Will September Ever End?

September is mostly an exercise in patience. It’s a month of waiting. I think of Anne Shirley’s lovely line about a world in which Octobers exists and can’t muster any similar enthusiasm for Septembers. There’s probably only one good song written about September.

But the ninth month has always felt unremarkable and transitional to me. It’s a steppingstone, a “Steptember stone”, worn smooth by the rush of pumpkin spice lattes and bonfires and scarves.

When I was small, it was a month at the hinge of a new school year. I had settled into my classrooms, but who knew what the remainder of the calendar held? Poor grades? Adolescent romances? Musical competitions? Worth the wait? Sometimes.

As a baseball fan, September is the waiting month for post-season. Will my team swoon? What will the Fall Classic look like? Can we hold off our rivals? Or will this month be the final stab in the throat of our playoff hopes? Worth the wait? We’ll see.

In 2013, I asked my girlfriend to marry me. Miraculously, she said “yes.” And then we waited. Six months of dating. Six months of engagement. The waiting is the worst part. But it’s been infinitely worth it.

Yet when it comes to the Church year, the waiting is the best part. That’s what Advent is about. September is good practice for Advent. We’re not quite done with ordinal time, but I can smell the apocalyptic hope wafting down from heaven around this time of year. And Christmas is only one hundred days from now. Worth the wait, I believe.

And when will the leaves turn? September is a waiting game with respect to autumn. On September 23, we begin the long descent into the darker months. The earth’s axis tilts perpendicular to the sun’s rays and the trees blush themselves to death. This, also, is worth the wait.

I wanted to post this sooner, but I had to wait. Enjoy your September while it’s still here. And may it be worth the weight of all thirty worn-out days.

Rood Dreams

The killing tree.

Roman crucifixion was a brutal and barbaric punishment reserved for slaves and thugs. And it is that cross, that holy instrument of torture that was set aside for Christ, for my salvation.

Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes ye were healed” (1 Pet.2:24).

Around 750 A.D., an anonymous poet wrote a piece called The Dream of the Rood. “Rood” is the Old English word for “cross.” It’s a remarkable telling of the crucifixion from the point of view of the rood.

The author highlights the shame and the glory of that killing tree. Jewels and blood adorn it. It was tragedy and triumph all together. Today is what the Lutherans and Anglican call “Holy Cross Day.”

It is the tree of glory on which almighty God suffered for the many sins of mankind and for the old deeds of Adam. There he tasted death, but still the Lord rose again with his might power, to the benefit of men” (lines 68-70, para.10).

Enjoy.

The Exorcist

I remember when I finally saw the classic horror film, The Exorcist. It’s reputation preceded it. I’d seen clips and references for years. But at some point in college, it was on TV and I committed.

I remember laughing a lot. Maybe it was too late at night and I was tired, but I definitely smirked more than the director intended. It just seemed- what’s the word? Campy? Outdated? Hammy? Pea soup and levitating beds.

I was underwhelmed and moved on. But if the themes of that movie is true (the reality of aggressive evil, the vulnerability of humanity, and victory of good), perhaps the shtick of that movie does more than just fail to hold up. There’s a trivialization that comes with it. If all it costs to see a portrayal of spiritual realities is a movie ticket, they’re just another commodity to be consumed or ignored at my convenience.

The ancient Christian Church had an approach to exorcism that I find fascinating and instructive (if we can curb our “chronological snobbery”). The brilliant 2nd century theologian Origen tells a story of what happened once when he was preaching on the call of Hannah (1 Sam.2). A demon-possessed person in the congregation stands up and starts screaming. Origen calmly lead the church in repeating Hannah’s phrase, “My heart exults in the Lord,” until the spirit left this person. As a result, many of the people who had been skeptics were converted. (See Origen, Homilies on Samuel, 1.10.)

What?

What do I make of that in 2019? Is it campy and outdated? Well, certainly, the 2nd century didn’t seem to see spiritual realities as commodities to be bought for the price of admission. Origen knew that this sort of thing just happened. And when the power of God squashed the enemy so visibly, a lot of people were moved to conversion. Origen called them the “traces of that Holy Spirit who appeared in the form of a dove [that] are still preserved among Christians” (Origen, Contra Celsus, 1.46).

