Resurrection Words – Br. James Koester

Br. James Koester

Preached at the Church of St. Augustine and St. Martin, Boston.

The Second Sunday of Easter

John 20:19-31

Something strange is happening.

Something strange is happening. A band of terrified, grieving women and men who spend most of their time behind locked doors in fear, are changing. Their fear is changing into faith. Their terror is changing into courage. Their grief is changing into joy. And soon, no door could keep them in, and no door would be able to keep them, or their message out.

Something strange is happening, and it begins with the resurrection greeting: Peace be with you! Read More

Hope amidst the Eclipse of Light – Br. Curtis Almquist

Br. Curtis Almquist

Advent 4A

Psalm 85:7-13
Matthew 1:18-25

Today we have lighted the last candle in the Advent wreath, the fourth and final Sunday in the season of Advent. Today is also the winter solstice, when the days begin to lengthen and the sun rises higher in the sky. This anticipates a holiday season of light, with festal candles adorning dinner tables, and lights aglow in windows and shops and on Christmas wreaths and trees. These lights we see all around this time of year actually have a Christian history, but not a Christian origin. Followers of Jesus in the first centuries wanted the celebration of Christ’s birth to coincide with or to rival the winter solstice festival of the Roman Empire, which was on December 25th, the day the empire called “the birthday of the unconquered sun.”[1] The early Christians were convinced that Jesus, not the emperor, was the light of the world. In later years, the Gospel writers remembered Jesus’ saying of himself, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

Whether or not we understand the history and symbolism of festal light this season, we do innately crave light. Whether we suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, whether we are afraid of “things that go bump in the night,” or whether we simply feel that we are “in the dark” about the mystery of our own life, we crave light and enlightenment. The candles and strands of light we see most everywhere in the season of Advent and in the coming Christmastide are reminders of how common and how deep this craving for real light actually is, and from the depths of our souls. Read More

The Dance of the Honeybee – Br. James Koester

Br. James Koester

Advent 1A

Isaiah 2:1-5
Romans 13:11-14
Matthew 24:36-44

It happened in an instant. I’d just walked in the building. It was packed, mostly with children. Even before I had made my way to the front, I knew I had to do this.

That’s what I tell people when they ask how I started to keep bees. A friend had been telling me for years that I had to keep bees. She’d been on about bees since I came to know her. In fact, just a few months before that fateful day at the Topsfield Fair I’d been staying with Ann. Once again, she started on about bees. To satisfy her, I took a couple of her bee books to read. The next morning, I returned them, unread, but promised to do some reading about bees when I got home.

So, I went off to the Topsfield Fair, mostly out of obligation. What happened changed my life. I walked in obliged. I walked out committed. In that instant something inside me woke up. Read More

If Only – Br. Lain Wilson

Isaiah 11:1-10

“If only.”

This past week, I recalled a Thanksgiving from almost a decade ago. I had messed up at work and ended up stuck with a pile of papers over the holiday. Not knowing how to admit fault and ask for help, I was caught in a cycle of self-blame, wishing for a way out.

“If only I were somewhere else,” I thought to myself, “If only I were doing something else.”

I’m sure each of you has had your own “if only.” A desire for escape, for something new, for greener grass. A looking ahead and hope for a better future.

I can’t help but think there’s an “if only” lying behind our readings from the psalms and Isaiah this evening. Both foretell an era of justice and prosperity, of deliverance and redemption, of wolves living alongside lambs. If only we had a righteous king.

Both passages have traditionally been interpreted as referring to the coming messiah. Who else could be this textbook-perfect? Read More

Hoping Against Hope – Br. Curtis Almquist

Br. Curtis Almquist

1 Kings 17:8-16
Psalm 146
Mark 12:38-44

I’ve been thinking about Russian babushkas. This past week I have been visited with the memory of the old women of Russia, the Russian babushkas, lighting candles. Especially during those nearly 70 years of Soviet atheism, those faithful old women, wrinkled, kerchiefed, sometimes stooped and hobbling as they kept candles burning in abandoned churches and in little crèches at home. They were keeping a tiny light aflame amidst the carnage from what was being extinguished by the USSR. Lighting those candles was an agency of their resistance, an affirmation of their faith, and a claim on their hope. It was a profound example of “hoping against hope,” as Saint Paul says, these amazing women holding onto hope in the absence of any justification for hope: “hoping against hope.”[i] Very simple; very profound.

