No one can serve two masters.
I cannot quite remember when it started, but for some time now during Chapter Office (when we brothers gather daily to hear a chapter of our Rule) I have been following along in a German translation. While this practice has certainly helped my facility with the German language, it has also (rather unexpectedly) offered me intriguing new points of entry into the spirit of our Rule that I would not have noticed otherwise. A peculiar word choice on the translator’s part or even the simple encounter of a thought ordered to a different grammar, will invite a curiosity for my praying imagination.
Recently I noticed that, while our English original makes great use of the English’s expansive word “worship,” (from the old English worth-ship) the German text uses a word much more limited in its meaning: Dienen, or “to serve.” As I sat these last few days with the readings we just heard, I found myself put in mind of this linguistic oddity as I tried to hear Matthew’s Jesus with fresh ears. No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other.
Aside from a handful of exceptions, every translation of this passage I consulted uses the same words, “to serve” as a gloss for Matthew’s doulein. This feels especially significant to me on a day of Marian devotion, like today. For the verb Matthew uses here grows from the same root as a noun used by Luke in the first chapter of his gospel in a phrase often translated “behold, the handmaid (doulē) of the Lord.”
No one can serve two masters.
I believe we can miss a deeper lesson behind these words if we simply hear them within the more limited frame of a concept like Dienen. The dynamic described by Jesus here—of split motivations, of devotion and spite—attests to his deep knowledge our humanity in all its frailty and weakness—and, equally, of its innate inclination for worship.
What is really at stake for Matthew’s Jesus here is worship—worth-ship, that is, where we put our ultimate worth. You cannot worship God and wealth, says Jesus. Likewise, we may hear him continue, you cannot worship God and your ego; you cannot worship God and pleasure; you cannot worship God and… any good thing. For I do not hear Jesus saying wealth is itself bad. Wealth is a good, as is of course pleasure or any other gift of creation. But it cannot be served—worshipped—alongside God. Worship is, then, about much more than what we do together in church.
This service, this worship is embodied for us in the person of the Blessed Virgin Mary. In her obedience to God’s call, as she bore Christ to the world, she gave us all an example of true worship—of a life in its wholeness, grounded in the worth given not by created things, but by the Creator of all things. In her companionship, she shares this very worship with us as she prays for her children, the Body of Christ. In her example, she discloses a life lived in a humble awareness of one’s limitations, finitude, and dependence. A life that listens eagerly for the voice of God. A life in service of but one master.
Saturday in Proper 7B | The Blessed Virgin Mar
 Matthew 6:24
 Luke 1:38
Welcome everyone to this act of worship. Whether you are here in person or joining us on line, we are all drawn to this place to worship God. It is good to be here. What is it that is so powerful, so compelling, about worship? What draws us, from far and wide, to be here today?
I was reflecting on this question as I prayed with this evening’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, where Jesus is comparing our outward acts with the secret thoughts of our hearts. And I would say that for me, worship is so compelling because it is the one place I can come and be completely open and honest, before God. Here we do not need to pretend. Here, at worship, before God, I can be who I most truly AM. As we pray at the start of every Eucharist, ‘To you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid.’ At worship there’s no need to pretend, no need to keep up appearances. You may know that British comedy series, ‘Keeping Up Appearances’. There is Hyacinth, played brilliantly by Patricia Routledge, who insists that her surname ‘Bucket’ be pronounced ‘Bouquet.’ She is a rather eccentric, social climbing snob, in constant fear of being embarrassed by her relatives, Onslow, Daisy and Rose.
It’s all very silly, but there’s enough truth in it to make us laugh, because we all know a little of how we too like to keep up appearances! Little distortions of the truth, little embellishments of the facts, to show ourselves in more positive light. Ways we try to impress, name-dropping, ways we try to enhance our image. You could say that the reading from Mark’s Gospel today is all about ‘keeping up appearances!’ The Pharisees and scribes were complaining that Jesus’ disciples were not observing some of the external traditions of the elders regarding the ritual washing of hands, cups, pots and bronze kettles. Jesus actually became very angry with them. They were more concerned with the externals, the appearance of things, than with what is actually going on within their hearts. Unclean hands, pots and pans do not matter. What defiles, what damages a person, is an ‘unclean heart’.