In 2nd century Gaul (modern France area), Irenaeus tells us that Christians “in Jesus’ name…drive out devils, so that those who have been thus cleansed from evil spirits frequently both believe and join themselves to the Church.” Tertullian knew this. When demons are exorcised through prayer, it “regularly makes Christians” (Apologies, 23.18). In the early 4th century, Lactantius, writing from the imperial capital of Trier, reported that when people struggling with demonic forces experience or taste the power of Christ, they discover that is more powerful than the evil that oppresses them. As a result, the church was able to “bring a great many people to God, in wonderful fashion” (Divine Institutes, 5.22.24).

I recently began reading Justin Martyr’s first and second apologies from the early 2nd century. He points out four specific sins that he thought he could trace directly to demonic oppression and enslavement: sexual compulsions, the magic arts, the desire to increase wealth/property, and hateful violence. But when Christians prayed for grace, Christ freed those who were enslaved. The pattern seems to hold. When evil was exorcised and the person was freed, they were able to believe the gospel and come to faith in Christ alone.

Exorcism took on an almost formal role in discipleship later on in the 4th and 5th centuries. Before a catechumen (a person who had been learning the faith) was baptized, the exorcist would come alongside this baby believer as the last step before getting triply dunked. And yes, churches had exorcists. Origen, Clement of Alexandria, Tertullian- these fathers all just assumed that any Christian could exorcise demons. By the middle third century (like most things), exorcism had become a specialized skill set in the Church.

On the day of baptism, the bishop himself would come and exorcise the baptismal candidate. This was important for Christians to know who they were renouncing, not just to whom they were pledging allegiance. The Apostolic Tradition (an Egyptian 3rd century book of church order) tells us that the weeks preceding baptism were this constant process of fighting through enslavement to sin and confessing sins in which Christ dominated the “stranger” in the Christian’s life (the Enemy) and the Christian went through a “detox” from the dominant culture (Apostolic Tradition, 20.4).

All that to say, I think we could benefit from seeing the Christian life as something of an exorcism. I’m not saying we fill up our SuperSoakers with holy water and run riot through the streets. But as our struggle is against spiritual wickedness (Eph. 6:12), we need to withhold all opportunities from the devil (Eph. 4:27). I’m suggesting that Christian sanctification could be seen as a gradual and lifelong form of exorcism.

The more we are filled with the Holy Spirit (Eph. 5:18) and resist the devil (James 4:7), the more we draw closer to God in obedience and faith. As we detoxify our souls from the surrounding world (Rom.12:1-2), the Spirit is transforming us more and more into Christ’s likeness. This need not be as visibly dramatic as it was in the early church (and still is in many parts of the Global South). But the daily grind of fighting your sin and mocking the devil is just as dramatic and awful.

It’s part of the greatest story ever told. I bought that ticket. And Christ will see me through past the end credits.

This World is Not (Yet) My Home

I enjoyed the movie, O Brother Where Art Thou, when it came first came out nineteen years ago. I still like it a lot. I’m halfway through the Iliad with the Odyssey next on my list as far as classics go. It was a beautiful blend of old South Americana and mythology. Not to mention, the music was excellent. Alison Krauss is the heartbeat of American music.

But as I’ve read the Bible and read the fathers and Reformed theology, some of the lyrical themes of that wonderful movie’s soundtrack no longer sit right in my craw, beautiful as they are. “I’ll Fly Away.” “The Angel Band.” “I Am Weary (Let Me Rest).” So much of that beautiful soundtrack is dotted with old poems about “going home” and finding final and eternal rest in a heavenly home. That’s appropriate for the movie because it’s loosely based on the Odyssey, a story about a man trying to get back home.

And yet, if we can’t feel at home in this world anymore because we’re just passing through, what good is this world? What real need do we have to care for it if God is going to burn it up (as a certain type of theology promises). I once heard a popular preacher (speaking about global warming), “If you think it’s hot now, wait until Jesus gets a hold of it!” There are few more wicked sentiments I can think of for a man of the cloth to proclaim from a pulpit. It implies that the Creator is somehow chomping at the bit, eager to obliterate everything good that he made that was stained by sin.

And I’ve heard it geared towards teenagers as well. Take this world and give me Jesus. I’m not home yet. This is not where I belong. There could more harmful things to listen to on the radio. But this is just a more modern repacking of “I’ll fly away” and “this world is not my home.”

This is how Greek philosophy got its fingers around the gospel’s throat and never really let go. On the one hand, the Epicureans (“eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die”) saw our bodies as cruise ships to be enjoyed until they shipwreck on the shallow reefs of indulgence. But on the other hand, the one that grabbed onto Christianity, the body was a prison from which the soul needed to escape. That’s what the disciples of Plato believed. Don’t indulge the body. Indulge the mind. Ignore the body. It’s evil and untrustworthy and too much like the animals. What matters is reason (the Logos). Feed the mind with knowledge. If you gain enough knowledge, you feed the soul and the soul is what matters.

