The Internet Monk Archives

The Second Turning: or How JT, a Field of Dreams, a Marble Tomb, and Learning to Do Nothing Saved My Life

This is a book about the second turning.

In the first turning, a Christian experiences the transformation from a natural person to a spiritual person. Instead of “self” being the center of life — exploring, cultivating, adoring it — God becomes the center. This miracle is brought forth by the Holy Spirit giving us new life in Christ. It is a necessary, indispensable, basic step.

But it is only a first step. The work of the Holy Spirit should not stop here but lead to a second turning in which the spiritual person again becomes natural.

– Walter Trobisch
Foreword to Out of the Saltshaker and into the World

* * *

I first read Walter Trobisch’s words over thirty years ago. They struck me then as extraordinarily wise and needful for my life. I have spent the last three decades making the second turning.

When I had a spiritual awakening in my late teens, I found myself in a new world of fundamentalist Christian faith and practice. Let me talk about one aspect of that world today. One major theme that drove me was the concept of “giving up things for Jesus.” I honestly couldn’t tell you how much of that came from the preaching and teaching I was receiving and how much was my own imperfect understanding of what this new life was all about. All I know is that I had the idea that following Jesus meant leaving the world behind — and that meant giving things up.

So I did. I gave up playing baseball. I gave up listening to “secular” music. I gave up any thought of pursuing a career outside of “ministry.” I gave up “small ambitions” and set myself on a course to change the world by signing up for Bible college and promising to follow Jesus, even to the ends of the earth. I had made the “first turning.”

I spent a year in community college and still remember the conversation when some of my former teammates begged and argued with me to play baseball for the college team, but my mind was made up. That was behind me now. I had given it up for Jesus.

I can still see the view from my dorm room at Bible college. It looked down on the music building next door. A dumpster stood along the walk between our buildings. One day after I had gone home for a weekend I brought back boxes of classic 60’s and 70’s rock albums and with fear and trembling threw them in that dumpster. We couldn’t listen to them at school anyway (one of 10,000 rules there), and I just couldn’t justify keeping them any longer. It was clear to me that they weren’t compatible with a life with Jesus that was defined by hearing his call, climbing out of the boat, and leaving the nets behind.

The fact that I was in Bible college was due to a concession by my father to his headstrong son. He gave me a very good set of arguments as to why I should go to college or university and develop skills and perhaps a career that could stand me in good stead if my enthusiasm for ministry wore off or if it did not work out for some reason. Of course, I knew better because I thought I had heard Jesus call me to give all that up. So I didn’t listen to my father, a choice I’ve often regretted.

That was my understanding of the life of following Jesus. Give up the old. Lose your life. Die to self. Separate from the world.

Of course, there was a positive purpose too, for all this giving up things. But that purpose was narrowly defined: it was the Bible, full time ministry, and that was it. I had no idea that Jesus had any bigger purpose for my life than that. I did not understand that Jesus’ goal for me was that I would flourish in him as a forgiven human being in this age and in the new creation, and that through that grace I would extend love to my neighbors and be fully engaged in this life as a person of faith, hope, and love.

In order for me to get on that path, a second turning was needed. The one who had been awakened to the spiritual life now had to become natural again. Let me tell you briefly about four experiences along the curve of the second turning.

Continue reading “The Second Turning: or How JT, a Field of Dreams, a Marble Tomb, and Learning to Do Nothing Saved My Life”

Evangelicalism as a Way Station

I want to say something in praise of evangelicalism today. Evangelicalism has played an important role in my spiritual formation, and I know from experience that it has done the same in the lives of many others.

The graph of my spiritual history is simple: from mainline Christianity to adolescent rebellion to spiritual awakening through evangelicalism to gradual dissatisfaction with the world of evangelicalism and back home to mainline Christianity.

I have met others who have followed a similar path. Just the other day my pastor told me about a young man who had grown up in the Lutheran church, left the church as a teenager, was “converted” in an evangelical church, then became “burned out” in that church environment, and one day stumbled back into a Lutheran congregation, where he is now settling in as an adult.

Evangelicalism is at its best when it gets the attention of prodigals, gets them moving, and points them toward home. Evangelicalism provides a way station where people weary of the world can stop in, find rest and refreshment, get some guidance, and then find their way home. Evangelicalism has a missional mentality and focus. It is good at attracting people, waking them up, and getting them back in touch with God. It is spiritual CPR. It’s a voice in the wilderness that gets people into the waters of Jordan to repent and believe.

