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Is there a question about the Christian Faith you've wanted to ask, but didn't have the forum, or just couldn't come up with at the time, please send them here, and I will do my best to provide an answer or at least various avenues for additional reading or study. Please send them to Fr. McQueen at cranmerian@gmail.com Here are some that guests like you have asked recently:
Who Led the Church When the Apostles Died? It’s called Patristics (from the word “fathers”), and what a fascinating study it is—reading the writings of the earliest successors of the Apostles. Yes, on Wednesday nights in Lent here at St. John’s Church we’ve been looking into the lives of these early Christian leaders. And we’re getting a marvelous glimpse “behind the scenes” of the Church in its infancy and youth. The Patristic Era is that part of church history spanning the years from the middle of the first century to the death of St. John of Damascus around A.D. 780. We’re gleaning some great information about these men, and about the leadership they gave to our ancient brothers and sisters in the Faith. We’re finding much inspiration for our own Christian walk today, as well. Who Were These Folks? Here’s the story in a nutshell: First, there was Jesus and the Apostles. Jesus died, rose, ascended— and left the Twelve to carry on His ministry and to spread His teachings. This body of teachings—before the New Testament was fully formed—is called “the Faith,” or the apostolic Tradition (see 2 Thessalonians 2:15; 3:6). It was the responsibility of the Apostles to spread it far and wide in the initial decades after Jesus. And they did. Churches sprang up everywhere, continuing in the Apostle’s teaching, and guarding the Faith as it had been delivered to them. In these first decades of the church, each congregation depended on these twelve men to teach and lead as “stand ins” for the Lord Himself. But these men, too, would die, right? Problem is, many churches had already been started, and those congregations, all over the known world, were depending on the Apostles to guide them in their worship, teaching, and theology. (Again, remember that the New Testament as we know it had not yet been written. So it was crucial that the apostolic teaching, or sacred Tradition, would be taught and heard in the churches.) Now the apostles were wise and led by the Holy Spirit, just as Jesus promised they would be. So, as they came to the end of their lives, they designated successors, men who would follow them and take up the task of keeping their Lord’s teaching both pure and spreading. These successors were called overseers, or bishops, and—because the Church is a family, and these were the leaders of God’s family—they soon became know as “fathers.” The Fathers of the Church are a stellar group of bishops, teachers, scholars, and martyrs, serving as fine examples (for the most part) of Christian witness and teaching. If you have not read a little bit about them, or delved into some of their writings, try them out. (A good book to start with is The Fathers of the Church: An Introduction to the First Christian Teachers, by Mike Aquilina.) Why Are They Important—Even Today? Some folks might say, “But I haven’t even heard of these guys till now!” I understand. So … we’ve spent our Wednesday evenings imagining being a Christian in the Church in those early decades and centuries. We see how important it is to know how our earliest brothers taught, how they interpreted the written Gospels and the epistles, and how they developed so much of the theology that we depend on today. Also, you may have noticed a movement in our own day to return to the ancient, to the roots of the Church, hoping to glean a fresh sense of our Christian heritage. As we do this, the study of Patristics becomes an invaluable resource. One of the things that is so inspiring to my own congregation is to see that the Eucharist, presided by the bishop of the area, was always at the center of the life of the church in those early days. In this regard, I will leave you with a quotation from one of the Church Fathers, Justin Martyr, from around a.d. 155. He tells about his church and how they worshipped. Do you see yourself here on the “day of the sun”?
