Issued on the feast of St. Andrew the Apostle, Pope Benedict XVI's second encyclical of his pontificate, Spe Salvi, is a pastoral letter on Christian Hope. Following on his first encyclical, Deus Caritas Est (God is Love), Spe Salvi (In Hope we are Saved) addresses hope as the second of the theological virtues and in fact sees as a distinguishing mark of Christians the fact that they have a future (2). Recognizing the present...can be lived and accepted if it leads towards a goal (1), Benedict outlines in what we might hope that gives meaning to, serves to inspire action, and gives us confidence that life will not end [and so is not lived] in emptiness (2).

By means of reviewing the lives of several saints, Benedict reminds us that they are indeed a witness to hope given that from the hope of these people who have been touched by Christ, hope has arisen for others who were living in darkness and without hope (8). Their witness not only reminds each of us that desire for God will join us in perfect union with him through our death (cf 10) but also assures us that salvation has always been considered a social reality (14) and that that in which we hope, namely salvation, can never be merely an individualistic matter. Because sin was understood by the Fathers [of the Church] as the destruction of the unity of the human race, as fragmentation and division (14) the salvation of humanity is truly to be effected when the prophecy of Isaiah and the Psalm of which we read today is realized: that all tribes will joyfully stream up to the Lord's house and never again train for war!

Much of the middle of the text is a critique of modernity and its particular understanding of progress as the overcoming of all forms of dependency (18), a critique of which I have often spoke from an anthropological/critical theory perspective. In short, Benedict's critique shows that so long as we no longer expect redemption from faith, but from the newly discovered link between science and praxis we have distorted a genuine understanding of hope. For so long as we exist in a world which has to create its own justice [it remains] a world without hope (42). Benedict does not, however, confine himself to theologians in this critique as he engages with the Frankfurt School and others as he begins this self-critique of modernity...in dialogue with Christianity any more than he limits his critique to modernity itself as he further invites a self-critique of modern Christianity in order that progress be made in humanity's ethical formation and inner growth alongside technological innovation (22). In short Benedict is reminding us of the consistent Catholic position that faith and reason are both needed means for the pursuit of truth.

Benedict assures us that we will be able to develop a sure and certain standard by which we will be able to judge the goodness of our necessary efforts to improve the world (30) as our preferring nothing to the knowledge and love of God is that which grounds all our efforts as living for God and so allowing ourselves to be drawn into his being for others (28) and not simply setting our own plans for activism for which we have no absolute basis for the evaluation of our efforts. The three settings which Benedict highlights as essential for learning hope are prayer, suffering, and judgment. When we pray properly we undergo a process of inner purification which opens us up to God and thus to our fellow human beings as well (33). Open to others we are able accept and support those who suffer as we find meaning in and strive to ameliorate their suffering, taking up the suffering of those who suffer in such a way that it becomes our own in genuine compassion (38). Ultimately the yearning for the establishment of justice—God's justice—where not only present suffering would be wiped out, but also that which is irrevocably past would be undone (42, citing Theodor Adorno) is expressed in faith that the Last Judgement is first and foremost a hopeful vision (43) in which all of creation is purified and redeemed for eternal union with God.

So does any of this have anything to do with us? I sure think so! If we do not have our hope placed in that one unmovable, something infinite (30), we will constantly be casting about without hope and therefore without any plan for our lives. Through Christian hope we are given the impetus to ask not only: how can I save myself? but also to ask: what can I do in order that others may be saved and that for them too the star of hope may rise? (48). Then and only then will we find meaning and purpose for our life, a reason to hope, and be not afraid (50)!

The following was first distributed in the electronic newsletter of St. Thomas More, The More News:

