Posts Tagged ‘risk’
Flesh-and-Blood Faith – Br. Lain Wilson
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Br. Lain Wilson
When I lived in DC for a decade before moving to the monastery, I had three bad cycling accidents. Not “broken-bones-and-hospital-visit” bad, but “ice-and-painkillers” bad.
The last and worst one took place about twelve miles from home. I was cycling down a path at a reasonable clip when I hit a root and went flying over the handlebars. I came down hard, cleaned myself up, and spent the next several minutes somewhat comically trying to fix a flat tire with one hand. Then I got back onto the bike and slowly cycled home.
The only reason it wasn’t a hospital-visit accident was because I was wearing my helmet. And the only reason I felt assured that I could get back home was because I was still wearing my helmet. It was a risky situation, but I trusted my equipment. Read More
A Woman’s Place is.… – Br. David Vryhof
Br. David Vryhof
Luke opens the 8th chapter of his gospel with a summary of what Jesus has been doing thus far. He has been going “through cities and villages,” Luke tells us, “proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God.” But the next sentence contains an unexpected twist: “The twelve were with him, as well as some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities…. who provided for them out of their resources.” We are well aware of the 12 men who followed Jesus, but how many of us are aware of the women who also traveled with him? Given the culture in which Jesus lived, this was a highly unusual arrangement.
What do we know about these women? Read More
Risking All – Br. James Koester
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Profession of Jack Crowley SSJE in Life Vows
When you told me the other day Jack, that you wanted to use the same gospel reading for today’s profession, as you had for your initial profession three years ago, I thought, well that makes my life easy, I’ll just use the same sermon! After all I reasoned, some here today weren’t here in 2021, and so won’t have heard that sermon. Others will have forgotten it by now. For those few who do remember it, I could simply express shock at the very idea I would repeat myself. But as you know, life isn’t that simple. While I don’t disagree with anything I said back then, today is a different occasion. You and I are in different places. Different things resonate with me. And for the last year or so, as I have thought about this moment, and prayed for you, one word has been constantly present and that has changed how I am thinking about today. The word which resonates with me today is risk.
Having lived with us now for six years, you’ll be familiar with that word, both as we use it in the Rule, and live it day by day. It’s a word that appears in one form or another, 11 times in the Rule, most notably in the chapter on life profession. There we say, [the] life profession of a brother inspires us with awe as well as joy; we wonder at the risk of such an irrevocable choice … Only by depending on God for the grace of perseverance, fixing ourselves by faith in God’s unwavering commitment to us, can we risk taking vows which bind us forever.[1]
What you are doing today is a huge risk. You know it. We know it. Those who are here supporting you know it. And our Rule very clear, this life, and your free choice to cast in your lot with this community, for life, is a risky choice. It is perhaps the riskiest thing you have ever done, and I say this to you Jack, a man I know who is not afraid to take risks.
In that way, you are not unlike the disciples we heard about in this morning’s gospel, one that so obviously means an enormous amount to you.
After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, ‘I am going fishing.’ They said to him, ‘We will go with you.’ They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.[2]
We’re not here talking about a group of buddies piling into a motorboat, with a case of beer, and some fishing poles, out for a lark, more interested in the beer and having a good time, than in the fish. We’re talking about seasoned, weathered, fishermen, who knew the risks and challenges of earning a living, fishing the waters of the Sea of Galilee, a lake notorious for sudden storms. I am sure nothing was more terrifying and riskier for them than being caught out, at night, in a storm, on the Sea of Galilee. And the disciples would have known that. It had happened before.
As Matthew tells it, when [Jesus] got into the boat, his disciples followed him. A gale arose on the lake, so great that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him up, saying, ‘Lord, save us! We are perishing!’[3]
The combination of the weather, the design of the flat bottom, shallow draft boats used at the time, making them easy to drag up on shore, but unstable on the water, with the weight of over 100 feet of fishing nets dragging through the water, and the need for some men to be in the water maneuvering the nets, meant that fishing was a dangerous, risky occupation. Like any band of fishermen who make a living by fishing, the disciples would have known any number of their friends who had drowned, after being tangled in the nets, fallen overboard, or when their boats had capsized in a storm. Fishing was, and is, a risky occupation. You could, and many did, lose their life. And the disciples knew this.
Curiously Jack, that is exactly what Jesus is asking of you today.
For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.[4]
The disciples in the boat that night knew something about risking their lives. They probably also knew more than they wanted about losing their lives. No doubt they had lost friends in these very waters. They had certainly lost a friend not many days before on that hill outside Jerusalem. Now it seemed they had even lost the ability to make a living doing what they thought they knew how to do, fish, for that night, they caught nothing.[5] But those were the risks they took when they first became fishermen. That was the risk they took when they first answered the call of the stranger to follow.
