I have started a new Priest’s Forum at St. Joseph of Arimathea which will involve delving into the theology and doctrines behind the collects and other prayers of The Book of Common Prayer. We often say that the Prayer Book contains our theology, it makes sense that we would take the time to plumb the depths of the central texts of the Prayer Book–the prayers.
The title of the series is “The Law of Prayer,” which comes from a well known–though sometimes misunderstood–phrase “The law of prayer is the law of belief,” (in Latin, Lex orandi, lex credendi, or as Prosper of Aquitaine originally wrote, ut legem credendi lex statuat supplicandi, the Law of Prayer establishes the law of belief).
Last week we spent out time looking at the different types of prayer and especially the parts of a collect. I thought I would share those for those who are interested.
I hope to post something after each lesson for those who might to follow along from a distance, or who can’t make it on Sunday morning.
The Five Traditional Forms of Prayer
There are five traditional forms of prayer:
Blessing & Adoration
Prayer of Petition
Prayer of Intercession
Prayer of Thanksgiving
Prayer of Praise
Sometimes these are grouped differently, but you can see the formulations are thematically similar: Adoration, worship, praise, thanksgiving, blessing, confession, petition, supplication, intercession, aspiration, consecration, lament (Brazos Introduction to Christian Spirituality, Evan B. Howard, p. 301).
The most common prayer among Christians is probably the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13). The petitions of the Lord’s Prayer fall into several categories:
Hallowed be thy name (worship) Thy kingdom come (aspiration) Thy will be done (surrender) Give us this day, our daily bread (supplication) Forgive us (Confession) Deliver us (Warfare Prayer)
The prayers recorded in early Christian literature can be categorized into six type: petition (including intercession), thanksgiving, blessing (or benediction), praise, confession and finally a small number of lamentations. The first five of these types have persisted throughout the centuries and been expressed in a large number of Christian prayers. However some prayers may combine some of these forms, e.g. praise and thanksgiving, etc.
Modes of prayer
Centering prayer: Centering Prayer is a receptive method of silent prayer that prepares us to receive the gift of contemplative prayer, prayer in which we experience God’s presence within us, closer than breathing, closer than thinking, closer than consciousness itself. This method of prayer is both a relationship with God and a discipline to foster that relationship.
Lectio Divina, literally meaning “divine reading,” is an ancient practice of praying the Scriptures. During Lectio Divina, the practitioner listens to the text of the Bible with the “ear of the heart,” as if he or she is in conversation with God, and God is suggesting the topics for discussion. The method of Lectio Divina includes moments of reading (lectio), reflecting on (meditatio), responding to (oratio) and resting in (contemplatio) the Word of God with the aim of nourishing and deepening one’s relationship with the Divine. have divided prayer into the three simple categories:
Spoken prayer ordained by God and the holy church (“common” or “public” prayer).
Spoken prayer expressing the stirrings of those who are in a state of devotion (“conversational” prayer)
Prayer in the heart alone and without speaking (“contemplative” contemplative prayer, broadly understood).
I would add Written Prayer as an area to consider: Liturgical texts, such as collects
A collect generally has five parts:
An address to God.
A relative or participle clause referring to some attribute of God, or to one of his saving acts.
The reason for which we ask
Here’s an example from the Book of Common Prayer:
Almighty and everlasting God, you are always more ready to hear than we to pray, and to give more than we either desire or deserve: Pour upon us the abundance of your mercy, forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid, and giving us those good things for which we are not worthy to ask, except through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ our Savior; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
It may be broken down as follows:
Address: Almighty and everlasting God,
Attribute: You are always more ready to hear than we to pray, and to give more than we either desire or deserve;
The Petition: Pour upon us the abundance of your mercy, forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid, and giving us those good things
The Reason:for which we are not worthy to ask, except through the merits and mediation of
Conclusion: Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.
There are some prayers recorded in scripture that follow a similar pattern. That’s not to say they
are collects (they’re not), or that collects consciously used the same pattern (they didn’t), but
rather to point out that the language of prayer follows certain patterns, and contains variations
within a tradition.
Acts 1:24-25, when the Apostles prayed before the election of Matthias, contains 4 of the
traditional 5 sections of a collect:
“Lord, you know everyone’s heart. Show us which one of these two you have chosen to take the
place in this ministry and apostleship from which Judas turned aside to go to his own place.”