With Thanksgiving approaching, it is right to give God thanks and praise. The Eucharist we celebrate every Sunday is the Christian Thanksgiving—ευχαριστεω being the Greek verb 'to offer thanks.' Every time we celebrate the Eucharist we echo God's announcement in Genesis that creation is good! From that same account of Genesis we know that God also created time, making all creation to experience the natural rhythms of days, weeks, months, and years. Yet many of us treat all time the same, working ourselves into the ground day and night, then treating Sunday as a day for leisure, rather than as a sabbath to delight in the goodness of creation. We likewise insist that every season of the year offer us the same food as every other rather than savoring the fruits of each distinct season, further distancing ourselves from the rhythms God made to show forth his glory. But the wisdom of the Liturgy of the Hours reminds us that we sanctify different times of each day in different ways: Morning Prayer awakens us to open our lips and proclaim God's praise while Night Prayer invites God to guard us as we sleep.  And in the Liturgy of the Eucharist, we sanctify the week, beginning with Sunday standing at the head as Dies Domini, the Day of the Lord, which is made holy (or simply set apart) for God.  And within each year, we sanctify the seasons: Lent and Easter could not be more different from one another and yet both are necessary in God's plan of salvation.

As we look ahead to Thanksgiving—a time when families will gather together around the table to offer praise and thanks to God—and the beginning of a new liturgical year on the First Sunday of Advent (December 2), I would like to offer some ways that we can bring the liturgy home to our dinner tables. One of the most powerful ways to get into the seasons and so to celebrate the rhythms of time created by God is to celebrate at home what we celebrate in the Church.  By making our dinner table menus a celebration of creation all year round, not just at Thanksgiving, we can delight in God's goodness and abundance with which he surrounds us at each season. Especially for holydays you can make a commitment to preparing foods particular to that season, serving food that is in season and available locally. Eating with the seasons becomes not only a way to bring home the life of the Church but also is a statement of your commitment to be good stewards of God's creation. Catholic teaching finds fulfillment at our tables when we become aware of the rich blessings which earth has given and human hands have made. We become aware of our connection to the land that allows us to have life in abundance as we come to reflect on the practices used to cultivate the earth, the treatment of animals we rely on for food, and the labor of men and women who produce our food and with whom we are called to stand in solidarity. All of this reminds us, in the words of the National Catholic Rural Life Conference, that Eating is a Moral Act.

As attested to by the popularity of a number of recent books, such as Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma and Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, we are in an age where once again we are beginning to understand the connections between our most fundamental of choices—what we eat—and the most basic statements of who we are—what we believe. And, if what we believe is that the same God who created everything to announce his glory also became incarnate to redeem creation and unite it to himself, ought we not to devote ourselves to caring for the land which sustains us? This then is another way in which we can make our tables at home a reflection of our celebration at the table of Eucharist. One of the primary means we have to bring forth a harvest of justice is to support a local agricultural economy, which also helps us to eat in season. When we are invested in a particular area, such as having children in a particular school district, and when we know those who are responsible for those things we buy, such as a tailor who makes clothing to suit us, we are much more likely to be responsible to these communities. The same is true with our food: if we support local farmers and get to know them by visiting their farms and shopping at farmers' markets, we become part of their communities and, in turn, root ourselves in the land. Not only does this benefit the community and heighten our ability to delight in God's creation, but also allows us to support systems that are sustainable and less reliant on petroleum to both grow and transport our food the 2,000 miles that has become average.

And so this Advent season, I would encourage you to eat your liturgy: find out what is grown here locally. Use localharvest.org to find a farmers' market close to where you live. Find recipes that coincide with these local products and have your family help you in preparing them. Tell stories related to the liturgical life of the Church and share Advent prayers of expectation, longing for the fulfillment of God's promise to visit his people and bring light into the middle of our darkest season. As you do so, you will be eating your liturgy. And just as we come to associate particular musical settings of the Mass, colors of vestments and decorations, and the use of incense with particular liturgical seasons, we will also begin to associate these local and seasonal foods with the rhythms of our Church life—the rhythms of God's good creation. Soon the smell of plum pudding will become associated with the beginning of Advent (December 2) and eating Pan de Muerto on All Souls' Day (November 2) will be your family's way to remember all those who have died. Ultimately your kitchen and dinning room table will become an extension of the Eucharistic banquet we share every Sunday!

Works Consulted:

Holy Cows and Hog Heaven: The Food Buyer's Guide to Farm Friendly Food by Joel Salatin (Polface, 2005).

The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan (Penguin, 2007).

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (HarperCollins, 2007).

Cooking for Christ: Your Kitchen Prayer Book by Florence P. Berger (National Catholic Rural Life Conference, 1949).

How to Make Your House a Home: Family Liturgy and Religious Practices by Bernard Stokes OFM. (National Catholic Rural Life Conference, 1955).

