Great Vespers

This week our Canterbury Fellowship traveled to St. Nicholas Ukrainian Orthodox Church in Greenwood, VA to participate in their service of Great Vespers.  For many of us, it was a first experience of Vespers and quite possibly the first time any of us had participated in an Eastern liturgy.  In the Episcopal Church, we fall into the Western liturgical tradition.  Of course there are many differences between the two, but perhaps the two that struck me the most were the building's architecture and how the congregation remained standing for the entirety of an hour, plus, service.

St. Nicholas Orthodox Church Nave

In many traditionally Western churches -- that is those that trace their heritage back to Rome -- we see a much different floor plan than we do in the Eastern churches.  For example, both East & West haven a narthex, nave, and sanctuary; however, in the Easter tradition, the separation between the nave and the sanctuary has been maintained by a partition: thus reminding us of the design of the Temple in Jerusalem, where you have a separation between where the common people gathered, where the Jewish people gathered, and then the place where only the priests were allowed to enter-- the holy of Holies.  And during our visit we also learned that in the early church, the Nave was exclusively designated for Christians.  In fact non-Christians were asked to leave at certain points during the service.

Another interesting fact:  the Ukrainian Orthodox Christians at St. Nicholas's (and presumably many Orthodox Christians) sung the entire Vespers service.  It was absolutely beautiful.  If you would like to learn more about this particular parish, please visit their website HERE.

Of course, it wouldn't be a proper Canterbury meeting if we didn't enjoy a delicious dinner and the fellowship of our peers.  So afterwards, we traveled through the "wilderness" (haha) to Crozet Pizza, having a spectacular time!  The owners of this place make the best pizza I think I've had in a very long time.  Here's a picture of us at Crozet Pizza.

Morning Prayer -- A New Tradition

Do you ever wonder whether you spend too much time within one organization?  Sometimes I wonder whether I spend too much time at church.  A friend, and current president of Canterbury, commented "I feel like I live at Church.  Not that that's a bad thing."

She's right.  St. Paul's offers a plethora of ways in which to get involved.  And now there's one more!  Thanks to our new ministry intern (who came to use from Duke as a graduate student), St. Paul's now offers daily Morning Prayer.  The service begins at 8am and lasts approximately one half-hour, held in the Chancel.  

Traditionally, Morning Prayer occupies one of the two major daily offices within the Anglican Church; and it is also sometimes referred to more directly as "Matins" or "Mattins."  Yet unlike the Eucharist (and several other liturgical services), Morning Prayer may be led by a lay person; and is sometimes even recited daily by an individual in private.  Interestingly Wikipedia's brief history of morning prayer suggests that in several areas, the recitation of Morning Prayer became a devotional exercise practiced prior to the celebration of the Eucharist.  A sort of centering service to focus the mind. 

If you're interested in reading up a bit more on this service, you can find great articles on Anglican Morning Prayer and Matins by clicking the hyperlinks.  Should you find yourself free one morning and would like to join us, please feel free.  The service begins around 8am.  After all, it is early, and this is a college town.  Location is St. Paul's Memorial Church on the Corner:  1700 University Avenue, Charlottesville, VA 22903. Just enter through the main doors on the street facing side and you'll see some people milling about up there in the chancel.  Hope we see you sometime!

Canterbury Goes Bowling!

We were originally suppose to go play several rounds of intensely competitive putt-putt golf yesterday.  But Tropical Storm Lee had other plans for the Canterbury Group.  With some last minute planning, the leaders decided to instead go bowling.

Now Putt-Putt Golf is certainly fun for all at any age; but bowling is a timeless classic that takes me back to movies like Grease.  Or generally anything that deals with 1950s culture:  poodle skirts, leather jackets, and t-birds.  Doesn't get much better than that.  

Canter-Bowling

And even though nobody dressed in time period appropriate clothing, it still looked like a good time.  Unfortunately, I couldn't make it to our monthly "fun" activity.  But doesn't everyone look like they're having a blast in this picture?  Well, sans the ironic pose with their iPhones ;)!

And if you're wondering why I referred to this outing as our monthly "fun" activity, you're about to find out.

Last year -- with the help and encouragement of our Chaplain -- we decided to create a loose program so that we'd have some sort of schedule to follow every month.  It goes something like Bible study, worship, fun, guest speaker.  Although not necessarily in that order.  That's also not to say that we don't have fun whenever we gather.  It's just that we like to schedule one outing or non-brain power-requiring activity a month.  Think of it as bonding time.  Or community building -- if you're into more chic terminology!

A History of Us -- the Chaplaincy & Canterbury

Since we're at the start of a new academic year here at the University of Virginia, I thought it may be worthwhile to take a moment and just write a little informational piece about our group.  You can find the description of Canterbury Fellowship on the left side-bar of this blog at any time, too.

St. Paul's Mission

Perhaps a good place to begin this discussion is with the website concerning the history of the chaplaincy at St. Paul's Memorial Episcopal Church.  You can find the full history through St. Paul's at U.Va.  According to this information we can trace our roots to the election of Bishop Robert Gibson in 1897 who set himself a task of creating a mission church to look after the needs of the 280 Episcopal boys at the University.  Although very likely unrelated, it's interesting that Bishop Gibson's initiative follows only two years after the Great Rotunda Fire of 1895.  And then finally in 1907, the General Council for the Diocese of Virginia voted to support the establishment of a mission church just across the street from the University.  This year, 1907, would also be the year that the Diocese -- with the help additional donations -- purchased the lot where the current St. Paul's Memorial Church stands.  St. Paul's remained a mission church until the arrival of the Reverend Noble Powell in 1920.  During Powell's residence the church attained full-parish status.  And then in the 1930s, the tradition of Sunday evening dinners began after the late service with the arrival of William Laird who delegated University ministry to an assistant priest.

