I recently came across a most interesting article by Robert Hale called "The Benedictine Spirit in Anglicanism". Dom Robert is a Roman Catholic Camaldolese Benedictine monk and a member of the monastery of New Camaldoli, located near Big Sur, California. The Camaldolese tradition is distinctive in Western monasticism in that it allows its monks to alternate between life in a regular monastic community and life as a hermit. Both of these paths can be pursued within the same monastic enclosure. The Camaldolese have a formal ecumenical relationship with the Anglican Order of the Holy Cross, of which I am an Associate.

Dom Robert started out as an Episcopalian but discerned a vocation to the Camaldolese way while still an undergraduate at Pomona College. He is therefore well-qualified to speak authoritatively about Anglican-Roman Catholic relations, and his article is a valuable resource for anyone curious about Anglican origins. I find it so useful that I've added it to the "Favorite Links" section of the sidebar. At the very end of the piece is a link to the New Camaldoli website which is worth a look. I was able to stay briefly at the monastery a number of years ago and can recommend it to anyone seriously interested in Benedictine spirituality.

Michael McGough has a very interesting article in the April 6 Los Angeles Times about Pope Benedict's sense of style. No, not the Prada shoes. We're talking about his recent choices in liturgical vestments. On a number of occasions during Lent and Holy Week His Holiness has presided while attired in chasubles, copes, and other vesture of a style popular between the Counter-Reformation and Vatican II. His revival of these garments has provoked great joy in the hearts of Catholic traditionalists and equally great dread in the already-gloomy souls of post-Vatican II progressives.

Why? It's because liturgical vestments don't just visually differentiate the various actors in the drama of worship; they are also encoded statements of particular theologies. This is true regardless of what church we're talking about. The evangelical megachurch pastor in his Hawaiian shirt; the low-church Anglican in surplice and stole; Pope Benedict XVI in a baroque fiddleback chasuble; all are conveying visually what they think is the purpose of worship, and. indeed, Christianity itself.

There are two major types of chasuble, the large colored overgarment worn by the priest celebrating Mass. The gothic style (seen in the first picture of the Pope) is the older and in fact originates in the early patristic period, when it evolved out of what was essentially a poncho. It tends to be cut very fully.

The Roman style (colloquially known as the fiddleback) seems to have first appeared in the late 15th century and can be though of as a gothic chasuble pared away to what is basically a sandwich-board. Fiddlebacks (seen in the second photo of Benedict) can be very simple, but are somewhat notorious for being made of rich brocade or ornamented with very elaborate embroidery. They are frequently worn with lace albs.

Fiddlebacks passed out of style during the years following Vatican II, when the liturgical language went from Latin to the vernacular, popular music replaced Gregorian chant, and the priest faced the people instead of towards the east with his back to the congregation. Gothic chasubles got even larger than they had been--unless chasubles were eliminated altogether, which happened in more than a few places.

For reasons I don't fully understand, the fiddleback became associated with theological conservatives who accepted Vatican II begrudgingly, or else objected to what they thought were abuses perpetrated in its name. It became one of the party badges of traditionalists who hankered for a return to the Latin Mass and uncompromising ecclesiastical authority.

So when Cardinal Ratzinger--affectionately known to his opponents as "God's Rottweiler" or "Der Panzercardinal"--became Pope Benedict XVI, progressives feared the worst. So far, little liberal blood has actually been spilled, but the Pope has signaled a return to traditional liturgics. Most significantly, he issued a motu proprio--a kind of executive order--last summer making it much easier for local parishes to offer Latin Masses for interested congregants. The Pope seems to want to restore the Tridentine Mass to a place of honor alongside the vernacular liturgy, rather than abrogating the latter.

If clothes make the man, then perhaps in this case vestimentum papam facit.

"Emergent Christianity" is a movement that originated among evangelicals during the '90's. This is not the place for a detailed description of what "emergent' is, but in very broad terms it is characterized by postmodern philosophical orientations, egalitarian ecclesiastical organization, a preference for storytelling rather than asserting dogma, and a "generous orthodoxy"--you can believe in the Trinity and still hang out with gays and Jews, which is not exactly a big priority over at Focus on the Family. Also, there is a strong interest in recovering some traditional aspects of Christian spirituality, such as meditation and even (gasp!) icons.

Tony Jones (pictured) is a leader in the emergent movement and has written The New Christians: dispatches from the emergent frontier (Jossey-Bass 2008) which is, I suspect, the best introduction to the subject currently in print. He talks a lot about worldviews, sets of (frequently unacknowledged) a priori assumptions about how the world works, and how Christians all along the theological spectrum get hung up on notions of "truth" that are actually more indebted to enlightenment rationalism than to the Tradition. The following excerpt appears on pp. 154-155.

Liberal brothers and sisters care about truth too, though they sometimes seem squeamish about the truth of the biblical narrative. I had the pleasure of hearing the biblical scholar Marcus Borg speak recently, and in the question-and-answer session after his address, he was asked a question he's surely been asked hundreds of times: "Professor Borg, what about the empty tomb on Easter morning?" After a bit of theological hemming and hawing, Borg responded, "If I were a betting man, I'd bet--my life or one dollar--that the tomb was not empty. Or that there was no tomb."

