The Magnificat, August 2022
Dear St. Mary’s Church and friends,
I have recently asked folks around our congregation (especially the Vestry), “What do we as a congregation need Jesus to do for us?” A good question to chew on, as well as to pray: Lord Jesus, what do we at St. Mary’s Church need you to do for us? There have been insightful responses. One parishioner noted good things happening here—projects and events that have required time and energy. The person did not say things should come to a grinding halt, but as we go forward, we need some time for reflection.
This suggestion reminded me of what the Church has long called contemplation. We often distinguish the contemplative from the active life, but they really form a spectrum. No Christian is called to just one. With packed calendars and lengthy to-do lists, activity is all too familiar. Contemplation is something else. It is not quite the same as thinking hard, though reflection is an important part of it. It would rather be an unhurried kind of reflection—almost leisurely, like time in a garden.
Contemplation is traditionally associated with prayer and worship, though moments of silence and stillness might be its occasion. Not just reading but enjoying the Holy Scriptures is one of the basic ways that Christians contemplate the Lord. Every now and then music or the beauty of creation summons us to it. However, it’s more than moving experiences: sentimentality and wickedness often go together. But there are times we let our guard down—perhaps something truly beautiful (or beautifully true) helps us let our guard down—and the Lord draws near.
The keynote of contemplation is delight. This is why contemplation is for all Christians, not just a select few. Near the heart of being a disciple of Jesus is learning to delight in God. I say “near the heart.” At the heart of being a disciple is learning that Jesus delights in us. With God’s help, we are learning.
Contemplation and work have an interesting relationship. For one, contemplation is itself a kind of activity. The Lord’s presence can surprise us, but we don’t ordinarily happen into it. Contemplation is not mere passivity. Passivity is the enemy of contemplation. Basking in the Lord’s presence is an action of ours, but it is an act of surrender. It is the work of deliberately yielding to the Lord’s work.
This is also why it’s hard. We receive the Lord’s grace, though we are only ready for so much of it. Hence, we hope our capacity for grace deepens. It requires faith. We learn to trust that when we approach the Lord, however demanding the experience may be, the Lord gives us vastly more than he takes whenever we meet him. Hence, meeting him is so refreshing. It is a kind of work, but it is also the truest form of rest. Contemplation is resting in the arms of God.
Rather than the work of our hands, this is the work of God (the opus Dei). But the work of God happens to be very good for the work of our hands. The Lord rejuvenates us. He clears our head. He gives us perspective. (Hence the common experience of slowing down and yet surprisingly getting more things done.) The work of God and the work of our hands should be woven together. The garden is one of the greatest images of this: gardens are hard work on our part, and yet the aim of that hard work is sheer delight in gifts as they blossom.
Most of us Christians have had some experience like what I’ve described. But clocking-out from work, taking time to be still and attentive and reflecting, delighting in the Lord while we do—this is not only something we do as individuals. In fact, it first and foremost happens in the Church. It’s wise for a parishioner to notice that this is something we as a congregation need. It is also wise to notice that this cannot be one more activity planned on the calendar. It is something Jesus has to do for us.
The Eucharist, which is our life together, is our main occasion for poised reflection: “Do this in remembrance of me.” We are given the Bread of Heaven, strengthening our hearts to go out and labor in the fields of the world. We are given the Wine of Heaven, gladdening our hearts with the joy of homecoming before we even get started. Jesus abides in us, and we abide in him, with an intimacy so profound it is difficult to tell where he ends and we begin.
I love that this is our congregation’s mission. We don’t just believe in God. We enjoy him. That is how we spend the vast majority of our time together, and it’s the main thing we offer to our city. As I suggested above, we enjoy him more as we let our guard down to him more. Is that something Jesus can do for us? Can he teach our congregation to be even more vulnerable to his astonishing presence? Maybe he just teaches us to savor the words we pray (that’s an important part of prayer: savoring the words, sucking the marrow out of them). Maybe he stirs our joy in one another, priming us for more joy in him. Or maybe he would do something really crazy and set us free to sing with gusto, without a second thought for how we sound because all our thoughts are captivated by him. Who knows? Well … you know who knows.
Lord Jesus, what do you want to do for us?
Grace be with you,
Fr. Stephen