He is born

“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalms 46:10)

This call radiates from the crib in ways more easily grasped by the wonder-filled minds of the children we bring to it than by ourselves.

Regardless of our own beliefs and doubts, our picking and choosing, and our denominational differences, all Christians are united in both the magnitude and the simplicity of the event we celebrate today: the birth of Jesus.
The world has its own take on Christmas; we all know that; and in the moments when we are able to brush aside the indecency, the absurdity and the immorality of the commercial pressures behind the Christless clamour and glitter of the weeks over which the festivities are spread, we can all acknowledge the enjoyment that is part of the whole experience, but this is Christmas. It is nothing if not the celebration of Christ’s birth. This is where Christianity began; this is where the idea of Christian unity had not even been formulated because there was, and never had been, any disunity.

Within our hearts we can all return to that beautiful simplicity of togetherness in trust and belief over this Christmas period. We can return to our long-lost presence as children before the infant Jesus in His crib. We can simply be still: we can stop and listen: hearken, watch and pray. We can allow the Spirit of God to speak into our deepest selves.
This is where our future unity can begin; where our faith in Jesus Christ began.
There are ways in which we seem to be too far gone and too far apart for it to come about in any other way; and seeming to be forever apart quickly hardens into a firmly held but mistaken belief that this really is the case.

Let us follow Mary’s example of humility and abandonment into the hands of God.
She laid aside her anxieties and rested in a peace born of complete trust in Him.
When the angel Gabriel spoke to her, at first ‘She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean’ (Luke 1:29) but her acceptance resulted in altogether different feelings: ‘My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour;’(1:46,47)
Later, after The birth of Jesus, ‘she treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.’ (2:19)

We are called to put the same degree of trust in God’s provision for us; to place ourselves in His hands as completely as He placed Jesus into the hands of Mary.

‘I hold myself in quiet and silence,
like a little child in its mother’s arms,
like a little child, so I keep myself.'
(Psalms 131:2)

A joyful, peaceful and wonder-filled Christmas to everyone.

True words

For many people the modifying of language over time is an unobtrusive process, and may go completely unnoticed from one generation to another; some words recede from common usage until they are dropped altogether from normal conversation and the ideas originally conveyed fade into an infrequent checking of spelling and meaning in the pages of dictionaries. But for others the resultant changes in ideas and gradual drift away from essential truths is a matter for concern.
When considered together with a reduction in the future availability of some words – in many cases words which I and my family could not imagine our world being without – any discomfort we may have when honestly assessing our own interpretation of the veracity of words and passages in the Bible, becomes relevant to the frequently ungraspable realities of our own faith, and to the questionable reality of our own commitment to a particular denomination within the Church.
What is the Truth? Where is the Truth? How do we discern the Truth? More worrying still, how does the next generation recognize and understand the truth if words used in its conveyance are rarely used and little understood?

An article by Henry Porter, http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/dec/14/books-dictionary-culture in last Sunday's Observer newspaper (14.12.08) is worth a thoughtful read.

The words slipping away through our children’s fingers may not be relevant to their understanding of God’s Word but they are much needed in a world that should allow no reduction in the appreciation of the natural wonders around us. With so much conspiring to make life within a church community (as present members understand it) unattainable and seemingly of no significance, the natural world remains an essential link and an ever-open pathway for today’s young people to catch a glimpse of God in their own lives.

‘... the word ‘supernatural’ is scarcely respectable today. Is this because every generation needs a new vocabulary, needs to discard worn-out words and give language new life and strength? Very probably: but we should remember that certain words express certain ideas; if we change the words we may change the ideas too and so forget the truths that the words originally conveyed.’

(René Voillaume. Concerning Religious Life.)

My thoughts here are a continuation of an inner response to the ways women are frequently perceived, patronized and prohibited from fulfilling their potential within their Church. The apparent silence of women in the Bible should come as no surprise to us when we consider the context in which the scriptures were written, (the already quoted 1 Corinthians 14:33,34, makes this clear enough), but their silence then, though now seeming very loud, is far more readily understood than is the situation for the women of today.
Women are not expected to be silent today; in a quiet and unobtrusive way, Nancy reading to us is evidence of that. She may not be able to give her own ideas and insights into the passages she reads, but the fact that she can use her gift to the full, bringing out layers of God’s own meaning for those of us who listen, is more than just a beginning; it is a blessing. And it is not as though Nancy is the only one to be seen and heard; we have many women readers, and the sanctuary would look rather bare today if girls were still not allowed to become altar servers. The organizing, catechizing, leading of groups and maintaining the constant portrayal of what it means to be a Christian, would all be grossly diminished if women slipped away into the shadows and silence.

But, there is so much more. Some gifts, like Elizabeth’s welcoming smile, cannot be contained or hidden from view, but what is the real gift hidden in the depths of that welcome? Others, like another woman’s energy and commitment to social justice, poverty and peace, were clearer and active, but what if she had really been encouraged and allowed to lead? And then there are those who have played significant parts in my own journey; understated and calm; available and supportive; rarely seen, even less conversed with, but never forgotten. Beneath their obvious giftedness, whatever are the latent powers with which they have been blessed? I am not the only one to have sensed the Presence within them.

