+Z’ev

Commemoration of Aidan.

Today’s assigned readings:

1 Kings 5:1-6:1,7, Acts 28:1-16, Mark 14:27-42

Jesus said, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”
Mark 14:36

Today is the feast of one of my patron saints. You might wonder how we get from “Huw” to “Aidan”. Well, it’s easy if you know something about Celtic languages. There is in ancient Irish, the name: Aodh. This is pronounced “Aoh” or even “Oh”. Anglicise that and you get “hu” or “uh”. Spell the Anglicisation in Saxon (Germanic) culture and you get “Hugh” (where it means “soul” or “mind”). Spell it in Welsh culture and you get “Huw”. Now… once you get writing into Ireland, and you see “Aodh” (or more to the point, Aod - with a dot over the d to indicate the “h” which only softens it…) how do you pronounce this? A’duh… or up north A’dun… Aidan. Aidan = Huw. Cool, huh? They both mean “Fire”.

Names can be very important, or very fluid.

Now, a little rant: tiny one, maybe even a rantlet. It feeds into the point I want to make, however. “Abba”. In Hebrew it means “Daddy”. In Aramaic, however, the language Jesus spoke - and Paul, too, for that matter - it means “Father”. It’s rather formal. I’m rather tired of people getting gushy about Jesus teaching us to call God, “Daddy”. He didn’t. So get over it.

Whew. Glad that’s clear.

Now… does it matter what we call God?

I have a prayerbook here, one that I use all the time. It’s called A Celtic Devotional. Despite the title, it’s not Celtic, really; although it does tend to use Celtic flavours in the prayers. I’ve suggested it to people who are not at all Celts and, without any knowledge of the language or mythology or culture, they take to the prayers like a duck to water.

Here’s two prayers from today - “Friday Morning in Autumn”:

Keeper of the Cauldron, many elements of my life swirl about me in turmoil; may I enter your wholeness to savour their meaning in silence. I give thanks, for in you all elements are resolved.

Soul-teacher, weaver of my soul, send forth your shining ball of thread, that I may follow the track of this day’s turning.

The “Weaver of my soul” sends a ball of thread. The “Keeper of the Cauldron” has a swirl of elements… it’s all very literary. Or you might know that the cauldron refers to the Cauldron of Rebirth and that in various mythologies the thread is a symbol of one’s fate. You might not know that at all - but the words are beautiful in a morning meditation.

The rest of the prayers are of the same sort. They tend towards a natural, “pagan” set of images. One may read them in any number of ways - Christian, Pagan, whatever. The Holy One may be called the “Vigilant Judge” or the “Lady of Justice” “soul-teacher” or “Alchemist of the Mystery”, “Melody of Autumn” or “Heartbeat of Harvest”. That’s all on one page.

Years ago, back in the 90s, when I was a member of EcuNet, when I first purchased this book, it cause quite a stir among the pious. Some are of the opinion that we shouldn’t use any name for God other than those found in traditionally Christian prayers. In this light, even the traditional names of God used in Jewish prayers are suspect. Allah is right out. Never mind that “God” is not a name - it is a title, an office: like president or Senator. Both Senator Clinton and President Clinton may be addressed by their titles. Neither of them - nor any voter - would confuse the title with the name. In the Hebrew scriptures, “God” is YHVH’s title: not his name. Judaism has many titles for YHVH:

Avinu Malkeinu — “Our Father, our King”.
Emet — “Truth”.
E’in Sof — “endless, infinite”, Kabbalistic name of God.
Ro’eh Yisra’el — “Shepherd of Israel”.
Ha-Kaddosh, Baruch Hu — “The Holy One, Blessed be He”.
Kaddosh Israel — “Holy One of Israel”.
Melech ha-Melachim — “The King of Kings” or Melech Malchei ha-Melachim “King of Kings of Kings”, to express superiority to the earthly rulers title.
Makom or Hamakom — literally “the place”, meaning “The Omnipresent”; see Tzimtzum.
Magen Avraham — “Shield of Abraham”.
Ribbono shel `Olam — “Master of the World”.

