Philo on Psalm 23

I am reading the chapter on Philo in Andrew Louth’s The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition, so it warmed my heart during devotions with my wife last night to see the Middle Platonist, Alexandrian Jewish exegete in the Mosaic Holy Bible readings for Easter, Week 4 — with the BCP readings, 1 Pet. 2:19-26 and John 10:1-30, and, of course, Psalm 23. I hope you enjoy his words as much as I do. Philo says:

Indeed, so good a thing is shepherding that it is justly ascribed not to kings only and wise men and perfectly cleansed souls but also to God the All-Sovereign. The authority for this ascription is not any ordinary one but a prophet, whom we do well to trust. This is the way in which the Psalmist speaks: “The Lord shepherds me and nothing shall be lacking to me” (Ps. xxiii, 1). It well befits every lover of God to rehearse this Psalm. But for the Universe it is a still more fitting theme. For land and water and air and fire, and all plants and animals which are in these, whether mortal or divine, yea and the sky, and the circuits of sun and moon, and the revolutions and rhythmic movements of the other heavenly bodies, are like some flock under the hand of God its King and Shepherd. This hallowed flock He leads in accordance with right and law, setting over it His true Word and Firstborn Son Who shall take upon Him its government like some viceroy of a great king; for it is said in a certain place: “Behold I AM, I send My Angel before thy face to guard thee in the way” (Exod. xxiii. 20). Let therefore even the whole universe, that greatest and most perfect flock of the God who IS, say, “The Lord shepherds me, and nothing shall fail me.” Let each individual person too utter this same cry, not with the voice that glides forth over tongue and lips, not reaching beyond a short space of air, but with the voice of the understanding that has wide scope and lays hold on the ends of the universe. For it cannot be that there should be any lack of a fitting portion, when God rules, whose wont it is to bestow good in fullness and perfection on all that is.

XIII. Magnificent is the call to holiness sounded by the psalm just quoted; for the man is poor and incomplete in very deed, who, while seeming to have all things else, chafes at the sovereignty of One; whereas the soul that is shepherded of God, having the one and only thing on which all depend, is naturally exempt from want of other things, for it worships no blind wealth, but a wealth that sees and that with vision surpassingly keen.-De Agricultura or ‘On Husbandry’ 50-54, Loeb translation by F.H. Colson and G.H. Whitaker

A Passage from the ‘Epistle to Diognetus’ for Advent

Today, following the readings from Read the Fathers, I read the so-called ‘Epistle to Diognetus‘ for the first time. And therein I came across this passage which I find appropriate as we prepare to celebrate Christ’s coming amongst us at Christmastide:

And was his coming, as a man might suppose, in power, in terror, and in dread? Not so; it was in gentleness and humility. As a king sending his royal son, so sent He him; as God He sent him; as Man to men He sent him; and that because He was fain to save us by persuasion and not by compulsion — for there is no compulsion found with God. His mission was no pursuit or hounding of us, it was an invitation to us; it was inlove, not in judgement that He sent him. (ch. 7; Early Christian Writers, Penguin Classics, trans. Maxwell Stanforth, updated by Andrew Louth, p. 146)

Thoughts worth meditating on, no?

The Two Ways — of Life and of Death

Spinning off from my reflections on Friday, I am a firm believer in disciplined living, albeit a bad practitioner. Once, I was on my friend Rick’s excellent and much more practical blog than mine, and there was mention in the comments about learning how to live by the Spirit and follow the Way of Jesus (I suppose in Franciscan terms, that would have been Via Apostolica). As a suggestion, I put out reading the Didache.

My fellow-commenter said that he had read said text in seminary (or Bible college or whatever), and that it had left him dry. He then addressed Rick, tossing me and my lifeless, book-ridden version of Christianity aside, and said that Rick was a man who would understand this sort of question.

Perhaps I don’t.

