Reflections on Our Orvieto Experience: The Soul’s Journey into God

(Sabbatical: June 19 to July 8, 2013)

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A Pilgrim’s Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,Pierce my soul with your love

so that I may always long for you alonewho are the bread of angels

and the fulfillment of the soul’s deepest desires.May my heart always hunger and feed upon you,

so that my soul may be filled withthe sweetness of your presence.

May my soul thirst for you, who are the source of life,wisdom, knowledge, lightand all the riches of God.

May I always seek you and find youand do all things for the honor and glory of your holy name.Be always my only hope, my peace, my refuge and my help

in whom my heart is rooted,so that I may never be separated from you.

St. Bonaventure (1217-1274)

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Reflections on Our Orvieto Experience: The Soul’s Journey into God

Establishing a baseline: It occurs to me that establishing an emotional and professional baseline prior to our sabbatical would provide a useful metric, given that my recent experience is the first time a priest from All Saints’ Church has been given a sabbatical in the church’s thirty-plus-year history.

Chris and I arrived in November of 2005, oblivious to the situation “on the ground” in Virginia. Of course we had been embroiled in the church-wide conflict created by the actions of the 2003 General Convention, but were not aware of just how tense things were in the Diocese of Virginia. That all changed quickly: as we liked to say back then, “All Saints’ was moving at ‘warp speed’ and you’d better hang on!”

Over the next seven and a half years, All Saints’ would experience sweeping change. We conducted an agonizing eighteen-month struggle to negotiate taking our building with us as we departed from the Episcopal Church. In 2006 we would, in fact, leave the Episcopal Church without our building, retaining our undeveloped land and renting our facility back from the Diocese.

We saw our rector, John Guernsey, move from being the Dean of the Mid-Atlantic Convocation of the Anglican Communion Network, to its Dean-of-Deans (chief of staff to Bishop Duncan), to a Bishop of the Church of Uganda, providing pastoral oversight to the non-geographical Diocese of the Holy Spirit that stretched from coast to coast. His increasing absence from All Saints’, while supported by its people, created dynamics in the parish that began to take a toll on morale, attendance and giving.

In June of 2009, the Rev’d Valarie Whitcomb retired after a long and fruitful ministry at All Saints’. Following a lengthy search process, the Rev’d Daniel Morgan began his ministry as the second rector of All Saints’ Church on 1 August of 2010. The long-awaited construction of the new church building began in full swing, and in September of 2011 we celebrated our first services in our new facility. That same month, our own Bishop John was elected bishop of the newly created Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic and moved into his offices on the second floor of the All Saints’ administration building.

To simply state a fact, among the pastoral staff, my ministry here has been the one constant in seven-plus years of massive change in leadership, staff composition, and what for many was a heart-breaking change of venue as we moved from our former facility on Saratoga Lane to a vastly bigger campus on Gideon Drive.

As I approached this sabbatical time—the first I’ve been able to earn in my 34 years of ministry—I was far more burned out than I realized. Worship had started to go flat for me, my prayer life was struggling, my daily schedule seemed to control me and its inertia seemed to be blocking my every attempt to re-prioritize my life. As my 64th birthday approached, I was beginning to think that making it to the Social Security retirement age of 66 might be a bridge too far.

Choosing the site for a sabbatical: Having never had the opportunity to think about a sabbatical, the prospect of declaring a choice for the site and pitching it to our church leadership was daunting, to say the least. After casting about aimlessly, I remember shooting a quick email to the leader of my off-site Spiritual Direction Training Program, the Rev’d Canon Susan Skillen. Confessing my total inability even to know where to start, I asked if she had some suggestions. The Soul’s Journey into God, a pilgrimage of twelve days that she was conducting in Orvieto, Italy, was one of her suggestions.

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I must confess that I hastily picked it because it was “religious,” appeared to be something easily sold to our church leadership, and was in a beautiful part of the world. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that not much else went into the choice.

I share this sad disclaimer as a foil for the amazing work of the Holy Spirit in bringing us to an incredible, life-changing pilgrimage in Orvieto. The “Pilgrim’s Prayer” above was printed in the folder we were provided as the pilgrimage began, and it was all I could do to keep from weeping as I read it. The longings of my heart and soul, as yet unspoken, appeared before me in the probing words of this 13th century Doctor of the Church and successor of St. Francis in the leadership of the Order of Friars Minor. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I knew that I was exactly where God wanted me!

With the above as a backdrop, I’d like to simply share the highpoints of our pilgrimage. The order of these highpoints is roughly chronological and not in order of importance.

The Monastery of Subiaco and the Sacro Speco (Sacred Cave): The Monastery of St. Benedict at Subiaco is built over the grotto (Sacro Speco) where Benedict lived as a hermit for three years prior to embarking on a monastic life that would found one of the most significant orders in the monastic world and ultimately preserve European civilization through the Dark Ages. His impact on that civilization was so profound that he is today acknowledged as the patron saint of Europe.

We made a day trip there early in our pilgrimage, and, to my dismay, I had a difficult time finding the peace and presence of the Lord I longed to experience. The series of churches and shrines built down the steep face of the cliff were covered within by primitive frescos depicting events in the saint’s life. While the frescos were moving in some respects and historically significant, they just didn’t do anything for me, and the crowds of noisy pilgrims/tourists added to my sense of unrest.