Pretending to be who you are not. Living a lie. This draws from Jesus a terrible rebuke. ‘You hypocrites’, he says. Hypocrisy is right at the top of those things which make Jesus angry. I think, because he knows how very destructive it can be to a person. Keeping up appearances can be gently amusing and pretty harmless. But it can also grow into something corrosive to the soul. When we get used to living a lie, we can slowly become alienated from our true selves. We can allow others to make us into the person that we are not. And one of the greatest challenges of living in relationship, in marriage, partnership, or community, is to allow the other person room to blossom and become the person they truly are. For if we try to live a life of pretense, in order to be accepted or praised, we run the risk of losing our souls.
In Dante’s ‘Inferno’, the hypocrites (and the Greek word literally means ‘actors’) are clothed in huge choir robes, made of solid lead, gilded on the outside with gold. Marc Foley writes about these hypocrites in his book, ‘The Love that keeps us Sane.’ He says, ‘These huge choir robes are so heavy that the hypocrites can hardly move. That’s a graphic image of the desperate need to be recognized by others, and the bone-weary insanity of trying to keep up appearances! Dante describes the garb of the hypocrites as, “O cloak of everlasting weariness!”’
But here, in this place, where the Lord is present, we can shed our heavy cloaks of pretension and appearance. We can stand before the Lord and unburden our souls. We can stand before the One who truly knows us and loves us – ‘just as I am’. But not only does God see us as we truly are, when we worship, not only does he love us and accept us as we are, but he also challenges us to grow, and become more fully that unique person God created us to be. The community of Taizé in France puts it like this in its Rule: ‘In worship we can stop hiding from God, and the light of God can heal and transform even what we are ashamed of.’
So welcome, one and all. Come and worship God, the One to whom all hearts are open, the One who longs to remove our heavy vesture and reclothe us in raiments dazzling white.
The scene we have just heard from Mark, I confess, appeals upon first reading to my lower nature—my unreflective sense of self-righteousness, my tendency to guard against anything alien or uncomfortable, my own carefully guarded picture of reality. And of course, a second reading always reveals to me the irony of this shallow appeal. For it is too easy to scorn the figures of the scribes and Pharisees in this scene. So easy, in fact, that we should be alert: the author of Mark is pouring out a necessary medicinal draught for us—we, the religious of our own time. While its taste may be bitter to the palette, we do well to drink all of it down, and slowly. For I believe Mark intends us to see our own reflection in this brew. That which we are easily tempted to deride about the scribes and Pharisees in this encounter may well be the very same hops and malt fermenting away in our own corporate body.
Jesus and his disciples have been healing throughout Gennesaret when a group of scribes and Pharisees confront him and his disciples, assumptions in tow, and begin to question the veracity and authenticity of their faith. Why do your disciples not walk according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands? What follows from Jesus is a firm rebuke of the inconsistencies in the practices so dearly observed by the Pharisaical community. Moses said, ‘Honor your father and your mother;’ and ‘Whoever speaks evil of father or mother must surely die.’ But if you say that if anyone tells father or mother, ‘Whatever support you might have had from me is [an offering to God]’—then you no longer permit doing anything for a father or mother, thus making void the word of God through your tradition that you have handed on. And to add just a little salt the wound, he continues, And you do many things like this.’
Jesus clearly knows how to engage with the sophisticated traditions and lexicon by which the Pharisees seek to live. There is nothing laissez faire about this Galilean preachers’ approach, and he recognizes that the gift of the Law is not an end in itself. He knows that as people of faith, hungry to know God’s presence and provision for us, we easily turn the free space offered to us by God into a patchwork of further subdivisions and contrived legality.
When I first claimed Christianity as part of my identity in my early twenties, I was in absolute awe of the richness of Anglican worship. Its rich symbolic universe, the inspiring spaces in which such worship occurred, a faith that didn’t seem to shun but indeed celebrated the intellectual life, and above all a corpus of musical heritage that drew me into previously unknown regions of depth, honesty, truth, and beauty. Those verses we heard from Psalm 84 became real for me: How dear to me is your dwelling, O LORD of hosts! My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God. / The sparrow has found her a house and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young; * by the side of your altars, O LORD of hosts, my King and my God.
