The Magnificat

Magnificat
Pete Gdula, December 20th, 2009
For as many times as I’ve dreamt of or imagined doing a sermon on the Magnificat, it would seem as though the words would have flowed from my soul through my heart, into my mind, and out onto the paper. The foundation was formed long ago. As a young boy donning the cassock and surplice of an Altar Boy, and growing up in a devout Roman Catholic family whose traditions were steeped in the eastern European regions of Hungary, Slovakia, and Poland, I was no stranger to having the scent of incense permeate our best clothes for the remainder any given Sunday afternoon. The sound of Sanctus Bells would echo through my mind as I recalled the elevation of the bread and cup during the consecration. And at times I still recall the wondrous voices of prayer as we sang out “Hail Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope.” Pictures of the Sacred Heart of Mary greeted me on the walls of ours and all of my relative’s houses. Statues of her graced every church I remember visiting as a child, as did chapels, shelves, recesses, and gardens (just as one does in my back yard). And of course the Ave Maria was sung with expected reverence at every wedding I attended. To find these things, along with “Hail Mary” prayers, missing from various places as I grew up and moved on with my life’s journey, seemed to me in some ways to be lacking respect for a particular type of Motherhood. A kind, warm Motherhood that I had grown so accustomed to having known all of my life. Perhaps the need for the tender and unconditionally loving maternal qualities that compliment the paternal aspects of the church and humanity were what I had missed from time to time while visiting various places of worship. It may also be for this self declared student of St Benedict the necessary balance that gives unity to my attempt at living into Jesus Christ. After much wandering and redirection by God’s gentle (but persevering) voice, I’ve found great liberty and acceptance as an Episcopalian, being able to display my admiration for Mary in public. The most obvious place is in having the option of reciting the Magnificat every day as the canticle for Evening Prayer.
While the chapter and verses that include this canticle are one of only seven times Mary speaks in the New Testament, it is huge how the nature of her accepting her role in the will of God makes me step back in awe and wonder at her humbleness in an act that is to me, sacramental. It is as natural as it is mysterious. It is as profound as it is simplistic. It is as divine as it is human. There is as much strength as there is gentleness. And it grasps the words of the prophets from centuries past and finally, delivers not only the Son of God, but a perfect model of the emptiness and poverty that a soul can be in to accept Christ into our own hearts as completely as she did.
The contemplative Cistercian Monk, poet, peace advocate and author Thomas Merton was a very big devotee of Mary. In his book, New Seeds of Contemplation, Merton expounds on this humility and emptiness as a true contemplative would by referring to her as we hear in the canticle how God has “looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. He says:
“…that having nothing of her own, retaining nothing of a “self” that could glory in anything for her own sake, she placed no obstacle to the mercy of God and in no way resisted His love and His will … He was able to accomplish His will perfectly in her, and His liberty was in no way hindered or turned from its purpose by the presence of an egotistical self in Mary … She was then a freedom that obeyed Him perfectly and in this obedience found the fulfillment of perfect Love.”
Unfortunately our humanity does present the possibility of having ego get in the way of determining how we think others should be fulfilled in perfect Love and how we receive Christ. We know that language can be a barrier, especially when we try to translate not only between languages but between centuries of time, miles of terrain, and continents of culture. It saddens me to know that there is much condemnation toward those who pray with Mary as a mother, sister, daughter, saint, or friend, because of that language barrier. I refer here to the Greek word “Theotokos.” The Greek to English translation is “Bearer of God”, The Greek to Latin to English translation is “Mother of God”, and so we have the first indication of the 5th century proclamation to bestow upon Mary a title that would eventually be mistranslated into words that were not intended to be written. What Mary did by accepting the will of God and giving birth to His son, was for all people just as that same son, Jesus Christ, was born for all people, whether they know them or not. The truth of the acceptance, known or unknown is shown in how we live out our lives in having that birth of Christ recognized in us by others.
God’s will does not begin with Mary’s acceptance of bearing His son. It does not end with his birth. It does not begin or end with our acceptance of His son. As the last line of the canticle proclaims, “...according to the promise He made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” This brings us into accord with not just the future, but all of the past and all of the deceased. And considering Abraham’s descendants now consist of three fourths of the world’s population, in one form or another, the “Bearer of God” has many descendants in her genealogy. Mary, the Blessed Mother of Jesus Christ, has humbly given herself as the perfect model of a vessel for receiving Christ into our own lives. As we make our final preparations this week for the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, let us clear some time and space to find a moment, and reflect on Mary, her unconditional love for God and humankind, and pray that we become more and more open to having Christ completely fill our hearts and lives every day. Perhaps without knowing it, you’ll greet someone on the street that will recognize Christ alive within you, and just as Elizabeth’s child did, leap for joy from the sound of your voice.