After our formal tour, we were given an hour to spend in silence wherever we liked. Nothing seemed to work, and a hurried cleaning lady finally sealed the deal by noisily stacking chairs in anticipation of her daily mopping of the floors! In a “right foul mood” I headed across the cloistered walk to the exit and was transfixed by the beauty of the natural scene (kind of a Franciscan thing to be doing during a visit to a Benedictine site!). A river hundreds of feet below had carved a steep gorge millennia before, and I stared across at the tree-lined cliff face before me—a mirror image of the one on which the monastery is built. A flash of movement caught my eye, and I noticed dozens of tiny swallows darting and soaring on the updrafts from the gorge.

I have no idea if the little swallows felt any joy while conducting their aerobatics off the cliff face, but I did! I was in awe of their agility as they swooped past me. Some passed so close that I could see the detail of their intricate wing feathers, translucent in the bright sunlight. I would learn later in our pilgrimage that I was participating in what is called “Contemplation in Action.” I’ll refer to this later in the paper, but let me say now that I “heard” the Lord reassuring me as I joyfully observed the swallows simply doing what God created them to do!

The Duomo (Cathedral) of Orvieto: The Duomo of Orvieto is widely considered to be one of the most beautiful examples of Italian Gothic architecture in the world today, and it lives up to that reputation in every

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way. The stunning carved marble and mosaics of the Duomo’s façade and the breath-taking frescos in the San Brizio chapel captivated us as we had a tour led by Dr. John Skillen of Gordon College.

The San Brizio Chapel: The frescos of the San Brizio chapel, painted by Fra’ Angelico and Luca Signorelli, defy description—pictures do not do them justice! Dr. Skillen helped us understand the scenes of the Last Judgment as common sixteenth century townsfolk would have instantly understood them—without benefit of the lecture of a tenured college professor! My ignorance in the face of the artistic and theological brilliance of Signorelli’s work was humbling. [I saw myself in the person of a harried father of two active kids who quickly took in the view and said, “Hey, there’s ice cream outside!”]

Standing in the very center of the chapel, surrounded by frescos towering over our heads, it was as if we were in this world peering through a veil into God’s eschatological “present” where the dramatic scenes of the Last Judgment were being played out before our eyes. The overwhelming sense was that if we were to reach toward the altar to receive the consecrated host, it would somehow puncture the thin barrier between us and eternity and draw us into the very events portrayed above! Signorelli was calling the people of his day to repentance and amendment of life in the face of the certainty of the judgment awaiting us all. The effect was heightened by Signorelli’s technique of having his figures appear to cast shadows onto the walls of the chapel: eternity breaking in upon us to move us to action—today is the day of repentance!

Chris and I returned during our five days alone in Orvieto after the conclusion of the pilgrimage. The impact continued to be stunning, and the mere recounting of those visits brings it all back in such clarity. The judgment themes from the Gospel for 1 Advent and images from the Te Deum—“the glorious company of the apostles, the noble fellowship of prophets, and the white-robed army of martyrs”—come alive in my mind as I write this. It is, however, bittersweet: we modern pilgrims needed the benefit of Dr. Skillen’s scholarship to “see” what was there before our eyes, blinded as we are by modernity.

The Duomo, Incarnation and the Real Presence: After our time in the San Brizio chapel, we moved outside to view the façade of the Duomo. Dr. Skillen gave us a history of the area. I’ll attempt to give a brief recap of what he shared because the pre-Christian and Christian development of the area and the uniquely sacramental religious fervor of the 13th century Church all converged at Orvieto to create the magnificent structure we toured in the 21st century.

Orvieto was originally settled by the ancient Etruscans who populated Tuscany, western Umbria and northern Latium. The Romans conquered the hill town in the 3rd century BC, resettling the residents to the indefensible shore of nearby Lake Bolsena (Volsini). After the decline of the Roman Empire, the Volsini came back to reclaim the “ancient city” (Urb Vetus or Orvieto).

With Constantine’s conversion, Christianity was legalized and flourished. By 1000 AD, a pilgrimage route had been established to Rome, and the church in

Bolsena, named after a popular local 3rd century martyr, Saint Christina, was one of the regular stops on that route, known as the Via Francigena.

The ancient connection between Orvieto and Bolsena and the founding of the Via Francigena, with a hostel stop in Bolsena at the parish church of Santa Christina, became absolutely critical in the 1200s, when the Church was experiencing a century of profound reflection on the mystery of Christ’s Real Presence in the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist.

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In roughly 1263, a faithful priest from Prague, Fr. Peter, was making a pilgrimage to Rome to seek counsel because of his difficulty in embracing the doctrine of the Real Presence. He stopped for the night in Bolsena, and the next day celebrated the Eucharist in the parish church of Santa Cristina. As he elevated the consecrated host, it bled onto the Corporal on the altar. Fr. Peter, realizing the gravity of this miracle, sent word to Pope Urban IV, who had made Orvieto his permanent residence in the early 1260s.

[Note: Contemporary biographies of Pope Urban IV are silent on this alleged miracle and it is not mentioned in the papal bull, Transiturus. It is, however, supported vigorously by an Italian tradition originating in Orvieto in the 14th century.]

Pope Urban IV, whose secular name was Jacques Pantaleon, had been the Archdeacon of Liege prior to his election to the papacy. He was a central figure in advancing the doctrine of the Real Presence, and now, as Pope, called for the blood-stained Corporal to be brought to Orvieto, where it could be inspected, verified, and reliably dated. In 1264 Pope Urban published the papal bull Transiturus, instituting the Feast of Corpus Christi, a day on which the universal Church celebrated the mystery of the Real Presence of Christ in the Sacrament. He also commissioned Thomas Aquinas to write a special 8 service liturgy for the Feast and directed that the Corporal from the Eucharistic miracle of Bolsena be enshrined in the Duomo of Orvieto, where it remains to this day.