Similar prayers in the Apocrypha can be found at 2 Maccabees 1:24-29 and 1 Maccabees
Sermon notes for Proper 17 XV Sunday after Pentecost September 2, 2018 Scripture: James 1:17-27
The sermon audio begins at 4:29.
Today we hear from the epistle of James in our second lesson. You may already be aware that this letter is one of those New Testament texts that has taken a steady amount of criticism over the centuries, with some folks even questioning its presence in the canon. Mostly these criticisms have not arisen from questions of authorship, which in comparison with some other texts of the New Testament, is relatively clear. The main arguments being whether the letter is the result of teachings collected by disciples after his death, or the direct work of James the Just of Jerusalem–a brother or other close relative of Jesus, and first bishop of the Jerusalem church, and “decider” of the Jerusalem council. The consensus is that the letter represents legitimate teachings of James, one way or the other.
Rather than questions of provenance, it is a question of theology that has prompted the most heated critiques. The book is too focused on morals–it’s legalistic, moralistic, focusses on works! It doesn’t mention Jesus enough!
As is often the case, I think those books or pages that we would most like to see torn out of the Bible–the passages we’d most like to see redacted with black ink like some top secret document–are often the very ones that we ought to spend some time in reflection about. I have some of those passages myself. Nothing in James is among them.
If it’s appropriate to use such language about books of the Bible or biblical authors, when it comes to the Epistle of James, I’m a fan.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, at least as I’ve read, the epistle echoes the words and teachings of Jesus more than any non-gospel text in the New Testament.
In any case, I think it’s a beautiful letter. And one that seems to have been composed for the benefit of the whole church–perhaps to help prepare people for baptism.
The collect for Proper 17 has a particular resonance with our epistle. Listen to it again, and consider the imagery that is used:
Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen.
Collect for Proper 17, Book of Common Prayer
Both begin with a statement about the origins of good things and gifts. In the collect, God is “the author and give of all good things,” while James says that “Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above,” it becomes clear that James isn’t saying that God gives all good things directly, but rather, that whatever is good, whatever goodness there is within people, whatever gifts they give, are dependent upon God. Generosity as a virtue and the gifts that we give come “down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”
“Father of Lights” is a poetic reference to God with an interesting history. It’s attested outside the canon of scripture in a book called The Apocalypse of Moses. This demonstrates that James wasn’t manufacturing a poetic image to refer to God, but was rather using a term that the recipients of his letter, or those he was speaking to would likely have understood. The description bears some unpacking.
In calling God “the Father of Lights,” James is drawing our attention to God as creator, specifically as the one who placed all the “lights,” i.e. the celestial bodies–Sun, Moon, stars, planets, etc.–in their places and courses. But while these marvelous gifts of God to humanity and all of creation change–they wax and wane with the seasons–their origin, “The Father of Lights,” does not, for in God there are no “phases,” no times of lesser light, no “variation or shadow due to change,” or as the King James put it, in a way slightly more evocative of heavenly bodies, “neither shadow of turning.”
This poetic imagery undergirds and supports the insight that every good thing has its beginning and origin in God–everything, including the good that we do. The fact that this is a foundational premise of James’ entire letter puts paid to the idea that the letter forwards some sort of works righteousness. Instead, the letter is a reflection on how we can engage in those works through the power of God in us.
James does want us to understand that a lack of those good things and good works–is indeed indicative of problems we need to be aware of. It’s indicative of the fact that we’ve forgotten who we are and whose we are, and that we might be depending upon ourselves rather than on God. James does indeed say–as we will hear next week–that faith without works is dead, but it’s dead insofar as we have not experienced the life that God gives us in Christ.
Consider, James begins by telling us that all good things find their beginning and origin in God, and then moves directly into talking about how this connects with our lives of faith. “In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures” (James 1:18). This passage leads some scholars to propose that the letter may have been composed as part of an effort at catechizing people, with this section highlighting the effects of Baptism. God has given us new birth by the word, by the waters of baptism, by the gospel.
And just as God enlivened the first creation by the Word, so too we are new creations by the Word. If we’ve been made new and–to quote Paul who is unfortunately and inappropriately held up as a counter example to James–it is no longer we who live, but Christ who lives in us, that new life will bear fruit, both individually and corporately. It is from this fundamental stance of God’s gifts and graces that James moves into the expectations for those who would follow Jesus: “You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness” (James 1:19-20).