Plato said that all the physical things you see are like shadows on a cave wall. There’s a fire behind you, but you can’t see the fire because you’re chained up in the cave and you can only see the shadows on the wall that the fire is casting. According to Plato, all physical reality is made up of shadows. They aren’t important. What really matters is the thing that is casting the shadow- the hidden thing, the thing that you can’t see. That’s what matters. In the words of Master Yoda, “Luminous beings are we. Not this crude matter.”

A good Platonist, Yoda was.

Plato believed that the young should be taught to welcome death, neither to regret nor lament it. Does that sound familiar? I’ve heard and seen too much nonsense about Christian funerals as a flavor of celebration. Grieving with hope gets replaced with the celebration of liberation. Plato believed that death is good, something to be greeted like an old friend. Why? He believed that because he believed death is the moment when the immortal soul is set free from the prison of the physical body.

Plato viewed death as a jailbreak for the soul. Biblical Christianity views death as the last enemy to be destroyed. What happens after death? Well, Plato said that judgment is based upon deeds. The wicked go to hell. But the righteous souls fly away to join the stars. Does that sound familiar? Socrates famously said upon his deathbed that the real “me” was not the corpse he would leave behind, but that which is inside the body before death. He said a human is a “little soul carrying around a corpse.”

Platonists believed that the virtuous joined the stars at death. They became stars. The immortal souls are implanted into human bodies (male, the superior, and female, the inferior) and the main task of the soul is to master the desires and emotions of the body: pleasure, pain, fear, rage, etc. Those who do that well enough go and join the stars.

Some prison breaks involve more pandamonium than others.

And so, if you believe the body is a prison and death is the jailbreak, why would you believe in a reality in which you are reunited with your prison? No prisoner wants to go back to the jail he just escaped. That’s why Plato is not very helpful in understanding the incarnation or the resurrection. Plato would certainly not have wanted to live out eternity in a physical world.

The Stoics, for instance, believed that at the end of the present age, everything would be dissolved by fire, and the whole order of the universe would end. Does that sound familiar? The Greeks didn’t want to live in a physical world. They wanted the physical world to burn so that they could have spiritual bliss.

Looking for truth in Alderaan places.

Epicureans said that death is the end of everything. Yolo. Carpe diem.

Platonists said that death is the beginning of everything. Don’t fear the jailbreak. Be ready to fly away.

If the world is Epicurean, the Church has become Platonic. In the first case, the resurrection is disbelieved as ridiculous. In the second, it is reduced as a irrelevant, a secondary curiosity that simply make our faith distinct. And on both views, this world is not seen as a home. It’s seen as a buffet to be used or an enclosure to be destroyed.

And yet, I understand the impulse to those songs. I understand the homesickness. But that other world for which we are made is a world that will one day come to this world so that “heaven and earth be one.” This world is not yet my home. But it will be. That’s my hope.

Do We Need Rome to Truly Be at Home?

I love my Roman Catholic friends and family deeply and I disagree with them sharply. And I think that’s a classically Protestant stance to take. After preaching a sermon in which I called Roman Catholics “our friends,” a good brother in the church took me aside and mildly rebuked me for that phrase. It might communicate, he told me, that we don’t have many great differences with them, that we’re one big family that occasionally shouts across the room at each other. But again, I think I can hold deep love and sharp disagreement in both hands. And I think I’m well within the Protestant and catholic (“universal”) stream of the Christian faith in doing so.

When you read John Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion, he takes a rather generous approach to Roman Catholics (even if does call the pope “Anti-Christ”). While he wouldn’t go so far as to call the Roman Catholic church an actual “church”, he concedes that there are vestiges of God’s Church that remain in those parishes.

Book IV, chapter two, of the Institutes is one of the clearest and most elegant defenses of the oneness and wholeness of the Church. There are certain Roman Catholic doctrines that I simply cannot hold to (their Mariology comes to mind). But Calvin shows us that the Reformers actually stand rooted in the Great Tradition, and it was Rome that took the wrong turn at Albuquerque. As a result, I don’t feel the need to swim the Tiber and go “home to Rome.” As a Protestant, I never left home.