Having a major relic from a Eucharistic miracle enshrined in Orvieto was the impetus for tearing down the dilapidated Duomo and constructing a new one. The cornerstone was laid in 1290 and work continued for almost three centuries, resulting in a structure whose decoration, though developed over centuries without a single coordinating plan, eloquently proclaims a full theology of the Incarnation, captured perfectly in the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist.

This historical background, which seems so ponderous in the retelling, was delivered without notes by Dr. Skillen with such winsomeness that I was spellbound! As he spoke, the fullness of the scriptural record of our mighty Triune God at work in history—pre-incarnate in the great stories of the Old Testament and fully incarnate in the Gospel stories of the incarnate Christ—jumped out at me from the carvings and mosaics of the Duomo’s façade.

Mary, the Theotokos (“God-bearer”), is featured prominently at the pinnacle of the façade. Her humility and obedience are the epitome of our human response to God’s call, and she foreshadows the Church’s eventual incarnational role as the Body of Christ—bearing Christ to the world. Just as the Father is perfectly revealed in the Son (“He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint—icon—of his nature.” Hebrews 1:3), so, the Church is the Body of Christ, and, by the power of the indwelling Holy Spirit, is the “icon” of His presence in the world today. That presence is incarnated by her Spirit-filled people, perfectly united in God’s love, and sent into the world in the fullness of His power.

The great bronze doors of the Duomo brought it all into immediate focus, as they portrayed the corporal acts of mercy in Jesus’ ministry, and his command that we in turn must show his mercy and love to all: “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” Matthew 25:40

I will long remember the beauty and majesty of the Duomo, but the fresh appreciation I gained through its frescos and mosaics of the profound mystery of the Incarnation and Real Presence was transformative. I am forced to look at worship and ministry differently now.

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Worship on Sabbatical: The Eucharistic Presence of our Lord is something dear to me. A formative rector in my pre-seminary days was very Anglo-Catholic, and poured much of his theology into me in the few years just prior to my 1976 departure for Nashotah House. Nashotah, long known for its “high church” Anglo-Catholicism, only further reinforced that sense of reverence for the Real Presence of Christ in the Sacrament. Aquinas’ great hymn, “Now, my tongue the mystery telling,” (#329 in the Hymnal, 1982), was written as part of the eight services of the Liturgy for the Feast of Corpus Christi, commissioned by Pope Urban IV. Verses four and five from the hymn capture the essence of the doctrine:

“Word made flesh, the bread he taketh, by his word, his Flesh to be; wine his sacred Blood he maketh, though the senses fail to see; faith alone the true heart waketh to behold the mystery.”

“Therefore, we before him bending, this great Sacrament revere; types and shadows have their ending, for the newer rite is here; faith, our outward sense befriending, makes our inward vision clear.”

Our faith tells us that as the celebrant prays the ancient consecratory prayers, God the Father “remembers” (anamnesis) the fullness of Jesus’ saving life, passion, death and resurrection, and in His remembering, that fullness is made real in the midst of our worship—Heaven come down—and the true presence of our Lord and Savior, by the transforming power of the Holy Spirit, is made real under the humble signs of the bread and wine of the altar.

The implications of this profound truth for worship are impossible to overstate, and sadly, we fail repeatedly in the West to demonstrate even the slightest grasp of what Christ’s Eucharistic Presence demands of us. The time spent in the San Brizio chapel and studying the façade of the Duomo was powerfully used by God’s Spirit to drive that point home to me again. We simply don’t have a clue about the meaning—the height, depth, breadth and length—of having Him, in whom dwells the fullness (pleroma) of God, reign in the midst of our worship and tabernacle with us under the signs of bread and wine.

This renewed appreciation of the implications of the Real Presence was much in my mind during the three celebrations of the Eucharist Chris and I attended during our time in Italy: our tiny Sunday Eucharist with the members of our pilgrimage community, a Saturday Mass at the Duomo in the Corpus Christi chapel (where the Corporal of that miracle mass in 1263 is enshrined), and a glorious High Mass at the Basilica of San Marco in Venice.

The intimate Eucharist with our small community of pilgrims was hands-down the most powerful of the three, and the one in which I most clearly experienced the presence of the Spirit in the bond of love between us. The service was beautifully celebrated and intentionally understated liturgically. The gathering was in a very small, family chapel that was in somewhat of a state of disrepair, and we were not supported musically by choirs or musicians of any kind. Absent all of the absolute essentials of modern worship in the West, we were nevertheless ushered into the Presence in a way I haven’t experienced in some time. God’s Word was treated with reverence by our celebrant, Canon Skillen, and our “homily” was made up of our combined reflections on the lessons—asking ourselves the simple question, “What is God saying to us?”

The least powerful service was the Eucharist at the Duomo. The setting was absolutely breathtaking—the gold- and silver-encrusted reliquary, dating from the early 14th century, which holds the Corporal from the “miracle Mass,” is probably

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worth more than our church building! The liturgy was wonderfully supported by a traveling choir from a girl’s academy in Washington, DC, and their singing was angelic. With all of this going for it, I experienced nothing of the Spirit’s presence. While I do not doubt the Lord’s presence in the Sacrament, it seemed that the greatest honor and reverence was paid to the ancient Corporal, leaving me with a vague sense of idolatry rather than worship. This is a very subjective examination of the liturgy, and I know that the language barrier, combined with joining a small local community of worshipers with whom I had no connection, contributed to my observations. That said, the focus of worship seemed to be a 13th century piece of linen rather than the King of Kings reigning in our midst.