Yet not more than three months into my sweet adoration of and participation in this tradition I found out it did not quite speak with such force or authority for everyone. One evening at a restaurant before a romantic interest, I poured out my praise and admiration for the liturgical life at St. Mark’s Cathedral, my then home church. With an air of dismissal I had neither expected nor understood, he said, “I don’t understand all you Episcopalians and Catholics and the like. All this music and theatrics and superstition! For what? No, real worship is simple, bible-based, quiet.”
An argument, of course, ensued. We were both making assumptions about the other’s faith based on the ways we worshipped. I could not understand how this man could encounter God without movement, color, song, and beauty, much less without any practices to connect him to the historic life of the church. He, I suspect, could not understand how I could encounter God through the din of hymns and anthems, smoke and processions, Sunday finery and Sherry Hour. We both felt the other had deprived themselves of something real and substantive; neither of us could recognize the seeds of God’s word at work in both charisms. For we were not focused on the actual object of worship, that is, God, but on our own subjective experiences of liturgical life, our own personal preferences, our own inherited human traditions. We had both made idols out of our respective inheritance. While I cannot speak for him, in retrospect it is clear I was more concerned with the holiness of beauty than with the beauty of holiness.
As Jesus admonishes this group of religious gatekeepers in the seventh chapter of Mark, so we must anticipate the experience of our own admonishment as members of religious communities. As churches, we are too often tempted to claim more than we are permitted, and can thereby become the pretended gatekeepers of our own time. It is easy to grasp at the boundaries we have been given to help us understand ourselves and our place in God’s sight; things like genuflecting, fasting, calendars, hymnals, and even style. While all good gifts in themselves, once we grasp on to them and claim them as our ground of being, we deny the True Ground to which they were only designed to point.
To be sure, Jesus has not come to take these things away from us. But he has come to reorient our relationship to them. He has come to remind us that God does not deal with sin, failure, or even death the way we do, would, or could. He reveals a God who once saved a lowly people from a mighty empire by leading them through the Red Sea. A God who did not ask them to earn their salvation, but instead delivered them by grace before issuing even one commandment. A God who comes to and rescues us not because of our goodness, virtue, or anything we can do for God, but because of His love and our need.
So my fellow religious—lay, ordained, cloistered or dispersed, fallen away, curious, devoted or doubtful—remember the reflection Mark has offered us in this scene, and let us mercifully hold one another up. We are not going to shed our assumptions about the faith of others over night. But if we are truthful and honest with one another, Christ will show us the true beauty of the holiness at work for the salvation of all of God’s children.
 Mark 7:5
 Mark 7:10-12
 Psalm 84:1-2
Genesis 28:10-17; Revelation 12:7-12; John 1:47-51
Today we celebrate one of the more mysterious feasts in the calendar of the Church: The Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels. Not only is it a feast, but it is what we monastics call a solemnity: one of the upper echelon feasts, with its title in ALL CAPS in the Ordo, and a lunchtime meal with not only meat and dessert but also ‘festive beverages,’ therefore it must be pretty important. What do you know about angels? Or what do you believe about these mystical beings? You may know a bit more than me. I have to admit that I had to do some research in preparing the homily for this feast because I know very little myself about angels except that most images I have seen of them show human like figures with wings and a glowing countenance.
Perhaps like a few of you here, I grew up in an evangelical tradition of the church that did not talk a lot about angels. Even though angels show up at different times in the scriptures, we just didn’t dwell much on them, which is ironic because it is from the Greek word for evangelist (euangelion) that we get the word angel: a bearer of good news. Primarily, angels are known as messengers from God. The angel Gabriel (whose name means “The Strength of God”)[i] visits the Virgin Mary to proclaim the good news that she will bear a child who will be the long-awaited Messiah. Shortly after in Luke’s gospel we hear that an angel of the Lord visits a group of shepherds outside of Bethlehem to announce the birth of Jesus and telling them where to find him. And before they set out the sky is filled with angels singing: ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours!’[ii]
a sermon for the Feast of the First Book of Common Prayer
I’m thinking today of our friend, Dick Mahaffy, as we celebrate the feast that marks the publication of the first Book of Common Prayerin the Church of England in the year 1549. Dick is an Episcopal priest, a graduate of the Episcopal Divinity School, and a member of the Fellowship of Saint John. He is also profoundly Deaf, and has been since birth. He currently serves as the President of the Episcopal Conference of the Deaf (E.C.D.), an association of Episcopal churches that minister to and with Deaf people throughout the United States. I’m reminded of him today because I think this feast would be one that he would especially value.
