One of my most vivid memories of church during my childhood is of Tenebrae on Good Friday, a very solemn service where candles are extinguished and readings are proclaimed. At the very end of the service comes the strepitus, when a book is slammed shut, invoking the earthquake that occurred at Jesus’ death (and, to my vivid, childish imagination, also recalling the slamming shut of the tomb). The sudden noise of the book, followed by complete silence all the way back to the car, sent chills up my spine. The rest of the year, my community’s worship was mostly words – spoken or sung, whispered or shouted, but still just words. This very physical Good Friday moment was something I treasured all year. I couldn’t wait for the time when I would hear that slamming sound in the darkness again.
I didn’t know it then, but Tenebrae is part of the Divine Office in the Western tradition. The music and texts of Matins and Lauds toward the end of Holy Week were so beautiful and captivating, the clergy moved the services on those days from midnight to earlier in the evening so lay people could participate. The texts are indeed beautiful, and services by candlelight are always inspiring. But what captivated me more than anything was the feeling that in that slamming book God was physically reaching out to touch the people gathered. It made the Incarnation ring true in a way words alone could not.
At St. Joseph’s, the Office is a very physical experience day in and day out, not only on special days. Many of us bow our heads at the name of Jesus and bend at the waist when invoking the Trinity. We kneel when confessing our sins to God and one another, and again when offering our petitions to God as a family. We hug and shake hands to offer one another the peace of God, passing it physically from one person to the next, not just wishing it at each other with our voices. And when one of us is absent from the church – as I am frequently these days – the Church teaches that our prayer is nevertheless joined together across space and time, so that we are part of the same praying Body no matter where or when we open our Prayer Books.
It is well and good that we talk about the Daily Office as part of the Church’s toolbox for “Christian formation” – but we must remember that that formation is not just metaphorical. Worship in community really does mold us in new ways, forcing us to take on a new form that is sometimes uncomfortable, even painful. Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, puts this beautifully in a passage from his book, Eucharistic Sacrifice:
“To be able to praise and adore God worthily is not something instantly and easily accessible: our praise is tied in with the sacrifice, the giving up, of our own sinful and self-protective definition of what we are – and so with the whole act of accepting Christ as the form of the new humanity.”
The Office works on us slowly, getting into our bones and changing our shape from within. Against our own selfish desires and ambitions, it twists our life into the shape of the Cross. Our prayer and praise, expressed in bodily gestures and the words of our lips, break down our bodies and rebuild them into the Body of Christ. Thanks be to God.
Fr. Chris Tessone
Friday, March 6, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Widow's mite
There is a man, T, who lives in his truck in the church parking lot. He has been around St. Joe's now for a good while - perhaps a year. At first I didn't think he was homeless. He would come to Holy Eucharist on Sunday and stick around for coffee hour to chat. He never asked for anything.
Since taking up residence at the church he has rarely missed a service of Communion or Daily Prayer. He comes to breakfast, sometimes eating and sometimes not (I think it depends on what the casserole looks like), but always politely conversing. I've never seen him drink, though he seems to be on good terms with the others at church that do. T is one of the folks that makes the work we do easy and joyful.
This morning T and I said prayer together, just the two of us, for the first 15 minutes of the service. As we were leaving prayer, a woman who had arrived in time for the last few prayer asked for a bus pass to go job hunting. I said I would have to try to get one for her today because I was out. Then I turned around to the poor plate to see if I could fish the two dollars for the pass out of it. Before I could do so, T had opened his wallet, pulled out two dollars and given them to her.
I smiled in awe of the beauty.
I hung my head half-comically at my hardness of heart. I had been inclined to wait and see if I could get someone to pick up some passes later that day. That would cost me nothing. Then I had turned to the $60 in the poor plate to see if there were a couple of singles. Administering the poor plate costs me nothing, and by it I gain recognition for "serving" the poor. And it is mostly filled by those giving out of their abundance. The poor plate usually costs its donors nothing.
But T had given out of his lack. Such a gift was costly and it must have hurt. With all the cash in the poor plate I could not have given more. It was a sacrifice I did not dare counsel against.
Colin Miller, depauperum.blogspot.com
Colin Miller, depauperum.blogspot.com
Soul Song 6 (Put Your Hand in the Hand) - for William
Stocking cap spelling death
on concrete cloaked
in November leaves,
Body bread broken
by the whisper of morning’s sour wine
and the undying
wail
of the little one
hungry
for the jar of Gerber’s strained plums,
--her favorite—
forgotten at Mel’s when Back Ho
plugged the jukebox with
the song that wouldn’t drown.
A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Unforgiven,
he fell
in the door to the Fellowship Hall,
reached for your hand
and took mine.
