Teaching

However hard this past year has been, it has been necessary for our health and the health of others. We have sacrificed much: our movements, our usual interactions, our normal routine, and sometimes even those healthy release valves (groups, therapists, gyms, etc.). As a parish, we’ve done all we can to adapt, and you are to be commended for your patience, understanding and care. Additionally, I’ve seen several instances of individual best practices and person-to-person compassion—all of which is laudatory.

If we’re honest—myself included—some­times our worst self has bled through: by giving into fears or anxieties, by being less civil and well-mannered, by thinking the worst of others or leaders, and by letting our convenience overtake concern for others.

When we see these latter thoughts and behaviors arise in us, we should (again, in honest self-reflection) ask how well we’ve maintained our spiritual health. For example, have we spent more time complaining than praying; more time searching for stories that confirm our conclusions than searching the Scriptures; more time distrusting others than building up our faith in God; and more time sinking into ourselves than strengthening our relationship with Our Father.

For myself, it has been easier not to ‘redeem the time.’ Perhaps for you, like for me, it has been easy not to be more diligent and earnest in prayer; or not to using extra time to read the Scriptures or other spiritual treasures. Instead, it’s been too easy to set aside prayers entirely or pray only minimally, because it’s hard to focus or because something else seems more interesting.

When this happens (even apart from pandemics), we develop spiritually unhealthy habits: griping and judging, fearfulness and despondency, apathy and indifference, meanness and pride, overindulgence and licentiousness. I don’t wish to suggest that these unhealthy habits are primary, or that they overrule the well-doing that I’ve seen. However, times of stress certainly requires us to be more on guard, and helps us focus on behaviors we might have missed or dismissed as unusual.

Lent is the time to work on developing healthy habits. It is time when our prayers can transform how we speak; when our fasting can increase hunger for Our Lord; when our meditation on His sacrifice and mercy can grow a desire to be merciful to others.

In brief, Lent gives us the opportunity to ‘redeem the time’ (Eph 5.16) by encouraging us to draw closer to Our Lord, and to focus on what matters most. In this way, Lent is a great gift—as perhaps this pandemic has been or can still be.

There is no greater time to make use of this gift of Lent than now, as we begin to see the relaxation of some of the previous restrictions. Immediately, our thoughts will turn to getting back to “normal.” But is the old normal something we really want? Wouldn’t it be better to use this Lent (and the lessons from the pandemic) to establish a spiritual ‘new normal’?

Lent generally—and this Lent in particular—gives us time to stretch our spiritual muscles; to cultivate the garden of our souls; and to strengthen our hope. It gives us time to pick up our prayers, and to establish spiritual best practices, to set in place a routine that strengthens our spiritual well-being.

In brief, if we let it, this Lent can help us do what St Paul urges: ‘redeem the time.’

To do that, we need more than resolutions and promises. We need to look carefully at the gifts Our Lord has given us—even in these hard days. We need to take to heart the gift of His Body—both in the Sacrament and in the Church; His Body gathered as well as His Body sacrificed and distributed.

There we will see, I’m convinced, the hope that has truly sustained us, the life that has truly nourished us, even when we devalued it or cast is aside. For the Lord’s Body contains within itself all sweetness, all goodness, and all generosity. That we have made it through these days, then, means that He has seen us through. That our worst fears have not occurred means that Christ, in His Body, has protected and guarded us. And that we will be able to embrace each other means that His embrace has not failed us.

So let’s neither look back with regret for how we should have used the time better; nor forward in a fantasy of what one day we might do. Let’s instead live for now, focused on Our Lord’s presence in the present. And in doing so, let’s return with hearts full of gratitude, and with the desire to be as diligent about our spiritual health as we’ve been about keeping physically safe.

May God be gracious and merciful to us all.

-Fr John

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Love your enemies. That statement by Jesus is unique to Christianity. What is even more unique is how that statement is lived. We see ‘love your enemies’ when we look at Jesus in His Passion. He tells Peter to put away his sword, and then heals one of the men brutalizing Jesus. He doesn’t resist. He isn’t defensive. And as He is dying, He asks God the Father to forgive them because they are ignorant about who they are really attacking; because He truly loves them.

We also see ‘love your enemies’ in action with St Stephen. His last moments are similar to Jesus. Treated with injustice, brutalized, put to death—and this holy deacon begs Jesus to forgive them.