Nevertheless, Calvin thought that Roman Catholics could very much be true Christians for two reasons. First, he believed Baptism and the Lord’s Supper remain what they are, despite the people administering or receiving them. But secondly, besides the “marriage rings” of the covenant promise we have in the sacraments, his own strong providence keeps his people from completely perishing from Roman Catholicism. When buildings are torn down, the foundation can remain. In the Protestant Reformation, God “allowed a fearful shaking and dismembering to take place.”

So, there are genuine believers in Roman Catholic churches. But Calvin went further than most evangelicals are willing to go today. He thought that there were entire Roman Catholic parishes that were made up of true Christians. Just as in apostate Israel, there were faithful groups of Jews (Israelites from the heart), so in Rome there were true believers, even whole churches. God deposits his covenant people all over the world and in places ruled by other religions. In other words, just as Christ has his elect among the Muslims and the Hindus and the Jews, he has his beloved Church scattered among the Roman Catholic church.

In one word, I call them churches, inasmuch as the Lord there wondrously preserves some remains of his people, though miserably torn and scattered, and inasmuch as some symbols of the church still remain—symbols especially whose efficacy neither the craft of the devil nor human depravity can destroy. But as, on the other hand, those marks to which we ought especially to have respect in this discussion are effaced, I say that the whole body, as well as every single assembly, want the form of a legitimate church” (IV.II.xii.).

So, whereas a devout Roman Catholic might look at me and sadly declare me lost, I would look at a devout Roman Catholic and think, “Yeah, you could be my brother or sister.” So, I have no need to cross over to Rome. I just need to love them and wait for my God to claim his own within Rome.

Calvin knew that he stood in the Great Tradition of the catholic (meaning, universal) Church when he resisted papal authority and conceded salvation to any of God’s elect under that papal authority. And in doing so, Calvin wasn’t in danger of breaking the unity of the Church.

Calvin knew the fathers well, and followed Augustine in saying that Church unity was held together by two chains: agreement in what sound doctrine and brotherly love. As Augustine put it, heretics break the first chain with false doctrine and schismatics (dissenters, stirrers of strife) break the bond of unity, even as they hold the same faith. But the point is that united love must reset upon united faith.

This is right in line with the apostle Paul (Eph.4:5; Phil.2:2,5). Cyprian, the 3rd century bishop of Carthage, put it beautifully:

The church is one, which is spread abroad far and wide into a multitude by an increase of fruitfulness. As there are many rays of the sun, but one light; and many branches of a tree, but one strong trunk grounded in its tenacious root; and since from one spring flow many streams, although a goodly number seem out poured from their bounty and superabundance, still at the source unity abides undivided.…So also the church, bathed in the light of the Lord, extends its rays over the whole earth: yet there is one light diffused everywhere. Nor is the unity of the body severed; it spreads its branches through the whole earth; it pours forth its overflowing streams; yet there is one head and one source.

All members of Christ’s Bride have this connection with each other, whether they were saved by grace in a Protestant church or a Roman Catholic church. So, I don’t need to be a Roman Catholic to be at home in the Church. The Church persists, whether God places her people in Rome or elsewhere.

Light sunlight through a prism, branches from the tree, and like streams from the spring, the one faith of the Church unites us in Christ. And the Church is then able to spread light and fruit and water to those who hunger and thirst in darkness.

“I believe in one holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.”

*Clarification: I believe that salvation is contingent upon repentance. True Christians come to a saving knowledge of Jesus through faith alone by grace alone in Christ alone. Protestantism stands in concord with the early church in proclaiming this.

Looking Differently

Our pastor encouraged us to regularly be in the New Testament book of Philippians. It’s a letter to the church in ancient Philippi from St. Paul, pleading with them to find their joy and unity with each other through the joy and unity they commonly have with Christ Jesus. I got snagged on verse four of chapter two this morning:

Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others” (KJV).

I took some time and cradled that word “look” in my arms for a good while. It’s the Greek word skopeîn (σκοπεῖν) and Paul uses it twice in Philippians. In 3:17, he commands the church to “keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us” (ESV). In other words, notice carefully what we do, he says, and imitate us. The other use is here in 2:4- “let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others” (ESV).

Yes, we get our English word “scope” from this word, but that doesn’t mean Paul was telling the church to scrutinize the needs of others as under a microscope or get the big picture as with a telescope. As Don Carson has told us, that’s just silly. It’s a root word fallacy. You can’t work backwards from how a word is used today to better understand how its ancestor word was used back then. The two don’t necessarily draw such a straight line.