As [Jesus] walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the lake—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.[6]
Responding to the call of God is a response to an invitation to risk all for Christ, who risked and gave all for us.[7]
To be a follower of Jesus is to live a life full of risk. Like him we must be willing to take the risk of speaking with those deemed unworthy, touching those considered untouchable, breaking bread with those who are despised by others, breaching the walls of respectability. As followers of Jesus, we must take the risk of encountering life where it is lived, and not where we are comfortable.
And that Jack, is what will happen as a life professed member of this community. You will take the risk of living life where it is lived, which will often be outside your comfort zone. Through the vow of poverty, you will discover the readiness of others to confide in us their own experiences of suffering, grief and loss. By opening ourselves to the pain and weakness in the lives of our brothers and sisters…they will find in our company a holy place of acceptance and understanding where they can wait for God to bring strength out of weakness and resurrection from death.[8] In the vow of celibacy you will learn to embrace[your] sexuality as a divine gift, and draw upon it as a source of energy and creativity, [and thus] bring hope and encouragement to many who meet [you].[9] By the vow of obedience you will lean to be resilient and prompt in responding to the Lord in the here and now.[10] Your example will be a sign [to] the Church of what it means to be a living branch of the true vine.[11]
In all this you will risk leaning to die, and in so dying, find life.
Week by week we are to accept every experience that requires us to let go as an opportunity for Christ to bring us through death into life. Hardships, renunciations, losses, bereavements, frustrations and risks are all ways in which death is at work in advance preparing us for the self-surrender of bodily death. Through them we practice the final letting go of dying, so that it will be less strange and terrifying to us.[12]
That night long ago Jack, those disciples risked their lives as they got into the boat. But by doing so they were able to see again the stranger on the shore, and knew this time, that it was the Lord.[13] Today Jack you are risking your life by getting into the boat of this community. My prayer for you is that in the days and months and years ahead, you too will see, not a stranger on the shore, but the Lord calling to you, Come, and have breakfast,[14] and in joining him there by that fire, sharing a simple meal of bread and wine find the abundant life he promises to all who follow him.[15]
[1] SSJE, Rule of Life, Life Profession, chapter 39, page 79
[2] John 21: 1 – 3
[3] Matthew 8: 23 – 25
[4] Matthew 16: 25
[5] John 21: 3
[6] Matthew 4: 18 – 22
[7] See Rule, The Spirit of Poverty, chapter 6, page 13
[8] Ibid, Engaging with Poverty, chapter 8, page 17
[9] Ibid, The Witness of Celibacy, chapter 11, page 22
[10] Ibid, The Spirit of Obedience, chapter 12, page 25
[11] Ibid, Obedience in Practice, chapter13, page 27
[12] Ibid, Holy Death, chapter 48, page 97
[13] John 21: 7
[14] John 21: 12
[15] John 10:10
Frozen Roles – Br. James Koester
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About thirty years ago, we Brothers went through a period of renewal. We were stuck, and we knew it. It was difficult for us to make decisions. We were busy all the time, but it seemed, we were mostly busy spinning our wheels. We didn’t know which direction we wanted to go, and we weren’t even sure how, or who, would decide that. We were stuck, and we knew it. Luckily, we also knew that something needed to change. We weren’t sure what, but we knew we could not go on like that. And so, we asked around. What had other people and organizations done in similar situations? Eventually we were led to a woman named Jean. Jean walked into our life one day, and while there were countless times when we all wished she would walk right back out, she and we persisted, and we’ve never been the same.
Thirty years later, all of us who were here then, still speak of her. Brothers who were not here, certainly know of her. She is perhaps quoted, and referred to, only slightly less frequently than Father Benson. Ask some of us, and we all have our favourite Jean story.
One of the things that was eye opening for me, was the day Jean introduced us to the concept of frozen roles.
Jean’s point was that we often cannot see what another is doing, or saying, because we think we know what they will do, or say, even before they do, or say it. She always reacts this way. He always does that. I don’t need to bother listening because I already know what they will say. We freeze people, and even ourselves, into certain patterns, and we don’t allow them to break out, or to be different than how we expect them to be.
The dynamics of frozen roles are perhaps most prevalent in families, small work situations, and dare I say it, monastic communities, where members have known one another over decades. Here he goes again, we say to ourselves. How many times have I heard this in the last 10, 20, 30 years? I don’t need to listen. I already know what he will say. Read More
Fearing a Risky Call – Br. Lain Wilson
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Genesis 46:1-7, 28-30
Matthew 10:16-23
Almost exactly two years ago, a long period of uncertainty ended in clarity. Clarity that God was calling me here, to this community. And while that clarity was a relief, what I didn’t expect was that that would be the easy part. Leaving my job, packing up my apartment, saying goodbye to my friends—all these practicalities showed that responding to God’s call was definitive, transformative, and risky.