Nevertheless, I think the Didache is to be recommended on two points. One point is that this document, which is a sort of church handbook from between 90 and 100, is the recorded experience and advice of a Church community, which was so popular that later documents, such as the Apostolic Constitutions, seem to have ripped it off. The wisdom of those who have gone before can help us learn how to live, it can inform our experience.

The second point is the fact that ‘living by the Spirit’, which certainly includes an openness to His movement in our lives in areas besides morality and ethics, is never less than morality and ethics. The foundations of the holy life (which I have extolled here) are upright living and prayer. Something like the Didache or the Rule of Benedict or William Law’s A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life can help us order these foundational aspects of holiness, through which we can keep or make ourselves attuned to the power and movements of the Holy Spirit.

The Didache begins with a discourse on ‘the two ways’ — the Way of Life and the Way of Death. Christians are called to the Way of Life. The Way of Life is a lovely gathering together of much of the moral teaching of our Lord Christ, with a strong emphasis on generosity, along with some proverbial statements and warnings against witchcraft and the like. The Way of Death takes less space, so I quote Andrew Louth’s revision of Staniforth’s translation in the Penguin Early Christian Writings:

The Way of Death is this. To begin with, it is evil, and in every way fraught with damnation. In it are murders, adulteries, lusts, fornications, thefts, idolatries, witchcraft, sorceries, robberies, perjuries, hypocrisies, duplicities, deceit, pride, malice, self-will, avarice, foul language, jealousy, insolence, arrogance, and boastfulness. Here are those who persecute good men, hold truth in abhorrence, and love falsehood; who do not know of the rewards of righteousness, nor adhere to what is good, nor to just judgement; who lie awake planning their wickedness rather than well-doing. Gentless and patience are beyond their conception; they care for nothing good or useful, and are bent only on their own advantage, without pity for the poor or feeling for the distressed. Knowledge of their Creator is not in them; they make away with their infants and deface God’s image; they turn away the needy and oppress the afflicted; they aid and abet the rich but arbitrarily condemn the poor; they are utterly and altogether sunk in iniquity. Flee, my children, from all this!

And there we have it. The Didache goes on to discuss baptism, fasting, the Eucharist, apostles and prophets, Sunday worship, local officials, and eschatology. It is an interesting window into early Church life, probably from Syria (as I recall). I find that reading this sort of thing spurs me on to greater holiness.

And if you are Reading the Fathers starting 2 December (as I recommended earlier), read the Didache in the meantime; it is short, and it is not included in that program. I do hope you will read it, and that you will join me and many others on a seven-year pilgrimage from 1 Clement to John of Damascus as we read the Fathers together!

 

What is a mystic, exactly?

Yesterday I was part of a very interesting conversation in the comments of my friend James’ Facebook status, a discussion ranging from grammatical gender to the human soul and the Godhead. His status was making an observation about (to quote James), ‘Brother Lawrence, classic Christian mystic’.

One of his friends, well after a bunch of us had gone through notes about gender, mysticism, and the gender of the word for spirit in Hebrew, Syriac, Latin, Greek, and English, asked the (seemingly) basic question about Br. Lawrence:

Christian ‘mystic’ – how does that work?

James answered:

I think the term is pretty loose, [Anastasia]* – he’s called a mystic because he strongly emphasises the ‘at hand’ presence of God in his writing. But in reality, he’s likely no more or less a ‘mystic’ than Jesus, Paul or many of the OT figures! He’s actually pretty cool reading – and because his writings are four centuries old, they’re all online free!

Thus, at a certain level, Brother Lawrence. He stresses the reality that God is present with you at all times. You just need to be aware of the immanence of the transcendent God. This is an important strand of ‘mysticism’, represented not only by the Carmelite brother in Practising the Presence of God but also by Presbyterian missionary Frank Laubach’s writings — of which I first came aware in Richard Foster’s book Prayer — such as Letters by a Modern Mystic.

