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A group of older adults was once asked, “What three things would you do differently if you had your life to live over again?” Here are their top three answers:
I wish I could be more reflective. I wish I could have been more courageous. I wish I could have contributed more. We may wish we could live differently in these ways. The good news is that we can do so. Insofar as we do, we are living a life of faith. Faith is a gift and a choice. The faithful person is reflective. He or she steps back from the rush of time’s river to consider personal experience in the light of eternity. The faithful person demonstrates courage. By resting in God, that person becomes able to do and to endure with a courage more moral than physical. The faithful person is a contributor. Aware of blessings, that person welcomes ways to serve and give, distributing assets to further the common good. Reflection, courage, contributions—these can be regrets that haunt our later years or can be, whatever our age, characteristic of how we live. You decide! Charles Hoffacker
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Today’s Kalendar commemorates the publication of the Church of England’s First Book of Common Prayer. Printed in 1549, it translated liturgical texts from Latin into English, with Archbishop Cranmer as the principal translator and compiler. The move to translation was in keeping with the 16th C. Reformation principle that public worship should be conducted in “a language understanded of the people.” The book represented conservative reform. In many ways Cranmer’s translation stayed close to his Roman Catholic Latin sources, while he made some adjustments in a direction away from Roman Catholic thought and practice at that time.
The book shows two major features of continuity and change, which remain in Anglicanism today. First, Cranmer combined the traditional daily monastic services into one for morning, Matins, and one for evening, Vespers. What was new was that all parishioners were invited to participate, and the services were required to be held every day in every parish church. There was also a schedule for daily reading aloud from the Bible sequentially, such that the entire Old Testament was read through once a year and the New Testament was read through four times a year. Second, much of the Latin text of the Mass was translated directly, keeping the overall shape of that liturgy. Rubrics required that traditional mass vestments were to be worn by the priest, deacon, and subdeacon (and the second printing of the book was a musical edition, with provision for the celebrant’s singing the entire prayer of consecration). All that was very familiar in look. But some important changes were made. Everyone present was to communicate, receiving both bread and wine, and parish Mass was to be celebrated at least once a week after Matins on Sunday, if not more often. The offertory was reduced in scope, with the people offering themselves, “our souls and bodies” rather than the priest’s offering gifts of bread and wine on behalf of the people. And the sense of “sacrifice” was that of “praise and thanksgiving”—these and other changes were deliberate deviations from Roman Catholic understandings at the time. (Space limits prevent detailed discussion here of the pros and cons of this.) The book was immediately condemned both by extreme conservative Roman Catholics as “heretical” and by radical Protestant reformers as not going far enough in reaction against Romanist “idolatry.” But the book’s relatively even-handed character has formed worship and belief in a way that over time has become distinctly Anglican. The book emphazed set prayers and other texts from monastic communal worship, public Bible reading, and the importance of the communion service—especially the importance of the worshiping community’s receiving the Sacrament, not just watching the liturgy being enacted. This “both/and rather than either/or” approach was later called “via media”—a middle way—so as to be both Catholic and Reformed. It is our heritage as Anglicans, and today we give thanks for that, as manifested especially in the 1549 Book of Common Prayer. Frederick Erickson Alphonsus Liguori (1696–1787) was an Italian bishop, composer (his best known musical work is his Christmas carol, Quanno Nascetti Ninno, “From Starry Skies Thou Comest”), musician, poet, lawyer, philosopher and theologian (he wrote 111 works on spirituality and theology). Most importantly, he was a lover of Christ, of our Triune God. His words, drawn from his experience in faith, may help, as we each struggle in different ways, with outer turmoil and inner turmoil.
"The more a person loves God, the more reason he has to hope in Him. This hope produces in the Saints an unutterable peace, which they preserve even in adversity, because as they love God, and know how beautiful He is to those who love Him, they place all their confidence and find all their repose in Him alone." Let us, as we are, perhaps unsure, perhaps weary and worried, perhaps not feeling very loving or very loved, place all our confidence and find all our response in God. Dominique Peridans This Sunday, we celebrate the Principal Feast of the Trinity. It symbolizes the Triune God – the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, all in one. It’s said that Thomas Beckett’s first act, after he was consecrated as Archbishop of Canterbury on the Sunday following Pentecost, was to create the new Festival of Trinity Sunday. Though reverence for the Trinity was an old concept, this was the first formal recognition in the Western church. It’s often portrayed as a triangle in the Western church, and a circle in the Eastern.