On the day we call the day of the sun, all who dwell in the city or country gather in the same place. The memoirs of the apostles and the writings of the prophets are read, as much as time permits. When the reader has finished, he who presides over those gathered admonishes and challenges them to imitate these beautiful things. Then we all rise together and offer the prayers. … When the prayers are concluded, we exchange the kiss. Then someone brings bread and a cup of water and wine mixed together to him who presides over the brethren. He takes them and offers praise and glory to the Father of the universe, through the name of the Son and of the Holy Sprit, and for a considerable time he gives eucharist (“thanks”) that we have been judged worthy of these gifts. When he has concluded the prayers and thanksgiving, all present give voice to an acclamation by saying: “Amen.” When he who presides has given thanks, and the people have responded, those whom we call deacons give to those present the “eucharisted” bread, wine, and water and take them to those who are absent.” As we approach Holy Week—as we slow down, consider our lives, and focus on what is really important to us—I recommend a glimpse into the lives of the ones whom the original Apostles chose to carry on the Faith. They gave themselves to Christ (and to us) to develop the doctrine, to fight the heresies, to oversee and protect the sacred Word, both oral and written. Where would we be today without these great Christians of yesterday?--Gary+
???????????????????????????????????? Why All the Ceremony? Today we will gather for many beloved rituals. Which of these will be a part of your day? … • saluting the flag with a hand over your heart;
• saying the Pledge of Allegiance with others in a crowd;
• standing, with hat in hand, to sing the National Anthem;
• kneeling at a veteran’s tomb, and placing flowers there;
• standing for a rifle salute;
• clapping hands at a parade of marching soldiers;
• responding with “oooh” and “aaah” as fireworks light up the sky;
• donning a colorful apron, to stand in front of the grill;
• bowing in a family prayer of thanks for cherished liberty.
Have you noticed that, with anything important to us, we have attached
ritual words and ceremonial actions? Surely it’s because the ceremonial
comes packaged with human nature.
In fact, we can’t avoid ceremony, no matter how hard we try. Meeting a new
person, for instance, involves a handshake and certain standard words.
Or proposing to your sweetheart: You will take her hand, slip on a ring, and
ask her to marry you, perhaps while you kneel on one knee.
So we can give ourselves fully to the observance of Independence Day by putting
our whole selves into it. We have so much to be thankful for, recalling our national
forefathers—and all the generations of men and women to this day—who worked
and risked to guarantee our freedoms. Why shouldn't we salute, sing the Song,
and wave a sparkler?
And I would like to take a moment to compare all of this to religion. Because much
of what we do on this day will have an aspect of “civil religion” to it: We will ask
God—amidst ceremony—that He may “bless America.” That is, ceremony seems
to meet a deep longing in our spirits. It’s true when we engage in national
remembrances, and also when we enter into a specifically Christian remembrance:
“Do this in remembrance of Me.”
Hugh Edsall, in Whole Christianity, writes: “Ceremony is very helpful in a service
of worship because of the importance of the physical body to human beings.
We cannot teach, learn, communicate, move about, or express love without the
physical body.”In my own church, we often bow in reverence before the Cross
of our salvation. Or we touch our knee to the ground before our Master.
Or we make a cross over our bodies to remember our baptism into new Life.
These are all “empty ritual,”of course … if they are empty. However, if we
are genuinely mindful of the fullnessof our life in Christ, the rituals themselves
become full. And they help fill our heartswith thankfulness and joy whenever
we do them.
Mike Aquilina writes in The Mass of the Early Christians: “Their reverence at the
Eucharist was profound. … That reverence extended to the trappings of the liturgy
as well—the altar, the plates, and the chalices—which were always made of the finest
materials the local church afford.” As an example, one early church Father, Jerome,
would write of the need “to instruct, by the authority of Scripture, all the churches
concerning the reverence with which they must handle holy things and minister at
Christ’s altar … and that the sacred chalices, veils, and other accessories used in the
celebration of the Lord’s passion are not merely lifeless and senseless objects devoid
of holiness, but that rather, from their association with the body and blood of the Lord,
they are to be venerated with the same awe as the body and the blood themselves”
(Letter 114.2).
My point is simply this: The physical objects we use in veneration, in ceremony,
whether at national or spiritual observances, are important because WE are part
physical. And, as Edsall notes, bringing physical beauty and symbolism into our most
deeply cherished remembrances makes them more meaningful to us.
So, yes: salute the Flag; lift up the Chalice.
Now, a final thought: A friend of mine once asked me a perfectly good
question, relating this discussion to prayer. “Okay, but what about all your
written prayers?Shouldn’t we just pray from the heart?” My response was
to try to distinguish between private prayer and public prayers. (I’m afraid
I also asked: “Do you use hymnbooks at church, or just make up the songs
as you go?”)