In the two scriptures appointed for our liturgy, it is the widows’ day. I am hearing these two stories from scripture also as expressions of hope. Our lesson from the First Book of Kings is one of those desperate stories about a widow and her son facing imminent starvation, with only the paltry amount of flour and drops of oil for their last supper. And we hear of the widow’s hope. Amidst such destitution and emptiness, she shares this ever-so-meager portion of food with the prophet Elijah with the hope that some provision would also happen for her and her son… a miracle indeed which happens in abundance. And then from the Gospel we have Jesus’ story about the poor widow who makes an offering of the tiniest copper coins, which for her is a treasure. This also is an act of hope for what shall come forth.[ii]

Hope is not a skill. Hope is not something we muster in our own souls. Hope is implanted into our very being at our birth. Hope is of our essence. We have been created in the image of God, who is the beginning and end of all hope. Our God of hope. Saint Paul’s description of hope is that hope “abides” in us; hope makes its home in us.[iii] Hope is there for keeps. In the New Testament, the metaphor used for hope is an anchor, an anchor to the soul, something that is sure and steadfast, even amidst the roiling tempests of life.[iv] The psalms speak repeatedly of hope in this same certain way: “For you are my hope, O LORD God, my confidence since I was young.”[v]

Several weeks ago I listened very compassionately to a young man who was desolate. With tears in his eyes, he spoke of how he had lost his way in life. It’s not that he had acted out in some egregious way; it’s that his life had become meaningless. He said, “I feel hopeless.” I asked him if he could tell me about hope? “No,” he said, “I have lost my hope.” He invited my response, and I replied, “But I don’t believe you.” I said he had not lost “his hope” because hope does not belong to him. Hope belongs to God. It is God’s hope. The source of hope is the God of hope. We will never lose hope. We can lose touch with hope or misplace our experience of hope, but hope is never lost. Hope abides with us, because hope is of God.

And then I told this man, much to his surprise, that he was actually experiencing a revelation of hope. I told him what I would say to you. If you feel hopeless, you have the memory of hope in the past. The memory is a sign that hope is alive in you. You remember hope; you have hope. “Shall we hunt for hope in your life?” I asked this man. He nodded, and so we set off on a search, because hope was already a word in his vocabulary, and already an experience in his life. We looked way backward in his life moving up into the present which, as we discovered, was full of miracles. Mostly tiny events stretching back to his childhood that have made all the difference: a passing comment someone had made to him; an unplanned and unwelcomed detour he had had to make; an addiction that nearly killed him which proved to be a to be a passageway into real life; doorways that were opened for him, and doorways not opened for various things along the way; an enemy who had become a cherished friend… On and on he spoke as he recollected the miracle of his life, which enlivened his sense of hope for the future.

And you? Do that! I suggest you try that yourself. The groundswell of hope for the present is to be found in the experience of your past… how you have maybe-impossibly survived and, I trust, have thrived. The seeds of hope in your life were planted in your soul in your birth, and those seeds want to grow… which requires your attention. Reclaim, retrieve, recover the miracle – the miracles – of your life which will germinate the seed of hope planted into your soul from the very beginning..

For many people, this may be very important to do now. The results of last Tuesday’s election have been desolating for some people. Like the extinguishing of light in their souls. “How can this be?” they may ask; you may ask. What good can come from this? Very, very difficult for some. Not difficult for all. Clearly not for half our population: one half jubilant; one half desolate. And on both sides of the divide there are many professing Christians, as we know.

Momentarily we will be invited to pray the Lord’s Prayer, the prayer Jesus taught to his very fractious, partisan disciples. Jesus’ opening pronoun is all inclusive: “Our father,” he prays. And then Jesus presumes there will be breakdowns amongst us when he prays, “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who have sinned against us.” Very sobering words; confronting; inviting. If you elect to join in this prayer this morning, call to mind not just yourself, but also the offending other people whom you imprison in your heart. “Forgive us,” Jesus teaches. “Forgive us our sins.” Forgiveness opens the prison door of resentment, and will enliven hope in your heart.

