Day by Day: Loving God More Dearly

by Frederick Borsch

Overview

The popular song Day by Day from “Godspell” was actually written in the Middle Ages by Richard of Chichester, a saint remembered for his humility, perseverance in times of hardship, care for the poor, and the strength and generosity of his faith. After his death miracles of healing were said to have taken place through his intercession, and a shrine grew up at his cathedral in Chichester, a small city south of London. His had been a life of close friendships and high position, but also exclusion, exile and poverty.

The intonations of a brave and searching man on his knees can be heard throughout this prayer. Borsch uses the life of Richard to illuminate and guide us as we seek day by day to see more clearly, love more dearly and follow God more nearly. These intellectually solid meditations draw on Scripture and church history to aid us in our devotional life.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780819227089
Publisher:	Morehouse Publishing
Publication date:	01/01/2009
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	101
File size:	591 KB

About the Author

Frederick Borsch, noted scholar, retreat leader, and author of 17 books, is professor of New Testament and Anglican studies at Lutheran Theological Seminary, Philadelphia. He is a retired bishop, former dean of the Church Divinity School of the Pacific, and former professor and dean of the chapel at Princeton University.

Read an Excerpt

DAY BY DAY

LOVING GOD MORE DEARLY

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By FREDERICK BORSCH

Church Publishing Incorporated

Copyright © 2009 Frederick Borsch
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8192-2708-9

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CHAPTER 1

RICHARD'S PRAYER

Day by day, dear Lord, of you three things I pray: to see you more clearly, love you more dearly, follow you more nearly, day by day.

This prayer seems so familiar. It may be best known from the musical Godspell, with its hip Jesus and his shrewd parables, while its petitions have also been set to music in a number of hymns and anthems. Many of us have prayed with thoughts and words like these, if not in these very phrases. In many ways profound, it is, as we shall see, also so simple a hymn—a plea of trust and need, so yearning and hopeful.

Christian tradition traces the heart of the prayer to the thirteenth-century bishop and saint known as Richard of Chichester. Its earliest source is the story of Richard's life by his companion and confessor, Ralph Bocking. Richard is said to have prayed as he lay dying,

Thanks be to you, my Lord Jesus Christ, for all the benefits which you have given me, for all the pains and insults you have borne for me, O most merciful Redeemer, Friend, and Brother. May I know you more clearly, love you more dearly, and follow you more nearly.

We may well believe that Richard's friends and companions remembered and then continued to use his threefold petitions to see, to love, and to follow the Lord in their own prayers. The phrase "day by day" may have been added later; perhaps whoever did so believed they heard the thought in the melody of the prayer. Or possibly, in one way or another, "day by day, dear Lord, three things I pray" also goes back to a time in Richard's life. Whatever its precise origins, the words of this prayer have been on the lips of many Christians in subsequent generations as they prayed in longing, love, and service.

We can imagine Bishop Richard whispering the prayer in his last days, but we may also suppose that he would have offered these or similar petitions throughout the life in which he grew to sainthood. Richard was remembered for his humility, his perseverance in times of hardship, and the strength and generosity of his faith. He also inspired many because of his care for the poor, widows, and orphans, and those who were sick. After his death in 1253, miracles of healing were said to have taken place through his intercession and a shrine grew up at his cathedral in Chichester, a small city south of London and a few miles from the English Channel. His had been a life of close friendships and high position, but also of opposition, exile, and poverty. Certainly there must have been many days of challenge and of life's ills and vagaries. The intonations of a brave and searching man on his knees can be heard throughout this prayer.

Richard's earliest biographer, the Dominican friar who had been his companion and confessor, knew this man of prayer well. There were occasions, Friar Ralph Bocking tells us, when early visitors to his chapel would find the bishop already there, having spent the night in prayer. On other days he would rise "before the birds were awake" and, while his chaplains still slept, be at his prayers before the day's work was begun.

Richard was also known as a man of discipline and order, a man of laws who could be fierce in his sense of justice and fairness toward others. Through much of his life he was esteemed as a careful administrator and a strict disciplinarian. As bishop he drew up statutes by which he expected clergy and laity to live. While strong in his support and defense of his clergy, those who were lazy or living immorally earned his rebuke. He was a reformer. He expected that the parish clergy would be well instructed and about their business as teachers and pastors. They were to dress cleanly. Vestments and the fabric of churches should be in good condition. Church buildings should be kept in repair and uncluttered. The prayers and offices were to be said "roundly"; that is, audibly and distinctly, without hurried or garbled words. Given the problems and challenges in the church and society, such discipline and moral leadership were no doubt needed. Richard wanted right living, diligence, honesty, and prayerfulness for the sake of all the people in the care of the diocese.

And yet his biographer maintained that Richard was remembered first and foremost as "jolly, warm-hearted, courteous, and of a cheerful countenance." His very name, Friar Ralph inventively suggests, was made up from the parts of three words, RIdens, CARus, and DUlciS: "laughing, beloved, and gracious." This combination in one person of a reformer and organized defender of laws with one who is yet often jolly, courteous, and gracious is unusual at the very least. The respect and affection in which this man of grace and spirit was held evidently was the fruit of his own example—the discipline began with him. A bishop, he believed, should be of irreproachable life, sober, restrained, and hospitable. He was "addicted," it is said, to works of mercy. When visiting a parish, Richard would inquire about those who were sick or poor and go to them with money and words of comfort. When they died, he would, whenever he was able, help bury them with his own hands. He evidently had the capacity, as Paul put it, to "rejoice with those who rejoice" and to "weep with those who weep" (Romans 12:15).