And many more - from the scriptures or Rabbinic tradition. In Islam there are the 99 Names. To name a few:

Al-Khafid The Abaser
Ar-Rafi’e The Exalter
Al-Mu’ezz The Giver of Honour
Al-Mudhell The Giver of Dishonour
As-Sami’e The All Hearing
Al-Baseer The All Seeing
Al-Hakam The Judge, The Arbitrator
Al-`Adl The Utterly Just

Add to that the Christian names - Holy Trinity, Father, Jesus, Spirit, etc… and one has quite a list.

My personal devotional use is “You”, as found in my favourite “interfaith” grace before meals: “For who you are and for what you have given us, we thank you.” This one works well at those huge public Thanksgiving meals.

So… does it matter?

While the name we use may say something about our faith, does it do anything to God? This is not a universalist plea that all religions are the same, so pray to Zeus or Allah or whatever.

The question is specific: does it matter what we call God?

(Yes, I’d answer to Aidan…)

Today’s assigned readings:

1 Kings 3:16-28, Acts 27:27-44, Mark 14:12-26

Paul said, “Therefore I urge you to take some food, for it will help you survive; for none of you will lose a hair from your heads.” After he had said this, he took bread; and giving thanks to God in the presence of all, he broke it and began to eat. Then all of them were encouraged and took food for themselves.
Acts 27:34-36

The traditional Jewish action before eating bread is not - as St Paul does here - giving thanks to God. Rather a traditional Jew says a blessing:

Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe who brings forth bread from the earth. (Amen)

The division between “blessing” and “give thanks” is very strong. In his Feast of the World’s Redemption, John Koenig points to Tractate Berakoth in the Babylonian Talmud and wonders if the prohibition against saying “We give thanks, we give thanks” might not be a prohibition against Messianic Jews making Eucharist. Either way, it is a clear demarkation between “give thanks” and “make blessing.”

Paul here, seems to be making Eucharist. It’s what you do in a shipwreck.

And by his action “all of them were encouraged and took food for themselves”. This is a picture of a Christian, doing what he does naturally, and thereby giving life to those around him.

Francis said, “Preach the Gospel always, use words if necessary.” Sara Miles says, “My first questioning year at church ended with a question whose urgency would propel me into work I’d never imagined. Now that you’ve taken the bread, what are you going to do?” (Take This Bread) It is our actions, the doing that matters.

When I first came out, back in 1984, I was convinced then (as now) that the reason so many Gay Bars were filled with Gay Men on Sunday morning was not because they had rejected the Church, but because the Church had rejected them. When I was ordained into a Gnostic order, in 1996, I consistently thought of Gay Bars and other such places as my parish. One of the most moving Christmas Eves ever… I left Midnight Mass at St John the Divine and travelled to a pub in Greenwich Village. There I met a bunch of drunks watching “Holiday Inn” and listened to them talk about their families and the holidays and all the reasons they couldn’t put those two things in the same room with themselves. So they were here getting drunk. If I had known then what to do in a shipwreck, I’d have followed Paul’s example.

The only person I’ve ever “won for Jesus” I met in a chat room on Gay.com. It was not by “witnessing” to him that I got him to Church the next week: but rather just by talking. People are starving for the kind of love that God shows us in Jesus. And people can be found everywhere these days. It is by being Christian or, better yet, doing Christian that we draw others into this life.

Think of the traditional doctrines of the Eucharist - that we take the daily stuff of life (Bread and wine) and offer it to God. God gives it back to us somehow transformed, as the very stuff of Divine Life by which we, eating it, become divine ourselves. The Eucharist is the meal that consumes us. Thus, in partaking of the Eucharist, Paul here is somehow making Christ present in his own person to these men and women on the ship: his fellow prisoners, the crew, the jailers and the other passengers. Fr Alexander Schmemann taught that humanity stands in the midst of the world as priest offering the world to God and receiving it back transformed. In fact, that’s our only purpose: we offer our food and it becomes enough to feed everyone. We offer our brokenness and wholeness returns. We offer our martyrdom and life ensues.