The High Mass at the Basilica of San Marco was absolutely perfect in every detail. The sense of awe created by the beauty of the basilica’s interior was staggering. The High Mass, complete with clouds of incense, was flawlessly executed, and the organ and professional choir made the entire service something one might expect to be captured on videotape as a teaching example of how to do solemn worship. While I understood little of the bishop’s sermon because of the language barrier, his delivery was tender—much like a father addressing the children he loves. I know this is completely subjective, but I could not escape the sense that the liturgy itself was the focal point of worship. It was like watching a Broadway play that has been running for years—perhaps performed by the second or third generation of stars in the cast. The players all change as the years go on, but meticulous attention is given to doing it exactly as that first, star-studded cast did it all those years ago. Seeing Cats performed in London gave me the same feeling. The dialogue was locally adapted by the British stars, but the script was essentially the same as the Broadway production down to the dramatic special effects!

I’ll share some thoughts about what this all says to me about my personal worship, and perhaps our corporate worship at All Saints’, in my concluding remarks. I am wrestling with the spiritual reality of the King of Heaven come down and reigning in our midst as the focus of our worship—words do not come easily for that! What does it mean for our focus and “expectation” in Sunday worship? What do my subjective observations from the Mass at the Duomo and the High Mass in Venice say to us here in Woodbridge? How does it challenge us—what demands does it place on us—individually and corporately, as we prepare ourselves for Sunday worship?

Benedictine Spirituality: For the purposes of this brief paper, I’m not going to go into depth on this topic, but rather will hit some of the key elements of St. Benedict’s unique offering to Christian spirituality that most impacted me.

When one thinks of monastic vows, the first words that come to mind tend to be things like, Poverty, Chastity and Obedience. I don’t know where those came from, but I just assumed they were the vows of St. Benedict’s Rule. Wrong! Benedictine monasticism is a call to take vows of Obedience, Conversion of Life and Stability. While Chris and I are not dissolving our marriage and heading for our respective convents and monasteries, I for one was impacted by these vows so central to Benedictine spirituality.

Obedience: I suspect for those directly under St. Benedict’s Rule, that earthly embodiment of Christ’s authority was the abbot. The Rule gives the abbot,

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who is himself under the Lordship and authority of Christ, absolute power and responsibility for the spiritual and physical wellbeing of his monks. His power and authority remind me of the classic 19th century concept of the authority of a ship’s captain while at sea.

As a priest of the Church and a member of the All Saints’ staff, I have clear lines of authority drawn out in canons and constitutions—I serve under the authority of my rector and bishop in a relationship of godly submission and obedience. The Oath of Conformity, taken at all ordinations, demands my obedience to Holy Scripture and godly authority. It is a sober challenge not to take a call to obedience lightly:

“I do believe the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments to be the Word of God and to contain all things necessary to salvation; and therefore I hold myself bound to conform my life and ministry thereto, and do solemnly engage to conform to the Doctrine, Discipline and Worship of Christ as this Church has received them. I do swear by almighty God that I will pay true and canonical obedience in all things lawful and honest to the Bishop of the Diocese of the Mid-Atlantic, and his successors: So help me God.”

These words, modeled after the ordinal of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, are clearer and more forceful than the words of our present prayer book. Conforming my life and ministry to the Word of God and swearing “by almighty God that I will pay true and canonical obedience in all things lawful and honest to the Bishop of the Diocese,” drive home the weight and solemnity of the vow of obedience in my life. In fact, as early mentors in my ministry reminded me, my submission to Jesus must be total: it is not my ministry in which I am engaged, but an extension of His one priestly ministry in the world.

It’s worth noting that obedience to Jesus’ call to discipleship—giving up all to follow him—always includes a soul-searching look at true biblical stewardship and a realization that I possess NOTHING in this life. All is gift—possessions, property, monetary income, innate skills and abilities, loved ones—and my faith calls me to challenge any notion of ownership or entitlement as I examine the people and things in my life.

The biblical tithe—ten percent off the top—is the most rudimentary application of stewardship. The monastic surrender of all possessions in obedience to God’s call, leads me to look beyond the basic tithe to the ninety percent that is left—am I hoarding resources to create a false sense of security that leaves God out of the picture? It challenges me to look at buying patterns—purchasing something because I CAN—that point to an ungodly attitude toward what God has given freely. This is not to negate prudent financial planning—I am responsible for providing security for those whom I love and am called to provide for—but it strikes at the biblical call to “singleness-of-heart” and at my spiritual attitude toward God’s blessings.

Conversion of Life moves the question from stewardship of possessions to a sweeping notion of the stewardship of all of life: every facet of my life must be brought under the Lordship of Jesus Christ. Every decision, every action, every thought and appetite, the affairs of my heart and mind, my intellect, and my very will—all must be converted to conform to the will of the Lord.

A specific area of my life that God brought to light as I considered the Benedictine call to “Conversion of Life,” is the area of my stewardship of time. St. Benedict’s Rule calls for the sanctification of time through the monastic offices, or hours of prayer: Matins, Lauds, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline. It further requires multiple hours of scriptural reading and silence, as well as fixed hours of work. As I mentioned above, prior to the sabbatical, I felt that my schedule was out of control and my human effort was inadequate in the face of the apparent inertia of a routine that was killing my spirituality.