Four Moon Days

Four Moon Days
Peter Mark Gdula
12/02/2009

Four moons pass yet we have one
Our time is spent to gather sun
Beams that grow in the dawns
Yet move along as dusk spawns
Another broken vessel to be
Patched with flour paste as we
Seek another moon to hide behind
When shadows form in mind
And soul and heart our strength
Is begged for endless length
Of time and space impatient as
Our spirit grows for want and has
Yet not to show what fate betrays
The tides of four moon days

A New Hope

A New Hope Pete Gdula Sermon for Sunday, November 15th, 2009
May I begin by giving thanks to everyone here for welcoming me into your family? You have offered nothing less than honest and sincere friendship and I’m grateful for being given this opportunity to serve all of you as you help me grow into my ministry. Diaconal internship is not just about the formation of a postulant into someone who is fit for ordination, but is also part of the ongoing discernment process in determining what type of ministry a person is being called to. I am being exposed to a wide variety of areas here, which are helping to broaden my experience and narrow the focus of my future goals. That reflects remarkably well on you folks, the diversity in giving of yourselves shows that the body of Christ, His voice, hands, feet, eyes, and ears are well known throughout this community. And what these actions bring is hope. Hope out of despair. Hope out of gloom and doom. Hope that the light will shine out of the darkness that many lay claim to.
To say there is a tone and thread of despair, or gloom and doom in today’s readings reflects how much this hope is needed. In one sense we may be brought to a place of having to recognize and acknowledge the seriousness and intensity of what the writers are trying to say. After all, the images of Daniel’s vision from receiving and eating the scroll are described in one sense as awakening from the dust of the earth … and … living eternity in shame and contempt. This is the first clear biblical reference to a resurrection, final judgment and afterlife. We find it again in some other scroll eaters such as Ezekiel and of course the most dramatic and vivid description from Revelation in the New Testament, as John of Patmos reveals what many think will be the final days of life as we know it. We don’t stop here with this notion.
In the gospel, we hear Jesus telling his disciples that the temple will be destroyed. As they ask for specifics on the matter he responds of how false prophets will try to deceive us; how wars will erupt; and how nature will take its toll through natural disasters. Not the type of picture you want to have painted for you when things seem to be going your way. Continue on with the Gospel from where we left off and things get even worse as we are told of families turning against each other and that to escape this misery you must flee to the mountains. Here is the perfect opportunity for a good old “fire and brimstone”, “burn in the flames of hell” sermon.
In preparation for this talk, I jokingly mentioned to Ed how he thought it would go over here if I’d give one of those types of sermons, beating on the pulpit, hands flying in the air. He jumped right on it and immediately offered to sit in the back and offer up “Halleluiahs” and “Amen, Brother Pete!” all intended to get you riled up and filled with the Spirit! Then I brought it up with Daphne. A somewhat different response was met with what seemed like an eternal blank stare, followed by a few bats of the eyelashes and, finally, shrugging her shoulders and chuckling … “Why not?” I promise you this is not one of those sermons! I’ve experienced that type of preacher’s wrath once or twice in my life; that was plenty, thank you. Regardless of who or how many see an occasion to spread God’s word through fear and trembling, there is another side of the story we can embrace.