It’s said that the Greeks have a word for everything; they do for this. It’s perichoresis, from the Greek words “peri” – around -- and “chorein” ---make room for, go forward, contain. The Trinity contains love all around. The Father’s love is poured into his Son. The Son’s love is poured into his Father. And the Spirit, as we heard and rejoiced in at Pentecost last Sunday, is poured into us. This gift of loving us enables us to give love, for social justice. In this dark time that we’re living through now, we can and should seek the Holy Spirit within us. We should let this love comfort us. And we should love others while we live in dark times, so that the dark becomes lighter. The Holy Spirit is always with us. We can pray to bring it closer. And we can pray for it to light the darkness. Mary McCue In To Heal a Fractured World: The Ethics of Responsibility, Jonathan Sacks contrasts a penitential culture with a blame culture.
Penitence involves honestly acknowledging our mistakes, learning from them, and endeavoring to live better lives. We seek reconciliation with God, people, and the earth where needed, and do not waste energy on unnecessary guilt and shame. Mistakes serve a higher purpose when they lead us to new opportunities for good. Our communities benefit as a result. If we succumb to the temptations of blame culture, we treat ourselves as a victimized object. We pin blame on somebody else and nothing more happens. Energy dissipates. Everyone loses. We can opt instead for a penitential culture approach, one where we ask, “This happened; what shall I do?” We recognize ourselves as a subject who has choices to make. This can lead us to constructive action, such as calling oppressors to account. We are not distracted from our focus on a better future. The future can be different from the past. It depends on whether we participate in a culture of blame or a culture of penitence. Charles Hoffacker At Pentecost the followers of Jesus receive the Holy Spirit and are transformed from being disciples (students) to being apostles (those who are sent). They have become a New Israel—a New Age has begun—one that continues to this day. It’s a new beginning with cosmic significance as well as significance for salvation history. This significance is pointed to by the imagery of wind and breath of life as spirit of God. As the disciples were gathered there was a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind . . . like cloven tongues of fire that sat upon each of them . . . they were filled with the Holy Spirit (breath). (Acts 2.2-4)
The symbolism of wind and breath (ruach in Hebrew, pneuma and pnoes in Greek) recall Old Israel’s initial Creation story, as told in the first chapter of Genesis. While the earth was a formless void a wind from God swept over the face of the waters (Gen 1.2) In the second Creation story that immediately follows the first in Genesis God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life (Gen 2.7). This is literally inspiration—God breaths into Adam God’s own breath and Adam becomes a living creature—divine inspiration precedes human respiration. And similarly at Pentecost the Holy Spirit breathes new life into the disciples, coming to them in cloven tongues of wind similar to those of fire—the tongues are both connected and distinct. They breathe upon the disciples together and separately, individually and corporately. A new beginning. Creation 2.0 And that inspiring remains with us today. The Holy Spirit breathes life into the Church as a whole as well as into its individual members. (When I first inquired about the Episcopal Church with a priest who was Anglo Catholic he said, “The Church is not an organization but an organism.” In other words, a living being breathed into—inspired and taught—by the Holy Spirit, the breath of God.) We see today the close connection between breath and physical life. In the acute form of the COVID-19 infection, the ability of lung tissue to take in oxygen is compromised, in a condition called pneumonia. Lack of the breath of life results in death. But the presence of the breath of life allows life to continue, indeed to flourish. The breath of God is physically life-giving and life sustaining, as shown by the inspiration of Adam. It is also spiritually life giving and life sustaining, as shown by the inspiration of the Church at Pentecost. Today among us there is mighty power in God’s continuing to breathe into us God’s breath of life. Pentecost is still with us and in us now, as individuals and in the whole Church, through the life giving inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Frederick Erickson |
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May 2021
authorsThe Rev. Charles Hoffacker is a retired priest of the Diocese of Washington |
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