Our anger–like any work motivated or empowered only from ourselves–cannot produce the righteousness of God, because everything that is good comes from God. So, when James writes that in order to be faithful, we must rid ourselves “of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness,” he recognizes that there is only one means by which we can accomplish this, by welcoming “with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save [our] souls” (James 1:21).
I hope that by now you can see that, while James may not write Jesus’ name all that often in his letter to the Church, Jesus is all over what he’s writing. Christ the Word is fundamental to and presumed by everything that James is telling us.
Because of this, when James writes “be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves,” the actions he’s describing are actions that have their origin in the Word of God, which are empowered by the Word in us. We’re utterly dependent.
But if this is the case, how do any of us who claim to follow Jesus end up stumbling? How can we fail to do what we’re called to do if indeed it is Christ who is doing it through us? Does that mean that Christ has somehow failed? Not at all. James gives us a way to consider these failings:
“For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like” (James 1:23-24).
When we forget who we are and whose we are, when we turn away from the one who is reshaping us in his image, then it’s like looking in a mirror and not recognizing ourselves. We’ve forgotten something fundamental to who we are: that we belong to God and Christ dwells within us. To counter this, when we struggle with intellectual assent to the faith, or emotional excitement about our faith, we can instead look into “the perfect law, the law of liberty,” and imitate the actions of Christ in his earthly ministry, and in being reminded what and who we ought to look like, we can find the strength to “persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act” and we “will be blessed in their doing” (James 1:25).
Finally, James closes this section of his letter with a clear example of what being a doer rather than simply a hearer would look like, writing that “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world” (James 1:27). Briefly, imitate Jesus as best you can, and trust in God to do the rest.
We know that we would not long be able to carry on with such imitation on our own power. And I believe James knew this. I believe he never expected that we would be carrying on under our own power, because every good thing is from God, and while we might vary and change, while our faith may wax and wane, God’s faith in us never does–for in him there is no variation or variation due to change.
Considering this, when we find ourselves at a loss, when we don’t know how we can continue, we find ourselves back at the insight so central to todays collect, and we can pray:
Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works; and with James, the Brother of the Lord, we pray this knowing that it can only come through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen.
Below are my sermon notes for Sunday, August 26, 2018. This is a rare occasion where I typed out the full manuscript. Often I hand write it in my notebook, and then pull only the relevant quotes (if I quote anyone verbatim), and include them with an outline. You can see the way that this sermon both differs in some of its details from the sermon I preached, but how it also displays the same structure and primary content.
Jesus knew from the first, who were the ones that did not believe, and yet he taught them and worked miracles among them. Some commentators indicate that the Gospel of John is talking about the crowds here, or the larger group of disciples, and not the twelve, and yet, we know from Mathew’s Gospel, during even the post resurrection appearances, they worshipped him, “but some doubted.” Even if this specific reference in John is talking only about the people in the crowds who did not believe, and not the disciples themselves, but we know that the disciples sometimes wavered in their faith.
More dramatically, even if the Gospel is not including any of the disciples among those who did not believe, we know beyond a doubt that Jesus knew that Judas, one of the twelve, was going to betray him.
This reality hit me squarely between the eyes a few years ago when I first read a book entitled A Brutal Unity by Episcopalian theologian Ephraim Radner. Radner emphasizes the nature of the church and issues related to church division in his work, and he’s been pretty influential on my own thinking about Christian division. But this section is about more than the formal divisions between churches–the official and sometimes white washed theological arguments and sometimes fossilized practices and habits that keep us apart. This is about something deeper: a choice that Jesus makes early in his ministry with knowledge about the evil in the heart of one of the disciples, and yet he embraces him as one of his inner circle anyway.
