Tag: st. gregory’s abbey

God in the Hands of Angry Sinners

On By J. Barrett LeeIn SermonLeave a comment

Sermon for Good Friday

John 18:1-19:42

When I was in high school, we had to read a famous sermon called Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.

It’s a sermon that many people know about—even if you’ve never read it. And it has often come to represent a certain image of God: a God who is angry at sinful human beings, a God whose wrath must somehow be dealt with before we can be saved.

There’s just one problem with that:

When we read the Passion Gospel—as we just did—that is not the image of God we see there.

In this Gospel, Jesus is not handing out wrath.

In fact, one of his disciples tries to do that, and Jesus rebukes him. In an older translation, this is where we get the phrase, “Those who live by the sword shall die by the sword.”

Again and again, Jesus chooses nonviolence.

Compassion.

Forgiveness.

Love—even for those who wish him harm.

That is the image of God we are given on Good Friday.

Andrew Marr, the abbot of St. Gregory’s Abbey—Three Rivers, puts it this way:

“What we see on the cross is not sinners in the hands of an angry God, but God in the hands of angry sinners.”

That is the image of God we are given on Good Friday:

A God who takes on flesh and dwells among us in the person of Jesus.

A God who endures violence… and does not return it.

A God who does not require violence in order to forgive.

A God whose wrath does not need to be satisfied before humanity can be brought back into relationship with God.

Now, the sermon Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God does, in many ways, represent an image of God that has been communicated by the Church for much of its history—at least in the West.

But it is not accurate to the image of God that is revealed in the person of Jesus.

And what we see here instead—God in the hands of angry sinners—is not only something we see in Scripture…

It is also something we recognize because it feels familiar.

If you think back to your own school days, you may remember how this works:

Kids growing up, feeling awkward about themselves—about their bodies, about who they are, about where they fit in the world.

And what often happens?

They find someone else to carry that discomfort.

Someone who is different.

Someone who doesn’t fit the mold.

Someone who can be singled out.

And that person becomes the scapegoat.

All of the insecurity, all of the fear, and all of the confusion gets projected onto that one person.

And that person is bullied… excluded… sometimes even tormented.

But what’s really happening is that everyone else’s insecurity is being acted out on them.

And this isn’t just something kids do.

We know that the politics of the locker room can become the politics of the boardroom.

Too often, people don’t grow out of this.

They continue to project their own self-hatred onto others.

They continue to bully.

They continue to enact violence—sometimes physical, sometimes emotional, sometimes systemic—in order to make themselves feel more secure.

That is the way of the world.

But it is not the way of God.

And we are reminded of that every year on Good Friday.

Because what we see here is a God who says:

“I am not here to overpower you.

I am not here to force you into submission.

And if this is what you need to do—if you need to reject me, if you need to harm me—then I will not resist you.”

“I will offer myself willingly.”

That is the God we meet in Jesus.

A God who is willing to be handed over into the hands of angry sinners.

A God who bears our sins—our fear, our violence, our self-hatred—and responds not with retaliation, but with love.

And if this is who we believe God to be…

Then there is a response that God calls forth from us:

We are called to go out into the world and look for those who are being scapegoated.

Those who are excluded.

Those who are made to carry the weight of everyone else’s fear and anger.

And we are called to stand with them.

In the name of Jesus.

In the name of the God who is love.

And this, as we know, is not the end of the story.

Because today is Good Friday.

And in just a few short days, we will celebrate something more.

We will celebrate the truth that violence does not have the final word.

That hatred does not have the final word.

That God continues to love while falling into the hands of angry sinners.

And that God’s love is stronger than death itself.

But that is a story for another day.

More Photos of Clothing of Oblate Novices

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Uncategorized2 Comments

These photos were taken by my parishioner, Larry Palmer-Braak, at my clothing as an oblate novice at St. Gregory’s Abbey, Three Rivers. He attended the clothing with his wife Marion. I am fond of telling Larry that he is the finest contemplative photographer I have ever seen. Included also are some striking photos of Br. John Mark (my fellow oblate novice), the monastery, and the monks themselves.

Wibbly-Wobbly, Timey-Wimey Stuff: Benedictine Monasticism and the Sanctification of Time

On By J. Barrett LeeIn Uncategorized4 Comments

In early 2014, I realized something needed to change in my life.

I was regularly working twelve to fourteen hours a day, sometimes going a month without taking a single day off. I had a moment of clarity while sitting in my office at 2 o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. At first, I felt proud of myself for being such a hard worker, but then I thought, “Wait a minute, this is insane. Who does this?”

After returning from my second trip to the emergency room with stress-related illness, I decided that I needed to find a better sense of balance in my life. I thought, “Who understands balance and rhythm? Monks! I wonder if there’s a monastery somewhere near me?”

A Google search revealed that I lived a mere forty-minute drive away from St. Gregory’s Abbey, an Episcopal Benedictine monastery in Three Rivers, Michigan. Without even calling home to check with my wife, I called and booked a week-long retreat in April.

That week changed my life. Sitting in the abbey church, I felt quiet on the inside for the first time ever. I had long felt an attraction to contemplative Christian spirituality, but had never given myself permission to stop long enough to try it.

The first insight I gleaned from the Benedictines is a different conception of time than I had previously held. To quote the British sci-fi series Doctor Who:

“People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint – it’s more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff.”

I had presumed that time is a line, progressing inexorably from Point A to Point B. As one who exists on this timeline, my goal was success: asserting my powers of will to make the timeline go in the direction I wanted.

What I learned from the monks is that time is actually a circle, or perhaps a spiral. Making the daily rounds of the Divine Office and the Mass, we keep going around and around, returning to the same point in the liturgy again and again. It wouldn’t be all that far-off to say that the Eucharist itself is a form of “time-travel”, wherein the Church in finds herself gathered around the table with Christ and his Apostles at the Last Supper. Saints and angels from all of time and space gather with us in the Paschal mystery. Likewise, the hours of the Divine Office are often called “the sanctification of time.”

The goal of history in this circular vision of time is not success, but faithfulness. We return to the same points again and again. We cannot go forward without going around. This is very much in-tune with the circular rhythms of the natural world. Day follows night as the planet rotates. We pass through the lunar and seasonal phases as we go around the sun, year after year. The monks mark the passage of time with prayer, pausing to feel the earth twisting and turning beneath their feet. They return to the hours of the Office and the Mass in order to renew their conscious contact with the Source of motion. It is their faithfulness to this daily rhythm that makes them monks.

Between the hours, the earth continues rotating and revolving. There are periods of work and rest: guests need attending to, meals need to be prepared and eaten, dishes need to be washed, buildings need repair, books need to be written and read, library shelves need to be dusted, leaves need to be raked, snow needs to be shoveled, but the spiral rhythm remains constant. A symphony is just a jumbled mess of noise without the pauses and rests between the notes.

This is the first insight I learned from my time with the monks at St. Gregory’s. It has changed the way I approach my life at work and at home. Time is not a line, but a spiral. The goal is not success, but faithfulness. One can only move forward by going around.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to step away from this computer screen and go recite one of the Hours.

PAX