Our Gospel lesson today sits in the middle of what’s called the “Missionary Discourse.” Jesus’s disciples have answered his call, and Jesus has told them that they will share in his ministry of proclaiming the good news, healing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, and casting out demons. But he also tells them that they will share in his sufferings: betrayed and arrested, hated and beaten. These disciples are risking all when they say yes to Jesus.
What is an acceptable risk? In my own answer to God’s call, I didn’t face betrayals, beatings, or hatred of all. But I did face the unknown—what if this doesn’t work out? What if friends or family don’t understand what I’m doing? Part of me—a lot of me—was afraid of the unknown, afraid of what the answer to these questions might be. Is the risk worth it?
Jesus calls us to risk all, but he also offers us a simple assurance: “have no fear.” “Have no fear.” This is the same assurance God gives to Jacob as he uproots his family and all his possessions to join his son Joseph in Egypt: “Jacob, Jacob . . : do not be afraid to go down to Egypt, for I will make of you a great nation there” (Gen 46:3).
All this may strike us as strange or difficult to live into. Fear is a natural, human reaction to risk. But I think Jesus’s point is not that we should be fearless, but that that fear shouldn’t dominate our lives and thoughts. “Jacob, Jacob . . . I myself will go down with you to Egypt, and I will also bring you up again” (Gen 46:4). We can feel fear, but not let it dominate because, if we live into God’s call to us, God has promised to be with us. “Have no fear. . . . I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Mt 10:26, 20:20)
What is God calling you to today? How does saying yes to God unsettle your life, your sense of security? What are you afraid to risk? Hear Jesus’s words—“have no fear”—and know that he will be with you, always.
Amen.
Walking the Good Road – Br. Lain Wilson
As the days have been getting longer, I’ve been taking advantage by going for late evening walks in the woods surrounding Emery House. Day gives way to night, and the woods are transformed. Although I’ve walked these paths dozens of times now, I feel that I encounter something new each time—grazing deer, the shape of a tree, the color of the sky. I try to walk without the aid of a flashlight, not only trusting my own experience of the trails but also being open to their illumination by a different light.
The First Nations Version (FNV), an Indigenous translation of the New Testament, renders the familiar “kingdom of God” as “Creator’s good road.” This is particularly striking in the teaching on wealth leading up to this evening’s Gospel passage, where Jesus notes that “finding and walking the good road is a hard thing for the ones who have many possessions,” and “the ones who trust in their many possessions will have a hard time finding their way onto the good road” (Mk 10:23, 25, FNV). Read More
Risk, Trust, and Love – Br. Lucas Hall
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Br. Lucas Hall
Luke 6:27-38, Genesis 46:4-15
There’s an old story about the author and theologian C.S. Lewis, on his way out for drinks with a friend. Approached by a beggar asking for money, Lewis emptied his wallet and gave the stranger everything. His friend then said to Lewis, disapprovingly, “He’ll only spend it on drink,” to which Lewis responded, “If I kept it, so would I.”
Today’s Gospel reading is about love. More specifically than that, though, it’s about the risk inherent to genuine love. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. …love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.” This is not just about doing good and being loving; Jesus is talking here about showing others love even when it is obviously risky, even when it obviously might result in our own pain or loss.
This is not the law and order Jesus many of us may have grown up with, the Jesus who commands us to do what is socially acceptable for the sake of a well-ordered society. Equally, though, this isn’t the Jesus we’re often likely to encounter in progressive, well-educated circles either. I grew up being told not to give money to beggars, because they should get a job. Once grown, and having rejected that teaching, and having moved from a red state to a blue state, I still get told not to give money to beggars, because I should really be giving that money to a shelter, and voting for the right people to enact official homelessness policies, because I don’t want to encourage someone not to use services that may better their situation, and I don’t want to fuel a person’s addiction or irresponsible use of money. Read More
Simon Gibbons, Our Inspiration – Br. Curtis Almquist
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Br. Curtis Almquist
Simon Gibbons, First Priest from the Inuit, 1896
In the calendar of the church, we remember today a Canadian missionary priest of the Anglican Diocese of Nova Scotia, Simon Gibbons, who died on this day in 1896. Simon Gibbons was an Inuit, a member of the indigenous people, a majority of whom inhabit the northern regions of Canada. He was the first Inuit to be ordained to the priesthood.