However, is a mystic, therefore, simply someone who seeks (and succeeds?) to be aware of the presence of God everywhere, in everything, in every place, at all times? Someone who seeks to find God in his or her daily life — washing pots and pans, writing letters to family and friends, even blogging of all things?

Such a definition comes close to Andrew Louth’s in the introduction to his book The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition, where he says that mysticism ‘can be characterised as a search for and experience of immediacy with God.’ (p. xv) Such a definition goes beyond the seek for the transcendent God in the everyday, though. In Louth’s definition, we are searching for and hoping to experience immediacy with God — we are hoping that the Kingdom of the Heavens, which is in the midst of us, will come and touch us. We want to join our Groom at his Banqueting Table under the banner of His Love.

Such a broad definition, however, covers the entire breadth of the Christian life. I sing Psalms on Sunday to encounter the Living God. For similar reasons do I read the Scriptures, receive the Eucharist, read spiritual books, listen to sermons, pray. But when we think of the term mysticism, it is not the daily, ordinary that comes to mind — although, perhaps it should. Perhaps the ‘mystical’ and the ‘ordinary’ should overlap, just as God breaks into human history in various points, just as Heaven and Earth seem to overlap.

Still — what do we usually mean by mysticism?

Mysticism is generally the internal life of the Christian, whether individually or in community (I reject the notion that one must be a solitary or ihidaya or monachos — monk — to have ‘mystical experiences’), as the Christian meets with and encounters the living God. In this vein, Lacoste’s Dictionnaire de Théologie says that mysticism is perceiving God through activity, a true feast of the soul through the interior to christ; it consists in ‘an experience of the presence of God in the spirit, by the interior enjoyment that an entirely intimate sentiment gives us.’ (‘Mystique’, p. 779)

We experience Him and He transforms us. In order to encounter God in the everyday, those who follow the mystic’s path set apart times and places for special remembrance of Him and His works. The normal round of Christian prayer and Bible-reading is part of this (as my uncle says, if you don’t read the Bible and pray, what kind of Christian are you?), yet there is a certain cultivation of the inner human being implicit in how the ‘mystic’ would go about this, hoping to receive from God The Inner Experience (to cite the title of a book by Thomas Merton).

Most commonly there are two particular types of prayer engaged in mystics as part of the ‘inner ecumenism’**  that mysticism provides Christianity. There is meditation. In the Christian sense, as used throughout the Middle Ages and conveniently organised by St. Francis de Sales, this is an activity of the mind. In meditation we pray to God and think over deeply a passage of Scripture, seeking to gain understanding and insight from God (see his Introduction to the Devout Life).

Sometimes, as described in Richard Foster’s little booklet Meditative Prayer, we imagine things. Perhaps we imagine ourselves placing all of our troubles in a box and giving them to Jesus. Perhaps we imagine the power of the Holy Spirit coming upon us like a fire and filling us up. Perhaps we imagine Christ on the Cross dying and loving us to the end. Meditation is the prayerful repeated calling to mind of the things of God through word and image.

The second type of prayer is contemplation. Contemplation is prayer beyond words. Some people give lessons on how to seek this state of prayer, this level of dispassion, such as Anthony de Mello’s book Sadhana: A Way to God. De Mello encourages you to spend a few minutes simply clearing your mind of all thought and seeking to wordlessly apprehend the presence of the Triune God in your midst. These psychological techniques are not necessarily to be scorned as some do, but we are to realise that they are psychological and mental.

For our spirit to commune with the Spirit, we must be willing for the Holy, Strong, Immortal God to take us beyond the pale of our experience. We must be willing to realise that all of our efforts in prayer, meditation, contemplation — these alone cannot bring us to God. In part, as St. Teresa’s Interior Castle reminds us, this is because God is already inside us. In part, this is because everything hinges upon God’s grace.