Eating in Sync with the Seasons by Joel Salatin.

This past weekend I attended the 30th annual conference of the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy. The ALBC works to protect breeds of livestock that have become rare or uncommon in recent history. Through breeding programs, outreach, monitoring, partnerships, and other avenues, the ALBC has saved many breeds from the brink of extinction and has succeeded in implementing livestock associations, connecting young breeders with old stocks, and so forth. One of the new ventures of the ALBC has been to inculcate a niche market for rare breeds products, thus creating an economic incentive for both producers and consumers to maintain the genetic diversity of the United States' livestock. And so it was only fitting that our conference began with a superb dinner put together as part of Slow Foods' Renewing America's Food Traditions project. So Friday evening I trekked out to Celebrity Dairy (a local goat dairy and cheese maker in Silk Hope/Siler City) for one of only five pilot RAFT picnics being held across the US. Dinner featured meat from a variety of rare breed livestock, Southern-style rice, greens and salad from heritage varieties, local cheeses and wine, sweet potatoes, and dessert of heritage breed apples and goat milk ice cream. All of this was of course accompanied by conversations with foodies and farmers. The dinner was prepared by a number of members of Chefs' Collaborative, which featured some of the fine chefs around Chapel Hill, Durham, and Pittsboro. The meats were provided by members of ALBC and all had distinctive tastes, especially those included on Slow Food's Ark of Taste list.

Saturday morning I was off to Sanford, where I spent the morning learning about the history and mission of the ALBC, taking workshops on particular breeds, and networking with various folks. As many of you know, I have been meaning to acquire some cows for some time and, at one time, had a Dexter bull, Pepé, reserved for me. It turns out, given the difficulty of getting Pepé here and the possible mis-match in the ideal environment for which Dexters are adapted (western Ireland) and here, that I had considered other breeds of cattle. I had read in recent ALBC newsletters about the Pineywoods Cattle. And, after listening to a presentation by Bonnie and Bill Fritz and meeting with several other breeders of Pineywoods, that this rare and critically endangered breed may be the most suited for our environment. Pineywoods cattle are descended from the Spanish herds brought to the so-called Old Southwest (Louisiana, Mississippi, etc.) in the 16th century and were the backbone of the old logging and cattle culture that made up those states. Changes in production preferences and the advent of industrial agriculture pretty much wiped out what remained of post-Civil War beef production in the South such that today there are fewer than 300 individuals. I was able to network with a few folks and once we have our fences in place, we may be adding a couple head of Pineywoods to our place.

I also learned a great deal about Myotonic Meat Goats, also known as Tennessee Fainting Goats. Because of a single genetic mutation this breed, which has been around since the late nineteenth century, has both a 30% increase in muscle-bone weight compared to other meat goats and a tendency to go stiff, giving rise to their appellation as fainting goats.

Although I cannot possibly relate all the other things I learned, including what I gained from an in-depth look at operating a microdairy and cheese-making, the skills needed to be a master breeder of conservation breeds, and the opportunities made available by Tillers International (who will host the next ALBC conference at their Michigan farm), I can say it was a conference well worth attending. Of course we finished off with another excellent meal consisting of another superb array of meats from rare breeds, locally grown greens, and other foods all prepared by Chatham Marketplace (Pittsboro). If you've read this far, I'd encourage you too to learn more about rare breeds and find ways you can support conservation and local, sustainable agriculture through your consumer choices.

In my mind's eye a Temple, like a cloud

Slowly surmounting some invidious hill,

Rose out of darkness: the dark Work stood still...

—William Wordsworth

This has been a week of great trial for me and now, as I find myself looking back on what has come to pass, I finally find some stillness rising from the darkness.

As many of you know, I grew up and my parents live in Southern California—in Escondido to be specific. And, as is now world news, northern San Diego County has experienced the largest and worst fire in decades, considerably larger than the previously disastrous fire of 2003. In 2003 Michelle and I were working on renovations to our condominium in La Jolla when the fire season began; we tried to get up to my parents' house, but I-15 was closed, as we could ourselves see flames coming from Ramona into Poway adjacent to the freeway. Finally, we did get to my parents' house by an alternate route and as we were watching the television, worried what might happen to our condominium on the edge of Miramar, I stepped outside to just get away from it all. As I did, I saw flames coming from the Poway fire into the San Pasqual valley towards my parents' home. We maintained calm until the Valley Center fire crested the other hill and was visible from the back porch of my parents' home nearly 180° from the approaching Poway fire. At this point we packed things up and prepared to evacuate, but it never came.