The 1549 Book of Common Prayer was the first book of services written in English, the language of the people. As such it was a powerful sign that the liturgy belonged to the people and not just to the educated priests who could read and speak Latin. It was an invitation for all to participate in the worship of the Church with full comprehension of what was being said, for all to join in the “sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving” of the Eucharist in their own tongue, for all to be not merely spectators but actual participants in the Church’s worship. The publication of the Book of Common Prayer in the English language in 1549 was an act of inclusion.
Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple
As I read the opening chapters of Luke’s gospel, I often imagine seeing an enormous tent being painstakingly erected, like those that are used for outdoor weddings. With the introduction of each significant character – Elizabeth, Zechariah, Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, Simeon, and Anna – another stake or peg is fixed in the earth, with its own cord attached. These cords begin to cross and intersect at just the right angles, as if by the arrangement of some mysterious, divine geometry, held taut by the weight of poles and the canvas now unfurling from the ground into a recognizable structure. Into the particularity of time and space there unfolds a tabernacle, a tent or dwelling for Christ Emmanuel, God-with-Us. A web of divinely inspired, interpersonal encounters prepares the ground and provides a sheltering roof.
for everyday living
Br. Mark Brown examines the story of Jesus’ baptism to uncover its role in helping to establish his sense of mission – and the mission to which we are all called.
This reflection accompanies our Everyday series
Five Marks of Love: Living Life Marked as Christ's Own
We share in the Divine Life from our Baptism. Learn how this Life express itself in and through us.
MARKS OF MISSON, MARKS OF LOVE
Everything God does is “mission”: The creation of space and time and the elementary components of the universe, living things, human beings, a moral and ethical realm encompassing all creation; sending the Son as teacher, healer, redeemer, savior, and lover of those created in God's own image and likeness; gathering and inspiring a people, a Church, to carry on the work of creation, re-creation, and mission.
One Church within the Universal Church, the Anglican Communion, has embarked on a now decades-long conversation about God’s mission and the Church’s role in it. So far, five “marks” or signs of the Church’s participation in the mission of God have been identified:
- To proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom
- To teach, baptize and nurture new believers
- To respond to human need by loving service
- To transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation
- To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation, and sustain and renew the life of the earth
Pastors, teachers, theologians, missionaries, historians, and other scholars have offered their various perspectives on these signs of God’s mission. But what might monastics and contemplatives have to contribute to the broader conversation? Perhaps the reminder that any “Marks of Mission” begin in lives marked by God’s love.
We begin with Jesus, the very embodiment of mission, and how he is depicted in scripture. All four gospels record his baptism in the Jordan River by John the Baptist. Matthew, Mark, and Luke each contain, with some slight variation, a voice from heaven saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11). In each gospel this happens before the ministry of Jesus. No gospel says, “Good work, my Son – now you are my Beloved!” or “You are my Beloved Son – now get to work!” Jesus’ being beloved of God does not depend on his having accomplished anything. And there are no orders to get to work in order to justify or earn this status. Jesus does indeed come to a sense of mission, but only after absorbing the reality of God’s love for him and in him. His forty days of retreat into the Judean wilderness were, apparently, this time of absorbing the truth of this love and resisting the temptations to deny it. Jesus does begin his mission, but only after this transformative experience of coming to a new understanding of himself and the presence and working of the Divine Love within him.
The words spoken to the Beloved Son at the Jordan River are spoken to us individually: We are God’s beloved sons and daughters, with whom God is well pleased (1 John 3:1). Our being beloved of God has not been conditional, either on what we’ve already accomplished, or on what we might do in the future. It simply is. We are invited to explore, to absorb, to embrace, and to rejoice in the truth of who we are as beloved children of God.
The words spoken to Jesus at the Jordan River are also spoken to the Church, which is, in one sense, his Risen Body. The Church is one manifestation of the Risen Body of Christ into which we are gathered. We are the flesh and blood of this new Incarnation, this new Resurrection. And we, together, are beloved of God, as Jesus himself was and is. And our being beloved is not conditional upon what we as the Church, as the Body of Christ, have already accomplished or might accomplish in the future.
