Passing through the Graveyard

On Friday, I spent the hours between 10:00 and 4:00 at Holy Hill Monastery, a Discalced Carmelite monastery, a holy site just a half hour outside of Milwaukee. The Carmelite order started in, I believe, the 12th century when a group of hermits gathered on Mt. Carmel, the famous mountain of 1 Kings where Yahweh holds back the rain through the prophet Elijah to show the prophets of Baal that he has no power. Soon, however, the Carmelites were scattered.

The order was revived in the fifteenth century by St. Teresa of Avila, who, among other things, insisted that those of the order go barefoot or wear sandals in order to identify with the poor. From this point on, they were known as the Discalced (barefoot) Carmelites. Another well known figure of the order was Saint John of the Cross, the mystic who was famous for his book The Dark Night of the Soul. The order emphasizes personal prayer and communion with God, as the monks spend at least two hours a day in silent, individual prayer. This prayer is often modeled after St. Teresa, who liked to imagine that she was in the Garden of Gethsemanie with her suffering Lord as she prayed.

As we drove to the monastery, I was surprised to notice that we passed through an old graveyard, which occurred to me as an odd place for one - we were driving on a busy highway after all. But sure enough, lining both sides of the highway were hundreds of small white gravestones, such that we literally drove directly through. I did not give it much of a thought at the time.

Later, as I was kneeling at my pew in the beautiful sanctuary praying and looking up at Christ on the cross, the Christ who died for me, I was reminded of the graveyard that we passed through. I began to name all of the parts of me that needed to die, that needed to be uprooted, that needed to be left at that altar. I realized that the passing through the graveyard was symbolic of what needed to happen at that monastery, and what needs to happen everyday of my life. So often we use benign language to explain Christianity, that all one needs to do is have faith in Christ. But we also fail to realize that having faith in Christ means dying.

"I have been crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live but Christ that lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself up for me." -Galatians 2:20

When we are placed in the waters of baptism, we die; when we come out of the waters of baptism we are raised to new life, a life which is not our own, but Christ in us. Passing through that graveyard yesterday helped me to remember my baptism, and reminded me that I have some catching up to do.

Servant Leadership

In my Byzantine Theology class, we have been studying the writings of the rather enigmatic figure Dionysius the Areopagite, which had a major influence on theologians of the ensuing generations, both east and west. The mystery surrounding this small corpus is that, for all of their influence, no one is quite sure who the author is. He claims to be the first century figure mentioned in Acts 17, one of the only people to respond to the Apostle's Paul preaching. From historical clues in the writings, however, it is quite certain that the writer could not have been Paul's disciple. More likely these works came from the late fifth to early sixth century. Because of his pseudonym (and other arguably questionable material in his works), Dionysius has come under much criticism. Unfortunately, I think that these criticisms have obscured the amazing spirituality he represents.

Take for example his thoughts on the ecclesiastical hierarchy of leaders (Bishop - priests - deacons - monks - lay people). Of course, Protestants criticize this hierarchy because it seems to imply that some are closer to God or have more access to God or something. But when he explains the ordination process of each of these ministers, you catch a glimpse of the beautiful and if you can see through the symbols, you catch a glimpse of Christ. To summarize his discussion of the ordination ceremony:

1. Monks stand before the altar and are anointed by the Bishop.
2. Deacons kneel on one knee before the altar and are anointed by the Bishop.
3. Priests kneel on both knees before the altar and are anointed by the Bishop.
4. The Bishop kneels on both knees and literally places the Scriptures on his head, and is anointed by a fellow Bishop.

What amazes me about this seemingly straightforward ceremony is the symbolism in the posture. Notice that the "higher" one gets in the hierarchy of power, the "lower" they are prostrated. This displays in physical form the calling of Christ upon every human's life, but particularly upon those who would answer the call to shepherd others. This is a call to follow in the footsteps of Christ, "who did not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped but made himself nothing taking the very form of a slave."

This beautiful account of a sixth century ordination service reminds us that leaders in the church are not called to greater stature and greater power (as leaders in the world are); rather, leaders in the church are called to be the servant of others, as Christ was the servant of all. This is a message, I think, that many of today's church leaders need desperately to hear and desperately to grasp. It is likewise a message that I, as I prepare to be a "Doctor", whatever that means, need to hear and grasp.