This challenges us not only at an institutional level, but on a personal one, and it is for that reason that I wanted to share it with you. It will get us at something of particular importance in our Gospel text this morning. Radner writes that:
A central question involves the fact that Jesus “chose” Judas as one of the Twelve (Luke 6:13-16; John 6:70-71; Luke 22:3, 47; Acts 1:16-17). Jesus chose the one he “knew” would betray him yet placed him among the Twelve around whom the heavenly Jerusalem would be built (Rev 21:14), though, of course, his place would be taken by another. The issues of predestination and foreknowledge—as Augustine and Calvin and Barth all understood—were implicated in this fact. But just as importantly, and because of this, comes the issue of Jesus’ own willingness, in all deliberation, to take to himself one whom he understood to be bound to “Satan” in some fashion (and even Peter too had this about him), that is, to be his “enemy” (cf. Luke 22:13). Thus, the notion, driven by readings from the alternative traditions about Judas recently made popular, that there was a “secret” pact between Jesus and Judas, in which Jesus himself orchestrates his own arrest with his friend’s cooperation, have no foundation in the Gospels themselves—Jesus did not make an agreement with Satan as his ally! But there is an unsettling and perplexing problem at work, nonetheless, in how Jesus could tolerate and even embrace one whom he could not trust because of the latter’s certain and ultimately immovable opposition.
Yet Judas had a constructive role among the Twelve—he went out, he was commissioned, he preached and healed and exorcised, returning with joy to report the successes of his ministry, along with the others. He kept the funds of the group as they traveled along and distributed alms from the common store. And he was a thief as well, in all of this (John 12:6)! An embezzler, a wolf among the sheep. Nonetheless, “chosen” not out of ignorance, but in full knowledge. Jesus chose his enemy to be his companion and friend—betrayed, in the end not by a torrent of lies or by the rage of rejection but by a “kiss.”
Ephraim Radner, A Brutal Unity, Kindle location 2,647
How many of us could, or would even consider, embracing someone as a friend whom we knew would betray us? Who could even lead us into a situation that would result in our death?
And yet this is exactly what Jesus does. Radner points out, in fact, that Judas isn’t the only one “bound to Satan” in some way, but Peter is too (remember, Jesus actually refers to Peter as Satan when he opposes what must come to pass). It may seem extreme to talk this way about Peter, but I think it is revealing not only about Peter and Judas, but all the disciples: that Christ had perfect knowledge of what was to come, does not mean that every one of the disciples wasn’t equally capable of such betrayal. Indeed, Jesus’ own actions demonstrate a sense in which everything is not determined, as he tells Peter after predicting his three denials, “…I have prayed for you that your own faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers” (Luke 22:32).
In some sense two paths are held out before us. Two examples. The path of Peter, which leads to redemption out of failure and betrayal–we could call this the path of hope–and the path of Judas, which can admit no opportunity for redemption, for forgiveness. We could call this this path of despair.
But if Judas despaired and lacked both belief and hope, had he always lacked them? Was Judas always wicked? This is a contested question in the church of the first four centuries. Some, like Augustine, will say that Judas was always wicked and bound for destruction. Others, like Origen and–perhaps–John Chrysostom, argue that there are turning points at which Judas chooses the evil over the good.
Origen will argue that Judas could not always have been wicked because he was trustworthy enough to have been given the common purse, to be the one entrusted with the distribution of alms for the poor. Like Radner, Origen sees Judas’ role among the twelve as constructive in many ways. He goes forth with the seventy and cast out demons, heals the sick, and rejoices upon his return. Additionally, he is among the disciples who react with frustration at the request the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee, makes of Jesus, that her sons sit on his right and left when he comes into his glory. Origen writes that “while he was among the indignant, the devil had not yet put it into his heart to betray the Lord. He was still one of the apostles.”
So Judas’ apostleship was legitimate and true, and he was faithful–except when he wasn’t. And isn’t this like so many of us? And Jesus knew who would betray him, and yet he gave Judas a chance. The how of this is a mystery–we could go far into the weeds about what God’s foreknowledge means for human choice and freedom, and we could likewise discuss the different ideas about what exactly Jesus’ foreknowledge means, that is, how his divinity interacts with the limits of his humanity–but we’ll leave those for another time. The key for us today is that Jesus knew, and yet he still put it all in Judas’ hands. He somehow had hope for Judas, and called him anyway, knowing how he would fail.
And this is good news for us. Because each of us fail. Each of us, if we’re honest, could see ourselves in this passage from John: “Jesus knew from the first who were the ones that did not believe, and who was the one that would betray him” (John 6:64). Who among us has never doubted? Who has never struggled with disbelief? Who has never betrayed their core convictions, their better angels–who has not at some point looked around to find themselves a betrayer of Jesus, dead in their sin?