“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For your love is better than wine, your anointing oils are fragrant, your name is perfume poured out…”
So begins the “Song of Songs,” one of the shortest but most resonant books of the Bible. We might wonder how well Jesus, an observant Jew, knew this extraordinary poetry. It is Jewish tradition today to read it at Passover and in some communities each Friday before the Sabbath begins. We might wonder what role it played in helping him come to a fuller understanding of his being beloved of God. Although one of the briefest books in Scripture, it has inspired more commentary from writers in the contemplative tradition than any other part of the Bible. It was far and away the favorite of medieval monastics and contemplatives: Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153) wrote eighty-six sermons on the first few verses alone.
The Song of Songs is unique in Scripture for its unabashed sensuality. It is an uninhibited celebration of the love of a couple who sing their delight in each other’s beauty. Over the course of the centuries, many have read this book as an allegory or metaphor or parable of the love of God both for the individual human being and for God’s people, whether it be Israel or the Church or humanity in general. Some modern commentators have resisted this approach, preferring to see it simply as a love song between two human beings. But, why not both?
One thing that is striking about the Song of Songs is the mutuality, the reciprocity of love between the young man and the young woman – this in the context of a very patriarchal society and very hierarchical understanding of God (who is not mentioned in the book, incidentally). The partners share a mutual desire for the other, a reciprocal joy in the other, and in a surprisingly egalitarian way for the time in which it was written. To what extent the “Song” was known to Jesus and shaped his self-understanding, we don’t know; but it has deeply informed the understanding of God and the self-understanding of monastics and contemplatives for many centuries.
The first impulses of Jesus’ mission begin, in a sense, at the Jordan River, with the declaration of God’s love for and delight in Christ in his humanity: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” We come full circle near the end of the Gospel of John, where we read about a very poignant encounter between Peter and the Risen Christ. Jesus asks him three times, “Do you love me?” He might rather have asked three times – once for each denial “before the cock crows” (John 13:38) – “Are you sorry for denying me three times?” Instead, Jesus simply wants to know that Peter does love him and wants Peter to have the opportunity to say so, which he does. Jesus has already demonstrated his great love for the whole world – but now his desire is for this love to be reciprocated, to be mutual, to be expressed. Thus the Gospel of John, which begins with a majestic Prologue with a cosmic sweep, comes to a tender and intimate conclusion in this very human and emotional scene. The Lord – the Living Word of God through whom all things came to be, who became flesh in Jesus Christ, having demonstrated his great love – asks for the assurance of love from a mere human being. Peter answers, “…you know that I love you” (John 21:17). The circle is complete. And, so, Peter begins his own extraordinary embodiment of mission, which also ends on a cross.
God, it would seem, delights in the reciprocity, the mutuality of love. This is to draw us more deeply into God’s very essence, God’s own being and nature. When God the Father says to the Son, to us, and to the whole Church, “You are my child, the beloved; with you I am well pleased,” we are invited into a relationship of mutual desire, mutual affection, and reciprocal love. Let us rejoice in it!
So, before we say, “Here I am, send me!” (Isaiah 6:8), we need to delight in and rejoice in the love of God for us and our love for God. We need simply to be the beloved with whom God is well pleased and to return God’s love. We might imagine God saying to us, “Your plans sound wonderful – but first, just let me kiss you!”
The first and primary “reason” (does God need reasons?) for the existence of the Church is simply to be the Risen Body of the Beloved, or the Beloved Risen Body of Christ – to the glory of God! It is to be the beloved people of God who return God’s love offered to them in Jesus Christ and in the whole of creation, and rejoice in it.
Knowing this truth, naming this truth, embracing this truth, gathering as the Church to worship, praise, and love the Giver of this truth, is a mark of God’s mission, the first and primary mark of God’s mission, the first and primary sign of God’s love in action in the world. Wherever and whenever we individually or as the gathered Church know, name, embrace, and rejoice in the life of the Beloved Risen Christ, God’s mission is being fulfilled, God’s love is in action.
Jesus, having discovered and embraced his identity as Beloved of God following his baptism – and in the power of the Spirit of the Lord that was upon him (Luke 4:18) – began doing things. The sick, the lame, the blind, and the deaf were healed. Lepers were cleansed, sins forgiven, lessons imparted, the hungry fed, good news brought to the poor, a Kingdom proclaimed, the dead raised. Love was made manifest in action. A world was redeemed by the shedding of his blood. The things that Jesus did in the power of the Spirit flowed from the divine energies imparted to him by God’s Spirit. What he did was an embodiment of God’s mission in this world. And all this active ministry began at the Jordan River, with that voice from heaven: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
All that Jesus did in the power of the Spirit were signs, or “marks,” of God’s mission. Or, we might say, signs or marks of God’s love, God’s love in action.