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I return to All Saints’ with a renewed conviction to bring my day’s routine under Christ’s authority, not by trying harder, but by surrendering to Him. I believe that the Holy Spirit can and will allow me to do what I previously failed to do in my flesh. I am committed to times spent in silence, contemplation, regular hours of prayer, disciplined reading of Scripture, monthly quiet days and an annual retreat. Old patterns will have to go to make room for this new way of ordering my life—time wasters like the internet and TV are on the way out. I cannot possibly be the priest God wants me to be apart from devoting time to waiting on Him in silence and seeking His will in prayer, meditation and Scripture.

I am far from living out this radical conversion of life, where every facet of my daily living is brought under Christ’s Lordship. But the unshakeable sense of the immensity of God’s love that began to dawn on me during this sabbatical tells me that God’s loving purpose in conversion of life is to set me free from the entanglements of the flesh. The first verses of the twelfth chapter of the Letter to the Hebrews say it beautifully:

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” Hebrews 12: 1,2

Stability: The vow of stability is understood in three ways: stability of place, stability of community, and stability of heart. To illustrate this concept, Canon Skillen shared a helpful quotation with us from Metropolitan Anthony Bloom:

“What is it then to be stable? It seems to me that it may be described in the following terms: You will find stability at the moment when you discover that God is everywhere, that you do not need to seek him elsewhere, that He is here, and if you do not find Him here it is useless to go and search for Him elsewhere because it is not He that is absent from us, it is we who are absent from Him… It is important to recognize that it is useless to seek God somewhere else. If you cannot find Him here, you will not find Him anywhere else. This is important because it is only at the moment that you recognize this that you can truly find the fullness of the Kingdom of God in all its richness within you; that God is present in every situation and every place, that you will be able to say; ‘So then I shall stay where I am.’”

We did an exercise on stability in our lives by considering how often we had moved. The average American moves 12 times in his lifetime. I did the math: I’ve moved 26 times in my lifetime. Most of my stays were for two years or less, five were for 3 years, two were for 4 years, and only one (All Saints’) has been for longer—7.5 years and counting! Once married, I could claim a certain moveable “stability” because of the constancy of Chris and our girls, and while in service we had a global “stability of community” in the “brotherhood of the military,” but we never had a stability of place. I discovered, to my embarrassment, that, especially in my clerical moves, I was chasing success, significance and a vague sense of satisfaction or happiness.

Whether in the service or the civilian parish, I could count on a feeling of restlessness to hit me around eighteen months into an assignment. A creeping negativity would begin to cause me to doubt my significance in that assignment, I’d lose a sense of satisfaction, and, before I knew it, I was searching for the next move. Of course the nomadic lifestyle of the military makes this something of a “given” of life, but I found the same harmful dynamics at work in parish ministry, too.

While I am not too proud of that admission, it’s somewhat comforting to hear what Tim Keller has to say about this in his book, The Prodigal God:

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“We habitually and instinctively look to other things besides God and his grace as our justification, hope, significance, and security. We believe the gospel at one level, but at deeper levels we do not. Human approval, professional success, power and influence, family and clan identity—all of these serve as our heart’s ‘functional trust’…” p. 129

Predictably, these feelings of restlessness and insecurity about my significance hit me at All Saints’, but, happily, the turmoil in the larger Church made it impossible to think of moving, and we settled down. Praise God, the cycle that defined my adult life was finally broken, but questions of significance, satisfaction and happiness persisted. It’s only been in the past few years, taking the Spiritual Direction course and being under the spiritual direction of a local priest of this diocese, that I’ve realized what should have been patently obvious: I was seeking the outward trappings of success rather than seeking the One who bestows significance, peace and joy on us.

For the monastic, the vow of stability assumed that he would die in the abbey where he began as a novice unless God, in the person of the abbot, sent him somewhere else. Retirement awaits me at some point, and that will most likely involve a move, but in place of the fearful dread of slogging out my last few years of ministry and barely making it over the finish line in two years, I am filled with a renewed sense of God’s calling to this place—to a stability of place, community and heart. I wonder what the vow of stability might say to church members who say they aren’t experiencing God in their current parishes.

Franciscan Spirituality: My formation prior to seminary and my time at Nashotah were very much in a Benedictine model. As a strong “ISTJ” in the Myers Briggs, I find the structure of Benedictine spirituality freeing. I was not prepared to be as deeply impacted as I was by encountering the enormity of St. Francis’ love for Jesus and the power of a life given solely to Him. As God used St. Benedict’s monastic movement to preserve the essence of European civilization through the Dark Ages, so God called St. Francis during a time of intense prayer at the church of San Damiano to rebuild his Church, which had fallen into corruption and ruin.

We moderns—influenced as we are by the Enlightenment and the Deism of that era—are often stunted in our spiritual development because we have embraced Deism’s lie that God is distant, uninvolved and disinterested. [Note: While All Saints’ is happily not in this category, we are one of the exceptions

that prove the rule!] We in the developed world so desperately need the witness of Benedict and Francis today.

For Benedict and Francis, faith was passionate and personal. Scripture was central to their lives: it spoke relevance into their lives where we attempt to define the relevance of Scripture using our lives as the standard. The Gospels were read, reread, and memorized, and then put into action with a passion that humbles me. St. Francis is the preeminent example of this.

Renouncing the wealth of his father’s house and business, he left all for Jesus—embracing the poor, the outcast and even lepers—and gave himself to a life of poverty and obedience to his Master. His first biographer, Thomas of Celano, tells us that Francis heard the words of the Gospel, took them in, and then put them into action. This humble monk, who lived most of his life sleeping in the open, begging food and preaching the Gospel with legendary persuasion—inspiring thousands to follow him into poverty—brought down “the mighty from their thrones,” and changed the world. Two years prior to his death, while in the midst of a forty-day fast and deep in prayer, St. Francis had a seraphic vision of the crucified Christ and received in his flesh the Stigmata—the wounds of Christ. The bestowal of the Stigmata marked his life as one lived most perfectly in submission to his Lord.

