Articles By: Michael Glerup

Christianity is more than a way of thinking; it is way of worship and a way of life. Christianity derived patterns of thinking, worshipping, and living through sustained reflection on scripture. In the patristic era ethics, spirituality and theology were grounded in biblical interpretation. Consequently, the best method to explore the spiritual and theological implications of the practice of welcoming the stranger is to consult the central biblical texts on the subject. The locus classicus of biblical notions of hospitality include two Old Testament examples—Abraham and Sarah receiving the three strangers (Genesis 18), Lot’s welcoming the two angels at the gate of Sodom— and two New Testament passages—Christ’s declaration, “I was a stranger, and you took me in” (Matthew 25) and the exhortation to “show hospitality to strangers” in Hebrews 13:2. 

Fr. Louis Bouyer, the great French scholar of Christian spirituality, suggests that the only true object of Christian mysticism is the Christian mystery. The mystery is “God’s eternal design of saving all things in Christ just as he was to create all things in him.” The mystery is Christ himself, revealed fully in
the cross, the ultimate revelation of God’s love for us. 

The term contemplation is derived from the Latin word templum, which referred to a “space in earth or the sky set apart for the sacred examination of animals’ entrails for indications of divine meaning.” Hence the temple became the dwelling place of the gods and the place in which oracles discerned divine meaning and purposes. Contemplation refers not so much to place but to the “seeing into” or “looking at” the insides of reality. And what is at the source of this reality? Or what is the really real? God. So contemplation refers to the “looking at” or the “seeing of” God.

The theological concept of grace, as it has been received in the West, was profoundly influenced by the writings of Augustine, so much so that he was later referred to as the doctor gratiae. His thought on the subject, built on the earlier transactional language (“accruing merit” and “making satisfaction”) of Tertullian and his intense study of Paul, crystallized in his debates with the British layman Pelagius.

Christian spirituality involves an interpretive conversation between the classics of the Christian tradition and contemporary human experience. It is a two-way dialogue, in which we not only bring a critical eye to the text in order to decide what we think is useful to our present situation, but we also aspire to remain open to the ancient commentators—allowing tradition to challenge and correct our modern perceptions. Bernard McGinn rightly states, “The past measures us just as we measure it.” 

A Reading from St. Augustine 

We believe in him that he was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary. Each birth of his, you see, must be considered wonderful, both that of his divinity and that of his humanity. The first is from the Father without mother, the second from mother without father; the first apart from all time, the second at “the acceptable time;” the first eternal, the second at the right moment; the first without a body “in the bosom of the Father,” the second with a body, which did not violate the virginity of his mother; the first without either sex, the second without a man’s embrace. (ACCS IVa:56)

Early church writers like Augustine juxtaposed seemingly incompatible ideas to illuminate the miracle of the birth of Christ. Lingering in this tension between the eternal and the temporal, we receive a glimpse into the mystery of the eternal love of God as revealed in history.

A reading from John Chrysostom

But why was the Christ child sent into Egypt? The text makes this clear: he was to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet, out of Egypt have I called my son. (Hos 11:1.) From that point onward we see that the hope of salvation would be proclaimed to the whole world. Babylon and Egypt represent the whole world. Even when they were engulfed in ungodliness, God signified that he intended to correct and amend both Babylon and Egypt. God wanted humanity to expect his bounteous gifts the world over. So he called from Babylon the wise men and sent to Egypt the holy family. 

Besides what I have said, there is another lesson also to be learned, which tends powerfully toward true self-constraint in us. We are warned from the beginning to look out for temptations and plots. And we see this even when he came in swaddling clothes. Thus you see even at his birth a tyrant raging, a flight ensuing and a departure beyond the border. For it was because of no crime that his family was exiled into the land of the Egypt.

Similarly, you yourself need not be troubled if you are suffering countless dangers. Do not expect to be celebrated or crowned promptly for your troubles. Instead you may keep in mind the longsuffering example of the mother of the Child, bearing all things nobly, knowing that such a fugitive life is consistent with the ordering of spiritual things. You are sharing the kind of labor Mary herself shared. So did the magi. They both were willing to retire secretly in the humiliating role of fugitive. (The Gospel of Matthew, Homily 8.2.)

Two thoughts come to mind: first, how may I become mindful of “the long-suffering example of the mother of the Child” in my spiritual journey? Second, I’m reminded to pray for those who know to well the countless dangers of following Christ in a hostile world—in particular to pray for those Christians living in Egypt and Iraq.

The first act of discernment by the apostolic community—the choosing of Matthias to replace Judas—occurred after the ascension of Jesus and before the descent of the Spirit at Pentecost. Two questions were problematic for the early Christian writers interpreting Acts 1. First, why didn’t Jesus appoint Matthias before he departed? And second, was the drawing of lots still permissible or useful in determining the will of God? In regards to the first question, interpreters answered, Jesus didn’t appoint the new apostle in order to offer proof that he was still with the disciples, though he was absent in the flesh. Chrysostom writes, “For just as he chose when he was among them, so he chose now in absence.” 2 For the answer to the second question we turn to Bede, the English historian and the “last” of the Western fathers.

Once a brother came to visit one of the great desert fathers, Abba Moses, and asked him for a word. Moses replied, “Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.” Moses’ instruction was not unusual. Moses believed that only in the silence of the cell would a monk acquire the virtues and attitudes necessary for a life of constant prayer and communion with God.

Despite Jesus’ instruction to call no person rabbi or father, very early in the development of Christianity, in the Egyptian and Palestinian monasteries spiritual elders were referred to as abba (father) or amma (mother). These “fathers” and “mothers” were spiritual parents in the sense that they shared “both the loving kindness of God the Father and the charismatic gift of the Spirit to engender others in the spiritual life.” These early “spiritual directors” fostered the spiritual development of their disciples through instruction and modeling. As Cassian said, “A saintly life is more educative than a sermon.”