Going back to the opening pronoun of Jesus’ prayer, “Our” – “Our father” – you might need the help of others to be able to reclaim hope. I am finding it inspiring, humbling, helpful, hopeful to be reading the experience of African Americans, going back to accounts written when slavery was legalized, during the Jim Crow era, and up to the present. There was and is so much appalling suffering and injustice, and, in the midst of it, so much of the inspiration of hope in testimonials, in biographies, and in hymnody and spirituals. You also may find a help and a claim to hope in listening to others, others who are “other” than you are, and who are living in hope. They are in the media and online. They are also our neighbors. Pursue opportunities to listen to others in real time. Ask them a simple, inviting question such as, “Where do find hope?” and then listen.

You might find this very challenging time in which we are living – and by “we” I mean many here in the States but all around the world – to re-open your theology. Jesus lived in a culture and at a time which was shot with injustice and discrimination. Look again at Jesus’ work and words through the lens of egregious political and religious injustice and persecution. And the same for Saint Paul, who was repeatedly tried and jailed unjustly, and who died by capital punishment. It was Saint Paul who wrote as he faced his own death: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”[vi] Re-theologize!

And lastly, to return to the witness of the Russian babushkas, what might be that for you? What practice could you incorporate into the rhythm of your day which is a reminder, both to yourself and a witness to others, about hope. Is it lighting candles? Is it helping in some way to lift someone up? Is it praying your heart out for those who suffer, especially those who capture your heart’s attention? Is it practicing unbridled kindness? The words kindness and kinship come from the same etymological root. We belong to one another. We are kin. Kindness goes a long way in bridging and healing the gap that divides.

Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.” Reclaim the gift of hope God has given you.


[i] Romans 4:18.

[ii] Mark 12:38-44.

[iii] 1 Corinthians 13:13.

[iv] Hebrews 6:19.

[v] Psalm 71:5.

[vi] Romans 15:13.

Marking Time – Br. Lain Wilson

All Souls: All the Faithful Departed

Wisdom 3:1-9

When I was ten years old, we gave my grandmother a calendar with family pictures. I think that’s a fairly standard Christmas gift for a grandmother. She hung it up in her closet . . . and it continued to hang there for the next twenty-seven years. On it, year by year, she noted major life events: vacations, births, marriages, deaths. Long after it ceased being useful as a way of noting the day of the week, the calendar provided a different way of marking time, through the vital rhythms of human lives and relationships. It was an icon of sorts, making present all those people who surrounded her.

On this day of All Souls, we are called especially to remember and make present all those who have surrounded us and who now rest in death. We celebrated at the feast of All Saints yesterday those champions of faith whose closeness to God makes them radiate God’s love, as surely as their icons in glass in the Chapel windows shine with the morning sunlight. Today we commemorate those whose light may be known only to us and to God. We will shortly hear many of their names; many, many—uncountably more—rest in our hearts. We will hear their names, with our ears or in our hearts, and make them present. Read More

Do Not Fret – Br. Curtis Almquist

Br. Curtis Almquist

Psalm 37:1-12

In the portion of Psalm 37 appointed for today’s liturgy, one verb appears several times: “fret.” “Do not fret yourself.” Fretting, which is jealous, angry teeth grinding when we see evil doers, the unscrupulous, the insidiously clever people getting ahead. In just a few verses, the psalmist repeats this mantra three times: “Do not fret yourself.” “Do not fret yourself.” “Refrain from anger, leave rage alone; do not fret yourself; it leads only to evil.”[i]  Which is easier said than done when we see in the news every day how good things happen to bad people.

We need good peripheral vision. On the one hand, we need to keep in touch with history and see, in the long view, how the playing field eventually levels. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”[ii] Quite. Remembering how justice will eventually thunder forth can help us claim hope. In the fullness of time, things will come round right, if not in this lifetime, then in the life to come.

With our peripheral vision, we also need to live in the present and to look ahead, claiming our own agency for God’s will to be done on earth as it shall be in heaven. What is our vocation, what is our calling to be and to do amidst somuch that is wrong? To quote again Martin Luther King, Jr.: “We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”[iii]

The psalmist gives us an elixir for living fully alive in a troubled world:

  1. “Do not fret yourself; it leads only to evil.” The risk, of course, is our becoming the very thing we hate and envy. Detach. “Do not fret yourself.” And then,
  2. Live in hope. In the fullness of time, things will come round right. And then,
  3. Seize the moment. Claim our own agency to make for right in what is within our own reach and power, especially on behalf of the powerless and voiceless in God’s creation: people, birds, animals, the sky and sea, mountains and plains. To make for right, what is within our own power.

But do not fret.


[i] Psalm 37:1, 8, 9.