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It is his passion—his love and single-hearted devotion to Jesus—that captivates and challenges me. My affections are so weak and insipid by comparison. Francis’ devotion to the Gospels, prayer and fasting—his single-minded focus on knowing and loving the Risen Christ—demands my attention and my action.

St. Bonaventure, in his definitive work on Franciscan spirituality, The Soul’s Journey into God, from which our pilgrimage drew its name, gives us a clear insight into our problem and God’s solution:

It seems amazingwhen it has been shown

that God is so close to our soulsthat so few should be aware

of the First Principle [God] within themselves.Yet the reason is close at hand:

for the human mind, distracted by cares,does not enter into itself through memory;

clouded by sense images,it does not turn back to itself through intelligence;

allured away by concupiscence,it does not turn back to itself through desire

for inner sweetness and spiritual joy.Thus lying totally in these things of sense,

it cannot reenter into itselfas into the image of God.1

He speaks a truth right out of the synoptic Gospels’ Parable of the Sower: but for God’s grace in Jesus, we cannot possibly be the seed sown on good soil—our soul lies fallen and utterly helpless to “reenter into itself as into the image of God.” In Bonaventure’s words:

[No] matter how enlightened one may beby the light of natural and acquired knowledge,

he cannot enter into himselfto delight within himself in the Lord

unless Christ be his mediator…Therefore, if we wish to enter again

into the enjoyment of Truth as into paradise,we must enter

through faith in, hope in and love of Jesus Christ,the mediator between God and men,

who is like the tree of life

in the middle of paradise.2

The action demanded of me by the witness of St. Francis’ life and spirituality is nothing less than giving myself wholeheartedly to the pursuit of Jesus in the great disciplines of the Church, that at

1 Bonaventure, The Soul’s Journey into God, trans. Ewert Cousins (Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1978), 87. 2 Ibid., 88.

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the last, “…being rooted and grounded in love, [I] may have the strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that [I] may be filled with all the fullness of God.” Ephesians 3:17b-19

Prayers of Affirmation on our final day: We had some amazing day trips (Monte Oliveto Maggiore and Sant’ Antimo) and an overnight in Assisi, all of which added incredible depth and emphasis to our pilgrimage, but in an attempt to resist the temptation to produce a book rather than what I hope will be a brief paper, I need to move on to the powerful group affirmation prayers on the final day of our pilgrimage.

We set one chair in the middle of our circle (a prayer “hot seat”). Each member of our pilgrimage community had a chance to sit in the middle of the prayer circle and receive specific prayers and affirmations from the community. While this has been a lovely part of several groups I’ve been a member of, I have to confess that my inner spirit was saying, “Been there, done that, got the T-Shirt!” Our merciful God was kind enough to ignore my prideful, jaded attitude, and jump right into the middle of my life through the prayers of those whose hearts were more “set on the pilgrims’ way” than mine! All the prayers were powerful, but several actually were almost verbatim from healing prayer times going back as far as 2001!

One prayer was that I might see myself as God, the Father, sees me—to embrace the fullness of His vision for me—and to walk into it with confidence and faith. This was almost verbatim from a “Restoring the Foundations” healing prayer session from December of 2007.

The next prayer reassured me that while I may sometimes feel cast off, passed over, or set aside by the “hierarchy,” that is not how God sees me—it simply is not so in God’s eyes! As with the prayer above, this person had no way of knowing that he was being given a verbatim download by the Holy Spirit from a previous session of healing prayer, this time from February of 2001. God is so gracious in using willing human vessels to miraculously encourage me in what could only be a supernatural way, adding as it did to the power of the message itself. Good thing I was seated in the “hot seat” when they hit me with these—it would have laid me out!

A third prayer dramatically affirmed my calling/anointing in the ministry of spiritual direction. The person described a time when we were talking and I mainly listened, giving brief words of encouragement or asking short questions. She said it was powerfully significant to her—just having me listen and really hear her. Our director, Canon Skillen, who had been able to hear this conversation during a long car trip, was equally affirming in prayer. They both commented that it flowed naturally from who God created me to be. [Stand by for a “swallow” insight in the conclusion!]

Finally, I was given a beautifully healing affirmation about the “genuine, godly sense of fatherhood” that the person perceived in my presence and ministry. This brought tears to me. While my Dad was a good man, he was a WWII Vet and, like many in that generation, he was almost incapable of expressing love. He showed his love by being a hard worker and a good provider for us. He was a distant, removed, workaholic father. My difficulty with him only increased in the distant way he dealt with my mother’s cancer and ultimate death at the age of 54. Our relationship became badly strained.

Sadly, when I reached a certain level of spiritual maturity and was ready to work on being reconciled, he had fallen prey to dementia—we never in this life accomplished the reconciliation I longed for. The affirmation of my fellow pilgrim was such a witness to the healing God has done in my life: given the broken relation and the resulting father wound, God alone could bring me to a place where that godly sense of “fatherhood” would shine through in my life and ministry.

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Spiritual Direction with Canon Skillen: Canon Susan Skillen, who so ably directed our pilgrimage, agreed to do a time of couple spiritual direction for Chris and me. Susan has been the leader of my off-site course on spiritual direction and is the Canon for Spiritual Direction of the Anglican Diocese in New England. I won’t be referring to the rich experience Chris had—that is her journey—but this was critically important to me as I sought to put the pilgrimage experience into perspective and practice.