And so we come to my favourite part of thinking about mysticism. Mysticism is rooted in mystery, rooted etymologically in those ancient Greek-Egyptian-Roman-Near Eastern cults that promised special knowledge and salvation to the initiated — to those who have entered in (to give the etymology for initiated). Mysticism is an entrance into the mystery of the grandeur of the Presence of God. We come by His grace alone into his presence and experience whatever created beings can experience of union with the uncreated Creator.

The experiences of those who have been ushered into the throne room of God, into the Mystery, have at times been visions, such as Isaiah’s Throne Room vision in chapter 6. Some have encountered/experienced the ‘uncreated light’ of God’s grace. Others have felt a stillness, calmness, and peace such as no human action could bring. Still others have heard the Voice of God. Some have felt the warmth and tenderness of a mother’s love. Others have had, through their visions, converse with Jesus (think of Lady Julian’s Revelations of Divine Love). Many have entered the Cloud of Unknowing and realised how little they truly know. Others have simply known the joy of the presence of the Lord.

So, what is a mystic?

I think a mystic is a person who seeks to have an awareness of God in all times and all places and who cultivates an inner spiritual life through prayer and meditation that helps that awareness increase, being ushered into the Throne Room of the God of all.

If you think you want to brave mystical literature, any of the above books to which I have linked is a pretty good starting place. Although not one of the online, public domain ones, I highly recommend Richard Foster, Prayer, which deals with all sorts of prayer and has been a great help to me.

*Not her real name. But James is, in fact, James.

**Cf. Diarmaid MacCulloch, ‘The Triumph of Monastic Silence’, The Gifford Lectures 2012, Tuesday, April 24. Available online: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmozaTn196M

Pope of the Month: St. Clement of Rome

This month’s pope is St. Clement of Rome, here to console all of you who saw St. Clement of Alexandria as Saint of the Week and were disappointed that he was not your man.

According to tradition, there are two Bishops of Rome between St. Peter and St. Clement, and their names are Linus and Anencletus.

St. Clement was a/the leader of the Church in Rome AD 96, and is most famous for his letter 1 Clement, a sermon attributed to him and transmitted as the letter 2 Clement, and a set of works falsely written under his name, ‘The Clementines’.

He is also famous for having the Roman name ‘Clemens’, because in Philippians 4:13 St. Paul makes mention of someone with such a name, and because the consul Flavius Clemens was executed by Domitian for ‘atheism and Jewish customs’ which sounds a lot like first-century circumlocutions for Christianity. Were these two figures related to our St. Clement, Bishop of Rome? Who knows? Can we ever know?

Not for certain; not with first-century prosopography of little-known Christians.

We can’t really know anything else about him for certain. The Liber Pontificalis says he consecrated some bishops and ordained some priests and deacons, but that presupposes a Late Antique/Early Mediaeval organisation for the fledgling Roman Church. As we explored last month with St. Peter, the episcopacy, let alone papacy, was still developing in this period after the Apostles — the Church’s natural leaders — died.

Indeed, that the episcopate was still a concept under development is amply demonstrated by the fact that the letter we attribute to this man is addressed from the Church at Rome to the Church at Corinth, not from Clement. Corinth seems to have been ruled by a body of presbyteroi whom restless young men had ejected, establishing their own authority instead (today they just go found their own churches instead).

Nevertheless, the Eastern Orthodox Andrew Louth sees no reason to doubt that Clement wrote the text (see the Penguin classics Early Christian Writings), while the Baptist D H Williams sees Clement as an authority figure, a pastor, but the letter as a communal effort (see Retrieving the Tradition and Renewing Evangelicalism). Holmes, in the most recent edition/translation of Lightfoot’s edition/translation ofThe Apostolic Fathers, says that the letter displays a unity of style and thought that points to a single author, although it is meant to represent the entire community at Rome. I’ve a feeling Williams would agree.