The building as we know it today saw its cornerstone laid in 1926.  But from the establishment of Sunday evening dinners during the thirties until the 1980s, that particular program would wax and wane.  It was with the arrival of Paula Kettlewell and Steven Bonsey that the dinners returned.  During this period Canterbury Fellowship continued meeting on Tuesday evenings -- a time to which we have returned in 2011.

Currently we gather on Tuesday evenings for a various programs throughout the semester.  These typically include Bible studies, group worship, a fun activity, or visiting speaker.  But they are always followed by a meal.  And with the growing popularity of the Sunday evening dinners, nearly 100 students participate in the University Ministry through St. Paul's on the Corner.

Canterboard

Thanks to efforts by our Skinner Fellow and Canterbury House "Mum," Gillian Breckenridge, we now have a notice boards placed both in the House and the Church to advertise our gatherings on a weekly basis.  Another great resource to discover us would be through the Canterbury on the Corner webpage; or through our Facebook page.  Through Canterbury on the Corner you can find a full schedule (although somewhat terminally in-progress).  You'll also be able to read up more on life at St. Paul's and hopefully find something that piques your interest.  So go ahead.  LIKE us on Facebook.  We're very friendly!!! And we'd love to meet you :)!

The Return of Canterbury Fellowship

Roman Sculpture, disc. 1551

After beginning the year with a Bible study only a few days after the official start of term at the University, Canterbury convened last week (08/30) for our annual Blessing of the Canterbury House.  Each year, at the start of the fall semester, we gather at 120 Chancellor Street (the Canterbury House) to engage in the earliest, most extant Eucharistic liturgy known to the Western church:  that which we attribute to St. Hippolytus of Rome and taken from his writings The Apostolic Tradition.

This particular Eucharist characterizes a very intimate setting, wherein the participants quite literally gather around a table laid out with olives, cheese, bread, wine, and various other foods.  As we proceed through the liturgy, each of the gifts receives a blessing.  Once the host and wine have been consecrated by the priest -- who in this tradition we refer to as the President -- those gathered commune one another by passing the bread and wine around the circle.  When the liturgy itself closes, we then begin the meal.  It's a way to more fully remember the last supper with one another.

Our gathering was a lovely way to begin the new term and enjoy one another's company as we look forward to spending the coming weeks and months together.  And it's always nice to dedicate the use of a space to a particular purpose.  If you haven't visited us before and are a student at the University of Virginia, or are a student considering attending within the next year or two, please check back here regularly for updates on what activities we as a group participate in; or if you're an alumnus/alumna of Mr. Jefferson's University (& Canterbury), this place would also be a fantastic way to stay connected to the four years spent in Charlottesville.

For the Autumn term, the Canterbury Leaders have decided to pursue a theme of Christian practices.  Our next meeting will be held at the Canterbury House (again 120 Chancellor Street, Charlottesville, VA) starting at 5.30pm with a dinner.  Following the meal we've planed to visit a local putt-putt golf course for a trip down memory lane!  Please join us.  If you have any questions, do write me an e-mail at spb2g@virginia.edu .  Alternatively, our Chaplain -- the Reverence Nicholas Forti -- at uva.chaplain@stpaulsmemorialchurch.org .

Welcome Class of 2015!

Last weekend the University of Virginia Class of 2015 descended upon Charlottesville for move-in weekend.  These first years, their parents, and likely siblings, close friends, and extended family scrambled to unload everything into a dormitory in under 30-minutes or less.  Unfortunately, this reporter wasn't able to snap any action shots; but as somebody who's been through it three times, I can assure you it IS, in-fact, like a game show.  Perhaps more akin to Legends of the Hidden Temple.  That's right, I went there!

On that Sunday the Class of 2015 assembled on the lawn, facing Mr. Jefferson's Rotunda, for Fall Convocation.  This is a joyous event where these new students are officially welcomed to the University by the President, the Deans, elect faculty, and their peers.  During it, they also sign the University's Honor Pledge, both as a literal contract and as a symbolic act of agreeing to build a community of trust in everything they do.  You may watch remarks from the University of Virginia's President Teresa A. Sullivan by clicking the arrow below.



To all members of the Class of 2015, Congratulations and Welcome.  Now come visit us at Canterbury!

Summer Orientation

Four years ago, I arrived in Charlottesville on a very similar day.  The sun was shining; the birds were chirping; and it was a gagillion degrees outside.  My father and I waited in line to register for summer orientation and then moved my luggage up a micro-mountain before starting a day filled with things to do -- things that would separate the both of us for the next two days while I dipped my feet into college life, and while Dad worried about money.  

Now I've graduated (but still will be involved with the Canterbury Connection) and am on the other side, looking in.  Sort of.  

Congratulations Class of 2015!

The summer orientation sessions have been in full swing here for the past several weeks; and during that time I've watched tides of chipper parents walk around the Grounds with their blue UREG new-age briefcases, to meet their daughter's or son's on the Corner for lunch; or to complicate the line at Starbucks seemingly unecessarily.  That last bit's a joke.  It's actually been such a pleasure watching all of these students find their way to Charlottesville with the knowledge that they're about to embark upon the most exciting, life-changing experience of their young-adult lives.  Here's to the Class of 2015 and all the promise that you all show.  See you when you arrive for good on Move-In Day in just a few short weeks!  

