The Believe is to Breathe

(a homily for Adoration, Hopwood Christian Church)

We often think that to believe is to simply give mental ascent, to appreciate in our minds and probably with our lips that “such and such is true” or that some particular proposition is trustworthy. Such is the legacy of Western “enlightenment.” On the other hand, it seems that those who have become aware that belief is not merely a mental thing, but a bodily way of life, often run the risk of becoming busy-bodies. “There are so many problems to be taken care of in the world, and if I don’t do something, who will?” such folks ask. I must admit that I think active believers are probably going more so in the right direction than merely rational believers. They say, like “doubting” Thomas, “I want to touch the scars of Christ.” Our Gospel reading tells us that Thomas was not with the other ten disciples when the risen Lord appeared to them. Some Christian traditions hold that Thomas was absent because he was already out doing the work of the Gospel. The other ten, were, in a sense, still in a state of shock, and they locked themselves up in a room trying to wrap their minds around the news they had received from Mary of Magdala, that she had seen the risen Lord. The question arises, however, as to which type of disciples we should try to be like: the active, physically oriented Thomas type or the hiding, mentally oriented type? All of us are potentially like Thomas and the other disciples. Perhaps there’s a way to bring both together.

What if our mentally-minded friends are not entirely wrong, just merely misguided by the likes of Descartes, talking head politics, state education required aptitude tests, or that great disembodying device, television? It is to be our hope that all are able to be made new; such is the promise of the Resurrection. But where does Resurrection Reality bring the ephemerally fanciful mind back into fellowship with the hardened, busy body, those parts of the person never meant to be considered divided? Well, take a deep breath. No, really, breathe deeply.

We must regain our hearts, the seat of our very beings. The Greek term in the New Testament and other ancient Christian writings often translated as “mind” or “intellect,” is nous. Nous is, however, something more than “mind,” or the faculty of reason. It is our “spirit,” that essential part of us that connects to God, being even the image of God in humanity. Thus, as the Eastern spiritual fathers express, true prayer and worship is “to descend with the mind (the nous) into the heart.”[Timothy Ware, in Introduction, The Art of Prayer, compiled by Igumen Chariton of Valamo (London: Faber and Faber, 1966), 17f.] If we’ve forgotten, or never learned, the profundity of the mind, that it’s not only for thinking and mental ascent, it will be difficult for us to let it reconnect with the heart. However, a practice that can help us do this is that of being attentive to our breathing. Perhaps a selection from a poem by the contemporary poet Scott Cairns about the subtle meaning of nous will help to illustrate:

“… Dormant in its roaring cave,
the heart’s intellective aptitude grows dim,
unless you find a way to wake it. So,

let’s try something, even now. Even as
you tend these lines, attend for a moment
to your breath as you draw it in: regard

the breath’s cool descent, a stream from mouth
to throat to the furnace of the heart.
Observe that queer, cool confluence of breath

and blood, and do your thinking there.

[Scott Cairns, “Adventures in New Testament Greek: Nous,” Compass of Affection (Brewster,
MA: Paraclete Press, 2006), 104-105.]

When we become mindful of our breath, when we slow down to take notice of something so easily unnoticed as breathing, we become profoundly aware of the inseparable nature of our mind—our spirit—and our body. We come to recognize that the mental aspect of believing is wedded to the flesh, to our mouth, our throat, our lungs, our heart. We find that to believe is to breathe.

Now, I must tell you that we are not to do all of this believing and breathing alone. Bringing the mind and the heart and the body back together, mending the internal divide caused by sin, deception, and a philosophical inheritance will be a trying process. And thus we find, at least in part, the wisdom of gathering here together in this place to fellowship and foster friendship in the context of worship. We need help in believing, that radically active disposition that takes hold of all we are, and points us towards all we are becoming. When we find it difficult to breathe, our fellow believers in Christ are a peaceful presence. In worship, in receiving the body and blood of Christ, we are given true breath and we learn how to breathe in the everyday.