As noted above, the Corinthian church has fallen into a state of turmoil, with young upstarts supplanting the church body’s leading elders. Clement calls them to harmony and obedience. The call to obedience at first strikes you as the sort of thing you’ll grow accustomed to in reading papal correspondence.

However, the call to harmony seems stronger. Clement calls the Corinthians to not simply be obedient to those in ecclesial authority, but to display kindliness to one another. The obedience is there to serve the homonoia of the Christian community. One is reminded of the many calls throughout the New Testament to be self-sacrificing, mutually submissive, the servant(s) of all, and full of love.

Clement makes his case for harmony through Scripture — i.e. the Septuagint (Greek Old Testament most common in ancient Church) — as he piles up biblical quotation and references one upon the other. He turns to the history of the Church, discussing the recent martyrs as well as Sts. Peter and Paul. And then he gives us classical examples.

These are all historical exempla, narratives and lessons from history used in Classical rhetoric too beef up one’s argument. My favourite is a classical exemplum, that of the phoenix. In discussing proofs of the Resurrection from the natural world, Clement writes:

Let us observe the remarkable sign that is seen in the regions of the east, that is, in the vicinity of Arabia. There is a bird that is named the phoenix. This bird, the only one of its species, lives for five hundred years. When the time of its dissolution and death arrives, it makes for itself a coffin-like nest of frankincense and myrrh and the other spices, into which, its time being completed, it enters and dies. But as the flesh decays, a certain worm is born, which is nourished by the juices of the dead bird and eventually grows wings. then, when it has grown strong, it takes up that coffin-like nest containing the bones of its parent, and carrying them away, it makes its way from the country of Arabia to Egypt, to the city called Heliopolis. There, in broad daylight, in the sight of all, it flies to the altar of the sun and deposits them there, and then it sets out on its return. The priests then examine the public recoreds of the times, and they find that it has come at the end of the five hundredth year. (Ch. 25, trans. Holmes/Lightfoot)

I shall perhaps remark on the Phoenix and the world of wonders possessed by the ancient and mediaeval mind later. Someday I wish to do deeper research into the relationship between the Fathers and pagan mythology; we spend a lot of time looking at philosophy, but what of these stories which are officially condemned but often, when taken by the Fathers as actual history or natural knowledge, slip their way into their texts? What counted as ‘myth’ to an ancient mind, anyway? I digress.

Besides the fact that we associate the Phoenix with Greek myth, I enjoy its presence here. Clement sees typology and the wisdom of God everywhere, not simply in the Scriptures. All of God’s creation points us to Christ. Let us bow down in worship.

I have little else to say of St. Clement of Rome. May you be encouraged by the writings of this early Church leader, a man who walked the streets of Rome in the age of the Apostles.

Highlights from Oxford Patristics: The Beards

So it’s been a week since I got back from the Oxford Patristics Conference. This is the first of a few posts of highlights:

The Beards. Now, the photo of +Kallistos is outdated, but +Rowan and Andrew Louth look like that in real life. There were also various Orthodox monks and priests present, all of them with outstanding beards. I wonder what would have happened if +Kallistos’ and +Rowan’s beards collided. Could the space-time continuum have handled it?

Met. Kallistos of Diokleia and Great Britain

Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury

Andrew Louth

Andrew Louth is the most wizardly of these three. What made him stand out amongst the conference-goers was the fact that, since he was off-duty, he wasn’t in a voluminous black robe. Still in black, though. Not that Patrists need beards, of course, as evidenced by the number of high-quality papers given by female scholars, such as Sarah Coakley and Dame Averil Cameron.

Still, it doesn’t hurt.

As for the Orthodox, the beards are part of a programme of self-abasement. As a growing symbol of one’s vows either as priest or as monk, many Orthodox priests and monks — especially Greek and Cypriot — do not trim their beards or hair. This is also part of the desire to avoid vanity — a physical reminder of humility, that one is nothing, following the same line of thought as Tertullian’s advice back in the 2nd-3rd century.