Compline

In last week's edition of Canterbury, we gathered at the house to observe one of the Canonical Hours:  Compline.  I was on board for cooking this week, but luckily - since there was so much food leftover from the Skinner Luncheon - there wasn't much cooking to be done on my part; just a quick trip down to Market Street Market for salad garnishments.  When I got back, after taking the No.7 downtown, I found a bunch of Canterburians outside, diligently and lovingly working on our vegetable garden.  Our hope is to be able to use some of the produce from the patch to feed Canterbury.  There's even been talk about getting a rain-barrel to collect water for the summertime!

After a bit of evening prayer, we ate and then went straight into Compline.  Lots of praying and bible-ing, but afterwards I think we all felt very relaxed and ready to face whatever deadlines we still had for the evening.  

Prayer for Japan

I'd like to encourage you all to visit the Rev. James Richardson's blog HERE to view and read two prayers:  one issued by the Church of England and the other from the Office of the Bishop of the Diocese of Virginia.  They're inspiring and full of compassion.  Whatever your faith tradition, please keep thinking warm and healing thoughts for all affected by this natural disaster. 

It's almost here!!!!

Like a kid in a candy shop or a youngster eagerly awaiting Christmas morning, I am ohhho soooo excited for the Virginia Festival of the Book. The event kicks off tomorrow morning with a breakfast and then program at 9am.

You can see the schedule by clicking here

My only qualm: that it didn't begin today -- the Ides of March.

Take some time this week to attend one of these spectacular readings or talks by talented writers, both new and veteran.

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

The Corner Starbucks was busy this morning.  And that means that Spring Break has officially ended; which means that graduation weekend is only 9 weeks away.  Yes, a meager 9 weeks until the University graduates the Class of 2011.  Just the anticipation itself is overwhelming.  Thankfully, the friendly staff at Starbucks managed to distract me from this fact; however, I couldn't help thinking how, soon, universities all over the Union will graduate students who have completed their degree programs, sending them out into the world.  This thought, paired with the natural disaster in Japan, has spurred me to consider just what it means to be an educated person in the modern, global world.  If you're like me and are reaching the end of your four years as an undergraduate, you're likely searching for jobs - well, less job searching and more facing that childhood question everyone asked you at every developmental stage of your life:  "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  Frankly, I haven't the slightest clue.  The statement itself implies that I'd have to grow up; that somehow, when we reach the end of a milestone, we're different than we were before.  Implicit in this statement is the sentiment that "growing up" exists as a static point in the life of a human individual; that at some point, whenever that point arrives, we're suddenly grown up.  Now I don't know about you, but I'm not quite there yet.  It's okay, I confess - I have zero, nada, nilch, ideas what I'd like to be when I grow up; but the more I think about it, the stronger pull I feel towards this zenith.  Currently, I'm living in a penultimate, liminal plane where I don't have to get there if I don't want to.  And I suspect that, on some level, many of us feel that way; however, how do we - as the formally educated - employ such a privilege for the betterment of the world.

When I was 14, still bright eyed and bushy tailed, my Algebra I teacher (who was more of a sage than a math instructor) impressed upon all his students the importance of getting an education.  Yet with that conviction came also the grain of salt; that to receive that education meant that you were bound to serve others in your life.  He put it something like "You go to school so you can get a piece of paper to hang up on the wall.  And the more pieces of paper you have, the better educated you are and thus, the more obliged you should be to use them."  Sometimes I think he meant that we should use our powers for good and not evil.  Maybe he meant we should always remain aware that with great power comes great responsibility (to borrow a line from the live-action Spiderman film).  People with degrees are certainly helping to solve the nuclear crisis of failed power plants in Japan.  But what about closer to home?  Of course, I don't mean to discount the focus and work being channeled into Japan at present; but a question that always takes me by surprise asks how can I use my education to effect change my own community?  I'll refrain here from quoting Jefferson (affectionately T.J.) because the quotations, while well intentioned, can easily be misconstrued given the time in which they were written and the context with which they concerned themselves.

At the very least, though, I think it bears merit to consider how those of us with formal educations can use them for the social good.  

Eros of the Beloved

Sunday, I wrote a post meditating on the verse from Matthew 17 where God speaks to Peter, James, and John while they're stand on the mountain, witnessing Jesus' transfiguration.  This verse reads "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased..."  I'd like to return to this notion of the Beloved as it appears in this passage from Matthew.  We know that a cloud descends over the place where Jesus stands with those three apostles and from that cloud the voice of God speak. 

Although we read the Gospel's in translation from their original, there are still features of the English translation that we can pay attention to.  I'd like to focus on what's happening with the language metrically.  When I read scripture, I encounter it as a very long, elaborate, and intricate piece of verse.  We see it more concretely in the Psalms, which are themselves, verse; and not just poems of devotion, but poems charged with the language of Eros, with a deep longing to reconnect with the divine.  Anne Carson, a Canadian poet who has published numerous collections of poetry (including Glass, Irony, and God; Decreation; and Nox) and translations of Sappho's work, says that we begin to live the minute Eros enters us.  Carson, a highly trained classics scholar, wrote her doctoral research on Greek lyric poetry, wherein she unearths and then develops a fundamental concept about Eros that we, as readers of any text (especially religious ones) can dwell on to aid in our interpretations of these stories.  What she discovers of the Greek language is that desire (Eros) moves; that it functions like a verb.