But what happens then? In my opinion, evangelicalism, for reasons often discussed on this blog, works best as a mission but not as a church tradition. In general, it does not have the theological depth, historical heritage, ecclesiological and liturgical traditions, or institutional ballast to provide a stable home where people may be formed into communities with the ability to pass the faith on for generations and centuries.

To be sure, mainline traditions have not always grasped the importance of being that home, nor have they always been keen to support missional efforts to “seek and save the lost,” preferring rather to maintain their traditions and institutions rather than do what was necessary to reach people. Nor have the historic traditions been immune to chasing silly fads or getting distracted by political agendas — though they were certainly different ones than the revivalists, church growth practitioners, and Christian Right of evangelicalism have been running after.

Nevertheless, where liturgy has been faithfully practiced, tradition honored, and historical memory maintained, there is hope of a good foundation and solid structure in which one may leave the pilgrim life for a more permanent home.

Back in 2007, Michael Spencer wrote that this may be the very moment when the mainlines and historic traditions have just what disaffected evangelicals are longing for:

It’s a moment that — believe it or not — some people actually want to go to something that looks like church as they remember it, see a recognizable pastor, hear a recognizable sermon, participate in the Lord’s Supper, experience some reverence and decorum, and leave feeling that, in some ways, it WAS a lot like their mom and dad’s church. It’s a moment when reinventing everything may not be as sweet an idea as we were told it was.

Perhaps it is time for evangelicals and mainline Christians to recognize what each has to offer the other and to work on creatively forging new understandings and partnerships that will allow each to do what it does best.

As for me, I am thankful for both. But only in a historic mainline tradition have I found a home.

Internet Monk Makes the New York Times!

I received an email from Shawn Askinosie today. Shawn is a criminal defense lawyer turned confectioner. His company, Askinosie Chocolate in Springfield, Mo., makes highly regarded bean-to-bar artisanal chocolate with 10 percent of the profits shared with the company’s cocoa farmers in Ecuador, Honduras, the Philippines and Tanzania.

He was interviewed by an opinion page writer for the New York Times and the piece appeared on Sunday. When asked what he has been following lately, this is what he said:

FOLLOWING: David Lebovitz’s blog. He’s a food blogger in Paris and in my opinion the pre-eminent food blogger. And Internet Monk. You would think it’s a blog about monastic life, but it’s really about having a more inclusive, forgiving and grace-filled spirituality as opposed to judgment and condemnation. And my wife, Caron, is a great writer and she sends me a short, uplifting e-mail every morning. It’s one of the highlights of my day.

Thanks so much, Shawn!

You made my day.

Here is the link to the full article.

An Entry Level Guide to the Lutheran Perspective

I just read a brief and winsome introduction to The Christian Faith from a Lutheran Perspective by Peter W. Marty, pastor of St. Paul Lutheran Church in Davenport, Iowa, as well as a noted speaker and author.

Pastor Marty covers many of the key teachings from the Lutheran tradition in a simple but not simplistic fashion, explaining them as though he were having a conversation with a neighbor about what his church believes. One point I appreciate is made at the outset of the book. He makes it clear that the noun that captures his identity is “Christian,” while “Lutheran” is an adjective modifying the main fact about his faith. As he puts it: “This is intentional. It has to do with keeping adjectives and nouns in their proper place, and retaining some proportional humility for our Lutheran claims.”

What areas of the Lutheran faith tradition does Peter Marty discuss?

Interestingly, he starts by encouraging us to appreciate doubt. Growing out of Martin Luther’s own spiritual struggles, the tradition that bears his name recognizes the fact of human limitations and the impossibility of certainty in dealing with a God beyond comprehension and a life filled with imponderables. Some approaches to the Christian faith make God look “more domesticated than our favorite pet,” he writes, but it is one of “the gifts of love to bring the arrogance of certainty to its knees.”

He then takes up the matter of self-perspective and talks about the dual nature of our human experience as people of faith.

One minute we think we’re God’s gift to the human race, or at least to our best friends. Life hums. Our talents expand. Others receive the grace of our kindness. The next minute we recognize what a jumbled mess we have made of different relationships and how miserably we have failed God.