Why would the resurrection seem unbelievable to Borg? It's because he is beholden to a certain framework for historical truth: if it violates physical laws, it's probably not "true" (at least not in a factual, historical sense; he still considers it "true" in a literary, metaphorical, even spiritual sense.) He is unwilling to entertain two mutually contradictory ideas simultaneously: (1) that the physical laws by which the universe operates hold unremittingly and (2) that events that break those laws--such as resurrection, miraculous healings, and transfigurations--really did happen. In his talk, Borg referred to those who hold the latter as "fideists," people who allow faith to trump reason.

But Borg has fallen into the other gutter of the bowling alley, allowing reason to trump faith--his, we might say, is a "faith in reason." But the problem with reason is that what we human beings have considered "reasonable' (a geocentric universe, slavery, healing with leeches) has often been overturned.

John Piper, who stands on the opposite end of the theological spectrum, is beholden to a similarly modern framework. After the Interstate 35 bridge collapse in August 2007, Piper wrote about the tragedy, which happened just a mile from his church in Minneapolis. "The meaning of the collapse of this bridge," he wrote, "is that John Piper is a sinner and should repent or forfeit his life forever." He went on to explain that God (seemingly not beams and girders) holds up every bridge in the world, and if one ever falls, God has a perfect reason for it.

What's ironic is that both Borg and Piper want an airtight understanding of God, a God that makes perfect sense. For Borg, it's a God who does not defy the physical laws of the universe. For Piper, it's a God whose sovereignty requires his personal responsibility for all calamities. Each man is constricting God by forcing God to play by certain rules: the rules of physics or the rules of sovereignty. And each is attempting to squeeze all the paradox out of God.

But emergents don't fear paradox; they embrace it. God can be the creator of the universe and the breaker of the rules of physics. God can be sovereign yet not the author of evil.

So, again, the emergents are left to chart a middle course, one between the fideism (in human reason) of the left and the fideism (in the supernatural) of the right. As is so often the case, the "truth" lies in between, in a person (Jesus the Christ) who was truly human and truly divine--in faith, not fideism.

John Donne (1572-1631) was what we would today call a second-career priest. He came to the priesthood following a very turbulent early life in which he wrote racy love-poems, studied at Oxford, Cambridge, and the Inns of Court, served in Parliament, and sought the sponsorship of various powerful men as a wannabee courtier. It did not help matters that he was a Roman Catholic or that he secretly married the niece of an erstwhile mentor. Eventually he made his peace with the Church of England and took Holy Orders, seemingly in part because he needed a steady job.

These negatives notwithstanding, Donne became one of the great English poets; it is largely by way of his poems that he is recognized today as a great Anglican theologian as well. Since he died on March 31, his feast often gets bumped from the liturgical calendar as it falls so close to Easter. This year he just manages to scrape by, and I'd like to share two of his works with you. Meditation XVII is poignant in light of the ongoing meltdown of the Anglican Communion; Holy Sonnet X is totally appropriate in this Easter season.

Meditation XVII

No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tools for thee.

Holy Sonnet X

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, Kings and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
and better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

St John Chrysostom (347-407) was successively Patriarch of Antioch and Constantinople. A man of exceptional erudition and eloquence--his surname mean "golden-tongued"--he is credited with writing (more likely compiling) the eucharistic liturgy bearing his name, the one most frequently used in the Eastern churches. His paschal sermon is read aloud in all Orthodox churches on Easter Sunday.

Is there anyone who is a devout lover of God? Let them enjoy this beautiful bright festival! Is there anyone who is a grateful servant? Let them rejoice and enter into the joy of their Lord!

Are there any weary with fasting? Let them now receive their wages! If any have toiled from the first hour, let them receive their due reward; if any have come after the third hour, let them with gratitude join in the Feast! And they that arrived after the sixth hour, let them not doubt; for they too shall sustain no loss. And if any delayed until the ninth hour, let them not hesitate; but let them come too. And they who arrived only at the eleventh hour, let them not be afraid by reason of their delay.

For the Lord is gracious and receives the last even as the first. He gives rest to them that come at the eleventh hour, as well as to them that toiled from the first. To this one He gives, and upon another He bestows. He accepts the works as He greets the endeavor. The deed He honors and the intention He commends.

Let us all enter into the joy of the Lord! First and last alike receive your reward; rich and poor, rejoice together! Sober and slothful, celebrate the day!

You that have kept the fast, and you that have not, rejoice today for the Table is richly laden! Feast royally on it, the calf is a fatted one. Let no one go away hungry. Partake, all, of the cup of faith. Enjoy all the riches of His goodness!

Let none grieve at their poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let none mourn that they have fallen again and again; for forgiveness has risen from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Death of our Savior has set us free. He has destroyed it by enduring it.

He destroyed Hades when he descended into it. He put it into an uproar even as it tasted of His flesh. Isaiah foretold this when he said, "You, O Hell, have been troubled by encountering him below."