Simon Gibbons was born in Labrador, and both his father and mother died before he was six years old. He was raised in an Anglican orphanage, showed early signs of being very gifted intellectually, and eventually went on to King’s College in Nova Scotia. He was ordained to the priesthood in 1878. He began his ordained ministry on foot as a missionary in the northeastern tip of Nova Scotia on Cape Breton Island. On Cape Breton, the “nor’easters” and the snows begin in November, and by April the typical snow accumulation is 10-12 feet. Winter temperatures typically drop to 5° or colder. Simon Gibbons regularly walked in snowshoes a one hundred-mile circuit on the island to the many small communities to comfort the sick, to teach the hope of Christ, and to administer the Sacraments of the Church.
As a pastor, Simon Gibbons was described as “very joyful.” He was also very industrious. He eventually moved onto the Nova Scotia mainland, where he was appointed the rector of a parish on the northeastern coast. He pastored a multitude of people, and supervised various building projects for the church. He was greatly beloved. He was also greatly spent in his physical stamina. His health had been compromised in the strain from his arduous earlier ministry as a missionary on foot. He died at the age of forty-six.
The Gospel lesson appointed for today mirrors the life and ministry of Simon Gibbons. Jesus was saying, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” Simon Gibbons heard this message, and he went out as what Saint Paul called “an ambassador of Christ.”[i] I find it impossible to imagine taking on a missionary ministry in any way similar to Simon Gibbons. The mere thought of it sends shivers into my spine. Simon Gibbons is an amazing example of why the church commemorates the holy ones from times past. The reason we remember such souls is not that we are to replicate their life and ministry. Rather, it is for us to draw inspiration from their lives to encourage us in our own life and ministry.
When we awaken in the morning, we can be reassured both of God’s presence and God’s provision – that we will be companioned by God and equipped by God. We can also be assured, with the dawning of each new day, that God has given us a mission, which is why we are still alive. Ignatius of Loyola – the 16th century founder of the Jesuits – said that the purpose for which we have been given life – and why our life has been sustained into today – is “to know God, and to love God, and to serve God.”[ii] We are all missionaries. By our own cultural heritage, by our own geographic setting, by our training, education, life experience, and unique access to certain people, we are to bear the beams of God’s light, and life, and love, knowing that God is with us and that God will provide.
Some years ago my younger brother, Kyle, was visiting us here in the monastery. I adored him. He was a career Air Force officer for more than 20 years, he was lay minister, he was married, and he was the wonderful father of eight children. Eight children! I remember saying to him on this visit, “I don’t know how you do it. How do you juggle your life and all your responsibilities with such amazing grace?” He looked at me rather incredulously and said, without a pause, “This is what I was made to do. This is the glove that fits.” And then he said to me, “What I don’t understand is how you do what you do as a monk. That to me is impossible.” We both chuckled because we both had found our respective vocations, our very unique callings, and we were thriving.
With each new dawn God’s calls us and equips us to be God’s own missionaries, and in ways which only we, personally, can do. Our missionary field may be as expansive as Cape Breton in northern Canada, or as focused as the neighbor next door, the clerk at the checkout counter, the person we encounter on the street. We are missionaries, all of us. That is why we are still alive.
And today we take as our own inspiration Simon Gibbons, blessed Simon Gibbons.
[i] 2 Corinthians 5:20; Ephesians 6:20.
[ii] These are Ignatius’ opening words from his “Foundation and First Principle” of his Spiritual Exercises.
In the Midst of Death, We Are in Life – Br. James Koester
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It’s not unusual for me to get something in my head, and be convinced that I have it correct, only to discover that I have it backwards. For the last few weeks, I have been repeating to myself a phrase, which I was positive I had right, but was actually wrong.
In the midst of death, I’ve been telling myself, we are in life. The phrase comes to us from the Prayer Book burial rite, and we Brothers sing it at the midday service on Holy Saturday. The problem is, I have it backwards. What the text actually says is, in the midst of life we are in death.[1]
It seems however, that the trick my mind has played on me, has some merit. This past year, has been one long, long season of death. It will not surprise you to hear that the number of cases of Covid-19 in this country alone, will soon reach 31 million, with over 555,000 deaths.[2] In the midst of death.
Nor may it surprise you to hear, that since the beginning of the year, there have been 125 cases of mass shootings[3], with a total of 481 people wounded, and 148 others killed.[4] In the midst of death.
We see unfolding in the news, reports of anti-Asian hate crimes rising. The other day the George Floyd murder trial began. In the midst of death.
We are good at dying. This past year alone, we’ve had lots of practice. We know what to do in the face of death. We know what’s expected, even when gripped by shock and grief. In the midst of death. Read More