We can embrace and see a reason these readings are placed where they are in the lectionary. We can see a beginning after an end. We can recognize that we live in a world of cycles, rhythms, and seasons. And when we look closely at the liturgy and the seasons of the church year, we hope to embrace the cycles, rhythms, and seasons of our faith more clearly than before. This is something we have begun teaching our children at an early age. If you haven’t had the opportunity to visit the Godly Play room and the sacred, holy space that Marion and Joann create and preserve for our young children, please stop by and take a look inside. Along with the wonderful story boxes, props, books, and materials for their prayer work, you’ll see a large felt square on the wall with small squares of green, white, purple and red placed in a circle with a marker pointing to one of the squares. It looks like a clock. This is the liturgical year calendar. At the beginning of each class the children count out the number of the Sunday we are in for that particular liturgical season.
Today the calendar points ever more closely to wrapping up the season of Pentecost and moving into Advent. Yes. Advent. Christmas is very close. Today is the next to last Sunday of Pentecost, that season which calls us into action to live out our lives as Christians in everyday situations, attempting to bring Christ into each moment we encounter. So in another sense, a way of looking at what the readings for today are telling us as we close out Pentecost in this and next Sunday’s lessons, is that we’ve reached another end of a season and cycle. We have gone through the cycle beginning with the preparatory and somewhat penitential season of Advent. We’ve encountered the Light of The World through the birth of Jesus and announced the discovery of Christ to the world during Epiphany. The penitential season of Lent brought us further and deeper into preparation for accepting the call and becoming a member of the body of Christ, culminating in the participation of Holy Week and Jesus’ death. We then celebrate the resurrection with Easter and the renewal of our baptismal vows, and finally, we bring all of these parts together during the long season of Pentecost, and live out our lives in faith.
Now faith is not just a noun. Faith is also a verb. So as we embrace the seasons, we live out our faith through them and put our faith into action as Christ taught us in the Gospels. I said earlier that hope is the other side of the readings we can look to instead of the despair, gloom and doom that many will portray as the message for today. And I also mentioned how this community of The Church of Nativity has taken seriously the challenge of becoming the body of Christ in the world. It reflects on the faces of the children and young adults who come to class eager to hear how they can do their part in being examples of the goodness of God, starting with simple acts like clearing the cups and plates off of the tables during coffee hour. They will carry that over into society as they grow and begin to serve others where they see a need. It reflects on the minds and hearts of those who stretch themselves and share their thoughts with others by participating in the Adult Education Forum. It reflects on the happy faces of those who eagerly contribute to the functions you provide for Honnoman House and Episcopal Commons. And it reflects abundantly on the generous gifts you give to numerous other causes and organizations not just in the town of Newport, but throughout the diocese, nation, and the world.
In the last line of the Gospel reading, Jesus says, “This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.” We can leave here looking at the pangs and pain that go along with life. We can leave here with a feeling of despair. We can leave here expecting gloom and doom from now till eternity. But instead there are other things we can do. We can hear the rest of the story and spread the good news we hear every Sunday. We can understand our role in society and be the body of Christ in our daily lives. But we must be that verb faith … and live to bring this hope to others. The hope that lies in that same birth just mentioned. The hope that once again we will emerge from Pentecost ready to journey deeper into the season of Advent, participate in the wonder and joy of the birth of Jesus this Christmas, and perhaps also celebrate the rebirth of ourselves as being a child of God, eager to embrace and live out our faith more fully than we could ever imagine.