Our Jordan River Experience
Something new begins at a river for us as well, figuratively speaking. Whether it is before, during, or after our actual baptism I don’t think really matters – and I don’t think we can control the time or manner of God’s love working in the world. But there does come a time when we somehow know that we are beloved of God; that God’s love is not only for us, but within us. To use another water image from the Gospel of John, we become aware of that “spring of water gushing up to eternal life” within us (John 4:14). This “spring of water” that Christ gives us is the Living Water, the River of the Water of Life, flowing from the throne of God (Rev. 21:6; 22:1). God’s own Spirit and Life are imparted to us.
When we know and embrace this love, this spirit, this life, this living spring within us, when we begin to reciprocate God’s tender love for us – even in our own limited and imperfect way – God’s love begins to become God’s love in action. We, too, begin to embody the mission of God. It is the Spirit not only dwelling within, but working within us that is the impulse to act in God’s name and in God’s power. Something new begins for us at the Jordan River, or whatever is the equivalent in our lives: something new that is caught up into the mission of God.
Saint Paul is thinking somewhat along these lines in the letter to the Ephesians. “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God – not the result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life” (Ephesians 2:8-10). What he seems to be saying is that we are indeed made for good works, but it is not the good works that earn our salvation or God’s love – these are offered “by grace,” that is, as an absolutely free gift. Elsewhere Paul speaks of the Spirit of God working in and through us, giving each gifts for building up the Body of Christ and in service to others (Romans 12:4-8).
What the monastic and contemplative tradition can offer the larger conversation around the “Five Marks of Mission” is a reminder, a drawing attention to the primary focus on the Source of all good works, all mission, everything done in God’s name. Mission in the name of Christ begins with love, adoration, worship, and praise of Christ himself, who is not an impersonal “force” working in us, but God’s own self, God’s Word made flesh in Jesus of Nazareth, our Risen and Ascended Lord, who has declared his love for us. The first and primary sign or mark of God’s mission – the first and primary mark of God’s love in action in the world – is this worship.
But, then what? Having been drawn into loving relationship with the Living God and worshiping the One who is the Source of all being and the Source of all love, what is the next step in undertaking mission in God’s name and in God’s power? There is a spiritual practice that I think is not only very helpful, but very necessary before we go further.
It’s an exercise familiar to many, but with a twist. Sometimes in hearing a confession or in leading a retreat I ask people to do something that nearly always results in head-scratching, sometimes even resistance. I suggest doing a kind of examen, that is, a review of conscience, or consciousness, a spiritual practice from the Ignatian tradition. When we do this in preparing for confession, what we usually do is make a list of our sins. That we sin is, of course, true. But it is only part of the truth about us. If we were to confess the whole truth, we would have to say more. We would also need to acknowledge or “confess” the ways in which God’s love has indeed been active in and through us. So I will ask people to confess their goodness to others, their kindness and generosity, to confess the ways in which God’s love has been manifest in and through them. It’s looking through the other end of the metaphorical telescope.
Most people are either reluctant to do this or confused by it. And yet, it is part of the whole truth about us: Yes, we are sinners, but, yes, a good deal of the time we are living responsibly in relationship with God and neighbor, fulfilling our mutual obligations, often with considerable kindness, graciousness, and love. And this is the power of God working in and through us; this is the power of God working in and through us so subtly and in such ordinary ways that we are often not aware of it, or we take it completely for granted. In Colossians, Paul speaks of the glorious mystery hidden throughout the ages, but now revealed, and this mystery is “Christ in us” (Colossians 1:26-27). The Gospel of John makes much of Christ’s being in us. Christ is the Word of God, the power of God, the love of God, the wisdom of God, the creative energies of God. Why are we so reluctant to acknowledge this power, this love, these energies, working in and through us? I’m not sure.
So, rather than thinking of the “Five Marks of Mission” as a kind of to-do list or check list that we need to get busy doing, we would be more truthful in seeing the “Marks” as signs of what the people of God are already doing. Before we set out to do anything in the name of Christ, we ought to pause to recognize and “confess” how Christ is already working in and through us, both individually and as the Church. We need to acknowledge not only our shortcomings and failures and sins, but also to “confess” how the power of God’s love is now and always has been alive and well and at work, in and through God’s people.