[ii] Martin Luther King, Jr., originally quoted in a 1958 article printed in “The Gospel Messenger” periodical.

[iii] Martin Luther King, Jr., from his “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” an open letter written on April 16, 1963.

Arise, My Love, My Fair One, and Come Away – Br. James Koester

Br. James Koester,
Superior

Proper 17 B

There is a lot going on today. It’s the Sunday of the Labour Day weekend, a holiday marking the social, economic and political achievements of the labour movement. (As an aside, in the Nineteenth Century, our own Father Field was a great proponent of the move to implement a 5 ½ day work week for child labourers. He created a half-day fund, and each Saturday would take as many boys as he could find, sometimes in the range of over 200, out into the country for an afternoon of games and a picnic, bringing them back to the city in the evening tired, well fed, and happy.) Today is also the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, sometimes known as the Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity. Over this is laid the first Sunday in the Season of Creation, when many parishes, including us, focus their attention on the beauty and wonder of creation, and our need to protect its integrity. Closer to home, I stand before you in the last moments as my time as Superior. Later this morning we will install our brother Keith as our new Superior.

All around us, different things are happening, and it’s hard to know where to look, where to focus. Some things are ending, while others are just beginning. Still others are in mid-course. What is true for the monastery and the church, is no doubt true in your own lives. It is certainly true for the world. So much seems to be changing all at the same time, with some things coming to an end, or even dying, while others are just beginning, and coming to life. Still others are somewhere in between. Read More

Wisdom’s Table – Br. James Koester

Br. James Koester,
Superior

Wisdom 9: 1-6

I’ll begin this morning, not so much by putting you out of your misery, but rather to satisfy your curiosity. I’ll begin by saying there is nothing, yet, to announce. The Chapter will meet later this morning to elect a new Superior to succeed me and that of course will initiate a host of things. We anticipate an announcement going out sometime this afternoon. If we have your email address, you should receive something from us later today. If we don’t have your email address, the announcement will be posted on our web site. If you live locally, it’s possible that if you come to the midday Office, there will be a sign on the church door. Having said that, there will now perhaps be a rush on the chapel at 12:15 today!

In all of this we continue to ask for your prayers for us during this significant time of change and renewal.

The election of a new Superior marks the beginning of a new chapter in our life as a community. It’s the beginning of a new day. It’s not that things ever remain static. Things never remain the same. When we as individuals, or communities, or nations stop growing and changing, we die. Even then, in the process of decomposition, things change. Just go for a walk in the woods at Emery House, and they will show you that. Things change. People change. Monastic communities change. Nations change.

We joke in the community that when a Brother who has been living at Emery House returns here to the Monastery to live, by the time he has reached the end of Emery Lane, everything back at Emery House has changed, and it is no longer the place he left, even just 5 minutes before. The same is true today. By Evening Prayer today, and certainly by Evening Prayer on 1 September, after the installation of the new Superior, things will be different, and that’s exciting, and a little scary. But that’s life. When we stop changing, we die. The only unchanging reality is God’s eternal, and abiding love for creation, which of course includes each one of us. O give thanks to the Lord, for [God] is good; for [God’s] steadfast love endures forever.[1] This is the reality of our faith. It’s not some pious hokum, but the experience of countless women and men of faith down through the ages. Even as people, and communities, and nations have looked into what might appear to be a dark future, as people of faith, we have been able to say, the Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want.[2]

The reality is that all of us stand on the threshold of new beginnings. The Brothers are not the only ones facing a new future. You who are our friends, stand alongside us in this doorway. More significantly, all of us stand at the threshold of something new, as we look toward the presidential election in just over two months. Come Evening Prayer today, come 6 November, things will be different, and yet we say [fear] the Lord, you that are his saints; for those who fear him lack nothing.[3]

Knowing this, today is not a day for us, and perhaps especially for me, to look back. Rather today is a day to look forward to the future, not with dread, but with hope, knowing the promise of God is to meet us, in whatever that future holds. As the Risen Lord said to Mary Magdelene that first Easter Day, go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.[4]

For the past several months, as I have contemplated our future, this promise of the Risen Lord to meet us in the Galilee of our future, has held a significant place in my prayer. I have imagined myself walking into my future, our future, and hearing God’s promise to Joshua spoken to me, spoken to us: I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.’[5]

But how are we to know that God goes before us? How are we to see Jesus as we approach the shore of the Galilee of our future? How are we to make sense of it all, especially as things are changing around us? How can we live in hope, as we look into the unknown, especially if it appears uncertain, and bleak? Isn’t this just wishful thinking?