The Saviour's Transfiguration, Theophanes the Greek, ca. early 15th C

Returning to our passage from Matthew 17:1-9, we can interpret Jesus' and his apostle's ascent to the mountain as an intentional act of devotion.  Building on the metaphor of the mountain as a place of spiritual awakening, what we see in this passage is just that, a spiritual awakening.  This awakening, manifest in the transfiguration, presents itself in the language's rhythm - its meter.  What little knowledge I have of the Greek language is that their poetry was organized according to a quantitative meter, that we refer to as hendecasyllabics, also known as the Sapphic.  Unlike English verse, which most naturally falls into a pentameter line (accentual-syllabic), measuring lines by feet whose primary unit is the iamb, the Sapphic line typically consists of eleven syllables, which aren't grouped into feet per se, but the choriamb which provides a framework for scansion.  This structure organizes verse according to length of vowel, rather than the English accentual-syllabic system which concerns itself with the accentual stress of a given syllable.  You'll notice that there are thirteen syllables in this line: "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased...", so we're already breaking out of both the pentameter and Sapphic lines; yet the meter of this line still illuminates what's happening at this moment when God speaks to Peter, James, and John.  It's certainly difficult to force the line into an iambic scansion, but is possible.  Doing so would establish the pattern " x /  x /  x /  x /  x /;" and in order to appreciate the linguistic characteristics of this line, we would have to .  Without it, we wouldn't catch two of the most important phenomena that occur here: the revisionary disclosure and what Hopkins refers to as "sprung rhythm."  Let's begin with Hopkin's idea. 

Gerard Manley Hopkins claimed to have discovered this feature metered verse, which he describes as the most natural way to imitate everyday speech in poetry.  He characterizes it as (assuming we're operating on an accentual-syllabic metrical system) as beginning a foot with a stressed, as opposed to unstressed, syllable from which the line may deviate by any number of variable stressed-unstressed patterns.  In our line, we find that it's possible to read it by placing the stress on the first syllable (This), thereby creating two possible measurements for the foot:  a trochee or a spondee, trochee meaning stressed/unstressed and spondee stressed/stressed.  If we read the first foot using a trochaic measurement, then we place the emphasis on "this," thus diminishing the importance of the verb "is," as if to say that God wants to affirm that Jesus, the person occupying the space in which we imagine Jesus to reside, is in fact Jesus - not Peter, James, or John; and after the initial foot, the rest of the line falls into a fairly regular iambic patter.  However, if we scan the first foot as a spondee (stressed/stressed), then we place the emphasis on both "this" and "is," therefore allowing for an entirely different reading where we incorporate the trochaic reading and complicate matters by raising the significance of the verb "is", or "to-be" to a level where both Jesus and the space he inhabits become a sort of metaphorical Christ figure.  Of course, if we just imposed a strictly iambic scansion onto this line, the effect would also amplify the significance of "is," in much the same way that a spondaic scansion would; but the benefit of scanning in opposition to the regular pentameter allows our reading to create a space wherein the transfiguration actually happens.  And this space is then the place where Eros enters, transforming Jesus into the Christ figure.  We feel Eros's movement in the meter of the line, in the organic rise and fall of accents.  Furthermore, the verse that follows the transfiguration compliments the presence of Eros amongst Jesus and the apostles: "When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear." (Matthew 17:6). 

Returning to Anne Carson's idea that we begin to live the moment Eros enters us, we witness both Christ and the apostles being birthed into a new understanding of their world.  Again, we find ourselves confronted with a situation wherein we undergo a death and are reborn, ultimately assimilating into the environment that was previously foreign to us.  There's a tension between a self and an other, a pull and tug.  Models for this relationship may assume many forms, from the self and other being the same to the other donning the guise of the divine, another mortal, etc.  But what matters is the moment when Eros enters into the binary. 

Spring Break, Charlottesville Edition

Most everyone at the University seems to be at Mardi Gras in New Orleans.  But for us, the ones who stayed behind to work on projects due throughout the term, we've gotten a nice respite from the hustle and bustle of everyday life here on Grounds.  This photo was taken looking towards Jefferson's Rotunda, standing in front of Alderman Library.  Enjoy and happy Mardi Gras everyone!

You, too, are Beloved

This evening, I heard our chaplain, Nik Forti, preach on the Transfiguration.  I'm almost certain that this was Nik's third time through the sermon, but also probably his best.  The particular gospel passage appointed for today, the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, was Matthew 17:1-9 (NRSV).  This particular passage focuses on, obviously, the transfiguration of Christ; and while I'm no theologian, language is my medium.  So I'd like to offer a few thoughts that stuck with me after hearing the gospel and Nik's Sermon. 

Taken from the gospel, the text reads -
Six days after Peter had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ, the Son of the Living God, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves.  And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white.  Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.  Then Peter said to Jesus, Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.  While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said This is my Son, the Beloved; with whom, I am well pleased. When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear.  But Jesus came and touched them, saying, Get up and do not be afraid.  And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.  


As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead. (Matthew 17: 1-9).