As it happens – and to use the “Marks” as a starting point – we are and have been proclaiming the Kingdom (maybe not perfectly, but nevertheless…); we are and have been teaching, baptizing, and nurturing believers (maybe not perfectly, but…); we are and have been responding to human need and trying to right the wrongs of injustice. This is what the Church has been doing for 2,000 years. That we have not done these things perfectly or completely should not blind us to the fact that we have indeed done them and it is the power and love of God working in and through us. In words attributed to Teresa of Avila (1515-1582):
Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
Note the present tense; we are doing these things. We need to confess and worship and love the Christ who accomplishes so much good in and through us, his Risen Body, his Beloved Risen Body with whom he is well pleased.
We might, then, note that the “Marks of Mission” (or the “Marks of Love,” as we prefer to think of them) would be more truthfully “confessed” by changing the grammar just a little bit. Instead of saying “To proclaim … to teach … to respond …” etc., why don’t we just say:
- We proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom
- We teach, baptize and nurture new believers
- We respond to human need by loving service
- We transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation
- We strive to safeguard the integrity of creation, and sustain and renew the life of the earth
These things are, after all, some of the key ways in which the Church has been participating in the mission of God already. The power of God is already at work in and among and through us. Acknowledging this power working through us and worshiping its Source will greatly energize us to continue in “all such good works God has prepared for us to walk in” (to paraphrase Ephesians 2:10).
We begin by “confessing” the love of God for us and our reciprocal love for God, and by “confessing” how this reciprocity of love and delight is and has been empowering us through the ages. The right beginning of any work in the name of Christ is embracing his love, delighting in his love, returning his love, and worshiping the very Source of all love. In this reciprocal delight we may well find ourselves empowered and inspired to new ways of being, new ways of serving, new embodiments of mission.
You are beloved. You are drawn into the divine life of the One who is Love; into the life of the One who desires first and foremost your love in return. The God who delights in you desires that you delight in God. In this always-new and always-growing relationship, you will discover empowerment, gifts of the Spirit, inspiration, and “wind in your sails.”
So, what will you do next? How will love be let loose in the world through you?
About Br. Mark Brown
Br. Mark Brown, SSJE is a life-professed Brother and a priest of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist. His ministries include spiritual direction and leading retreats for individuals, groups, parishes, and dioceses in the U.S. and Canada. He serves on the Board of Directors for Kids4Peace Boston, an interfaith organization for Jewish, Christian, and Muslim youth in Jerusalem and in this country. He has visited Jerusalem many times, where he has served as chaplain for pilgrimages at St. George’s College and as retreat director for the clergy of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem. He is a graduate of the University of Illinois (B.Mus., 1971, M.Mus. 1976) and Seabury-Western Theological Seminary (M.Div. 1994).
For Further Reflection
• How have you come to know that God calls you “beloved”? Can you remember a “Jordan River” experience when you suddenly became aware of this, as if you heard the words spoken directly to you, “You are my beloved – I delight in you”? Or have you come to know this over time and in gradual ways?
• Have you ever told God, “You are my beloved”? Have you experienced a special time when the “circle was complete,” that is, you knew God’s love for you and your love for God? Did you give yourself time to enjoy this special moment? How does your worshiping community express their delight in God’s love?
• Of the “Five Marks of Mission,” which have you participated in either as an individual or as part of a church or other organization? Make a “confession” of all the ways you have participated in God’s mission. How have you been “the hands and feet of Christ,” as Teresa of Avila might have put it, perhaps in hidden or seemingly unremarkable ways? Describe how it makes you feel when you know you’ve been caught up in the work of God.
• The fifth “Mark of Mission,” which has to do with safeguarding the integrity of creation, differs from the others, as it is not directly based on Scripture, but is a new movement of the Holy Spirit in the Church. What other ways might the Spirit be “guiding us into all the truth” over time (John 16:13), and how might these become part of the Mission of God? What other “Marks of Mission” would you add to the list?
• One Anglican diocese in Scotland, the Diocese of Saint Andrew, Dunkeld and Dunblane, lists on their website nine “Marks of Mission,” rather than five. The first begins, “We worship…” How would you complete that sentence?