Listen again to our first lesson:

Wisdom has built her house…She has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine, she has…set her table. She has sent out her servant-girls, she calls… ‘You that are simple, turn in here! …Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed. Lay aside immaturity, and live, and walk in the way of insight.’ [6]

This house, Wisdom’s house, is the house of God where the psalmist tells us, we will dwell forever.[7]This house, Wisdom’s house, is the many roomed mansion Jesus has prepared for us.[8] This house, Wisdom’s house, is the place, not only of our future, but of our present, for we already abide in that place. We have turned into Wisdom’s house. We have sat at her table. We have feasted on her bread and wine. For by feasting on Wisdom’s bread and wine, we have eaten and drunk Christ’s Body and Blood, and doing so we abide in him and he in us.[9]

We stand on the threshold of a new world, where things will be different. We stand at that threshold full of hope, expecting to see Jesus who has gone there before us. We stand fortified by Wisdom’s bread and wine, and Christ’s Body and Blood. We stand abiding in Christ, who has promised to be with us, until the end of the ages.[10]

Yes, things will be different tomorrow. They will be different for all of us. We will have a new Superior. Soon, there will be a new, or a not so new, President. No matter what the future holds for any of us, we can face it with confidence, not because we are wishful thinkers, but because we are Christians full of hope. That hope which is ours tells us that the God who promises to be with us always, will never leave or abandon us. That hope, which is the mark of a Christian, is nourished here at Wisdom’s table in Christ’s Body and Blood. So, turn in here, and feast on God’s gift of hope, as we cross the threshold into the future, where the Risen Lord promises to meet us. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.


[1] 1 Chronicles 16: 34

[2] Psalm 23: 1

[3] Psalm 34: 9

[4] Matthew 28: 10

[5] Joshua 1: 9

[6] Wisdom 9: 1 – 6

[7] Psalm 23: 6b

[8] John 14: 1ff

[9] John 6: 56

[10] Matthew 28: 8

Death and Life – Br. Lain Wilson

Acts 5:27-33
Psalm 34:15-22
John 3:31-36

Have you ever faced a life-or-death situation?

For many of us, the honest answer will be no. Proportionally few of us serve in the armed forces, or are subsistence farmers, or fetch water by walking down long, dangerous roads. Or do as Peter and the apostles did, defying the authorities to preach in the name of Jesus, witnessing to the truth and risking death for it (Acts 5:28-29).

What allows those facing such danger, such precariousness, to go on? Need, for sure—the need to act or harvest or fetch or preach that impels them forward. But more than that. Trust. Trust in training and comrades; trust that the earth will bear fruit; trust that the spring will provide water. Trust, as the psalmist sings, that God is near to the brokenhearted, that God will deliver the righteous out of all their troubles and will keep safe all their bones (Ps 34:18, 19, 20).

And while we may not face life-or-death situations, trust is still embedded deeply in our lives. Trust in government and economies, in safety nets and supply chains, in smartphones and airplane doors. We trust these things will always exist, that they will provide or support or protect. We trust, until something shakes that trust and reveals that we may be closer to life-and-death situations than we think. The chapter in our Rule on “Holy Death” gets at this: in our “hardships, renunciations, losses, bereavements, frustrations, and risks . . . death is at work in advance” in our lives.[1]

But if what results when trust fails—all the bad and scary parts of life—can point us toward death, so can trust that succeeds, trust in what won’t fail us. And that trust points us to a death that is not final but transformed: “Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life” (Jn 3:36) and “has passed from death to life” (Jn 5:24). If our daily experiences of loss and failure and frustration prepare us for the certainty of our deaths, our daily experiences of trust—and the hope and joy and love that accompany them—do so as well. The also prepare us for death, show us how death is at work in advance in our lives, but a death transformed by Jesus’s saving work: “In Christ we are still one with [the departed],” our Rule goes on, and we believe, we trust, “that we will be reunited when Christ gathers all creation to himself, so that God may be all in all.”[2]

You may not face a life-or-death situation every day. But our trust that “God is true,” that God hears our cry, that God is near to us, that God saves us, makes every day a death-and-life proposition.

Amen.


[1] The Rule of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist (Lanham, MD, 1997), 97.

[2] Ibid.