So when I heard from my parents on Monday afternoon that they were evacuating the present Witch Creek Fire, I knew the flames had to be close. And so began my worrying, my earnest praying, and my seeking others to join me in so doing. I was comforted by the number of folks who have shown concern and have joined us in prayer. It was, however, a terrible feeling of helplessness to be so far away and with no way to help. With all of their animals my parents evacuated to my best friend's family's home in Valley Center. There they stayed through the night until the next morning the Hutchisons too were evacuated, in advance of the spread of a newly arisen fire in Pauma Valley. My mom called me quite upset, especially that Hutchisons were unable to relocate all their livestock. At this point the modicum of composure I had until then maintained went away. For the next day my worries, prayers, and distraction from work and other things got worse.

Finally I got word from my folks that they had returned to their home and, although it was covered in ash and littered with charred refuse, it was still standing. The Hutchisons likewise returned to their home and it, along with their livestock, seem to have fared well. And, as if God's mercy hears and grants our prayers all at once in order to make it all the more clear to us his loving-kindness, the very same time brought the beginnings of rain to our parched Piedmont.

North Carolina, for those who have not been following the news, is over fifteen inches short of our average rainfall, so restrictive rates have been imposed by OWASA (who have called for all of us to reduce our water usage by half) and the city of Raleigh risks running out of water this summer. We have, however, in the last twenty-four hours received a steady and slow outpouring of nearly two inches of rain. This is hardly a fix to the drought we are suffering, but it has filled the 300 gallon water tank we connected to our gutter, has left some standing water in our pond, and may mark the beginning of rejuvenation for our groundwater. This evening I am off to a presentation being held at the local volunteer fire station concerning the groundwater and drought situation here and how to deal with it.

In an unrelated, although somehow poetically resonant way, my copy of Into Great Silence (which was just released on DVD) arrived today and so I have been rejuvenating myself by entering into the simple and prayerful rhythms of Le Grande Chartreuse. Into Great Silence is a film I took nearly one hundred parishioners to see some months ago, which I also wrote about in a previous post. For those who have not yet had the chance to see this film, add it to your Netflix queue, go find it at your favorite video store, or if all else fails buy it as a video retreat to which you can return over and over. Into Great Silence is an odd contrast to the also relatively new silent film, The Call of Cthulhu (2005), Michelle and I watched last night. And although I make no attempt to claim I've understood this cinematographic representation of H.P. Lovecraft's novel of the same title, it seemed appropriately timed to me to address in a terribly silent way the reality of looming destruction, danger, and all that was raging through my head as the fires threatened my parents and their home.

Yet, as if in answer to a third and unvoiced prayer, the arrival of and my watching again Into Great Silence has capped off the stillness brought about as I now thank God for bringing my parents, the Hutchisons, and others through the fear and terror of the San Diego fires as well as the rejoicing thanksgiving I echo for the coming of rain to bring life to our ground once again. So a stillness has set in, like a Temple that has been outpoured from clouds. Deo gratias!

Last weekend I attended a wonderful conference, Land • Bread • Body, sponsored by Duke Divinity School and Cedar Grove United Methodist Church. I first came to know about the conference because I was reading some work by Norman Wirzba, a theologian and philosopher at Georgetown College (Kentucky), who was the featured speaker at Land • Bread • Body. Norman Wirzba has developed a relationship with the agrarian literary giant, Wendell Berry. Wirzba has taken many of Berry's ideas and expressed them in a philosophical and theological manner. The first of Norman Wirzba's talks was focused on sabbath living, derived largely from his most recent book, Living the Sabbath: Discovering the Rhythms of Rest and Delight. After some excellent biblical exegesis, the primary conclusion Wirzba drew in this talk was that the completion of creation was found only when God rested to delight in all he fashioned—and so must we every week of our lives. In many senses, this built on the wonderful conference I attended in June at Notre Dame, Dies Domini: The Day of the Lord, as Wirzba also draw a distinction between the American escapist approach to leisure or entertainment and the biblical approach to recreation or delight. He further developed these themes in his second talk in which he connected the eucharistic faith we as Christians profess to our respect for the land, charged as we are in the same creation story to be good stewards of God's creation as we take delight in it. This seems to be connected to another of Wirzba's books, The Paradise of God: Renewing Religion in an Ecological Age. As the lone Catholic at this conference with nearly 100 attendees, I felt that if a more robust sense of the real presence of Christ in the eucharist was part of the faith of my colleagues that Wirzba's great insight could have been taken to an even deeper level.