But we can see in Philippians 2:4 is that the way Paul uses it is in the present tense, in an active voices, to more than one person, and in a participle form (those –ing words). A participle is a verb masquerading as an adjective. All that to say, Paul is encouraging this Christian church to look out for others as an active, ongoing way to live out the fellowship we have with Christ and each other (see Philippians 2:1-3). “For one another” is actually an adjective, suggesting that the way we look carefully should be in an “otherly”, others oriented manner.

How can we be concerned about others in an ongoing default way? Two ideas come to mind. And both of these ideas sting as I think about how I don’t and how I could implement them.

  1. Through love. By learning to take a genuine interest in the day to day living of other people, I become genuinely interested in the people in my day to day life. As Uncle Jack said, “Do not waste time bothering whether you ‘love’ your neighbor; act as if you did, As soon as we do this we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him.”
  2. Through prayer. If the show Cheers taught me anything, it’s that it’s nice to be where everyone knows your name. It’s good to be a regular in some places. If you make someone a regular in your prayers, they soon become a regular in your heart. Prayers for others keep them in front of our eyes.

How can you look differently at those who look differently than you today?

A Meditation on Cosmic Alchemy

Have you ever heard of the Maillard reaction?

It’s named after the man helplessly attached to this mustache, Louis Camille Maillard. Both he and the mustache were French.

I never cooked that much before I was married. My wife is an excellent cook and, after a few years of looking over her shoulder in awe, I began to do the occasional odd dish. And some of those occasional dishes were very odd, indeed. But cooking fascinates me in that it seems to be one of humanity’s earliest exercises in chemistry.

When you grill a steak or put some bread in the toaster, do you know that beautiful golden browning that appears on the outside? That’s called the Maillard reaction.

It’s a chemical reaction. The protein and sugars in your flank steak react with the heat to create a plethora of beautiful and delicious compounds. You can even see the Maillard reaction when your marshmallow turns all brown and crusty over the bonfire.

And yes, when you add heat, pathogens and parasites are burned alive and purges from your plate. The act of cooking breaks down complex molecules into simpler compounds that are easier to digest. But that’s the utility of it.

The beauty of the Maillard reaction is the color. Amino acids and sugars hugging it out under the stress of high temperatures. Yes, it’s chemistry, but I like to think of it as a kind of alchemy.

How does she achieve the Maillard reaction? Magic.

Pink to brown. White to gold. Brown to near black. Chemistry is a deep magic baked into the cosmos before we discovered it. Taste, sight, safety- these are all enriched and elevated when carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, and hydrogen can no longer stand the heat. A simple act of energy transfer coaxes a little bit of cosmic alchemy into our daily lives.

Hallelujah for the Maillard reaction. And happy Labor Day to those who will see it today.

Word.

If you could pick one word to repeat over and over again like a Pokémon, what would it be? For those who aren’t millennials, Pokémon are little Japanese characters whose complete vocabularies consist of their own names. I watched the first few episodes of the cartoon before my siblings told me it wasn’t cool. Same with the Power Rangers. Tragedies of the youngest boy in the family.

But imagine if you were asked your name, or the way to the Piggly Wiggly, or the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow. And in response, you could only choose one unchangeable word for the rest of your days. And as you hunch in your cave over your freshly caught salmon and handful of mushrooms, muttering about your misfortune and woe, the only word you could utter to express to your painted volleyball roommate how cold your bare feet are would be…what?

Which word would you choose to be with you until your dying day? It would have to bear the weight of your emotions and thoughts, bending under inflection and bolstered by facial cues that can only communicate so much. And it would need to be a word that covered enough bases so that you could convey the bare minimum to be understood.

So, you probably wouldn’t want to choose something like “aglet.” That would be fairly useless, especially in a beach context or during flip flop season. Almost as pointless would be “eaglet,” unless you were specifically trying to get someone to save a young eagle as it choked on a discarded aglet.

Choosing the word “why” would just get you killed. The ruler of the burnt-out gas station would demand of you, “Bagel!” And you, not knowing what he means by that or why he would pick the silliest of breads as his only word, would reply, “Why?” “Bagel!” he demands, old Monster Energy Drinks dangling from his earlobes. You stare at him with wide eyes and dare to say, “Why?” And with no patience for your philosophical shenanigans, you get strangled with a severed gasoline hose. Why? Bagel.

But these are utilitarian considerations, aren’t they? To be fair, that’s the direction in which I’ve pushed us. Like the aftermath of Babel, how would society hold together if every person only had one word for the rest of their lives? That’s not an unimportant way to think about this. But it’s just not as fun.