‘Love your enemies.’ But that’s not all. ‘And pray for those who persecute you.’ Which is what Jesus, St Stephen, St Peter, St Paul, and holy women and men throughout history have done. They have prayed for their persecutors, those who terrorize them, the abusers, and those who mistreat them. And the prayer is not ‘Make them stop’ but ‘Forgive them, be merciful to them, do not hold this wrong they are doing to me against them.’

All of this is challenging in the abstract. When our enemy is a nameless, faceless person; someone on social media or someone in the news or someone far away—those folks are difficult but also easier to love.

But when someone is attacking you, someone from your own family, someone you know well, someone like Judas or Saul—when that is your enemy, then the command to ‘love your enemy’ truly matters. And that is really what Jesus is talking about. The person who is raging against you. The one who is getting in your face, yelling and screaming at you, threatening you, making you feel unsafe—that is the one, above all else, that we are called to love. That person, in that moment, is the one out of 99 that Jesus, through you, reaches out to.

“That’s what I would really like: that even at the moment when your enemy is raging against you, you then turn your eyes to the Lord your God and speak the words of Jesus or St Stephen: Father, forgive them.” (St Augustine)

So watch yourself, especially when your enemy is someone close to you, someone you know. Watch yourself that you don’t become their enemy. Instead, love them. For “in no way at all can your raving enemy do you more harm that you do to yourself, if you don’t love your enemy. He can damage your house, your stuff and, at most, if he’s given the authority, he can harm your body. But can he do what you can do by your hatred: can he, as you yourself can, do any damage to your soul?”

To love your enemy, then, is to protect your soul. To love your enemy is not simply an ideal for saintly people. It is what you must do to make sure you don’t throw away the love of God and your heavenly inheritance. We must not let our passions, our hatred, our desire to strike back, our extreme words, or any aggression of any kind get ahold of us. For then we kill our very self far more than no enemy, no matter how brutal, can do to us.

I say this to you for two reasons. First, too many of us are saying and sharing and posting and retweeting things that are truly hurtful—to our family, to our parish, to those who aknow us. This is hatred in words, and it is slowly killing us when we give into it. Standing up for what we believe in does not mean lashing out at those who disagree or who are even wrong. The Christian responds to these things, not by laying down, but also not by picking up the gun or the phone or any other weapon of metal or words. The Christian responds by saying, “Father, forgive them” and by trying, at all costs, to win the enemy by love. And he does this chiefly to guard his own soul; and then also to help Christ win back one from the 100.

The second reason I’m reflecting on our Lord’s command is because of the response to terrorism from our Patriarch in Damascus. The decades, even centuries, Christians have been persecuted and put to death. These brothers and sisters in Christ know their enemies—their faces, their names, where they live. And the Patriarch’s own brother, together with another bishop, were kidnapped and possibly brutalized 7 years ago. And what is His Beatitude’s response? “Christians…are still paying, with their lives and their fate, taxes to terrorism and violence: displacement, kidnapping, murder, and many a tribulation. Despite all this, [Christians] remain faithful to their pledge of love for Jesus Christ, as the Lord who redeemed them on the Cross and implanted them in this East two thousand years ago, to proclaim the joy of His Gospel.”

To proclaim the joy of the Lord’s Gospel: the Gospel of mercy, love, kindness, forgiveness—that is our only task. And that, more than anything else, is what it means to love your enemy.

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These past few days I’ve had on my mind, close to my heart, and in my prayers my former parishioners at the Lutheran parish I served for 11 years in Detroit; the many fine clergy and laity from Protestant and Catholic parishes that I worked with when I was involved in community organizing and building houses; the students I taught and families I worked with in inner-city Milwaukee; some of the students at the Catholic high school where I taught for 9 years; the Orthodox laity in Detroit that I knew who were involved with the Brotherhood of St Moses the Black; and my nephew and his mother.

All of these persons have at least two things in common: they are African American, and they are friends and family.

These days have brought a spotlight to the fear they walk with daily; a fear that many described to me through the years. It’s not the fear of being different, but the fear of being treated differently. Not the fear of what they do, but the fear that when they do they will automatically, or unthinkingly, be judged as a menace or a problem or a threat. Not the fear to speak out, but the frustration of not being heard. It’s the fear deep in their bones that they are less than human, that they must be ‘kept in their place,’ and that their contributions to society have no value. And, regardless of the make-up of their community, they walk and drive the streets with a visceral fear of police and of being mistreated by certain unrestrained police officers.