When we do what we are meant to do, when we live our vocation - making eucharist in all things - it can not but be open communion: for all around us, Christian or not, benefit.

Decollation of John Baptist

Today’s assigned readings:

1 Kings 3:1-15, Acts 27:9-26, Mark 14:1-11

But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me.
Mark 14:4-7

This is an interesting passage. It sometimes gets spun away from its meaning to be a “prophecy” that there is nothing we can do to save the poor. I’ve also seen it used as a trump card in a common debate: building churches, or decorating them with gold and jewels bothers some people. Could not the money be better spend on the poor whom Jesus loves? Welp… comes the reply. We have to give our best to God and for his worship. We will always have the poor with us to take care of. It’s like Jesus said of the woman with the jar.

Indeed, Yer Host is one of those people - I’m bothered by it. I felt the same about the parish church of St Gregory of Nyssa, even though there’s not much gold there. But multiple thousands of dollars were spent to erect the building, decorate, acquire vestments and liturgical items, to print up song books, to house and feed the clergy and staff, to set up a website, etc. Even the poorest rural Mission of the Orthodox Church I attended had one or two upscale items worth one or two thousand dollars total. The older parishes had huge amounts of liturgical goodies plus gold-plated icons and relics in jewelled cases, cloth-of-golf vestments, expensive incense, and they burn olive oil or fine beeswax candles.

In the Hebrew scriptures it’s reported that God not only designed himself a very expensive house, but had the Israelites steal to build it. And then he said, “Don’t Steal”. From that request, recorded in the Torah, comes not only the plans for the temple which Solomon builds, but also some of the scriptural justification for the opulence of churches down through history. In some places Jesus seems to have other ideas for those who follow him, although he never says, one way or the other, how his followers are to worship. Some take this to mean he never envisioned the thing we now call “church”. Others take it to mean that the earlier situation applies now. This serves as justification for all the gold gewgaws previously mentioned and then some.

But Jesus makes a curious statement.

For you always have the poor with you… but you will not always have me.

For all that we’ve lavished gold on the “Holy Images” and the “House of God” and the “Tabernacles” of our own devising, Jesus makes it clear: he’s not here, take care of the poor. In effect, when we’ve raised our gilded cages and boxes in which to hide God, he’s said himself, “you don’t have me”, we’ve made idols by ignoring the very persons he’s told us to take care of - the poor that we always have with us.

We know from elsewhere that, in fact, the poor - the “least of these, my brethren” are, in fact, Christ present among us. What you do to them, you do to him. We know, from elsewhere that he is present with us always… like the poor? No, as the poor.

We know from elsewhere and here - one consistent message of the Gospel that connects us al.

Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost:

2 Samuel 24:1-2,10-25, Galatians 3:23-4:7, John 8:12-20

Monday (Thomas Gallaudet & Henry Winter Syle):

1 Kings 1:5-31, Acts 26:1-23, Mark 13:14-27

Tuesday (Augustine of Hippo):

1 Kings 1:38-2:4, Acts 26:24-27:8, Mark 13:28-37

Wednesday:

1 Kings 3:1-15, Acts 27:9-26, Mark 14:1-11

Thursday:

1 Kings 3:16-28, Acts 27:27-44, Mark 14:12-26

Friday (Aidan):

1 Kings 5:1-6:1,7, Acts 28:1-16, Mark 14:27-42

Saturday (David Pendleton Oakerhater):

1 Kings 7:51-8:21, Acts 28:17-31, Mark 14:43-52

Today’s assigned readings:

2 Samuel 19:1-23, Acts 24:1-23, Mark 12:28-34

Please Note: there will be no post until Wednesday, 29 August, the Decollation of the Baptist. I’m on vacation in Canada for a birthday party this weekend with my Brodie and company.

