Showing items filed under “The Rev. Canon Dr. Victor Lee Austin”

Relics and Ashes

First-class relics of a saint are pieces of his or her body; second-class are items that touched the saint’s body, while third-class are items that have touched a first-class relic. As it happens I have a second-class relic of John XXIII. It is a tiny circle of cloth, probably punched out of an alb he wore. It was given to me by the late ecumenist J. Robert Wright, with the comment that one used to be able to pick up scads of these in Rome. 

Relics in the proper sense, being pieces of a body, seem disrespectful to us. But of old it was otherwise: this person was holy and therefore his or her body is worthy of reverence in all its parts. To pray in the presence of even some fragment of that body was important. And so one finds, for instance, not only the tomb of Saint James in Santiago, Spain, wherein is said to be his body, but also relics of Saint James (pieces long ago taken from his body) in churches in many other places.

Even in dispersion, the saint’s body is a focal point for prayer.

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In our day cremation is widely practiced. I have no theological objection to cremation itself, but I think we lose something when we scatter ashes. We lose that focal point for prayer. If the ashes are buried in a church garden, or placed in a niche in a church wall, then a person can go there and pray and give thanks. I can imagine the ashes being divided into different locations, analogously to relics being taken to different churches—although the purpose needs to be pious and not sentimental.

This is hard to think through clearly. In the film The Way, the father takes his son’s ashes with him as he walks the Camino de Santiago. Reverently, he leaves bits of ash at various points along the Way, which he is walking for his son. Ferociously, he runs after a thief who nabs his backpack, because within it are his son’s ashes. So the father is serious, reverent, and protective.

It’s a beautiful film, but at the end of the Way I would have wanted to put my son’s ashes in a church.

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Easter is full of mysteries. One of the mysteries is this: We have no relics of Jesus, no body, no remains. All our customs for what we do with bodies after death lie in the shadow of a resurrection that is yet future for us but already real for him.

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Out & About. This Sunday, April 16, the Good Books & Good Talk seminar will discuss Whose Body? by Dorothy L. Sayers—the first of her delightful mysteries, published 1923, in which she introduces her famous detective, Lord Peter Wimsey. The seminar meets at Incarnation in Dallas from 5 to 6:30pm in Room 205 of the education building. Anyone interested may come; anyone who has read the book may speak!

Earlier on April 16 I am to preach at the traditional services at Incarnation, namely, 7:30, 9, and 11:15am.

 

 

Maundy Thoughts

During my youth in the Presbyterian Church we had one service a year that did not fall on Sunday. It wasn’t on Christmas or Thanksgiving, which I might have understood, but came instead in the week before Easter. It had a strange name: Maundy Thursday. I first misunderstood the day as “Monday Thursday,” never before having heard that word “Maundy” (which in fact for years I spelled “Maunday”).

On Maundy Thursday we had the Lord’s Supper, which made sense: the service was in the evening, at supper time. And it was on the weekday, Thursday before Easter, that Jesus had had his last supper with his disciples. I got why it was special.

Apart from that one evening each year, we celebrated the Lord’s Supper on the first Sunday of the month. This was taken to be rather frequent: previous to that pastor it had been on the first Sunday of each quarter. When I later became an Episcopalian and found Communion celebrated twice a month, I was perplexed by the frequency.

Our Presbyterian Maundy Thursday was nothing more than a regular Lord’s Supper service. There were hymns, there were prayers, and there was a sermon. I recall nothing special—no extra candles or dimmed light, and certainly no foot-washing ceremony. In those days of boys wearing ties and jackets, I could not have imagined people taking off their shoes and someone washing their feet. When I later learned that “maundy” is a sort of English nickname for “mandatum,” and that it translates as “commandment,” and that it refers to the new commandment Jesus gave the disciples after washing their feet—the commandment to love one another as he had loved them—well, I could see this had some sense to it, but it remained decidedly foreign.

It seemed natural, however, to connect “maundy” with the Last Supper itself. At that supper Jesus issued a command: “Do this in remembrance of me.” Those Presbyterian customs of my youth had a certain logic, and they contained a seed for which I remain grateful.

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Thanks to Readers. An old friend from New York days who now lives in Massachusetts told me that part of the hymn I quoted last week was written by James Montgomery, a great Scottish religious poet of the 1800s. Montgomery wrote the words for some 400 hymns, of which we have ten crowd-pleasers in the Hymnal 1982. One of them many of us will be singing next week: “Go to dark Gethsemane” (#171). Another is a Christmas favorite: “Angels, from the realms of glory” (#93). He wrote “Shepherd of souls, refresh and bless,” “O bless the Lord, my soul,” and “Hail to the Lord’s Anointed”—among many others.

And he wrote one that begins “Few, few and evil are thy days” and includes “Age, with’ring age, is cropt ere night.” Those words, which never caught the Episcopal imagination, were in many 19th-century hymnals, and somehow got spliced into the Ash Wednesday service I stumbled upon this year.

I am blessed with wonderful readers of amazing resourcefulness.

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Out & About. Yours truly is to preach on Maundy Thursday at St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Dallas (April 6 at 7pm) and on Good Friday at Incarnation in Dallas (April 7 at noon and 6pm).

The next Good Books & Good Talk seminar, on Sunday, April 16, will take up Whose Body? by Dorothy L. Sayers—the first of her delightful mysteries and the one in which she introduces her famous detective, Lord Peter Wimsey. The seminar meets at Incarnation at 5pm.

On the Web. There’s a fine essay on Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita, a book we have previously discussed in the Good Books seminar. It’s by Gary Saul Morson and is called “What Pilate Learns,” from the March First Things: https://www.firstthings.com/article/2023/03/what-pilate-learns. Don’t let the title mislead: It’s not about Pilate per se, but about Pilate as the character in this novel. I’ve found Morson a good essayist on Russian literature, and here you can learn (whether you have read it or not) why “no work has inspired greater delight among Russians, or lovers of Russian literature, than Mikhail Bulgakov’s fantastic novel.”

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The Rev. Canon Victor Lee Austin. Ph.D., is the Theologian-in-Residence for the diocese and is the author of several books including, "Friendship: The Heart of Being Human" and "A Post-Covid Catechesis.: