December 10, 2012 § 2 Comments
So now it’s the second week of Advent. I want to talk some about the next two symbols on our Advent cope but first I would like to discuss the color of the cope. You know it’s blue! For many of us the color of Advent is purple but here at St Luke’s the color of Advent is blue. I noticed last week that many had purple on at church on the First Sunday of Advent so I hope no one is disappointed by the lack of purple.
I have always been told that blue vestments in Advent was a Sarum Rite usage so I thought I would check some sources on the use of blue vestments in Advent. I thought it would be an easy task, a fact checking that would take a few minutes. I was wrong. I could find nothing that says blue was the color of Advent in the Sarum. I found lots of rants written by priests of Rome against the use of blue vestments as illegal that makes the Protestant in me so proud that we use blue in Advent. In The Parson’s Handbook written by Percy Dearmer in 1899 (he was rector of the Church of St. Mary, Primrose Hill, London and a great champion of the Anglo-Catholic movement) lists from an inventory of Salisbury Cathedral in 1222 that there were vestments made of “blue silk”. So even in the 13th century someone somewhere was wearing blue vestments.
What does the color blue mean for us? There is a color called royal blue and I would suggest that it is the color of our Advent vestments. As the name suggests, it is the color worn by royalty. The Church is not uncomfortable with indentifying Jesus as a royal person and the descendent of kings and queens, as you can see from the next two symbols on our cope:
December 19 – O RADIX JESSE
O Root of Jesse, which stands for an ensign of the people, at whom kings shall shut their mouths, to whom the Gentiles shall seek: Come and deliver us.
This antiphon is represented by the symbol of a flower, a stylized rose, and in our view we can see the roots which give the flower life. Jesse, King David’s father, is the root and stock of Jesus.
December 20 – O CLAVIS DAVID
O Key of David and Scepter of the house of Israel: that opens and no man shuts, and shuts and no man opens: Come and bring the prisoner out of the prison house and him that sits in darkness, and in the shadow of death.
The second symbol is a key. Keys open locked doors and allow entry into places that have been locked, as Jesus is the way to the Father.
By the way, one of the secrets of the St. Luke’s sacristy is that we do have a low Mass set of vestments for Advent which is most defiantly purple but we keep it tucked away for another generation…for the 18 years I’ve been at St. Luke’s this set has been suppressed, as we say in Altar-Guild-speak. (A low Mass set for us is a chasuble, burse, veil and two stoles, a high mass set is a chasuble, dalmatic for the deacon, a tunicle for the sub-deacon, one or two copes, a burse, veil and two stoles.)
There are eight symbols, so we’re half-way through. Next week we’ll talk about two more of the cope’s symbols. Meanwhile, keep your eye pealed for the beauty and intricacy of this magnificent contribution to our communal spiritual life.
– Sean Scheller
December 8, 2012 Comments Off on Advent Quote: St. Augustine of Hippo
December 7, 2012 § 1 Comment
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,
- “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
- ‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
- make his paths straight.
- Every valley shall be filled,
- and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
- and the crooked shall be made straight,
- and the rough ways made smooth;
- and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'”
- -Luke 3:1-6
This isn’t exactly a reflection on Luke 3:1-6, a third of which is taken up by a gorgeously overwrought date. It is a reflection on the use of Isaiah in Luke 3:1-6.
I tend to picture John the Baptist as the guy from the Jesus of Nazareth movie, with bangs that cover his eyes, shouting at a noisy mob about how God doesn’t delight in their sacrifices. In fact, eventually Luke will select as John’s first words, “Brood of vipers!” But already, I expect a harsh prophet, because preaching repentance tends to come with a warning, an implied threat: if you do not repent, something bad will happen. For example, you might wake up one day and regret your life. Your relationships might suffer. You might get cut down with an ax or burned with unquenchable fire. Or, and this brings me to Isaiah, you and everyone you know and love might get sent into captivity following the destruction of your city and temple.
So it is striking that in providing his interpretive lens for the sayings of John that follow, Luke does not draw from a prophecy of warning. He draws from the opening of Second Isaiah, which promises the end of exile:
Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term.
This is what the voice is urging us to prepare the way for, in an emotional tone that is generous, bordering on giddy: God is going to lead a new Exodus. Not only will the desert be blasted into a highway, but when the poor and needy are thirsty, it will become a pool of water (Is 41:17-18).
What does it mean to prepare a highway for God’s liberation? This question seems like it should lend itself easily to inspiring answers, but John’s ideas are ringing hollow for me today. As Luke describes him, he leaves more questions than answers. Suddenly I wonder if I’ve always simply assumed on some level that I knew what phrases like this – prepare the way, bring about the kingdom, God’s liberation – meant. John might urge us to strip (or cut, or burn) these assumptions from our minds, to be filled with expectation, and to meet Jesus as a new person.