Now, as I said above, I'm no theologian, so I would welcome all interpretations of this passage.  I don't know much about the reasons why this passage would be significant theologically; but as a poet, what I spend my life obsessing over and dealing with is language:  its intricacies, personality, and being.  These things interest me.  My own interpretation of this passage I base largely in my knowledge of how humans construct stories; what objects take on symbolic meaning and why.  For this passage, I would say that the journey up the mountain places it into a long standing tradition of culturally diverse stories involving mountains and men.  There's a reason that we still use the adage "a mountain top experience."  Some great characters throughout history have experienced extraordinary things while on top of mountains.  Legend hold's that Noah's ark landed on the peak of Mount Ararat, from whence he, his family, and the animals descended to re-populate the Earth after the Great Flood; Moses receives the Ten Commandments from Jehovah on Mount Sinai (or, if you're a Mel Brooks fan, the 15 Commandments).  In Chinese mythology, Qin Shi Huang searches for the elixir of life, believed to be somewhere on Mount Penglai.  And then, there are some not so pleasant experiences with mountains, like Prometheus, who stole fire from Zeus, giving it to mortals; his reward?  To have his liver eaten by an eagle, only to have it grow back and be eaten again, for all eternity.  I mean, we're thankful Prometheus.  Fire is nice; just sucks that that's your punishment.  My only intent for this digression is to illustrate how mountains have played crucial roles in storytelling.  We can view them as metonymous for places where secrets are kept, places where amazing phenomena happen.  And I think that's certainly the case for this mountain story as well.  The image of earth raises towards the sky fascinates us, rendering us incapacitated and unable to escape its lure.  It's a symbol of growing closer to the divine; something we can use to enable ourselves and thus lessen (perhaps even close) the gap between man and creator. 

So here we are, on a mountain, watching Jesus be transfigured into the Christ.  For a moment, we are Peter, James, and John standing before the Son of God, when a voice descends from the sky saying "This my Son, the Beloved; with whom I am well pleased."  My reaction would've been the same as that of Peter, James, and John.  I too would have fallen to the ground "...overcome by fear."  Whenever a disembodied voice speaks to you, you can be pretty certain you're experiencing one of two things:  either you've finally had one too many Venti Americanos and haven't slept in days; or, you've just witnessed a divine act.  In this case, I'd tend to believe the latter.  During the Eucharist this evening, I shared this experience with those three apostles.  And no, I don't mean I had a divine revelation.  If I had, somebody may want to think about having me committed.  No, what I experienced was an unbelievable epiphany about the meaning of this phrase: "...the Beloved." 

Recently, I've been re-reading some of Gregory Orr's poetry.  Greg is Professor of English in Poetry Writing at the University of Virginia, where he founded and served as the first director of our M.F.A in Writing.  Although he's published numerous works (including 10 original collections of poetry), his most recent work is easily the most fascinating; he too uses this language of the body:  the Beloved, the Divine, etc.  Most specifically, I find myself thinking of his 2005 collection: Concerning the Book That is the Body of the Beloved and it's "sequel" How Beautiful the Beloved.  I had the pleasure of studying with Greg this summer.  It was then that I was introduced to this idea about the poetics of the body. 

In Concerning the Book That is the Body of the Beloved, Greg opens with a "lobby-poem", of sorts:

Resurrection of the body of the beloved, 
Which is the world.
                             Which is the poem
Of the world, the poem of the body.

Mortal ourselves and filled with awe,
We gather the scattered limbs
Of Osiris.
              That he should live again.
That death not be oblivion.

Phoenix from the Aberdeen Bestiary, ca. 12th C.

The first connection I had with this work and the passage from Matthew was the Beloved; God's Beloved, his son felt like Greg's Beloved, the conceptual.  He uses the Egyptian myth of Isis and Osiris to frame these lyric sequences.  Osiris, the Egyptian god of the Afterlife, the underworld, and the dead, exists scattered about the Earth; and so, to conceive of resurrecting a deceased deity requires us (the readers) to also undergo a death of our own.  We must redefine what it means to die and be resurrected, so as to escape oblivion

In the opening poem, Greg writes

The beloved is dead.  Limbs
And all the body's 
Miraculous parts 
Scattered across Egypt, 
Stained with dark mud.

We must find them, gather 
Them together, bring them
Into a single place
As an anthologist might collect
All the poems that matter
Into a single book, a book
Which is the body of the beloved, 
Which is the world.

Immediately we recognize that the beloved's identity becomes conflated with that of poems, language, and the world.  In the context of this poem, the beloved manifests as all these things.  What is so striking about this poem, for me at least, is how the beloved becomes the world and how the world becomes us.  We are the beloved; and Greg charges us with resurrecting the beloved.  Though not at once apparent, I feel that the legend of the Phoenix haunts this language, specifically in the "...dark mud."  The beloved has died and resurrects itself from the ashes, the dust, of its former self.  To begin the conversation in death and move towards life definitely seems counter-intuitive, but certainly forces us to reconsider the nature of our existences in time.  Moreover, starting here implies that we do not lose our sentience by death, but may actually regain it.   

With lent fast approaching, we'll soon find ourselves thinking about the incantatory prayer we've all grown up with "Remember that you are but dust and to dust you shall return."  It's cyclical, circadian, in nature.  We begin in dust, are formed, and return to dust.  These images become allegorical for Jesus' transfiguration into the Beloved when God speaks.  In that moment Jesus' identity suffers a death, then emerges as the Beloved; and like the Beloved, we also experience a death before we rise as beloved.


Tomorrow, and the rest of this week, I'll continue this mini-series of postings using poems from Greg's book as a guide.  

Where is your Haven?