Hell was in an uproar because it was done away with. It was in an uproar because it is mocked. It was in an uproar, for it is destroyed. It is in an uproar, for it is annihilated. It is in an uproar, for it is now made captive. Hell took a body and discovered God. It took earth, and encountered heaven. It took what it saw, and was overcome by what it did not see.

O death, where is thy sting? O Hades, where is thy victory?

Christ is Risen, and you, O death, are annihilated! Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down. Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice! Christ is Risen, and life is liberated! Christ is Risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead; for Christ having risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep.

To Him be Glory and Power forever and ever. Amen!

Sergei Bulgakov (1871-1944) was possibly the most preeminent Russian Orthodox theologian of the 20th century. Born into a clergy family, he went through a Marxist phase during his studies of law and economics at Moscow University but later recovered his faith. He was eventually ordained a priest but left Russia soon after in the wake of the Bolshevik revolution. He spent the remainder of his life in Paris where he taught at the Institute St Serge, a seminary founded by White Russian exiles. He wrote a number of books that are dense and controversial in equal measures. I recently came across a not-so-dense quote on the Incarnation that I'd like to share with you. It appears originally in Du verbe incarne' and was translated by the English theologian Andrew Louth, who includes it in his essay "The place of theosis in Orthodox theology", which in turn appears in Partakers of the Divine Nature (Christensen and Wittung, eds., Baker Academic 2007).


God wants to communicate to the world his divine life and himself to "dwell" in the world, to become human, in order to make of human kind a god too. That transcends the limits of human imagination and daring, it is the mystery of the love of God "hidden from the beginning in God" (Eph 3:9), unknown to the angels themselves (Eph 3:10; 1 Pet 1:12; 1Tim 3:16). The love of God knows no limits and cannot reach its furthest limit in the fullness of the divine abnegation for the sake of the world: the Incarnation. And if the very nature of the world, raised from non-being to its created state, does not appear here as an obstacle, its fallen state is not one either. God comes even to a fallen world; the love of God is not repelled by the powerlessness of the creature, nor by his fallen image, nor even by the sin of the world: the Lamb of God, who voluntarily bears the sins of the world, is manifest in him. In this way, God gives all for the divinization of the world and its salvation, and nothing remains that he has not given. Such is the love of God, such is Love.

Such it is in the interior life of the Trinity, in the reciprocal surrender of the three hypostases, and such it is in the relation of God to the world. If it is in such a way that we are to understand the Incarnation--and Christ himself teaches us to understand it in such a way (Jn 3:16)--there is no longer any room to ask if the Incarnation would have taken place apart from the Fall. The greater contains the lesser, the conclusion presupposes the antecedent, and the concrete includes the general. The love of God for fallen humankind, which finds it in no way repugnant to take the failed nature of Adam, already contains the love of stainless humankind.

And that is expressed in the wisdom of the brief words of the Nicene Creed: "for our sake and for our salvation." This and, in all the diversity and all the generality of its meaning, contains the theology of the Incarnation. In particular, this and can be taken in the sense of identification (as that is to say). So it is understood by those who consider that salvation is the reason for the Incarnation; in fact, concretely, that is indeed what it signifies for fallen humanity. But this can equally be understood in a distinctive sense (that is to say, "and in particular," or similar expressions), separating the general from the particular, in other words, without limiting the power of the Incarnation nor exhausting it solely in redemption. The Word became flesh: one must understand this in all the plenitude of of its meaning, from the theological point of view and the cosmic, the anthropological, the Christological and the soteriological. The last, the most concrete, includes and does not exclude the other meanings; so too, the theology of the Incarnation cannot be limited to the bounds of soteriology; that would be, moreover, impossible, as the history of dogma bears witness....

The Incarnation is the interior basis of creation, its final cause. God did not create the world to hold it at a distance from him, at that insurmountable metaphysical distance that separates the Creator from the creation, but in order to surmount that distance and unite himself completely with the world; not only from the outside, as Creator, nor even as providence, but from within: "the Word became flesh". That is why the Incarnation is already predetermined in human kind.

Herbert was born in 1593 and became University Orator at Cambridge. He was quite ambitious and hoped to parlay this position into a brilliant career at court. He was elected to Parliament in 1624 but nothing much came of that. Within a couple of years James I and two of George's most influential patrons all died, and public life lost a lot of its allure. He decided to act on a long-suppressed vocation to Holy Orders. He became a priest in 1630 and was made vicar of Bemerton. He threw himself into the priesthood with total abandon, and soon earned his parishioners' sobriquet "Holy Mr Herbert." Alas, this only lasted until 1633, when he died at the age of 39.

George left behind a body of poetry(his chief claim to fame in the secular world) as well as A Priest to the Temple; or, The Country Parson, a sort of how-to-do-it for parish life in 17th century England. I've chosen a short bit from the latter (it fits me too well), in addition to one of his best poems, set to music by Vaughn Williams in his Five Mystical Songs. If you haven't heard this piece yet, do so by all means.

Scholar's Temptation

Curiosity in prying into high speculative and unprofitable questions is another great stumbling block to the holiness of scholars.

Love (III)

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here."
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?'

"Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.