Temperate at table, the bishop preferred meals of bread dipped in beer or wine even in times of festival. He had practiced forms of asceticism at various times in his life, and his dress, too, was modest, usually a tunic covered with a linen cape. In winter he added a wool mantle that, in time, became rather threadbare. He lived simply so that he would not be set too far apart from those of low estate in his pastoral care. In an age when some bishops lived, as the saying goes, "high off the hog" and were often absent from their dioceses, following the king about and tending to matters of state, Richard hardly ever left his diocese. Because he had experienced exile and homelessness at one time in his life, and knew what it was like to be poor and outcast, he loved to give things away—which was seldom to the liking of his stewards and bailiffs, who were more concerned about restoring the fortunes of the diocese.

People who are regarded as saints in their lifetime can be thought to be somewhat otherworldly and probably not much good at the practical details of life. Yet Richard was skilled, energetic, and attentive to the arts of administration. This jolly man, who often went about with a cheerful smile on his face, had a will that seemed conformed to the service of others. People sensed in him an inner consecration of life.

How did he become this way? We can picture him often offering up the heartfelt petitions of his "dear Lord, three things I pray." We can hear him repeating his prayer as a young student and then teacher at Oxford; as Chancellor of the University and later for the Archbishop of Canterbury; after that in exile, trying to find his way to love and follow his Lord; as Bishop of Chichester; and then finally, as he lay dying. One sees him kneeling in chapel and churches, in his study, walking about his diocese, wanting to show God's love for others, keeping faithfully to his ministry of administration, visiting the poor. Not only did this prayer inform and shape his life, it grew from his life as well— from his times of hardships and uncertainty, out of his hopes and deepest aspirations. These times of earnest prayer would have formed the words of his mind and heart: "to see you more clearly, love you more dearly, follow you more nearly, dear Lord." In these ways the prayer becomes the story of his life. The prayer offers us the lineaments of his biography—the life story of a man determined yet kind, questing and firm in his faith to know, love, and follow his Lord.

Informed by Prayer

Desmond Tutu of South Africa is another bishop of great compassion and a strong sense of justice. Many of us would call him a saint, whose capacity for courage and graciousness, for determination and joy easily reminds us of Richard of Chichester. Desmond tells me that he has used Richard's prayer to see, love, and follow "for donkey's years" (as he puts it in his inimitable fashion). He believes his life, too, has been informed by the prayer, for Desmond Tutu also has experienced times of harsh opposition and persecution as well as high office and heavy administrative responsibilities. He was fierce in his struggles against the evils of apartheid and in his calls for justice and regard for the dignity of each human being. Yet all who have known him also picture his often smiling face and can hear his laughter.

That mirthfulness flows from his trust in the love of God in the very midst of some of the world's greatest suffering and wrongs. It may well have been Desmond's greatest strength and weapon against apartheid, for, he would frequently let people know, in God's eyes apartheid and all forms of discrimination were silly. "God," I can hear him insisting even now, "loves each and every one of you."

Now just tell me, what does the color of a person's skin tell you about that person? Does the color of a person's skin tell you whether the person is intelligent? Does it tell you if that person is loving? Supposing we said that the thing that determines privilege is the size of your nose? Now, I have a large nose—supposing we said that people with large noses are the privileged people? And they say now, "Ah, you want to go to a toilet; that toilet is reserved only for large noses." If you have a small nose you are going to be in trouble. That university, you enter only if you have a large nose like mine. If you have a small nose, then you must apply to the Ministry of Small Nose Affairs for permission to attend the university for large noses.

It takes a strong and deep faith to be able to make fun of human folly and wickedness, to be able to smile and laugh, when so many things in life are painful and unjust. It is the faith also of Julian of Norwich in the century following Richard who, in the middle of plague, illness, and many troubles, held that yet "all will be well, all will be well, all manner thing will be well." Such a response calls for much prayer, compassion, and a readiness to reach out with love and forgiveness for others—even and perhaps especially for one's enemies, who are also loved by God. It takes a heart that beats to the rhythm of a threefold prayer asking to see, to love, and to follow our Lord.

In reflecting on this prayer and the life it shaped, it is important to remember that Richard's life and times were in many ways radically different from our own. Science, technology, medicine, and the profusion of information about other times and places have given us greater knowledge and understanding but also distance us from the ways and beliefs of thirteenth-century England. We live in different cultures. Our lives and experiences are not the same. We will need to respect these differences as we reflect on Richard's life, ministries, and prayer in these meditations. Yet, surely, we may also find similarities and parallels with our own lives—our own times of hardship and uncertainty, our searching, our hopes and deepest aspirations to see and know, to love and put into practice what matters most to us in life. We, too, want eyes that look to what we most care about—lives of both courage and gracefulness, of commitment and the smile of faith; lives formed by our own ways of praying to come ever closer to God.