– Aaron Miner
December 6, 2012 § 1 Comment
This Advent season is the first time I’ve really made space to let the reality of Christ’s birth rest in me. It’s also the first time I’ve realized the amazing gap between the exhilarating event of Christ coming into the world and the rather tepid cultural experience of Christmas. Maybe this gap explains why the holidays have always been more comfortable than joyous for me. Every year, the season has been very predictable, and there’s been very little surprise in any of it—especially the kind of surprise that raises the everyday to the extraordinary. To be completely honest, that’s maybe all I really wanted — the usual get togethers, a Messiah performance somewhere, people generally in a better mood, time off, no big drama, and no surprises.
Maybe I needed to become open to surprise before I could wake up to the meaning of Advent, because when I think about it now, every aspect of Christ’s birth seems surprising to me. Surprising that God would choose to reconcile with us by becoming one of us. Surprising, the humble setting for such a momentous birth. Surprising also, the people to whom the event was announced and the ways it was proclaimed. Most surprising of all, the form that the hand of redemption would take —not a powerful fist demanding our crushing obedience, but a tiny hand that would grow to reach out to us in a relentless gesture of compassion. God with us.
Christ’s teaching must have been completely surprising in his lifetime. There was such a gap between the expectations of those watching for him and his living reality. And, because of that expectation, they couldn’t be surprised by love. Now as then, is there anything more unexpected than love? Not so much the love we have for family and friends — not love reflected in kind, but the open, free-flowing, unattached, unexpected love that Christ showed us. We know it when we experience it because of the unusual joy that we only feel in those moments when we come close to Christ’s love. And, because of Christ’s life, that love and joy is our birthright.
When I look around, it seems that the longing for that love is everywhere, and the ache that people experience in its absence is profound. It’s especially noticeable at this time of year. What a surprise if must be for those who long for love to receive it in some measure, no matter how small. How much more surprising it must be for those who have long ago given up on that longing. Perhaps what “at the last day” will be, is a world where love is no longer surprising, where it infuses everything about us. A world where we’re turned inside-out and our greatest joy is realized in losing ourselves in our love for each other and in coming together in the endless embrace of our Christ, who has been waiting for us all along.
So, my prayer for this Advent, it is that I might notice where I can surprise people with love. I want to be awake to the everyday places, the places that are easy to miss, the places where someone will be surprised by an unexpected act of generosity, or kindness. It might be offering to help a mother with a stroller on the subway stairs. Maybe it will be in coming on to someone looking through a trash can for food, and offering them a meal. Or maybe it will be something as simple as giving an understanding glance to one of the hundreds of people I see daily who are made frightened, lonely, and angry by the pressures of their life — a healing recognition far beyond the moment. Something unexpected, something surprising, something that, like that unexpected star, will point to Bethlehem and the reason for any love I have to offer — Christ was born.
– Tom Wharton
December 4, 2012 § 2 Comments
For the longest time I have struggled with Mary, Virgin Mother of God. It’s seemed to me that Mary got a bad deal. When I would read or pray Luke’s account (Luke 1:26-38) of the Annunciation, the word “bear” stood out to me. What a burden it was to be told that she would bear the child of God. Mary responds graciously to the angel’s news, but what choice did she really have when told that the Holy Spirit would come upon her, and the power of the Most High overshadow her? The angel doesn’t leave much room for Mary to refuse.
On my pilgrimage to the Holy Land last January I visited the Orthodox Church of the Annunciation in Nazareth. Facing the altar, at the back of the congregation, is a large icon of Mary as the Burning Bush that confronts Moses (Ex 3:1-22). In this and similar icons, Mary appears to Moses as the Theotokos, the God-bearer. Like the burning bush, Mary is on fire with the task of bringing the Word of God into the world. Like the bush, Mary is not consumed. She burns but she does not burn up.
As I meditated on that icon, I began to understand Mary and the Annunciation differently. Rather than being a sweet, innocent, virginal girl who meekly bows to the will of God, Mary is a powerful woman who burns with a love of God and who has the strength to accept the pain and the grief that always go hand in hand with the joy and peace of accepting God’s invitation to bring forth the Word. Mary’s supposedly meek and mild “be it unto me according to thy Word,” expresses a willingness to have her heart broken so that Love can enter the world. Mary can be for all us a witness to the strength required of us to say “yes” to God, to agree to burn with God’s love. This task is a painful one, but if we accept it willingly, aware of the cost, like Mary we may also bring the Word of grace and love into the world.
– Will Owen
December 3, 2012 § 2 Comments
We have been amazingly blessed at St Luke’s. One of these blessings is the vast array of vestments that we use during the liturgical seasons of the church year: we have our gold set for the Christmas season (our former rector used to call it the samurai set), we have the blue and white set for Eastertide, and the unbleached linen of our Lenten array, to name a few. Thanks to the talents of Graham French and Roper Shamhart is one of my favorites, our Advent blue set with the artfully done embroidered roses. We use the Advent blue set for only four Sundays so get a look while you can! The cope (a large ceremonial cloak worn at solemn liturgical functions resembling a cloak or mantle) of the Advent blue set is decorated with symbols of the “O Antiphons”.
As the website Fully Homely Divinity says about the O Antiphons:
Traditionally, on the last days of Advent, at the service of Vespers, a series of special texts were added to the beginning and end of the Magnificat, the Song of Mary, which is sung every day at Vespers, or Evening Prayer. Each of these texts, called “antiphons”, begins with the word “O”, so they came to be known as the “Great O Antiphons”.
The St Luke’s sacristy is a trove of tucked away treasures. During one of the altar guild’s clean ups during the year I found a single sheet of paper with print carefully typed on a Selectic 3 typewriter in a protective plastic cover that had written across the top:
THE SYMBOLISM OF THE ADVENT COPE
What a find! Here is the introduction at the top of the paper and the texts of the first two O Antiphons
“The GREAT O ANTIPHONS date from the 9th century and are sung at the Magnificat at Vespers on the even of each of the 8 days before Christmas, being December 17 (referred to as O SAPIENT), 18, 19, 2, 21, 22, 23, and 24. Since Vespers, the sixth of the seven canonical hours, occur after sun-down it is, in effect, the first prayer service of the next day. Although there is an antiphon proper for the 21st, O REX GENTIUM, with text similar to that for the 23rd, it is general practice that the antiphon for St. Thomas’ Day is substituted since it is the feast of an Apostle.
December 17 – O SAPIENTI
O wisdom which came out of the moth of the most High, and reaches from one end to another, mightily, an sweetly ordering all things: Come and teach us the way of prudence.
December 18 – O ADONAY
O Adonay, and leader of the house of Israel, who appeared in the bush to Moses in a flame of fire, and gave him the Law of Sinai: Come and deliver us with an outstretched arm.
The symbol used on our cope for the first O Antiphon, “O Sapientia”, is the seven-branched candelabra from the Temple in Jerusalem called a menorah. This is the menorah which stood in the Holy Place in the Temple. We know this because there is an image of it on the Arch of Titus in Rome. The Temple was the place of God’s presence where the faithful came to hear God’s word.
The symbol used for the second O Antiphon “O Adonay” is the burning bush from Exodus where God spoke to Moses through the flame without the bush being consumed. You can still visit the burning bush at St Catherine’s Monastery in the Sinai.
Next week we’ll talk about two more of the cope’s symbols. Meanwhile, keep your eye pealed for the beauty and intricacy of this magnificent contribution to our communal spiritual life.
– Sean Scheller
December 3, 2012 § 1 Comment
Welcome to our St. Luke’s Advent blog. In these post-Sandy days, imagining the apocalyptic events of the eschaton described in Scripture is not difficult. Many stood, and some still stand, at the edge of a new level of deprivation: communities experienced death, floods, cold – with hunger and other scarcities close at hand. We came to a deeper thankfulness for the everyday blessings and comforts of our lives, and a new awareness that we live at the edge of a precipice. New York City is 17th in the list of world cities most vulnerable to rising sea levels. And the sea levels on the Northeastern seaboard are currently among the fastest rising in the world. Global warming could devastate America as quickly as cyber or bio-terrorism or fiscal crisis and likely more irreversibly.
One thing that Jesus tries to do in his teaching – and we can hear this particularly in the gospel passages of pre-Advent and early Advent – is to prepare his disciples for calamities ahead. Jesus describes apocalyptic events as a precursor to a new world, the beginning of the birth-pangs of what will become a new heaven and a new earth. We may find it hard to be so hopeful about global warming. But however we understand recent events from a faith perspective, Jesus has given his church the gift and constancy of a community of faith. His prayer is always that his followers will stick together and also reach out beyond their community to others in need. Social media and blogs like this one are a contemporary way of doing just that – expanding and deepening our community and human connnection in difficult times. Please contribute your voice: you and your unique insights are truly valued and appreciated.
-The Rev. Caroline M. Stacey, Rector
March 6, 2012 § 1 Comment
St. Luke in the Fields Blog: What do ashes mean to you this year, Chris?
Chris Phillips: Ash Wednesday was an over-scheduled work day for me – with two new
employees starting at our company that today — but I need to take a
short break to honor the day as best I could. I took a quick lunchtime
subway ride from my office in Soho down to Trinity Wall Street. I was
fascinated by the crowd of people gathered for to get their ashes.
Trinity had three people distirbuting ashes just inside the door, so I
quickly made my way to the front of the line.
The woman putting the ashes on my head asked for my name. I told her.
“Chris, remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,” she said.
I fixated on the sound of the dry ashes scratching on my forehead.
Hearing that gravely dry grinding in that particular place pulled me
back to the days following the World Trade Center disaster. Back
then, my office off Wall Street along with much of lower Manhattan was
coated with dust. Back then, we didn’t need a reminder that we are
dust. We were all coated with grime and dust. I can’t forget that
smell or that fear.
Maybe it is trite to make the obvious connection between 9/11 and Ash
Wednesday, but that griding dust sound is now looping in my head. I
think I am acknowledging mortality and those horrible days as we move
farther away from the day it happened, but also looking for renewal