Rock'n'Water

The large rock was resting at the base of a hill, perhaps heaved from higher up by a force that was doing its job as a “landscape with nature” professional. I had seen this boulder on earlier trips down the other side of the trail; however, I had never had the view as I now had, coming up from below. It was a new perspective on an old subject. It did not occur to me as such at the time. The sun had barely lifted above the ridge that stood before me. I was lost in the laziness of the cool morning shade paying just enough attention to my other surroundings to keep an eye out for crawling things. After taking several pictures, I looked up and discovered the old well pump house to my right. It struck me odd as to where I was. It was an awakening, not just because I was unaware of my location on this short hike, but a fresh angle had given me new insight and resurrected something I had been neglecting to see was missing. It reminded me of how I may need to take a fresh look and different angle at some other areas of my life, in particular my spiritual path and rule of life. What had been working had become somewhat routine, and motivation was needed to steer me toward a fresh approach.

Another person’s request will often lead to answers of our own unasked questions. I had taken this walk as part of doing my job, but also for utilizing the time to sort out some things in my mind about what a friend had asked me to do. We’ll call it a lesson on spiritual guidance. Not direction. Not advice. Guidance. As the walk progressed and thoughts emerged there were images and ideas not readily conducive to this person and I began to wonder if I had actually made a mistake by taking on the responsibility of it all. Things were not panning out and if there was any indication of what might be aptly applied to her, it was evaporating my ideas as fast as the sun was doing the same to the mist in the hollow.

My next step was another trail that begged for attention; this one up a slight grade alongside a small creek bed. Although it was late summer, water was still streaming down, fed from springs up at the top of the northerly facing ridge. The trail traversed the stream occasionally and made for some tricky footing here and there; sometimes through mud, sometimes taking your chances on wet rocks that jutted up from the bed. From time to time the water’s rushing seemed to turn to hushing as it silenced all but the nearest woodpecker high in the naked hemlock that towered above me. It was calming and serene and I managed to take a few pictures of miniature waterfalls tumbling over small branches and stones. An attempt at time lapse photography proved worthy of some self proclaimed good shots of the scenery. My own thoughts were being fed from this contemplative arena, but there was still not much evolving in the direction of my friend’s needs.

The evening was spent viewing the pictures and labeling them on my social network for friends and family to see. I chose one picture of the rock to use as the album cover and chose several of the stream photos to accompany the rocks in the album. Later when I had settled in for the evening I had a chance to convey to the person requesting my help, some of my thoughts and the nature of the observations I was making. The attention turned to the pictures of the stones and water. I was commenting on how the rock resembled my hard-headedness and at times stubborn demeanor. She was commenting how the water pictures were displaying a softness that she needed in her life. In that moment I realized how both of these features, the hardness of the rock and the softness of the water, represented extremes. It was the balance of the two that I was in need of. I had begun to retreat back to an old habit of “all or nothing” when “moderation” had been the watch-word and key to my solitude. And this was the perfect reminder. Perhaps studying the Rule of Benedict from being an oblate of a monastic community, along with my prayer life and vocational direction, were actually paying off for me to recognize this as guidance for my own spirituality. Perhaps it was providential that a friend had asked me for help that would ultimately unlock the answers to unasked questions for me. Maybe it was an exercise in spiritual discernment to prepare me for future assignments such as this friend’s request. But mostly, it appears to me to be the result of heeding the first word of the Rule of Benedict … “Listen … “ All the asking in the world would not have helped if I had not listened to the words, sounds, and inner voice that described the pictures and scenes to me. And for my friend’s request? This was surely an exercise in preparing me to help in much greater ways than thought possible before, not just for her, but for who knows how many in the future! Thank you, God, for the ability to listen.

"...And the Lord be gracious unto you..."