Out of these three bearded wonders, I only heard +Kallistos. He spoke on St. Maximus. But more on that later ….

Saint for now: St. John Climacus

Things are busy with writing my own papers and marking other people’s papers right now, so no saint went up last week. So today, since I have time on Sundays, last week’s saint will come up this week; whether this week will have its own saint remains to be seen. And on to our saint, a mystic, John Climacus (who is commemorated in the Eastern Orthodox Church today).

St. John Climacus (c. 579-649 and thus a contemporary of St. Maximus the Confessor) was a monk of the monastery of Sinai, at the foot of the Mount of God, the mountain which Moses ascended and where the Lawgiver entered the Cloud, saw the back of YHWH, and received the Law of God, from which Moses descended with shining face from his encounter with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The spot is pregnant with meaning.

At this monastery at the foot of Mt. Sinai, John, aged sixteen, took preference for the semi-eremitic life — a life halfway between the ‘total’ seclusion of the hermit/anchorite and the total community of the ‘coenobite’ (most Western monastics — e.g. Cistercians and Benedictines are ‘coenobites’ living in a coenobium). All three forms of monasticism were practised within the walls of this monastery, founded by Justinian (556-57).

In this middle way, one pursues the monastic life of prayer and stillness under the supervision of an elder; John’s was one Abba Martyrius. Abba Martyrius, after John had demonstrated his worthiness over a few years of pursuing the monastic vocation, took John up the Mountain of God and had him tonsured, admitting him into the fullness of the monastic life.

Shortly thereafter, Abba Martyrius died, and John pursued the life of the hermit, entering into seclusion to enter hesychia and the stillness of God’s presence. He retired to Tholas and spent 40 years there, admitting the occasional visitor who came for spiritual guidance.

At the end of his 40-year stint he was elected to be abbot of the coenobitic community. In good monastic form, he resisted (one also typically resists being ordained priest or consecrated bishop if a monk), but was overcome by the brethren. He lived out the rest of his life as abbot of the monastery at Sinai. Whilst abbot, he wrote down his famous work Scala Paradisi, The Ladder of Paradise.

As with our last mystic (Bonaventure here), it is not the exterior as found in these details but the interior that matters; it is the mystic’s encounter with God and the things of God that really matters.

From John’s Ladder we learn of the ascent of the soul to God. As with many mystics, this ascent is gained through askesis, or asceticism, through the training and labours undertaken by the one seeking God in order to purify the soul/mind/heart so that union with God and the vision of God are possible, so that the contemplative can see Him clearly (though never in His fullness or essence, as God is ultimately incomprehensible).

The thirty steps of the ladder’s ascent unto God are divided into three sections (this is also common, as we saw Bonaventure’s six levels divided by two into three; it is at least as old as Origen — cf. Andrew Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition 58-59).

The first seven steps are about acquiring general virtues that are necessary for the ascetic life (cf. Origen’s ethike or ethics). These days, I think few Christians are inspired to climb any higher than these seven. I believe that we need to reclaim holiness and see a life beyond simple virtue. John Climacus can help.

The second series of steps runs from 8 through 26. These nineteen steps are about even greater ascent in virtue as the ascetic learns to overcome the vices and acquire virtues in their place. Indeed, cultivation of virtue is the only way to fully extirpate vice and cleanse the soul so that we can draw near to God and theosis, deification.

The final steps are the higher virtues. How many in our day even draw nigh to these virtues? I know not. I think they tend to be those imperturbable people who seem to radiate peace, calm, and a certain gentleness of spirit. They are also often wise. If you haven’t met such a person, it is your great loss.

At the top of the ladder, we go beyond everything we do, everything we know. We encounter the living God. He is far beyond anything we could ask or imagine. And he alone is all we want and all we need.

NB: I haven’t yet read John Climacus (I wanted to, but the copy in the library is missing), so if there are any inaccuracies, I gladly welcome critique in the comments! 🙂