Then the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; and ‘to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself,’ this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” After that no one dared to ask him any question.
Mark 12:32-34

Jesus is, here, participating in a rabbinic dialogue - not here in the text, alone, but in wider Jewish History. The Rabbinic consensus, including Jesus in the equation, is that to love your neighbour is to make possible the rest of the Torah. Even in later years of the Common Era, the Rabbis and saints of the Jewish people offer this commandment.

At first, (Rabbi Raphael) –may his light shine upon us–said: ‘According to the plain meaning, when a person loves, the Shechinah [the light of the Presence of God - ed] rests upon them. In this way, ‘all workers of iniquity are dispersed’ (Psalm 92:10) and it is easy to fulfil the Torah.

There is (and has been) extensive discussion within the Jewish tradition about the meaning of “neighbour”. Some feel it is anyone, some that it is only Jews. Indeed, the “only Jews” understanding is born out by the context of the verse in the Torah. But Jesus makes it clear (in “The Good Samaritan” and elsewhere) that his feeling is anyone - without regard for doctrines - is a possible Neighbour. Followers of Jesus’ teaching thus have an answer to that question. It is not just to members of “our tribe” that we are responsible.

Jesus and the Scribe both use the same word for love: αγαπαω “agapao”. It means “to entertain”. In other words, to show hospitality. It’s not a matter of agreement (as in doctrine) or of mere camaraderie: hospitality is to invite into your home, to share food with, to “break bread together”, to defend even to the loss of your own life and person (see an extreme version in Lot’s offering of his daughters in place of his guests to the people of Sodom). This word comes from the more-familiar “Agape” or unconditional (Divine) love. Imagine an unconditional hospitality. This is a shared concept among many cultural traditions - certainly the Aramaic, Jewish and Arab cultures of the Middle East. Jesus would have known of it. In the Celtic traditions, agapao is the “bottomless cauldron”: it’s what the host owes to the guest less the host become too embarrassed to show his face in public. I’ve been heroically hosted in Ireland and Canada within this tradition.

My own experience of living out this commandment is in the second person. I’ve never been very good at it, but a lot of people have made me their neighbour or else have “been neighbours” where I could see them.

I can list on one hand the religious communities I’ve entered where I’ve felt unwelcomed. But the communities where I have felt love and welcome are numerous and without regard for tradition: Congregations Beth Simchat Torah and B’nai Jeshurun, the Churches of St Mary (Time Square) and of St Mary Magdalen, all in NYC; the Church of St Gregory of Nyssa and Holy Trinity Cathedral in SF, and St Mary’s Church here in Asheville.

More importantly I can list the persons who have loved me so much as to bind my wounds, care for me, provide me a home or a place, - Fr V, Dcn M and Sham. A, David and Jeannette, Rick, Marcia and Joel, Mtr Minka, Leesy, Pace, Donald, Todd, David and Jim, Wayne, RJ and Sam, Zara, Mat. Elizabeth and Fr J, Susan and Nancy, the monks… oh, the list goes much further than that, yes. What I’ve lived knowing more than anything is how unworthy I am of such care. Without going into stuff better kept with my confessor, these folks and these communities of faith have loved me and cared for me through quite a lot of royal screw-ups. Nothing huge - always human. But I’m the sort of person… well, let’s just say I don’t know how I would treat me if I showed up at the door.

But the Saints - Jewish and Christian - offer us the same point: the stranger is in the image of God. To love that stranger is to love the icon of God in a way that simple religious ritual does not. One of the saints commands us to even interrupt prayer for our brother at the door - for, following John, how can we love God whom we don’t see if we won’t love our neighbour whom we do see.

All the people on my list above - and many more - have showed me such hospitality. How can I claim to show such hospitality to some vaguely “Spiritual” God if I do not show it to the flesh and blood God standing next to me?