The reason that this conference was held in Cedar Grove, a rural town about 20 miles north of Chapel Hill, is that Cedar Grove United Methodist has entered into the spotlight of rural ministry through its initiative to build and serve the community through the Anathoth Community Garden. This community garden, named after the garden which God commanded Jeremiah to plant as a sign of contradiction against the prevailing culture of Jeremiah's day which saw only decay and no reason to place hope in something as long-term as planting a garden, was founded out of a reconciliation following a racially charged murder in small town Cedar Grove. The pastor, Grace Hackney, moved this vision along in what is an amazing story. In conjunction with the conference we had a dinner the first night at the garden and I was given a tour of the place by the theologian-farmer who manages it for the community, Fred Bahnson. This dinner, like all the meals we were served at the conference, was entirely locally sourced; every ingredient of very filling and delicious meals came from within 10 miles of Cedar Grove and most from sustainable farms of some variety (e.g., organic, biodynamic, etc.).



With the theological background from the fist day, the second day of the conference turned to practical applications. The first small group discussion of which I was a part was lead by Jonathon Wilson-Hartgrove, one of the founders of Rutba House and the New Monasticism, in which the focus was building community by eating in community. After Jonathon and his wife returned from serving in Iraq with the Christian Peacemaker Team (about which he has written in To Baghdad and Beyond), they founded a house of radical hospitality, not unlike a Catholic Worker House or the Casa de San Ysidro y Santa Maria I would like to found, which they situated in a forgotten neighborhood in Durham which Jonathon refers to as the edge of empire. As the Protestant traditions do not, for the most part, have the tradition of monasteries, Jonathon and others like him have had to do a lot of what seems like pioneering work for the intentional Christian communities. I was most impressed by a book compiled by Jonathon, Inhabiting the Church: Biblical Wisdom for a New Monasticism, in which Jonathon and others dialog with the Benedictine monastic tradition as a foundation for their own ministry. It was an inspiring story and a great network into which I have now tapped. During that session and in conjunction with the theme of learning to eat together, I was introduced to a program of Presbyterian Church USA, Just Eating, which should be a great follow-up to our JustFaith program.



In the afternoon, I turned to completely different aspect of practical applications as I spent the next six hours learning about and practicing biointensive agriculture (see

J. Jeavon's How to Grow More Vegetables Than You Ever Thought Possible on Less Land Than You Can Imagine. This is the method employed at the Anathoth Community Garden and, like the the related methods of Permaculture which I have also briefly studied, seeks to situate our use of the land for agricultural purposes within natural rhythms in order to work with the goodness of God's creation, rather than against it. I learned a great many techniques, got connected to some additional local resources, and made some friends with whom I hope to remain in contact. Studying the goodness of creation fit well at this point also, given that this week I started facilitating a new STEP course, In God's Image; The Mystery of Creation.



In an excellent ten minute video about the Anathoth Community Garden pastor Grace Hackney notes that the garden is about reconciliation—reaching across racial, creedal, economic, and other social lines. As the only Catholic who attended the conference and, despite the awkwardness of not being able to fully participate in the Methodist liturgy we celebrated, I am confident that the lack of full communion we have come to accept as business as usual in the Christian world for over five centuries is rapidly breaking down. I felt very welcomed at the conference and there was so much fruitful exchange of ideas. It is not only individuals but also whole traditions that are emerging from their entrenched positions and planting gardens together, sitting down at table with one another, and learning the build the kingdom of God as one people. As we continue this work and as we learn from one another's traditions, I am confident that the fullness of the eucharist will be shared and Christ's wish that all may be one around the Lord's Table is immanent!