Extempore prayers in public have a hallowed place. But when I do pray
this way, I try to remember that it requires the hearers to exercise critical judgment
(“Is this orthodox or heretical? It this sincere or not?”). On the other hand,
when we have a known liturgical structure that we can enter into—without
needing to generate or evaluate it for ourselveseach time—we can let go and
surrender ourselves to heartfelt devotion. As C.S. Lewisonce noted,
a fixed prayer/ceremony, allows that critical function to be exercised
beforehand. To me, this is a benefit.
With that, I will leave you with two written prayers from The Book of
Common Prayer—one for our Country and one for our Churches. With my
best wishes to you for a joyful and meaningful Friday … and Sunday.
O Judge of the Nations, we remember before you with grateful hearts the men
andwomen of our country who in the day of decision ventured much for the
liberties we now enjoy. Grant that we may not rest until all the people of this land
share the benefits of true freedom and gladly accept its disciplines. This we ask
in the Name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
O Most Merciful Father, who made us to have bodies, minds, and spirits,
grant that we may honor you outwardly with our bodies as we worship you
with the mind and spirit, through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns
with you and the Holy Spirit, One God, now and forever. Amen.—Gary+
(published in The Moultrie Observer, July 2008)
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GOOD QUESTION: What About the OTHER Religions? Fr. Gary Wilde I would like to suggest a starting point for a possible response: Simply realize upfront that no one can stand on the outside, claiming “no religion,” until one of them shows itself as more true than the others. We are already practicing faith in some form. Here’s what I mean: Everyone has problems, and everyone is believing and doing things that they believe will solve their problems. On the most foundational level, these beliefs and actions, then, are their “religion.” But for so many people, this kind of basic religion becomes quite unsatisfying. Christianity and the other established religions are at hand, then, for testing. Do they provide better “solutions” to the big problems like sin (a sense of shortcoming or guilt), the universal longing for security and unconditional love, the desire for immortality. Consider: If a person is depressed, she has various psychotherapy techniques available to solve her problem. To test a therapy’s effectiveness, she will have to put her wholehearted commitment behind it. Though only half sure her choice is the right one, it wouldn’t make sense for her only to put half of her commitment into it to see if it will work. Therefore she will put full commitment into something only partially understood and believed in. That is, she has faith. In similar fashion, we approach religious faith. But now I will speak to you, specifically, as a Christian, and make one small point about this big question we started with, “Why Jesus?” For me, one important reason is that we’ll obviously have to start somewhere in our “test.” But moreover, we can recognize that when people have wholeheartedly committed to Christianity, they have discovered a uniqueness about Jesus compared to the gods of other religions. The most unique aspect is a claim of historical resurrection. Do we find this in other religions? As I study them, I discover myriad claims and stories — but mostly within a supra-historical realm. (Check it out for yourself, though. See the exploits of Arjuna and Krishna, for example, in the Hindu Bhagavad Gita; these have an historical backdrop, but I am not aware that adherents consider them to have actually happened in space-time as we know it. The gods are usually understood, I think, to represent aspects of the human psyche.) Now the resurrection is either true or not. In pointing to evidence for it, Christians also claim a personal experience: the indwelling presence of Jesus, being inspired by Scripture reading, warmed by fellowship, called and influenced by the Spirit. But again, all these claims must be wholeheartedly “checked out” by any individual seeker wanting to know the truth. I think that the most illogical answer would be to say that because many different claims to truth exist, I will therefore view all of them as relative and equally invalid. We do not approach other everyday claims that way (for example, claims that different car manufacturers make about their products). Rather, we take the time and energy to check out the claims — and we eventually decide.