Right off the bat, I have to say how elated I am to have learned about the concept, history, and daily operations for one of Charlottesville's most exciting social projects.  Being the bleeding heart liberal that I am (yes, I did enjoy reading Dickens' fiction as a child), the social justice takes one of the higher ranks on my list of "Things I really care about" - right next to purity of art and loving everyone for who they are.  How does this all fit into Canterbury and this blog that, by its title, is the Canter Blog; so you would think that everything on here would have to do with Canterbury.  What we're up to; what our weeks look like, etc.  All sort of existential questions in their own right. 

Well, I'll tell you.  This week, we had a wonderfully thought-provoking visit and talk from a Haven representative (Stephen) who told us so much about a community in Charlottesville that finds itself brutally marginalized by many of us.  We've all been there, walking down the Corner or the Downtown Mall when a homeless person walks up and asks for a dollar; or maybe they just call to you as they rest their weary backs against brick walls that, in winter are frigid, unforgiving and in summer, a vertical frying pan.  I'm sure at some point, we've all just passed by without so much of a concern, our ears glued into our iPods, Blackberries, or internet phones, rocking out to the latest hit from Katy Perry or reminiscing about the good ole days when Keith Richards would take your head off with his runs.  Two feet later, after telling that person that no, we don't have any cash, we either drop it into the case of an aspiring fiddle player or meet an old friend for drinks at The Nook, where we tip in cash.  Too often, I hear the argument: "Oh, never give a homeless person cash; they're just going to waste it on booze or something that's not food."  And well, while that may be true, the act of not acknowledging, of ignoring another human being because of social conventions is where the problem begins.  Maybe you don't want to give that woman or man cash.  And that's fine.  But what's worse is not conceding their existence, of pretending that this person is merely part of the scenery; that oh, it's some-one else's problem. And it is.  It's the problem that the Haven, at First and Market Streets, seeks to address.

This organization, funded by the Thomas Jefferson Area Coalition for the Homeless, provides a day shelter for many of Charlottesville's homeless.  From the time they open their doors at 7am until they close them again at 5pm, Haven staff care for a group of people who have no other place to turn.  They're in need of a support system, found at this shelter.  Stephen, the Haven representative who visited Canterbury had many wonderful, eye-opening stories to tell; but maybe the ones that stuck with me the longest were how, when you begin to look around you, you'll notice an entirely different citizenry that inhabits Charlottesville: a citizenry that, comprised of people from all walks of life, remains invisible until you look for them; and how, when you get to know them, these people are just that - they're people.  There individuals who have stories to tell.  For me, that's the first, most important step to addressing this issue.  We have to realize that these people are people too and that they have stories to tell. 

Stephen also went on to talk about how, when you're homeless and trying to support yourself, the dynamic between you and the world changes.  No longer do you have this concept of exterior versus interior, of public spaces versus private ones.  Everything is exterior and public.  He made the point that you suddenly find yourself in a position where simple, daily activities (such as using the restroom and sleeping) transform into things that you never thought of before into realities that thrust themselves into the forefront of your mind. 

Prior to this Wednesday, I also didn't know that the mean time for homelessness is approximately 6 months.  Just 6 months.  That's astounding, because sometimes I think we tend to believe that once you're homeless you spend the rest of your life there; that it's a sort of "point of no return," which it's not, at all.  There's still hope even after you've found yourself at rock-bottom.  So the final thing to think about, if we're interested in changing our relationship with Charlottesville's homeless population, is to deconstruct the way we think about them and realize that they're also people, just normally people who have fallen down on their luck.

While the rest of us sleep

So it's 3.20am, and I'm still awake.  Probably due to that late night double-tall cappuccino I had, fearing that I wouldn't get through all of my work tonight.  This week has been a tough one for many students.  Mid-terms are here, meaning many of my peers are still at the library, studying for their tests; although, most of the Canterbury House is asleep - at least, I think they are.  The lights are all out.

As I was at the library earlier this evening/morning, I got to thinking about that passage from Matthew that Greg preached on this past Sunday, the one about not worrying about tomorrow.  Frantically making photocopies of essays from out-of-print Prosody books, I wondered, why do we as students, subject ourselves to such, frankly, insane schedules: just to get our work finished on time.  Naturally, there's the argument that "If there were only just more hours in the day, I'd be able to complete all of my work."  Well, yes and no.  We'd probably find something else to occupy our time, instead of spending it in quiet.

Yes, I am a periodic insomniac who goes through spells of sleeping 4-5 hours a night (or less).  In fact, a good night would be when I made it to 6.  Then I spend the rest of my waking hours doing other things; thinking up ideas for poems; brainstorming what to write on this blog; and reading, yes, reading.  But what if we just said, at whatever point, that enough was enough, that the day's work was finished (even though there's still something left to do)?  I'd like to think we'd feel better.  The other day, sitting outside my advisor's office, I was drawn to a print-out she had tacked up to her door.  It's by Roz Chast called "Insomnia Jeopardy."  Thought you all might like to check it out if you're like me and still awake.  In the last column, I'd substitute "Screenplays" for "Poems, Essays, & Stories," but everyone's different.

Each "category" really fascinates me, especially since these are all things I think about when I'm awake; and though I think we sometimes wish that we didn't have so much to do, there's a certain magic that happens when you're awake, doing something, when others sleep.  This though occurred to me earlier this evening as I read some of Rilke's poetry (which I'll save for another posting ^-~ ).  But, if you find yourself still up at this hour and in need of something to do, I'd recommend reading this essay "Seeing in the Dark" by U.Va. Professor of Creative Writing and fellow Episcopalian, Lisa Russ Spaar, published in The New York Times, March 2010.