These are not fears I’ve heard about from the media or from a distance. These are fears and anxieties that I’ve heard when I have sat in living rooms, at parish gatherings, in classroom discussions, and through tears in one-on-one conversations. The afraid don’t rush into these conversations, and they don’t speak quickly and openly. But they will speak once you’ve earned their trust by taking seriously their fears, recognizing their particularity, treating them with dignity, and listening to them as brothers and sisters, as wise men and women—as humans.

Part of the frustration and anger we’ve seen expressed in these past few days is that of my friends and family; and those whom we too often put unconsciously or deliberately in their ‘box.’ Regardless of what we may individually think, their fears need to be heard, acknowledged, and not swept aside. And persons of color that we know, that we speak with, need to hear clearly and directly from us that we do not condone violence or threats of violence against them.

I have another nephew who is a police officer in Florida. And we have several law enforcement personnel in our parish, as I’ve had in all the parishes I’ve been blessed to serve. These friends and family—they’ve also been on my mind, close to my heart, and in my prayers these past few days. These are good men and women who take seriously protecting the lives and rights of others, and who show dignity and respect in their service.

And like my black friends, these days have brought a spotlight to the fear they also walk with daily: a fear that they will be judged or maligned by the actions of those they quickly condemn.

Both groups have sat side by side in churches I’ve served, in graduation parties I’ve attended, and at my family reunions. In fact, some are both African American and in law enforcement. And while they disagree on several things, both groups agree that police brutality of every kind must be not merely condemned but eradicated; that police tactics that seek to harm or disable should be used only in extreme circumstances after all other measures have been exhausted; and that, in every case, the dignity of the individual person must be maintained.

Both groups also agree that the protection and sanctity of every life, from conception to natural death, is vital and inseparable from Christian morality. And that this sanctity means more than keeping hearts beating. It also means uplifting and supporting so that they live better here. But more so, sanctity of life means that we see that the life of each person, and our own life, is intimately and inseparably tied to Christ the Life of all the living. So we protect and fight for the life of each person because in each person we see Christ.

These truths are truly tested when the least, the overlooked, the berated, and the marginalized receive an undue proportion of mistreatment and abuse. Whether here in America or in the Middle East and Turkey or elsewhere, intimidating tactics force not just the mistreated but all who look like them to look over their shoulder in fear, and to lose their voice. And when others don’t stand with them, then they come to expect that no one cares.

Standing with those in need does not mean attacking. Violence doesn’t assuage, but rather incites more violence. All forms of violence are against the Christian ethic. This includes words spoken or typed in anger, against the stranger or friend on Facebook or even against people we love in our own family and parish. Angry and extreme words are acts of violence which do more lasting and deep-seated harm than other forms of violence. And words of hate-filled anger reveal a violent heart for which we must repent (which has two parts: confession and change).

Standing with those who are afraid, and who have seen their greatest fears come to life on TV means, first of all, listening to individuals in their homes, businesses and coffee shops. It means hearing the fears of African Americans (as well as others); and being open to changing your attitude as well as your thinking. Then your offer of support is authentic, and is aimed at real individuals instead of labeled people. And offering support includes support for material needs, for emotional well-being, and for inalienable rights. These rights, as we know, are God-given. And they are rooted in a truth that we Christians hold dear: that each of us, from best to worst, from least to greatest, have been made in the image of God.

Christ Jesus speaks to this truth when He reveals the questions we will be asked at our last end. He asks not about doctrines we can recite, but doctrines we have lived. Has our faith been seen in our morality? Is our creed lived out when we keep the Lord’s Commandments? Are we doers of the Word of mercy and kindness, and not merely hearers?

Christ’s answer is that, for our own salvation, we need to seek true and lasting justice, and live for all, regardless of our own experience, politics, or fears. That’s easy to do when it comes to a bag of food or writing a check. But living for all also means sitting, listening, and working for the good of those who live in fear and who have faced trauma and mistreatment.

How we live for another will take a different shape for each of us, given our unique circumstances. But individually, and together, this is a life that we must regularly learn and re-learn, and dedicate ourselves to. For we, who are baptized into Christ, are called to live no longer for ourselves but for those who need us most, confident that in these ways we are living for Christ.

At least in our parish, and especially at this time, I invite a conversation among us. Not a conversation to persuade or win people over to our side, but a conversation where we begin to listen to each other: our thoughts, our fears, our hopes, our challenges, our opportunities. Such a conversation, if done with open and honest hearts and attended with prayer, will both strengthen our parish and will show each of us how to engage in meaningful conversations with others we meet.

Rev Msgr John W Fenton
Pastor

Resource: Fr Paul Abernathy on Racial Reconciliation

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Unique to the Western tradition are the “Embertide” fasts. These fasts occur quarterly, and encompass Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday for the appointed four weeks. Those weeks are: the third week in Advent, the first full week in Lent, Pentecost week, and the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday following the Feast of the Holy Cross (September 14).

During the Embertide, and most fittingly during Pentecost week, these were days when the entire community joined the candidates who were to be ordained on Pentecost Saturday. Those men selected to be made deacons or priests would fast and pray on the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday before ordination.

In thanksgiving for this gift of the Holy Spirit to the Church, and in solidarity with these men, the whole Church both fasts and prays for those whose lives are re-ordered to deliver to the faithful the mystical and life-saving gifts of God.

The faithful pray for the Spirit’s grace both upon the men who will be ordained, and upon the whole church so that she may increase and her members may grow in faith and holiness. Our Lord’s Church cannot grow in faith or holiness without His sacred ministers. Their ministry is to deliver His gifts—the sacred mysteries—which unite us to Christ, seal us with His Spirit, heal our bodies and forgive our souls, and strengthens our life in and with each other until we together attain the fullness of the kingdom of heaven.

But there is something more that is revealed in this Ember Day practice. The whole Christian community fasts and prays (while only some are being ordained) because this Holy Sacrament—unlike all the sacred mysteries—centers the Christian parish family. That is the essence of this sacrament. Fr Alexander Schmemann, of blessed memory, puts it this way:

If each man [or woman] is to find in Christ his own life, if Christian engineers find in the Church what it means to be a Christian engineer, if a Christian novelist finds in the church the idea of what is Christian art, if a Christian father and a Christian mother find in the Church the essence of Christian parenthood, there must be someone in the center of the community who, just as Christ, has nothing of his own, but in whom and through whom everyone else can find his way.

Liturgy & Life

In practical terms, this means that the priest is the one who re-presents Christ; that is, who repeatedly makes Christ present. And it is the same with the deacon: he also presents Christ again and again.

The significant difference between the priest and deacon is that the priest’s primary focus is making present Christ’s compassion and mercy for the soul (i.e., through the sacraments and visitations), while the deacon’s primary emphasis is making present Christ’s compassion for the body (i.e., through material assistance and prayer).

These roles are clearly demonstrated in the Divine Liturgy: both when the deacon reads the Gospel, and when the priest dispenses the Eucharist, leads the prayers, and gives the blessing. In these instances, the deacon and priest first proclaim “Christ is in our midst” (“The Lord be with you”) before exercising their specific ministry. And the faithful acknowledge this whenever they respond, “And with thy spirit”—that is, and with the Spirit who was given to you in the Sacrament of Holy Orders.

Likewise, the Sacrament of Holy Orders is exactly that: a re-ordering of the life of the ordained man. No longer does that man have a “private” or “individual” life. No longer can he make decisions based solely on what is best for himself, his health, his prosperity or success, or even his family. And no longer can he set aside, even when “vacationing” or on his “day-off,” his duty and responsibility to serve at the altar or pray the prescribed prayers.

In a very real sense, then, the ordained man is “under orders.” In every moment, he must “become all things to all men.” He must “do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.” For his life is no longer his own, but is offered up as Christ gave Himself completely as a self-offering for men.

This is why Holy Orders is a sacrament which conveys the grace to bolster and sustain those who are ordained. And perhaps you see why it is both good and necessary for the whole Church to join in the fasts and prayers—not only for the men who will be ordained, but even more so for the priests and deacons who now serve. For by your fasting, you remember the sacrifice; and by your prayers, you support and encourage them in being faithful to their orders.

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