Here in this place, and in life’s mindful encounters, the risen Jesus comes among us, his disciples, and he says to us, “Peace be with you,” and he shows us the marks of his crucifixion, those gruesome and glorious reminders of the reward of fulfilling the law of love, of faithfully living the Gospel. Jesus tells us, and he shows us, that believing is not something simply done “up here, in the mind, with sheer thoughts.” Belief is done in and with the body—in our wrists, in our sides, with our hearts, with our very breath. But neither is belief merely physical; it is truly spiritual, the mind’s activity of repentance and purification, the turning of our whole selves towards God to be cleansed and renewed. Let us breathe. Let us believe. Let us think not only about the body of Christ, nor simply touch Christ’s scars, but let us be the body of Christ, broken for the world and raised to new life.

Jesus, breathe on us anew, that we may receive the Holy Spirit, the Advocate sent by your Father. Thank you for the gifts of worship, prayer, life, doubt, belief and breath. Give us breath, so we may live in a way that gives you glory. Amen.

(Gospel: John 20:19-31)

ten::eight

(a homily)

When I'm found out, when I'm caught in the middle of saying some questionable things, for instance, my throat instantaneously becomes parched. It's as if my pride absorbs all of the moisture in my mouth. "Did I really say that? Really?" And then, like Jonah, the turbulent sea seems inviting. Like the scholar of the Law, a trite statement seems appropriate. Anything to escape investigation.

And so we operate. We probably all have our ways of justifying ourselves. The people we see in our scripture readings this morning did. Accountability for our words and introspective contemplation are not virtues expounded upon in the culture's currents. And so we would like to jump ship when we're forced to face ourselves. And, perhaps, this is what we should do, with some guidance of course. I suggest this out of consideration of today's "psalm," which doesn't come out of the psalter but is Jonah's prayer in the belly of the fish. Going overboard, he recognized his folly and cried out to God. Jonah, upon fainting, remembered the Lord. In the end he had to face himself. And God rescued him from his attempt to escape the truth.

So many of our problems arise out of an unwillingness to be truthful. However, we are here, in the midst of this liturgy, among brothers and sisters, to learn to be truthful. We are here because we are aware of our great need to be rescued from the pit. In faith, not out of a desire to escape, we throw ourselves overboard into the sea of grace. In those waters we are refreshed and once back on the shore we are directed to a table with bread to nourish us and wine to wet our mouths once parched by a fear of ourselves. But the bread and the wine renew us. They bring us into union with God and with each other. And we are made to go out in the likeness of Christ in the merciful fellowship of the Holy Spirit to love God and to love our neighbor.

(Jonah 1:1-2:1-12, 11, Jonah 2:3-5, 8, Luke 10:25-37)

ten::one

(a homily)

Disciples can be stupid sometimes. So quickly we can go off in directions never intended for us. Seeking our own place, our own desires, our own merits, we forget our humble call to be the least. And so a child needs to be placed in our midst. "Here, O wise ones, is the greatest in the kingdom, the one who rely on others for all things, relies on grace to receive provisions."

We are so forgetful. As such, God has put people among us with better memories, thoughts of the heavenly city where justice and peace and love reside. God is taking us there. God is even asking us to be builders, giving us the gift of the Holy Spirit. God hears us when we groan in recognition of our stupidity, our sin, our forgetfulness and uncanny ability to think more highly of ourselves than we ough. Too easily we are captives, exiles from our very selves, the people we are meant to be.

So, we find ourselves here. A table is set before us, a table of remembrance. Stupid as we may be, we may yet be found with the mind of Christ, a mind driven by humility and other-centeredness. At this table, in the work done here, we become the body of Christ, a presence of God's grace in the world. May we approach the table with humble memories and thoughts of a heavenly residence, a place where God's will is done on earth as in heaven, where we forgive and are forgiven, where we are no longer anxious but at peace with ourselves and one another, able, therefore, to welcome the child and the stranger as beautiful sings of God's presence among us. With this renewed thought process let us go forth to work, to listen, to the call of God, to be a prayerful presence in the world.

(Zechariah 8:1-8, Psalm 102, Luke 9:46-50)