I really love how sentences fit. Notice, I didn’t say how sentences work. I almost did, but then I caught myself. Economic English has a beauty all its own. Concise can be lovely. But this thought experiment is not to do with sentences. We’re talking about words. We’re discussing your own one word. Your life-word, if you will. Your “verbo vitae” (Google translate, don’t fail me now). I think that phrase probably refers to Jesus, but I hope you’re following the thread here.

I also love how words sound. That’s why poetry should be read out loud and preferably slower than you want to read it. That’s why “cellar door” works so well on an aesthetic level. But what about just one word? If I must choose my verbo vitae, I don’t want one that would merely keep me alive or get me what I need. If the good of my family is involved, then surely. But that’s not the scenario. It’s just you. It’s just me. What word would I love to be stuck with until my lungs stop pumping air?

Obsidian? Duplicitous? Squalor? Sonorous? Barracuda? Pompadour? Dapple?

Probably. No really. I mean it. Probably. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? And even if you don’t like the sound of it, do you think it would help keep me alive?

Probably.

Finding Figments

I’m 97% sure that Sasquatch exists.

The elusive North American great ape has yet to be categorized by modern Western science, but countless eyewitness encounters (not to mention the incontrovertible evidence of the Patterson-Gimlin film) suggest that small breeding populations dot the landscape across the States.

It’s easy to believe in a flesh and blood primate. The adorable little olinguito wasn’t discovered until 2013. The little deer-like saola wasn’t confirmed to exist until 2010. My favorite hide and seek champion is the giant panda. Locals were quite familiar with it, but Westerners didn’t encounter evidence for it until 1869 (some 500+ years after Marco Polo’s famous travels to China). Native Americans have told stories about the “large hairy men” for centuries. Bigfoot is no different.

I say that because what follows might sound like wishful thinking. But I really do think the odds are in favor of the modern world discovering Sasquatch. Above is why I do believe. Now, here’s why I want to believe.

America is more enchanted than we realize.

In part, Tolkien wrote his Middle Earth stories because he was frustrated with the lack of English myths. That’s partly why N.D. Wilson wrote his 100 Cupboards series. He wanted homegrown fairy tale this side of the pond. I feel that.

The gaping lack of our American mythos is tantalizing. It draws me. It makes me want to peel back the layers of forest and canyon and mud filled lakes and find delightfully unmanaged secrets growing silently away from our eyes.

Champ. The Beast of Bray Road. Mothman. Skunk apes. Thunderbirds. El chupacabra.

I’d like to see them all. I want them all to be real. America needs a little more enchanted spaces.

And yeah, I’m 97% sure Sasquatch exists.

Life Support and Ligaments

“Which cannot be without thee.”

That’s a beautiful phrase that appears in the 1549 Book of Common Prayer. Today is the ninth Sunday after Trinity Sunday. When Thomas Cranmer was trying to decide how best to disciple an entire nation in which Roman Catholicism had been formative for almost a millennium, he went over the ancient sacramentaries (service books for how to have church services in the West) and pulled the prayers that shone forth the gospel clearest.

These prayers in the BCP are called collects (emphasis placed on the first syllable). Each collect has roughly the same structure. There’s an address (“Almighty and Everlasting Father”; “Lord from whom all good things do come”, etc.). A lot of times the address or invocation is a direct reference to God and the reason for the prayer. Next is the main body of the prayer- the petition. This is based on the readings for the given Sunday and are always first person plural because we pray as one holy, catholic, apostolic church. And then the prayer is concluded with a type of doxology, usually invoking the Trinity.

Thomas Cranmer composed a few prayers of his own (most notably, the Ash Wednesday collect and those used in Advent), but for today, I’m struck by the absolute dependence on God that Cranmer was trying to get the English church to see. It’s an older prayer (from the Gelasian Sacramentary) (traditionally dated to the 5th century). It goes as follows:

“Grant to us Lord we beseech thee, the spirit to think and do always such things as be rightful; that we, which cannot be without thee, may by thee be able to live according to thy will; through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

This (like perhaps every prayer) is more than a tall order. It’s an impossible task. Grant that we might have the spirit to think and do always that which is rightful? Always? Can’t do it. My selfishness will trip me up. The world will allure me. Satan will buffet.

But it is “by thee” that was ask this. It is by his power that we are able to live according to his will. Sine te esse, “which cannot be (i.e., exist)” without thee. That’s dependence, is it not?

Lord, we cannot be without thee. I cannot be without thee. There’s no me if it weren’t for you. And there’s no obedience and rightfulness without your grace. Grant it to your Church this morning, Lord. Remind us of your grace.