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Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Still, She Rings

My latest creation for Hampden-Sydney College.  I wrote the script which was narrated by Lt. Gen. Samuel V. Wilson (US Army-Ret), the 23rd President of Hampden-Sydney.  Shaun Irving '97 of Orrio in Richmond did the filming, editing, and production.




Still, She Rings
by Chad M. Krouse '02

Bounding pass these gates,
generations of boys have entered;
Hailing from the world over
to learn the secrets in store.
To the pride of Garnet and Gray,
legions of men have left,
off to change the world.

Upon these hallowed grounds, the bell rings
bouncing from the greats of old:
Cushing,
Venable,
Cabell,
Morton,
Atkinson,
Bagby.

All roads lead to her,
guarded by the benefactors of past and present.
Her voice carries over the slate rooftops:
“To class, to class!”
To her loyal sons she bids warmly:
“Come home, come home.”

Through every season tolling,
rain or snow you can bet,
Her pledge is true,
set the professor’s standard and the bane of other’s alarms--
Ne’er to be missed,
in haste most go.
Her song is simple,
Her cry is heeded.
And still,
she rings.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Singing Yes

Mary said "yes."

She sings the nature of this upside-down Kingdom:  
casting down the mighty from their thrones 
as the lowest of society is lifted high.  Yes

The hungry are filled with good things, 
but those who are rich will be sent away empty-handed.  Yes.

Those on the margins of the world will now be brought in 
to celebrate at the great banquet of the Lamb.  Yes.

The cycles of poverty, social injustice, 
and hatred will be destroyed forever.  Yes.

The peaceable Kingdom will triumph 
for eternity as Christ fulfills all in all.  Yes.

Today I say, let it be so.  
Amen 

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Hugh's Day: A Sermon

Hugh of Lincoln November 17, 2010
Luke 12:35-44
Titus 2:7-14

In the early summer of 2009, I managed to make two pilgrimages while living and studying in England. One was to the famed appearance of Our Lady in Walsingham in the Norfolk region; the other was to the shrine of Saint Hugh of Lincoln inside the massive Lincolnshire cathedral. Both hold a special place in my spiritual formation that shall never be forgotten.

The flat midlands of Lincolnshire afford the eye great, distant vistas of Britain. From the train down from Mirfield, I could see far in the distance the towering cathedral of Lincoln floating above the town as it sat quietly atop a massive hill. Consecrated in 1092, the existing cathedral as we know it today was restored and enlarged in 1192 under Hugh’s episcopacy. The western front is a rather interesting blend of Norman and Roman architecture that reflects the long history of the faithful of Lincolnshire, one of the largest dioceses in England. With the double-stroller off and kids in tow, we headed into the town of Lincoln like bewildered pilgrims worn down by two very spirited children. Like good Episcopalians, we found a nice pub for lunch. Fortified and feed, we climbed the massive hill towards the cathedral. All along the way, I responded to numerous objections from the family: “if you’ve seen one cathedral Chad, you’ve seen them all.” But after spotting a confectionary shop, I knew I could buy back their loyalty during this forced uphill march. After all that it took to get here, I found myself asking the question: what is it about Hugh?

Born around 1140 into a noble family in the Burgundy region of France, Hugh was the youngest of three sons. His mother, Anne, who died relatively young, was known for her particular care of the poor and sick. The sight of seeing his mother wash the sores of local lepers seared young Hugh. Following his mother’s death, Hugh’s father William enrolled Hugh at a local Austin Canons’ monastery for his education—a common practice amongst the nobility at the time. Hugh’s devout and highly restrictive education formed him at young age. At fifteen, he made his profession as a canon and was later ordained deacon at nineteen. Soon afterwards, Hugh was given charge over a parish where he tasted pastoral strife. But something else was stirring deep within him.

Not far from Hugh’s parish rose the Chartreuse mountains, often snow-capped and vivid with color. High in the Chartreuse range bore a monastery and order of the same name, the Carthusians. This highly austere and secluded monastic order was founded by Bruno who followed the reforming spirit of Cluny. Known for their great silence, the Carthusian order is a community who blends the eremitical way of life with that of enclosed brotherhood. Few Carthusians were ever elevated to the episcopacy and few managed canonization by the Church, something that is a point of pride for them because theirs is a life hidden in Christ through prayer, silence, study, and liturgy. All of these drew Hugh to the mountains to see the great charterhouse known still as Le Grande Chartreuse. At twenty-three, Hugh joined the order and was destined for a life of contemplation and silence in the alpine mountains of France. Or so he thought.

Ten years into his life of solitude and prayer, the missionary spirit rose up in the Order as King Henry II of England sought to pay penance for his unfortunate role in the death of his archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas a Beckett. Henry sought to found three houses in England and the Carthusians were chosen to be one of the three. Hugh was appointed prior of the new house and sent off to England. Hugh’s reputation was quickly spreading on the island. When he secured a land grant from the King of England for the new monastery, he bought the existing huts and houses from the peasants and then in turn gave them their dwellings back which were carted off and sold again by the peasants. Hugh was not going to go the way of the Benedictines and Cistercians who were well known across the land for their often unscrupulous entrepreneurial zeal. Not long into his priorate at Witham, Hugh was elected Bishop of Lincoln and later ordained to the episcopate in Westminster Abbey.

Again I ask the question: what is it about Hugh? Or still, what does Hugh have to say to us today? Here you have a monk who is bishop. He refused to indulge the lavish lifestyle prominent amongst his brother bishops at the time. He lived under the strict discipline of his order, much to the annoyance of many secular clergy around him. He was unrelenting in his care for the poor and even washed the sores of lepers in his Episcopal mansion—something his momma would have been proud to see. Above all, Hugh’s humility and tact is something that many politicians today should heed; for his cheerfulness and love of God’s people made it difficult for the ruling powers to oppose him. In our age of divisive, hate-filled rhetoric which alienates and polarizes the citizenry, Hugh would not hesitate to direct our eyes to the millions of children who have no health insurance, those who are homeless and jobless. Hugh would tend our sores and wash our feet, and that is something worth celebrating today. Hugh, quite simply, had a way with people that drew them closer to the love of God in Christ. His example and witness to us echoes our readings from Luke and Paul’s epistle—where striving for the Kingdom of God begins with how we conduct our own lives in accordance with Christ. Hugh was Christ’s hands, voice, and love made present to all who came near.

Back at the cathedral, I managed to squeeze our large American stroller through the tiny doors of the western porch. Once inside, I was awestruck by the grandeur and simplicity of one of Hugh’s lasting memorials. While he never saw the cathedral completed, its foundation serves as just one of many of the saint’s legacies for the Kingdom. As I moved to the far east-end, back behind the great choir and high altar, I saw what I had longed to see—the shrine of Hugh. I dropped to my knees, touched the shrine, and made the sign of the cross. Hugh’s spirit was palpable, and my prayer to Christ was that I may follow the good example of such a humble servant to draw others to God.

Click here to see my post from last year with photos from the pilgrimage. 

Friday, October 22, 2010

Here, I Cry

I stood proudly once,
twenty odd feet towering above
where the wind pushed me higher.

Towers of steel forged by experience
could withstand the idle assaults
that came.

Nearby glances were thought
empowering, nay
sweetly on my heart.

And the fall came.
All at once.

Those memories seem vain nowadays;
twisting the ego tightly round a
hellish nail.

Chill'd nights,
sleepless nights,
cast the daze upon my face.

Nothing escapes.
Nothing holds.

And my cries go unheard.