It is one of the trademarks of Lutheran thought that “we are not mostly good and partially bad. We are completely loving and completely lousy, both at the same time. We are wholly saint and wholly sinner.” We cannot afford to ignore either reality when living our lives.

Next, the central reality in the world of Lutherans is worship, says Pastor Marty. He calls it “our weekly opportunity to practice not being God.” The gathered assembly of the Church for worship is the place where we can take God seriously and know that we are taken seriously as well. He issues a pastoral warning against those who say they can find God much better alone in nature. He urges us to remember that “nature gives no clue as to how sinners might be reconciled to God and invested with a hope in Christ.” Nor can it teach us to love our neighbors or our enemies or serve the poor. Staying away from worship with the congregation leads to a privatized journey that “transforms God to be virtually anything we want.”

That leads to discussions of the sacraments, first baptism, then the Lord’s Supper. Baptism is the divine act that gives Christians the “rich identity that reminds us we have a permanent place in the heart of God.” Communion is our family meal and it reminds us that we are in God’s household because we were given life, not because we have somehow followed certain rules and met entrance requirements. I like what he says when he affirms that we do not take communion, we receive communion as a gift of heaven.

And that leads to the word grace. Quoting Eugene Peterson, who once said, “We wake into a world we didn’t make, and into a salvation we didn’t earn,” Marty notes that we begin each day and “grace is underway even before we reach for the cornflakes.” The daily rhythm as marked in Jewish culture has it right. We begin our day in the evening, when we rest and leave all work to God. “At daybreak we get to join in the work already begun.” Grace is a key word for Lutherans who, when they are practicing the tradition faithfully, recognize that all of life is pure gift.

Continue reading “An Entry Level Guide to the Lutheran Perspective”

Easter Monday Reflections

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.’ Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.

– Luke 24:1-12

* * *

“He went home, amazed…”

Yesterday, the Gospel lesson for Easter Sunday from Luke traced the emotional journey of some of Jesus’ friends early on the first Easter morning.

The women went to the tomb prepared to deal with death.

Finding the stone rolled away, and the tomb empty, they were perplexed as to what had happened.

Confronted by “two men in dazzling clothes” who announced the good news of the resurrection, they became terrified and fell to the ground in fear.

When the women rushed back and told the apostles and others, the disciples did not believe their report.

After running to the site and seeing the empty tomb for himself, Peter went home, amazed.

This was the first year I fully celebrated the Three Days (Triduum) and Easter Sunday with a congregation, and I felt something of this emotional journey as I never have before.

Thursday evening, we had a lovely Maundy Thursday service. By nature, this night is a time of mixed feelings. The meal we shared together brought joy. The practice of washing feet reminded us of our loving connection with our sisters and brothers. We had less formal music that night: piano, guitars, violins, and percussion, along with an ensemble of singers that led folk-style and contemporary hymns. Our youth put on a chancel drama reenacting the Last Supper, the footwashing and Jesus’ teaching in the Upper Room. In the midst of our intimate fellowship, however, there was an sense of foreboding that erupted into word suddenly when, at the end of the service, a reader stood up and recited the words of Psalm 88:

O Lord, God of my salvation,
when, at night, I cry out in your presence,
let my prayer come before you;
incline your ear to my cry.
For my soul is full of troubles,
and my life draws near to Sheol.

As we silently reflected on this sorrowful lament, the pastor cleared the Table, removed its cloth, and put away all symbols of celebration. We arose in silence and went into the night.

The mood on Good Friday evening, of course, was somber. A simple service had been prepared, built around Heinrich Schütz’s “Die sieben Worte Jesu Christe am Kreuz.” To open, a hymn was sung, followed by prayer and an introductory homily by the pastor on the Seven Words. Then we moved into a pattern in which we alternated sections of the choral piece, the reading of the Seven Words, silence, chimes marking the Words, and prayers. The sanctuary was quiet, attentive, and reverent. The singing of Jesus’ words in German along with the pipe organ and violins was deeply expressive and moving.

We had journeyed as far as Calvary.

Continue reading “Easter Monday Reflections”

Holy Week with Duccio: Appearance behind Locked Doors

Christ Jesus lay in death’s strong bands
for our offenses given;
but now at God’s right hand he stands
and brings us life from heaven.
Therefore let us joyful be
and sing to God right thankfully
loud songs of hallelujah! Hallelujah!

So let us keep the festival
to which the Lord invites us;
Christ is the very joy of all,
the sun that warms and lights us.
Now his grace to us imparts
eternal sunshine to our hearts;
the night of sin is ended. Hallelujah!

– Martin Luther

Holy Week with Duccio: Deposition

Faithful cross, true sign of triumph,
be for all the noblest tree;
none in foliage, none in blossom,
none in fruit your equal be;
symbol of the world’s redemption,
for your burden makes us free.

– “Sing, my Tongue”

Venantius Honorius Clementianus Fortunatus (ca. 535-600)
trans. by John Mason Neale

Footnotes on Holy Saturday

“It is rare to hear a sermon about Easter Saturday; for much of Christian history the day has found no place in liturgy and worship it could call its own within the triduum, or three-day festival spanning Good Friday and the Day of Resurrection…”

– Between Cross and Resurrection: A Theology of Holy Saturday
Alan E. Lewis

Here is the text of Alan Lewis’s footnote on that statement:

There have, of course, always been special prayers and readings for “Holy Saturday” in church traditions with fixed liturgies and lectionaries. But torn — quite properly — between contrite memory and expectant hope, the church has often found it impossible to clarify any one particular theme or practice for worship and celebration on this day. Indeed, such is the ambiguity and anonymity of Easter Eve that it has sometimes lost its distinctive, if silent, place in the Christian calendar altogether, and been encroached upon liturgically by the other days of the Easter triduum, especially by Easter Day itself. Thus there persisted for centuries a Roman Catholic tradition of chronologically premature celebrations of the Easter Mass, held as early as the Saturday morning. This practice ceased in 1956. It is certainly better for the church to do nothing that is liturgically specific on the second day than to compromise the uniqueness of its position between cross and resurrection by absorbing it as simply an extension of Good Friday or an anticipation of Easter.

The tradition of Paschal Vigil on Easter Eve, which goes back to apostolic times, has been preserved in both East and West, and is now enjoying something of a revival even in some Protestant circles, is a quite different matter, of course, and wholly appropriate. It preserves the integrity of the narrative, and indeed draws attention to its structure, by not anticipating Easter but waiting patiently, through the long, last hours of Saturday night, until the joyous third-day dawn….

In the theological tradition, as we shall see below, on the Greek Father Gregory of Nyssa has perceived much dogmatic significance in Holy Saturday, while Martin Luther daringly expressed the thought that after Good Friday God’s very self lay dead in the grave. In contemporary times, the great Roman Catholic theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar has alone, but profoundly, explored the meaning of Holy Saturday….

* * *

Here is some good perspective on Roman Catholic understanding and practice from a helpful article on CatholicCulture.org:

Holy Saturday (from Sabbatum Sanctum, its official liturgical name) is sacred as the day of the Lord’s rest; it has been called the “Second Sabbath” after creation. The day is and should be the most calm and quiet day of the entire Church year, a day broken by no liturgical function. Christ lies in the grave, the Church sits near and mourns. After the great battle He is resting in peace, but upon Him we see the scars of intense suffering…The mortal wounds on His Body remain visible….Jesus’ enemies are still furious, attempting to obliterate the very memory of the Lord by lies and slander.

Mary and the disciples are grief-stricken, while the Church must mournfully admit that too many of her children return home from Calvary cold and hard of heart. When Mother Church reflects upon all of this, it seems as if the wounds of her dearly Beloved were again beginning to bleed.

According to tradition, the entire body of the Church is represented in Mary: she is the “credentium collectio universa” (Congregation for Divine Worship, Lettera circolare sulla preparazione e celebrazione delle feste pasquali, 73). Thus, the Blessed Virgin Mary, as she waits near the Lord’s tomb, as she is represented in Christian tradition, is an icon of the Virgin Church keeping vigil at the tomb of her Spouse while awaiting the celebration of his resurrection.

* * *

The mood of this day is somewhat different and more expectant, even joyous, in Eastern churches. Holy Saturday is called “The Great Sabbath” to commemorate Christ resting in the tomb, but it is also the day in which he, in spirit, performed “The Harrowing of Hell,” setting free those bound in Hades and lifting them up to Paradise. In some Eastern churches, the day is known as “Joyous Saturday.”

Here is an informative overview from the teaching site of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America:

On Great and Holy Saturday the Orthodox Church commemorates the burial of Christ and His descent into Hades. It is the day between the Crucifixion of our Lord and His glorious Resurrection. The Matins of Holy Saturday is conducted on Friday evening, and while many elements of the service represent mourning at the death and burial of Christ, the service itself is one of watchful expectation.

On Great and Holy Saturday the Church contemplates the mystery of the Lord’s descent into Hades, the place of the dead. Death, our ultimate enemy, is defeated from within. “He (Christ) gave Himself as a ransom to death in which we were held captive, sold under sin. Descending into Hades through the Cross … He loosed the bonds of death” (Liturgy of St. Basil).

On Great Saturday our focus is on the Tomb of Christ. This is no ordinary grave. It is not a place of corruption, decay and defeat. It is life-giving, a source of power, victory and liberation.

Great Saturday is the day between Jesus’ death and His resurrection. It is the day of watchful expectation, in which mourning is being transformed into joy. The day embodies in the fullest possible sense the meaning of xarmolipi – joyful-sadness, which has dominated the celebrations of Great Week. The hymnographer of the Church has penetrated the profound mystery, and helps us to understand it through the following poetic dialogue that he has devised between Jesus and His Mother:

“Weep not for me, O Mother, beholding in the sepulcher the Son whom thou hast conceived without seed in thy womb. For I shall rise and shall be glorified, and as God I shall exalt in everlasting glory those who magnify thee with faith and love.”

“O Son without beginning, in ways surpassing nature was I blessed at Thy strange birth, for I was spared all travail. But now beholding Thee, my God, a lifeless corpse, I am pierced by the sword of bitter sorrow. But arise, that I may be magnified.”

“By mine own will the earth covers me, O Mother, but the gatekeepers of hell tremble as they see me, clothed in the bloodstained garment of vengeance: for on the Cross as God have I struck down mine enemies, and I shall rise again and magnify thee.”

“Let the creation rejoice exceedingly, let all those born on earth be glad: for hell, the enemy, has been despoiled. Ye women, come to meet me with sweet spices: for I am delivering Adam and Eve with all their offspring, and on the third day I shall rise again.” (9th Ode of the Canon)

Great Saturday is the day of the pre-eminent rest. Christ observes a Sabbath rest in the tomb. His rest, however, is not inactivity but the fulfillment of the divine will and plan for the salvation of humankind and the cosmos. He who brought all things into being, makes all things new. The re-creation of the world has been accomplished once and for all. Through His incarnation, life and death Christ has filled all things with Himself He has opened a path for all flesh to the resurrection from the dead, since it was not possible that the author of life would be dominated by corruption.

Saturday Ramblings 3.30.13

It is Holy Saturday, iMonks. It’s a day for quiet meditation, silence, solitude. It’s the day before The Day. And without The Day, we are eternally lost. Yet as you prepare for the joy of tomorrow, don’t let’s rush past the despair of today. Now that I have effectively driven all happiness from your day, shall we ramble?

I have always been a big admirer of St. Francis. I was introduced to him in the 70s through the Franco Zeffirelli film Brother Sun, Sister Moon. I have read books about him, most notably Nikos Kazantzakis’s Saint Francis. Perhaps I’m being premature, but I think we may be seeing yet another St. Francis in this new pope, who wisely—or prophetically?—took my spiritual hero’s name. St. Francis caused great uproar in the established Church of his day through simplicity, poverty, charity. We are seeing this now from Pope Francis.

He has decided, at least for the present, to forego the perks of his office, such as living in the well-appointed papal apartments, and will instead reside in a guesthouse. Imagine President Obama giving up the White House to live instead in a nearby Hampton Inn. (Well, ok, they do have really nice pillows …)

Then he held the Maundy Thursday mass in a prison for “young offenders,” washing the feet of a dozen prisoners. He also spoke on Thursday to more than 2,000 bishops and priests, saying they should be “shepherds who have the smell of their sheep.” Are you listening, Protestants and evangelicals?

Continue reading “Saturday Ramblings 3.30.13”

Holy Week with Duccio: Crucifixion

I am one who has seen affliction
   under the rod of God’s wrath;
he has driven and brought me
   into darkness without any light;
against me alone he turns his hand,
   again and again, all day long.

He has made my flesh and my skin waste away,
   and broken my bones;
he has besieged and enveloped me
   with bitterness and tribulation;
he has made me sit in darkness
   like the dead of long ago.

– Lamentations 3:1-6