We do well to remember, too, that Christians never pray alone. Even if we are on a solitary walk or in our own room, prayer is always praying together—the prayer of a people of yearning and faith, a people praying for one another and supporting one another in prayer. In a congregation but also across congregational and denominational lines, across ethnic and national and gender and class differences, across time zones and even the generations—in the communion of saints, the ancient and ongoing prayer continues. We can imagine that Richard sometimes prayed "these three things" with Ralph Bocking, with his friends Edmund and Simon, in community worship in chapel and cathedral. We can imagine that we, along with Richard of Chichester and Desmond Tutu and with sisters and brothers at home and around the world and through the years, are praying with one another the same prayer to "see you more clearly, love you more dearly, follow you more nearly, day by day."

CHAPTER 2

TO SEE YOU MORE CLEARLY

Amid life's changes and uncertainties we long for some clarity of vision. In the midst of perplexities we hope to see and to know what is to be prized above all—what is worth life's service. Richard and many others have aspired to see more clearly the longed-for goodness and beauty at the heart of existence. Circumscribed by mortality, we, too, pray to know some purpose in and for a creation. We ask why there is a world and life at all—what could it be for? As life goes on, buffeted by loss and tragedy, we yearn for coherence—a logos or reason and center that might hold things together, a story for life. Hearts hope for a beginning and goal, and at least a glimpse of the One who might sustain and inspire the human adventure.

I can imagine Richard as a young man starting to form this hope and this prayer "to see" his Lord and God "more clearly" in his own life. There are slightly different versions of this first petition as it has been handed down to us—is it "to know you more clearly" or "to see you more clearly"? Richard would have frequently used Latin, and the Latin verb scio (from which comes our word "science") would most often have been translated "to know," which has also the meanings of "to understand" and "to perceive." One can imagine that the version "to see you more clearly" arose from this related meaning, for seeing is, of course, a way of knowing—as suggested in the adage "Seeing is believing."

We might picture him in these early years with dark hair and clear brown eyes, strong of bone and lanky, already hardened from farm labor. Richard was born near the end of the twelfth century in a town called Droitwich, in the west of England, near Worcester. For much of his life he was known as Richard of Wyche, a family name that may have been derived from the wyches or salt springs in the area. With his sister and an older brother to whom he remained close for most of his life, Richard lost his father, a prosperous farmer, and then his mother at an early age. Much of their inheritance was dissipated by their guardians, but even as a young man Richard showed considerable skill in helping his less diligent older brother manage the farm left to them. He plowed and pruned; he labored long and hard. But, with the farm improved, he left it to his brother.

He had determined to become a scholar, and so he set off for Oxford when he was in his mid-teens. Tales were later told of his poverty as a student. Such stories might seem the product of pious imagination, but Oxford was a poor community—one of simple inns and halls rather than the handsome colleges that would later be designed and built. It would have been common for students at the time to sleep two or more to a bed and share their coat with friends. We may hope that there were at least a few days of feasting from time to time, but bread and thin soup, eaten from a wooden board and bowl, was the regular meal.

The thirteenth century was a time of considerable ferment and new learning. Richard, who had probably begun his studies with the Benedictine monks in Worcester, would have first studied the basic trivium of grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic, and then the quadrivium of arithmetic, astronomy, music, and geometry. One of his Oxford tutors, who became a mentor and lifelong friend, was the saintly Edmund Rich, later the Archbishop of Canterbury. Robert Grosseteste, renowned scholar and later a strong and influential Bishop of Lincoln, was another of his teachers. Grosseteste translated Aristotle from the Greek and was interested in astronomy, optics, and mathematics. Along with Edmund and Robert, Richard would have felt the influence of the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 that provided considerable energy for church reform by advocating more learning for the clergy. The Council also sought greater recognition for the authority of Pope Innocent III, which meant that tensions between the church in Rome and the English king Henry III continued, as did the tests of strength between the king and his barons and bishops, not least on matters of ecclesiastical appointments and wealth.

By 1220 Richard had become established as a twenty-three-year-old scholar and was himself beginning to be a teacher. To England and Oxford in this decade came members of the new Dominican order of friars intent on reform and seeking a more rigorous and dedicated practice of Christian learning and living. Early on, Richard was greatly attracted to their ways of devotion and service. They were soon followed by Franciscans, still struggling with their commitment to strict poverty. Although favored by the outwardly pious English king Henry III, the friars were not welcomed by all; problems arose with the local clergy over questions of money and authority. But these Dominicans and Franciscans made rich contributions to theological discussions and debates, and, especially in this time of reform, to ethics and questions about faithful Christian living: how could those who dedicated themselves to the Lord Jesus best follow and serve him in their lives and ministries?
(Continues...)

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Excerpted from DAY BY DAY by FREDERICK BORSCH. Copyright © 2009 Frederick Borsch. Excerpted by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents

Contents

one Richard's Prayer          

two To See You More Clearly          

three To Love You More Dearly          

four To Follow You More Nearly          

five Day by Day          

Endnotes