And yet, Jesus did not simply choose Peter who would come to repent and return, or Judas who would betray him and see no room for reconciliation or restoration, Jesus chose you and me. Jesus has hope for us. Jesus gives us the space we need. And what we do with it, is on us, but not on us alone. Jesus isn’t going to force us, but God’s grace in Jesus Christ is with us every step of the way. That’s part of what it means to abide in Jesus’ love. It means to experience the grace of God and to therefore await with hope and eager longing for the fulfillment of God’s will in our own lives, and in the life of the world.
God gives us the space we need to work out our salvation in fear and trembling. And the question arises, why doesn’t God just save us all. Why couldn’t God save Judas? The humble answer is to say that not only could God, but God still might. But another aspect of humility is to admit that God may not. We are not the first to ask these questions. The great preacher and Patriarch of Constantinople, John Chrysostom wrote about this and said:
“Why then, you say, was He Who won over [many sinners] not able to win over His disciple? He had the power to win over His disciple, but He did not wish to make him good by force or to forcibly draw him to Himself. Then [he] went. In this “went” there is not a little matter for contemplation: for he was not summoned by the chief priests, he was not constrained or forced. Rather, of himself and of his own accord, he gave birth to his intention and brought forth his treachery, without any counselor in his wickedness.”
The mystery in all of this is that Jesus embraced people he knew would disbelieve him, question him, and even betray him. He embraced them, empowered them, taught them, and made them part of his ministry and his body. And this is good news for us, because God does the same thing for us in Christ.
In last week’s sermon I emphasized the importance that we never put our ultimate trust or faith in any human or human institution, including the Church, but only in God, only in Jesus Christ. If that sermon seemed a bit dark to some, this is the counterpart to it. Counterpart, but not counterpoint. They aren’t contradictory, though we would like to make them so. The reality is that our call to follow Jesus is risky. We are called to Love God and love our neighbor. That is Jesus’ summary of all the law and the prophets. That’s risky business that we’ve been commanded to take part in. Loving God can be risky–we never know what God is going to call us to do after all–but the riskiest thing about loving God is the call to love our neighbors. Loving other people is dangerous. Trusting other people can set us up for disappointment. This is one of the core places, I believe, where we have to embody Jesus’ admonition to be as wise as serpents and as innocent as doves. We never lose sight of our own sinfulness, our own capacity for evil. And we all have it. The sin that temps me may not be the sin that temps you, but we are all tempted to sin, and from time to time–perhaps from time to time to time–we succumb to temptation. Usually, if we’re honest, those sins have hurt someone, or would if they knew. Being humble and keeping in mind our own propensity to sin, can help us relinquish judgement we might hold over other people, but it will also keep us mindful that indeed, Jesus is the one in whom we’re to trust. That the Church has to establish safeguards, and we would be wise to as individuals as well. And yet. It’s risky, because we’re called to hope in other people whom we know to be sinful, whom we know to be broken, whom we know to be apt to wound us if we love them.
And we’re nonetheless commanded to love them.
There’s only one way we can ever hope to accomplish this–to hold on to the reality of our own sin and the sinfulness of others, while simultaneously extending to them the same benefit of the doubt, the same grace that God has extended to us–and here we work back to the beginning of our gospel text–the only way we can do this is by abiding in Christ. By putting our faith and trust and hope in Jesus, and by receiving again and again the grace of God in the sacrament of Christ’s body and blood, by hearing over and over again the word of God that inspires us, and calls us to faithfulness. I love the word abide. It can simply mean to dwell, or it can mean to patiently endure, ore it can mean to await with anticipation. When we abide in Christ, there are going to be things that we can only patiently endure. We re going to await the coming of Christ with holy anticipation. This is what we’re called to, for Christ to dwell in us and we in him. This is what empowers us to take the risks we need to take on each other as Christian.
Even though Jesus knows perfectly, he withholds judgement and gives all the disciples–even Peter and even Judas–an opportunity to walk faithfully and to do good. If God, who knows perfectly what is in all hearts, provides such space, how much more should we who judge only in our limited capacities, by what our eyes see or our ears hear, provide such space to each other? But we can only find the strength and the means to do this, to take such a risk on each other, and for our own growth in faithfulness, by abiding in Christ, and through Christ abiding in us. Amen.