lk. 18: 6) There is a significant difference in the two English terms and since this parable is very opaque, we can use all the clarity we can get. This understanding of the word gains more credence when we note that the unrighteous manager is not accused of embezzlement but of squandering the property of the rich man who had hired him. There is also the matter of the rich man acting on hearsay without apparently doing any independent investigation.

The unrighteous manager’s inner dialogue is realistic and pragmatic. He is quite clear about the ulterior motive behind his scheme of lowering the debts of his former boss’s clients: that these people will welcome him into their homes for what he has done for them. It appears that the unrighteous manger is cheating his former master, but it is possible that he was receiving a commission on the notes and was deducting what would have been his share. That the former master chuckles over what his fired employee has done suggests that he had not suffered further loss over these transactions. It’s hard to see how the Kingdom of God can be like this sort of moral muddle, and Jesus does not, in fact, say the Kingdom of God is like this. So what does a parable like this have to do with the Kingdom of God?

The parable suggests that handling money is intrinsically problematic, and the greedier one is, the more problematic it is. Both the rich man and the people who owe the rich man material goods come across as wanting best value for their money. Almost all of us do that and that is why this parable mirrors our involvement with money and other material goods. Calling the wealth “unjust” rather than “dishonest” better captures the systemic injustice of the world’s economic system. The unrighteous manger is the only one in the parable who acts generously even if that is only under duress: unless the “squandering” of the rich man’s property involved being generous with the goods he was responsible for. Given recent events, I can’t help but think of the refusal of some politicians to “squander” money on helping those most in need of assistance.

Indeed, Jesus shifts the focus from handling money in this world to the relationship between how generous we are with money in terms of our eternal destiny: “And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone they may welcome you into the eternal homes.” (Lk. 16: 9) Jesus then goes on with a few other comments, the most pertinent being “No slave can serve two masters, for a slave will either hate the one and love the other or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” (:Lk. 16: 13) The rich man and the clients who owe the rich man goods are caught in serving wealth, while the unrighteous manager seems to have freed himself from it to some extent. By mirroring the morally chaotic life of pursuing wealth, Jesus alerts us to the need to escape this rat race by aiming for “the eternal homes.” So where is the Kingdom of God? It isn’t here unless we all practice the generosity of the unrighteous steward which disrupts the system he was living in up to the time he was fired.