Stay well all!

Visit with Bishop Ted

Sunday, we had the privilege to visit with one of the Diocese of Virginia's Bishops, Bishop Ted.  I'd never met him before and really didn't know what to expect.  Bishops can be such interesting characters that none are ever the same

During his time here he performed Baptisms, Confirmations, and Receptions into the church; but he also was very interested in meeting the members of U.Va.'s Canterbury Connection, showing his (and the diocese's) interest in supporting youth/campus ministry at several colleges and universities around the state.

There was a lovely catered lunch, courtesy of St. Paul's and great conversation on not just our concerns for campus ministry, but also the bishop's experiences in other parts of the country where he previously worked to help other youth/campus ministry programs flourish.  Especially in this day, it was very refreshing to know that the church's administration was not only aware of, but committed to the importance of ministering to their youth since, with the predominant trend among people our age being disillusionment towards organized religion (and yes, I often count myself amongst those people), we're in danger of losing very talented individuals from the body of the church.  He really emphasized the responsibility we have, as people of faith, to encourage others (either those who grew up in the church or are thinking of coming to it for the first time),  to think about their faith, to think about those tough questions, and to not just "sweep them underneath the rug" -- so to speak.  We have a duty to let people know that it's OKAY to not have all the answers and that it's good, in fact (my own opinion), healthy to question a belief system: rather than taking it for granted. 


I snapped a few pictures for you all on my internet phone to share with the community. 


Here are some photos of the lovely spread and interested group that assembled at the Canterbury House this Sunday. 

Bible Study Led By Greg

This past Wednesday, we gathered at Canterbury House for a bible study led by our very own Greg, who I've affectionately nick-named "Greg the Baptist."  Greg took us through Matthew 6:25-34.  You all know it.  It's the passage in the Bible that tells us not to worry about tomorrow, that God will provide for us, no matter what.  It got me (and many people in Canterbury) thinking about how to cope with this difficult message.  Everyday, I look around at the homeless on the streets on Charlottesville and think, how do they feel about what the gospeler claims?  We are fortunate to have support systems on which we can rely when tomorrow appears uncertain; but when that support vanishes, when it's no longer available, how would it affect the way in which we interact with each other.  It seems to me that this verse has been taken and used by those of us who are well off enough that we don't have to worry about tomorrow.  Honestly, it's quite a comforting message that allows us to abide in a sense of security; however, the way in which most of us interact with this verse feels contrived, that we use it for purposes for which it wasn't intended.  I don't have an answer to how we should use this message, but - what I do know -, is that we can't regard it as simply as we do.  Yes, it's quite nice to think that we don't have to worry about the future, but what if we did?

How could I have forgotten the dinosaurs?

This weekend I found myself looking through a special magazine that featured the best cartoons from The New Yorker for the 2010 year and found this lovely piece taken from, I think, the March 2010 issue.  It got me to thinking about how often we take for granted the world we live in, how we sometimes look at it too seriously, losing sight of what's really important.  Kanin's piece reminded me that, even though the Bible exists as God's word, not everything in it has to be true - least of all that geological time and divine time cannot co-exist. The more I thought about it, the more I saw the irony at work in this piece by Kanin: that we allow ourselves to view the world solely as either black or white, when really, it's more shades of yellow (I just wanted to avoid the cliche). 

I think Kanin's cartoon works on many levels, playing off of the stereotypes that we've constructed for the divine over the centuries.  God sits in a great big chair, on a cloud, and has a beard.  Not quite sure that that is an accurate representation of God.  Why is it that we place human restrictions on someone who should be indescribable?  Even as I wrote that statement, I used a human invention to describe God, confining such an ecstatic idea within a linguistic shell.  So what did I take from this cartoon?  Well, I think, perhaps, that it helped me see the divine as something that we can connect intimately with, but that we cannot fully describe.  And yes, I did avoid using the more grammatically correct who in that last sentence for just that reason; but I think this funny really just reminded me that our worlds don't need to be so divisive in how we seek to neatly categorize everything with which we come into contact.

What do you think?

A C'ville Winter

Photos from C'ville in the Winter.  Looking towards University Avenue and the Corner, Medical Center in the Background. 

Well the weather outside was frightful

Well, it was.  Early Wednesday afternoon, the snow started coming down in what seemed like scheduled intervals, then steadily picked up into the mid-late afternoon.  Travel conditions got a bit treacherous, leaving Canterbury to figure out what we were going to do for that evening since our bible-study leader couldn't make it.  Luckily, Greg made it over and cooked us all a delicious batch of Gumbo (meat and veggie friendly options)!  After a bit of brainstorming, we decided to forgo studying the Bible and instead watch an hilarious Monty Python film: Life of Brian.

I'd never seen it, but HIGHLY recommend it to everyone.  It's a parody/satire on the life of Jesus and was apparently banned in many English cities and towns for years because it was deemed blasphemous.  You can find the IMDB summary-info here.  Check it out!  It made for the perfect snowy evening over at Canterbury House :).  Hopefully this next week won't bring snow again and we'll be able to get back into the swing of things; although, it was a lovely evening of fellowship, which everyone needs from time to time.  Nice change of pace from the usually fast-paced lives we live.  At least for me, that's one benefit of snow storms.  It's the one form of weather that, unless it's out of control, allows us to just slow down and actually live in the present, rather than always trying to outrun time.