Whether we hold in our mind a glimpse of a hummingbird darting through a garden, or ponder the instincts of nature as we witness a squirrel being chased down by a red tail hawk, there can be no other feeling grip us so tight and as strong as knowing that both scenes are there for grace; one by sheer awe and wonder, the other through remorse. For one we behold the beauty of creation and are suspended in a humanistic animation of observance. For the other it is the paleness of original fear for the safety of a creature we do not know. It is the comprehension of awareness that all is as God has planned, that each of these species is showing it’s obedience to God, and that we, as witness, can proclaim gratitude for being present for each situation.
It is easier to keep ourselves aloft in the beauty of creation than it is to keep from turning our heads from reality. I am in the midst of both, day after day, of course it is much more common to be in awe of beauty than to cringe in empathy and at times even more common to miss the beauty because of its regularity in nature. Some days those changes come as quickly as they start. As I was driving down the road, approaching a curve, a rock in the middle of the road slowly began to come to life the closer I came to it. A box turtle had been making his way across the asphalt and had obviously been shocked into a stand-still, his head and legs tucked neatly inside the shell, his wide eyes peering out from the sliver of the hinged under flap that protects his chest. I picked him up to move him off of the road in the direction he had been moving when I noticed the bulge in his neck. Tumor or injury? I could not tell. I could only feel a sense of loss knowing there was nothing I could do to help.
It is one of those instances where you feel you are presented a fact simply to know that it exists. It moves you. It changes your complete line of thought for the rest of the day – or even week. It evokes feelings you haven’t reached for in recent memory. Here I was feeling good that I was able to help this creature by moving it out of danger and then have that pulled out from under me as joy turned to sympathy in realizing there were other things beyond my control. When situations involve animals and wildlife in general, it is instinctual for me to call upon St. Francis. His presence Is felt in a deep sense, whether you believe in intercessory prayer or not, and even though I cannot totally understand or regard all of the mystery of prayer, it is understood that his comfort is felt.
There was a difference this time, though, and I admit that it threw my prayer off. Instead of holding onto a thought of healing, and his prayer that requests, “Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;…” another memory took over and I began to recite one of St Francis’ favorite passages, Numbers 6:22-27; “May the Lord Bless you and keep you…The Lord make His face shine upon you…” I looked at the turtle. He looked up at me. It was a God moment for sure and God was shining on us both! “And be gracious unto you; …” I set the turtle down in the cool grass on the side of the road. I looked up to see a familiar car with a familiar face pulling up and stopping to ask “What are you doing?” “Moving a turtle off to the side of the road.” I replied. I picked up the creature to show her and as she slowly started off again she said “At a very young age my Dad did the same thing for a turtle and it had a lasting effect on me and how I treat animals. Thank you for doing that!” The car turned the corner. Silence entered. I could almost hear St Francis and the turtle continue in unison: “The Lord lift up His countenance upon you…And give you peace.” And peace was with me.

Resurrection

Resurrection
I gaze into the firmament
Dark, sublime
Ready to consume my dreams and my desires
It tastes my aura
And inhales my courage to lie dormant on the earthen floor
I’ve been lifted without effort
Without notice
Without boundaries
And the weight that once held me secure
Has slipped from my memory
No longer bound by human dreams
Human voice
Human touch
Only the presence of an eternal traveler
Gathering the echoes from timeless
Breaths of epiphanies
Stands present to witness the latest
Dawn of love

Roots of Faith

It was not a very early hike, just before mid-morning. Birds sang out in chorus, not just a simple echo of a mating call or the announcement of a stranger in the woods, but an all out symphony of tweets, chirps, caws and whistles, woven together in nature’s awe-producing theatre of wildlife entertaining themselves. I had ambled up a short grade to an overlook of the valley from a group of rock outcroppings. It was time for a break. A black birch caught my eye. It was jutting out from a crack in the side of a room size boulder. The trunk appeared swollen in comparison to the roots, which disappeared into a crevice about the width of my hand. How deep and how far spread this anchoring system reached into the rock could not be known. What was displayed was the tenacity and strength of the system that allowed the birch to tower some twenty five to thirty feet upward. Before I could begin to further investigate its structure up close, wondering how it managed to stay upright, a gentle breeze creased my neck and I somehow understood the tree being solidly grounded in the faithfulness of God.