Tolerance: A good thing? Long ago, in the earliest days of Christianity, Paul of Tarsus encounters a religion in Athens and displays impressive tolerance toward it (see Acts 17 in the Bible). On the other hand, he makes it clear that he offers revealed truth that fulfills and supersedes the wisdom these worshipers already have from their speculations and “their own poets.” That is, he speaks of Christ as a unique incarnation of God — and the resurrection as proof of his claims. In light of Paul’s approach, we Christians must apparently hold two natural tendencies in tension. We do wish to accept people who are different, respect other cultures, and give a full hearing to others’ sincerely held beliefs. And we will, of course, welcome the good and the true that we find in other religions and refuse to caricature them. Along with this laudable “tendency to toleration” are we required to hold to complete relativism? I don’t believe so. Perhaps a good approach is the one exemplified by two Christian theologians’ work in this area: (1.) Elton Trueblood’s suggestion of two intolerable ways to approach the question, and one mediating way. Intolerable: Since Christ is the only way, every claim of another religion is always totally false (the fallacy of religious exclusivism — who could argue with the Buddha’s first noble truth, for instance: “Life is difficult”?). Intolerable: All religions are equally valid, and each pathway is a possible route to the top of the same mountain (the fallacy of religious indifferentism — clearly, some religions’ teachings directly contradict others; they can’t all be right). Mediating: Christianity is a fulfillment and development of truths of the spiritual life, many of which can be gleaned within the religions. (“The true light that enlightens every man was coming into the world.” John 1:9.) (2.) Richard Niebuhr’s concept of “confessing faith.” That is, we recognize that our theologies about God are finite (having human limitations); only God is infinite. Thus, we can hold firmly to our beliefs while confessing their incompleteness. This opens us to learning from, and dialoguing with, other worldviews. In this dialogue we find space for genuine, sincere witness. So … could that be a tiny beginning to a possible Christian response? I invite your own reflections on the question from other perspectives: gwilde1@cfl.rr.com. ???????????????????????????????????????????? Published June 05, 2008 10:33 pm - Good question: Is God really there? Fr. Gary Wilde “You’re entitled to your opinion.” How many times have you heard that in ordinary conversation? The speaker implies that all points of view are relative, that one opinion is as good as the next. Sometimes it makes me long for an absolute proof of what I believe. In fact, I’m tempted at times to echo the kind of tongue-in-cheek prayer once offered by comedian Woody Allen: “God, if only you would give me some clear sign! Like making a large deposit in my name at a Swiss bank.” But we aren’t allowed to discard faith in favor of mere deduction, are we? Belief, indeed, is still required. And even though it would be nice, we can’t prove “God” the way we tote up a bank statement or demonstrate a geometry theorem. Yet the church calls us to believe, with considerable certainty. So how is that possible? Let’s think about it, with regard to the most basic question: Is God really there? We know that faith rests upon the best of reasons (which are available to the public), just as circumstantial evidence is used in a courtroom trial. It’s the cumulative effect of the evidence for God that makes the probability of His existence so certain. I’ve made a little list for myself of some pieces of the evidence — in the form of intriguing questions — that help underpin my own starting points for belief in more than just the material world: • How do we explain matter springing from non-matter, or life from non-life? • Why are humans always searching for meaning and purpose? Does it mean these things exist? • Why do human beings invariably lack a sense of fulfillment in this world? Were we made for another world? • Who can fathom the power of love, even in the face of the worst suffering and evil? Where does love come from, anyway? • Why does worship exist in all cultures throughout history? • Why do all peoples have moral codes? • If a human body is merely a mixture of chemicals, then where does rationality come from? How can chemicals “think”? • What about the resurrection of Christ as described by eyewitnesses who gave their lives to proclaim it? • What about the claims of the Bible and its obvious transforming power in peoples’ lives? Everyone faces such basic questions about the nature of reality, and believers say they point to “something more.” C.S. Lewis, one of my Anglican theological heroes, was a brilliant atheist in his early years. But that changed. Here is how he tells it in his book “Mere Christianity”: “My argument against God was that the universe seemed so cruel and unjust. But how had I got this idea of just and unjust? A man does not call a line crooked unless he has some idea of a straight line. What was I comparing this universe with when I called it unjust? … Thus in the very act of trying to prove that God did not exist — in other words, that the whole of reality was senseless — I found I was forced to assume that one part of reality (namely, my idea of justice) was full of sense. Consequently, atheism turns out to be too simple. If the whole universe has no meaning, we should never have found out that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the universe and therefore no creatures with eyes, we should never know it was dark. ‘Dark’ would be without meaning.” I love that simple, profound statement of a basic starting point for belief in God. But suppose we go beyond the “starting points” to face the person of Jesus, who broke into history with the claim of deity? Here we believers consider our deep, inner knowledge of Christ dwelling in our lives. It is a supremely powerful piece of confirmation. And it is most often the first thing I share when I’m asked about my own faith. I tend to sum it up like this, in the words of an old hymn: “You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart.” Got a GOOD QUESTION? Ask Fr. Wilde gwilde1@cfl.rr.com |
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