And I almost forgot...

A view of the Sunrise over Charlottesville from my room in Canterbury House, first day of classes, 2011

Baack in Action

Canterbury is officially back in action for the Spring 2011 term.  Last week, we gathered together to share a Eucharist led by our chaplain, Nik.  Really wonderful little service and great food that followed.

The leaders also met this past Sunday (01/23) to discuss plans for the semester.  Updates forthcoming on the Google Calendar!

Happy start of term everyone!!!!!!

For those of you who haven't been with us before, our fellowship meets Wednesday from 5.30pm until, weekly at 120 Chancellor Street, just one block up from Starbucks on the Corner and directly behind Bank of America.  We'd LOVE LOVE LOVE to see you all there.  This week we gather for a bible study and delicious food made by Greg.

Stay warm everyone :).

Diocesan Funding for Campus Ministry-Diocese of Virginia

After reading Rector Jim's blog post this morning concerning the bolstering of diocesan support for campus ministry, I thought I would join in the conversation.  Many of you may know that I am a student here at the University of Virginia, but you may not know that I'm going into my fourth year.  Something more - the Canterbury Episcopal Fellowship at U.Va., supported by St. Paul's Memorial Church, has been an integral part, not only of my university experience, but also of my education.

Four years ago, I came to Charlottesville, never having seen the campus or the city to begin my undergraduate career.  A student advisor in my first year residence house encouraged me to visit the Student Activities Fair and find something to get involved with that would suit my interests.  People always told me that college was the time for re-inventing yourself; for figuring things out; for being who, what, or whatever you wanted to be, without the stigmas surrounding your identity in high-school: so I wasn't quite sure that I wanted to continue my identity as "Sean: the kid who's heavily involved with church stuff."  Like most adolescents my age, I was experiencing the world in an entirely new way.  And that meant thinking for  myself, which, to use the words of comedian Lewis Black - "I would love to have faith that the world was created in seven days, but I have thoughts; and thoughts can really f%#! up the whole faith thing.  Just ask any Catholic priest."

So, upon arriving in Charlottesville and spending a week in the sweltering August heat at camp for the Cavalier Marching Band, I had thoughts and they (you guessed it) did mess up the whole faith thing.  And, since only one other person from my small, rural high school attended the University, I was blessed with complete freedom to re-invent myself, to be anything I wanted to be.  I even briefly considered being a golden-lion tamarin, just because I could.  Then, at the activities fair, I stumbled across the Canterbury table where the Episcopal Shield welcomed me.  I thought, sure, why not give it a chance.  After all, they did give me water and home-baked goods, not the big box-store treats that have been so over processed, they endanger the individual identity.  That following Wednesday, I walked across the Grounds towards the only landmark familiar to me.  The Corner.  And there it was, Chancellor Street.  Home to sororities, St. Paul's, and the Canterbury House.

At our first meeting, we celebrated an ancient Eucharist out-doors, in the backyard of Canterbury House.  For some reason, I thought that was very unique and interesting and so unlike anything I had experienced back home in the Diocese of Southern Virginia.  Something kept me coming back.  I'm not quite sure if it was the people or the fact that there was a group of religious people who didn't ask me to check my brain at the door; and, furthermore, a group who didn't mind the fact that I had questions, doubts, and concerns about my faith.  That was it!  They encouraged me to think!  For someone who grew up in one of the most conservative dioceses in America and who came from such a small town that I was forced to attend youth events with the fundamentalist churches, to be able to freely think about and question my beliefs was a novel concept.

During the latter years of middle-school and all throughout high school, my rector encouraged me to attend diocesan youth events and worked very hard to fund these trips (sometimes out of his own pocket).  At the time, there was one event that almost every youth in our diocese attended.  Happening, a Christian Experience.  It was a weekend long retreat held at the diocesan conference center, Camp Chanco on the James.  The event changed my life, opening my eyes to the idea of God as Love: which, to me, seemed more comforting than a paternal figure-head existing somewhere in another dimension that people only reached after death.  Rather than viewing my religion as an exercise to ensure my admittance into heaven, this event allowed me to see God as a feeling, an emotion that exists in our daily lives.  Not as an end-goal.

Shortly after graduation, I learned that the diocese, which had for years underfunded their youth programs, had decided to put this event on hiatus until they could get their finances back in order.  That was 2007.  It's now 2011 and youth events such as Happening (and it's middle school equivalent, New Beginnings) are still inactive.  A very good friend of mine and former EYC (Episcopal Youth Community) President for DioSoVa, who worked tirelessly to ensure that exactly what happened wouldn't happen, moved to New York to study screen-play writing at the Pratt Institute will have nothing to do with any of these programs, mostly because of the Diocese's disregard for the importance of the youth.  I can very vividly remember her standing up at Annual Council my senior year of high school and very pointedly telling the clergy and bureaucrats that they were, essentially, signing their own death certificates if they did not take more seriously the importance of youth ministry.  Where, 4 years ago, alumni of the Happening retreat would return bi-annually to the closing ceremonies of each retreat to welcome a new class of Happeners into Love, almost none of us return now, because the event has ceased to be.

I would ask the Annual Council to seriously consider expanding their funding for campus ministries, and youth ministries, at large.  We have something to offer the community.  Arguing that we're young and naive, thus rendering our opinions banal only serves to further alienate an entire generation from the Church.