It was here then, that I began to wonder about my own faith, how deep it reaches into the foundation of my body, soul, and mind. What is it anchored in? How thick are the roots? Have I made faith the verb it can be intended to be and do I live in that faith of being? The tree cannot question any of these things, yet it continues to survive and thrive in the most unusual of circumstances. And here at times I question and doubt some of the simplest of notions and ideas that should be firmly held in confidence!

Any time I encounter the subject of faith, I am brought without hesitation to the name of Peter. Cephas. The Rock. Here – this tree rooted in the rock – is yet another reminder to bring awareness to any situation I encounter, where doubt and uneasiness are present and seem to be conquering my self-assurance and confidence. Just as the foundation of the tree, the roots, are firmly gripping the rock to allow it to serve its purpose by reaching out to the world and being alive; my own actions must be anchored in faith, allowing me to grow in understanding and assuredness that God is being faithful to me, allowing me to serve my purpose while reaching out to the world and being alive. And so as I continue my hike through this time, I will strive to make faith the verb it is intended to be; walking with God and Christ. Perhaps then I might have a better chance of living in the faith of Being.

A totem for me?

"...the hummingbird is taken to be a symbol of resurrection...
for many people, the hummingbird is the creature that opens the heart...
When it becomes our totem, the hummingbird teaches us to laugh and enjoy the creation, to appreciate the magic of being alive, and the truth of beauty..."

I had sat down on an old picnic table along the intersection of a back road and a hiking trail to make some notes of my thoughts. As of late there was much going through my mind on re-birth and new beginnings...not as in changing directions or locations or jobs...just a rejuvenating of my vitality and attention to life. For instance where I'd previously seen a void, now there was energy. The words "...so we may have life and have it abundantly..." came to mind and I turned my direction to the faithfulness of God in everything. Below is how it transpired:

How gracious is this? The plants give us proof of it. Even after they've withered and died, the beauty and abundance carries on...

Whether through the seed carried off in the over-stuffed beak of a hungry cardinal, or from the nutrients it leaves behind from its decaying body; we will be blessed once again by the ever present Creator in all His faithfulness.

I praise and give glory to this Trinity, who showers me with sights that inspire awe and wonder. It would be so enriching to have my own eyes display to others what has been open to me in this moment! At first a heavy strumming increased in tone and volume, nearing my table. Then movement caught my eye. Finally I focused on the image and my senses brimmed with excitement as a hummingbird was greeting me. She first announced her arrival with the steady humming of the air around her wings, then the offer of a somewhat distant - but clear - view of her as she perched in a branch about 15 feet above my head.

This was indeed a blessing! She watched as I wrote. More birds began to arrive and fill my vision. She sat there for nearly 20 minutes. A blue jay joined me on the forest floor and a pair of cardinals entertained me in the distance with an aerial battle of supremacy, perhaps over a nesting female? As all things happen, the time to leave came upon me. I still had a walk up hill to the office, but it would be that much more pleasant with these sights and sounds embedded in my soul. Thank you, God, for sending me this tiny messenger of life and resurrection to confirm that what I started to write about - new, abundant life, was the right thing to do.

Day One

Here we are with day one of my blog. Maybe day two. Depends on where you are in the world and when you got here. I need to write something to let the world know I'm actually doing something with me summer off from school (okay, so its not regular college school or even graduate school, but it is education non-the-less). Maybe it would help to write what I'm not doing. I'm not going fishing. Some of you will be amazed and some might even pass out from shock! But a 2009 license is nowhere to be found on the old fishing hat - or vest - this year. Now its not that I've given up fishing! By no means! It's because I've not really made the time to get the license, pull on the waders, and jump in the water. Wait!!!! I forgot about new line on the reel and checking the tackle. Never even got around to making some spinners over the winter either... and it's already June!