And now,
as the hard rush
of the metal angel’s wings—
lifts me above stormy water,
I sip sauvignon,
listen to the wafer
knitting questions
in my unforgiven bone
and open myself to the lover
who whispers the grace notes
of our names,
waiting for us to come.
Craig Werner
Craig teaches African-American literature and music at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and is a friend of St. Joseph's.
on concrete cloaked
in November leaves,
Body bread broken
by the whisper of morning’s sour wine
and the undying
wail
of the little one
hungry
for the jar of Gerber’s strained plums,
--her favorite—
forgotten at Mel’s when Back Ho
plugged the jukebox with
the song that wouldn’t drown.
A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Unforgiven,
he fell
in the door to the Fellowship Hall,
reached for your hand
and took mine.
And now,
as the hard rush
of the metal angel’s wings—
lifts me above stormy water,
I sip sauvignon,
listen to the wafer
knitting questions
in my unforgiven bone
and open myself to the lover
who whispers the grace notes
of our names,
waiting for us to come.
Craig Werner
Craig teaches African-American literature and music at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and is a friend of St. Joseph's.
From our senior warden
Before arriving to live in beautiful North Carolina, I am ashamed to say I gave those begging on the streets of my former home countries little or even no thought. It was not so prevalent in Norfolk, England (nearly ten years ago anyway), but was very noticeable in the so-called affluent Costa del Sol, Spain.
On walking through those red doors at St. Joseph’s, I can honestly say my life changed. Although at once feeling at home with God, I was nervous of, although by now acknowledging the plight of the “street people” who slept on St. Joe’s doorstep. As I got to know and admire the work of dear Matt Pridgen, Colin and JR, and of course our Vicar, I became more and more in tune in what God sees as the mission of St. Joe’s. It didn’t happen overnight, believe me.
I think it was Lisa, Colin’s wife, Senior Warden at the time, who spoke of her experience, of feeling uncomfortable at first. That’s how I felt, but over a period of time, stopping to chat to the guys, making them a sandwich, making them a bowl of soup, my confidence has grown. It still can produce uncomfortable moments, especially when a newcomer is asking for help (is he after money?, what’s his plan?, etc.).
I still have a long way to go to even come close to matching the devotion of the likes of Colin, Lisa, JR and Adam, who without fail, serve breakfast and just as importantly, spend time with our homeless and needy friends. Notice my change of title, because that’s how I feel about them now.
An exchange of words, lending a friendly ear to their problems, heating a bowl of soup, getting them a clean pair of socks, etc. maybe small things to us, taking little time, but I am aware of how much it mean to those who have very little or in a lot of cases, nothing and are often looked on as outcasts. What would Jesus do? Committed Christian know the answer to that.
If only we could all do just a little bit, we can make life a lot easier for those who have to, or for reasons unknown to us, choose to sleep in the shelter of St. Joseph’s, under God’s umbrella, where they feel relatively safe. One thing I can say is that, yes, it’s great writing a check to a charity (and we should still do that if we can), but God gives us greater rewards by tackling the problem on our doorstep head-on.
Mick Capon
On walking through those red doors at St. Joseph’s, I can honestly say my life changed. Although at once feeling at home with God, I was nervous of, although by now acknowledging the plight of the “street people” who slept on St. Joe’s doorstep. As I got to know and admire the work of dear Matt Pridgen, Colin and JR, and of course our Vicar, I became more and more in tune in what God sees as the mission of St. Joe’s. It didn’t happen overnight, believe me.
I think it was Lisa, Colin’s wife, Senior Warden at the time, who spoke of her experience, of feeling uncomfortable at first. That’s how I felt, but over a period of time, stopping to chat to the guys, making them a sandwich, making them a bowl of soup, my confidence has grown. It still can produce uncomfortable moments, especially when a newcomer is asking for help (is he after money?, what’s his plan?, etc.).
I still have a long way to go to even come close to matching the devotion of the likes of Colin, Lisa, JR and Adam, who without fail, serve breakfast and just as importantly, spend time with our homeless and needy friends. Notice my change of title, because that’s how I feel about them now.
An exchange of words, lending a friendly ear to their problems, heating a bowl of soup, getting them a clean pair of socks, etc. maybe small things to us, taking little time, but I am aware of how much it mean to those who have very little or in a lot of cases, nothing and are often looked on as outcasts. What would Jesus do? Committed Christian know the answer to that.
If only we could all do just a little bit, we can make life a lot easier for those who have to, or for reasons unknown to us, choose to sleep in the shelter of St. Joseph’s, under God’s umbrella, where they feel relatively safe. One thing I can say is that, yes, it’s great writing a check to a charity (and we should still do that if we can), but God gives us greater rewards by tackling the problem on our doorstep head-on.
Mick Capon
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