New Foundations: the Society of Jesus Compassionate

It was a long and storied road that brought together four men in Washington, DC for the Feast of St. Columba.  Following much discernment and prayer, these four professed vows during a simple eucharist in order to establish the Society of Jesus Compassionate (SJC).  Our rule is simple.  Our vows were simple.  We vowed to one another and to the Episcopal Church--to uphold the doctrine, discipline, and worship of her.  Nothing fussy, nothing overly romantic, simply four brothers promising to one another to be in community with Christ as the center.  We are one priest and three lay brothers.    

It was a long process for me to consider this new enterprise; I fully stand in support of those seeking to live the common life in Christ under vows.  Moreover, I appreciate the genuine love and intentionality of my new SJC brothers.  Our new habits will be unveiled when we gather for our winter retreat in Augusta, Georgia.  Already, we have received many prayers and supporters from within the Church. 

I ask your prayers for us as we journey together towards Emmaus.  We live in Atlanta, Baltimore, Richmond, and Washington, DC.  We are aware of the challenges posed by a dispersed community, but feel a deeper bond by our common experience in Christ.  What joy!  What an amazing journey.

Ode to the Hill: An Appreciation

Ode to the Hill: An Appreciation

There buried within the brown-red bricks lies stories of old,

Boys sojourning to the light with youthful bravado bold,

Ne’er to be forgotten with haste most go,

Nestling within their pencil’d minds whilst they sow.

Inside these storied halls rooted upon hallowed grounds,

Lies a simple truth that mystic time resounds,

That as boys grow to become men,

The plight whose soul revolves over and again.

Always shall the kiln'd clay stand to test,

What most young fear when pressed:

That knowledge boasts an eternal bliss,

Rightly favored by fortune’s sweetly kiss.

"This Too Shall Pass," but will it?

According to the scholarly source, Wikipedia, that oft quoted phrase, "this too shall pass," apparently comes from Persian Sufisim.  There is a poem by which a fabled king is humbled by these simple words.  Another Sufi version has this proverb inscribed on a ring which gives the wearer the ability to make the happy man sad and vice versa.  Interesting, I admit.  What power does this ancient phrase hold today?

I recently found myself giving this phrase to a co-worker during one of those brief coffee-pot conversations.  It appears fairly innocuous on the surface, like cocktail wisdom when one needs a quick word of re-assurance.  But again, I ask the question:  does this actually mean anything today?

"And this too shall pass."

When I consider the roller coaster that I have been riding non-stop for several years, it strikes me as almost callous and the power to yield an unintended effect of negativity.  I seriously doubt that most who employ this phrase have that intention; moreover, it is such an easy expression to use that its efficacy appears muddled at best.

"Yes, this too shall pass."

I am guilty of longing to achieve my goals at the expense of neglecting the journey to get there.  Sadly, I have missed out on so much in life with that narrow approach.  Wishing an experience to simply pass on, I believe, misses the point regardless if the event(s) are positive or negatively impacting the sojourner.  As I continue to live what I feel is a "tent-maker" sort of life, I am learning to accept that the here-and-now gives me time to inwardly digest the thing at hand.  Unfortunately, there has been more bad than good.  One can only be beaten down so much until lethargy creeps in.  I fight that fight daily.  Wishing things to pass is too easy, truly wishful thinking.  The more I accept and own, the less difficult the things at hand become.

"All good things must come to an end.  And the only certainty is death and taxes."

Perhaps.  Perhaps the life we are called to live is one being filled with the moments of the journey, rather than the rush to our destination.  I will always cringe when I hear fellow Christians say, "we live to go to heaven," and other such nonsense.  As if our lives spent here is some sort of waiting room for a better life ahead.  Bullocks!  If this were true, Christ's eventual triumphant return would be sooner rather than later.  Certainty can be fleeting, and perhaps that is what we really mean to say.
  

Dreaming of England's Green

"Sea Worn" by Chad Krouse, Acrylic on canvas, 30x40.  2012

Those who know me well are all too familiar with my long-standing love affair with England.  Why so?  It all began in childhood where I had too much time to dream, I suppose.  I distinctly recall watching Brit-Coms on PBS as early as age 11 or so.  "Are You Being Served?," and "As Time Goes By," fed my imaginings about this island gem.  The piece de resistance was of course her lady, Hyacinth Bucket on "Keeping Up Appearances."  All these shows taught me to say things like, "bloody hell," "git," and add words like should and rather following a personal pronoun.  Whilst soaking up the unholy British culture being brought through the public tele, I had other outside forces at work drawing me in further to my English dream.

Growing up in The Episcopal Church certainly helped.  Being the child of the Church of England, Episcopalians love to have "high tea," and such following liturgies.  I even attended college where the namesakes are two English revolutionaries--John Hampden and Algernon Sidney.  We spell Sidney with a "y" over here.

It was during my sophomore year at Hampden-Sydney College that I had the opportunity to travel to London for a week--all expenses paid!  I shall never forget standing near Big Ben on the Thames as fireworks erupted in the night sky on January 1, 2000.  That week was pure bliss for me.  Evensong at Westminster Abbey, Mass at Westminster Cathedral, and a day trip out to Windsor.  Of course I found my way to Jermyn Street and indulged in the food halls of Fortnum & Mason, and I also found the bargain basement at Turnbull & Asser.  The highlight was visiting my shoemaker, Cleverely's over on Old Bond Street.  They treated me like royalty, even though all I had to spend was my pay from being a resident advisor!  I hit the National Gallery, ate at Green's and The Goring Hotel--long before Kate Middleton made it swanky.  I had a box seat at Royal Albert Hall for the BBC Proms.  I had truly died and gone to heaven, a proper one at that.  

Six months later, I was back in London, albeit for three days.  I had the pleasure of another all-expenses paid trip to the Continent with a few days in London.  God did I hate Amsterdam and Belgium.  All I could think about was getting back to London, my city!  I even managed to get a few days in London after my honeymoon years later.

My graduate school, The University of the South, is wholly owned by The Episcopal Church.  It was founded to be the Oxford of the South.  And yes, there were many fog-filled days there on that mountain island where I dreamt that I was forging the moors on another island.  Perhaps the most in-depth English experience came in 2009 when I lived in Mirfield, West Yorkshire conducting an independent study while a seminarian.  I knew one goal for me while in graduate school was to go over to England for something, anything.  Thankfully my fundraising background proved useful and I spent seven weeks abroad.

Am I nuts?  Well, perhaps.  I love the USA and I'm a proud tax-payer.  However, my heart belongs to England and there on the Thames shall my ashes be scattered one day.  Amen to that.