We focused on the concept of entering the “Sabbath rest of God” from Hebrews 4:9-11:

“So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his. Let us therefore strive to enter that rest…”

This had been a significant theme of an RTF session I had in March of 2012, and I was still struggling to plumb the depths of that concept. We invited God’s Holy Spirit to be present with us, and then spent some time in silence and prayer. I made a few comments in response to key questions from Susan, and then we had more time in silence. Through her patient and skilled direction, I began to see more clearly what God was calling me to in the biblical concept of Sabbath rest.

The rest spoken of in the Letter to the Hebrews is entering that place of turning everything over to God so we can receive from Him what he has for us. It is a place that is restorational, and is founded on the unshakeable knowledge that God has everything under control—nothing is outside of his power—and a complete trust in his love and goodness. [A spiritual corollary is the sober realization that in this life, virtually nothing is under my control!] In that place of Sabbath rest, He gives us assignments and tasks, but it is God who is doing it through us as we rest in him. As fears or anxieties come our way, we are to give them to him and quickly strive to return to that place of resting in him.

Susan reminded me of the importance of spending time cultivating the ability to rest with God in silence. The more quickly and easily I can enter into that silence, the more it becomes a “touchstone” of God’s presence throughout the course of a busy day—something into which I can enter to re-center myself in God’s Sabbath rest.

Central to all of this is the trustworthiness of God, and my mind is drawn back to another brief paper I wrote more than 34 years ago in seminary. In an elective course on the Psalms taught by our professor of Old Testament, The Rev’d Dr. Joseph Hunt, I had examined the Hebrew word hesed. It is the most commonly used adjective to describe God in the Old Testament, and is often translated as tender mercy or loving-kindness. It is all of those things, but its literal translation is covenant loyalty. He will never forsake us or forget us. The prophet Isaiah gives us a poignant example of this:

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…” Isaiah 49:15, 16a

This same chapter of Isaiah contains one of the Servant Songs, which so powerfully prefigure Jesus, the Messiah. God’s love, engraved in the nail-pierced hands of His Christ, stands as the eternal reminder to me of the endless depth of God’s love for me and of his covenant loyalty.

Concluding Thoughts:

Calling: The time spent on sabbatical did wonders to confirm or re-confirm aspects of my priestly calling. The sections above on the Incarnation, Real Presence and worship re-awakened my love of the Liturgy and a desire to go deeper in examining the implications of a robust theology of the Real Presence on our worship, ecclesiology, and ministry. The lecture Dr. Skillen gave us on the sweeping history of the region and the Duomo of Orvieto reawakened in me a love of antiquity and of our ancient Anglo-Catholic roots.

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The joyful aerobatics of the swallows at Subiaco became a metaphor for a sense of calling to spiritual direction. The swallows were simply doing what they had been created by God to do. In the prayer affirmations of my fellow pilgrims, I began to see some of what God had been working out in my life: an innate sense of spiritual direction flowing from my personhood, complemented by a genuine, godly sense of “fatherhood,” which the Father’s healing had brought forth out of my woundedness. While I feel the need to continue to grow into that vocational calling, I am approaching it with eager anticipation.

Worship: I have been critical of worship in the West in this reflection paper. We moderns tend to approach Sunday worship with our own set of expectations and often leave church frustrated and disappointed that our “needs” have not been met—that we were not “fed” or “blessed” by what we encountered. In reality we have not worshipped at all, or more precisely, our needs, wants, and expectations show that we, rather than God, were the focus of our worship. Sadly, I can see something of this at work in me as I approach Sunday worship. As a priest it manifests a bit differently, but at its heart, it is the same sinful self-focus.

The modern expression of church can so often begin with creating “needs-based” programming to lure the unchurched in the doors. There is some wisdom in this, but the consumerism it fosters in our people works counter to the sanctifying work of the Spirit in their lives. True conversion of life and the passionate single-hearted devotion to Jesus as Lord are foreign concepts to us in a culture that tells us, “It’s all about me!”

I am left with more questions than answers at this point. How do we teach the presence of the risen Lord in his Church—his Bride—in ways that 21st century seekers and pew-sitters can understand and embrace? What changes to worship do we need to make to heighten the sense of awe and majesty in worship?

Thankfully, the presence and work of the Holy Spirit has brought us a greater sense of God’s immanence. I suspect that the same Holy Spirit can lead us to a clearer vision of God’s transcendence, too. My sense is that we have lost the balance—perhaps we are at the far end of the pendulum swing from the over-emphasis on transcendence in past decades. Only the Spirit can bring us to the balance we need in worship.

As we seek a Spirit-led balance between immanence and transcendence, we also need to seek balance in the areas highlighted by my subjective observations from the Masses at the Duomo and the Basilica of San Marco. Our Anglican liturgy at its best draws all five senses into worship. The beauty of the worship space, the excellence in music, the occasional use of incense, the dignity and, in the best sense of the word, pageantry of the liturgy all contribute to making our unique Anglican worship the gift it is to the larger Church. Only the Holy Spirit can guard our hearts against allowing worship to become idolatrous. Only hearts on fire with love for the Lord can protect us from performing liturgy like a Broadway play. Here I am so keenly aware of the responsibility of the clergy in leading congregations into true worship. Thank God for the faithful work of the intercessors who support us in this and other aspects of our ministry! I, for one, need to communicate this as a prayer request to those who intercede for me.

At a personal level, I am struck by how poorly I prepare myself for coming into the presence of God on Sunday. The intentional Sabbath rest of Saturday has been lost to me entirely, and I must regain it. That involves curtailing social engagements on Saturday nights—something that I lost sight of while in the chaplaincy. Getting ample rest is an obvious aspect of this. I have long kept a fast through the night and into the day on Sunday, breaking it with the first Eucharist of the day, but that had become a matter of prideful duty. I have repented of that and have entered again into the spirit of that fast. Finally, my time in the early morning, prior to departing for church, needs to be devoted to times of silence, prayer and repentance as I seek to prepare my heart for worship.

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Modeling Sabbath rest: Canon Skillen, in our spiritual direction session, challenged me to model the concept of living out of Sabbath rest for the staff. We talked of ways to re-prioritize my life and daily schedule—some of which I’ve implemented and some that remain to be done. As I head into 2014 and my first year serving the parish at three-quarter time, I need to use that new free day for the Lord. This will allow me to take a quiet day each month. I am also feeling led to carve out time for an annual silent or guided retreat of several days.

Clearly, keeping the modern “hours” of prayer—morning and evening prayer, along with the noonday prayers and Compline—is something I feel called to re-institute as part of my own daily routine. Beyond that daily immersion in God’s Word through the hours of prayer, I am convicted of my need to go much deeper in the study of the Word. Time each day needs to be set aside for that in place of my slavish attention to email and the internet! God’s Word was central to the spirituality of both St. Benedict and St. Francis—the Word of God gave relevance to their lives and they committed it to memory. How much more do I, in this lost age, need to devote time to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” God’s Word?

Sketching as a metaphor of the spiritual life: My sweet bride really “leaned” on me to take up pencil sketching during the last five days we had on our own in Orvieto. The last time I sat down and intentionally sketched anything—doodling on class notes in college and seminary not included—was in 8th grade: the last art class taken in public school! Under her persistent encouragement, I finally relented and did two whole sketches.

Our residence in Orvieto was a recently-renovated convent. It is home to the Studio for Art, Faith, and History, a foreign-studies program of Gordon College created by Dr. John Skillen. The art work of past student participants is everywhere. My first sketch was a crude attempt to duplicate a work hanging in our study room. Its masterful presentation silently mocked my rudimentary efforts for the remainder of the week, but it was a start!

My other attempt was to sketch the scene of our afternoon spent in “contemplation in action”—seeking to “hear” God communicate to us as we contemplate the beauty of his work in nature.

Unlike our knee-jerk photographic response when we are in “tourist mode,”—snapping shots willy-nilly—sketching requires one to slow down and really examine the subject in question. Time must be spent seeing the balance and symmetry of the scene and studying the lines of perspective. The tiniest details become significant in attempting to accurately portray what is before the eyes. Through the time spent in disciplined observance, we finally begin to “see,” often for the first time.

We moderns appear to be going through life in “tourist mode”! All the technology that allegedly makes life easier—the gadgets that bombard us with information and communication in a relentless stream—drive us through life at a break-neck speed. It all conspires to keep us so distracted and exhausted that we never slow down enough to simply “be.” The stillness and observation required to sketch something speak poignantly to us about what is so desperately needed in the spiritual life. I, for one, have decided that I must slow down, unplug, and simply dedicate the time necessary to waiting on the Lord in silence and attentiveness.

In my efforts to sketch, I quickly became discouraged as I tried to progress from the basics of middle school art class to capturing the details of the scene. The young artists—past participants in the Orvieto experience—seemed to convey this effortlessly. Why was it so infuriatingly difficult for me? Of course the answer is obvious: they’ve spent years in study and practice! There is no substitute for time spent practicing any skill and there are no short cuts!

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How like the spiritual life this is. After reading of the lives of St. Theresa of Avila or John of the Cross, I expect to soar to the same heights of rapture on my first venture into silence and contemplation! How quickly I attempt to bypass the years they dedicated to pursuing God through the classic disciplines of the life of prayer. As in any worldly skill—my halting attempts at sketching or any other worthy pursuit—there is no substitute for a life grounded in the great spiritual disciplines of our Christian faith.

Finally, in my attempt to sketch the scene of my “contemplation in action,” I realized that I needed further instruction on the finer points of technique: I could only go so far on the memory of what I learned in 8th grade! Most Anglican adults “graduated” from Christian education when confirmed in their teens and have never looked back. That makes about as much sense as my trying to be a great “artist” using my 8th grade knowledge of art. How much more do I need to seek the wisdom of the ages in Scripture and Christian classics? Of equal importance, how much more do I need to seek the wise counsel of a spiritual director to guide me on the path of spiritual growth?

As I reflect on all the above, I am filled with a sense of gratitude to God for being placed in this wonderful parish and held here “against my will” in those early days when wanderlust set in. What a joy to finally be free of the broken dynamics of my early ministry and be able to say with Metropolitan Bloom, “[God is in this place] so then, I shall stay where I am!”

I can say without a doubt that I would not be making that pronouncement had this parish not sent us on sabbatical. I was headed for the scrap heap of ministry—I don’t believe I am indulging in hyperbole here—as a creeping burnout began to paralyze my worship and ministry. I return from our sabbatical with a fresh sense of joy in worship, a renewed love of my calling, a reawakened sense of the transcendent majesty of God’s presence in the midst of the worshiping community and Jesus’ Real Presence in the Sacrament, and an anticipation of new horizons in ministry as I grow into a calling to spiritual direction.

As the first All Saints’ priest to benefit from our new sabbatical policy, let me whole-heartedly endorse it as a must-keep aspect of our church’s policy and thank Fr. Dan and the Vestry for blessing Chris and me with what was a life-changing four weeks.