Such women are to be found in every parish throughout the world. The time will come for them to be heard and seen, to be known, proclaimed and experienced as equal in all ways. We know it will not happen today or tomorrow but it can be brought forward by ordinary Christian men: men like me, awakening the truths that sleep within us. It will take the gentle pressure of our collective awareness coupled with an insistence of the Holy Spirit’s guidance to spread the inner truth upwards through the tiers of pride, prestige and power. Every man should be prepared to strip away all layers of defence, assumed superiority, self-confidence and pride, not to stand aside in confusion, suppressed anger or disbelief, but to allow the Spirit of God to breathe in every heart and mind, and to discern what each of us truly believes. From this simple reality will grow the awareness of any changes needed to conform to the will of Christ for His Church.

How do I unravel the contradictions that are so much a part of what goes on within me? (Contradictions that must be apparent here.)
I believe the Bible to contain the Word of God, but do I believe it in the way others expect me to believe? And who are these others?
I know that I tend to pick and choose as much as anyone else; why does that admission not frighten me?
What is the Truth? Where is the Truth? How do I discern the Truth?
What is gospel? What is The Gospel?

Earlier this year, Patsy Rodenburg, a noted voice coach, was interviewed on Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour. (3.3.08)
Speaking about the contest between Hillary Clinton and Barach Obama for the Democratic Party nomination in the United States , she said, “I’m very fearful that at this moment a lot of people don’t want the truth, they want quality.”
Is this not one of the dangers in the Church today? We are brought back to the power of words for good or ill, and the phenomenal swaying power of words from the mouth of anyone with a gift for getting their message across to those who hear them. Truth can be hidden and lost in the apparent blessings of such quality, but it is reassuring when words from the Bible, no more and no less, when brought to life by a gifted reader should convey the Truth to me.

It is little wonder that it has taken so many years to acquire my inner certainties, but it is a source of peace that I know they will never be lost.

Dear Lord, I know what lives as truth within me;
Let me not be misguided by the dark corners of my self.
Lead me always, that I may do nothing contrary to Your will,
And let me speak no more on this without Your bidding.

Inner truth

It always takes me by surprise when some aspect of my faith: my belief or disbelief; my agreement or disagreement with what I believe to be the general understanding, if not the clearly defined teaching of the Church, comes unexpectedly into clearer focus.

Such is now the case as a result of feelings generated by my recent meeting with Nancy (previous post) and by the recollection of particular qualities in other women who have figured in my faith journey, contrasting abruptly with the following words of St Paul read while randomly dipping into the Bible a few days ago; words previously skimmed with a thoughtless disregard as I have never taken them to be relevant in today’s world. This time, however, the words spoke loudly and deliberately from the page. I have learned to be attentive at such times.

‘As in all the churches of God’s holy people, women are to remain quiet in the assemblies, since they have no permission to speak: theirs is a subordinate part, as the Law itself says.’ (1 Corinthians 14:33,34)

I cannot imagine how some of the Christian women I have met, have know, and know today, feel when they read or hear such words.
What I do know, without any shadow of doubt, is that whatever the official line of the Church of which I am a committed life-member, and whatever the stated beliefs of other individuals whose opinions I trust and value, such verses from scripture are not to be taken as God’s instruction to His people in today’s Church. The Christ who is risen and dwells among us today in the ever-present form of the Holy Spirit, as well as in the intangible but undeniable form of the timeless wanderer of Palestine, Jesus: the constant Companion who has trodden life’s paths with others as He once trod them with me, expects us to have matured in our understanding over the last two thousand years. We are human; we are men and women; all that has changed over the last two millennia is proof of our advance in ability and understanding, while the frightening advance of evil that is entwined in those changes is also proof of our weakness and inherent vulnerability. Jesus knows our potential and our weakness: He has been there through His being here as a man, in the world, among men and women. He understands us, men and women both. He knows us.
My faith – not the apparent black and white of what I am supposed to believe through having been told, but the beliefs born of my awareness of God’s presence in my life: His promptings, His touch, and the ever present teaching and direction of His Spirit through my conscience – tells me, teaches me, leads me, shows me where I must look for certainty, where doubt, and where I should not look for anything, placing all my trust in Him and every corner of my life completely in His hands. I feel that my certainties come from Him and my continuing doubts live because I do not hear Him well enough: they live because my weakness and my sinfulness also live.

My certainties include my appreciation of the contributions made by women in the Church, and I shall always be willing to speak with them and for them as they strive against attitudes which do not come from the mind of God.
Women today need not ‘remain quiet in the assemblies’, since they require no permission to speak: theirs is no longer a subordinate part. Those who insist on trying to maintain the validity of every word in the Bible for today’s world are not allowing the Spirit of God to speak into their hearts, minds and souls. Wherever their supposed guidance comes from, it is not from our paternal and maternal parent, our Father God; it is not from Jesus, and nor is it from the Holy Spirit, both of whom are extensions of the Father and do only as He wills.
Deep within myself I know this, and having acquired my certainty in ways that are undeniable, I believe I know this as we all should know it: as a human being, as a member of the human family, and as a member of Christ’s Church as He would have it be. In this context, it is purely coincidental that I am a man.
I am a member of Christ’s Church, listening and watching for His return after two thousand years of waiting, and I would hope that when He does return He will find all of us, women and men, standing beside each other as equals. Until we achieve that end within His Church we shall never be ready for the reality of Christian unity, and we shall not be prepared for the day of our Lord’s return.

Much has been said and written about St Paul’s attitude to women, and, misogynist or not, (I believe not), his words are unavoidably there as part of his beliefs and teachings. If we believe the Bible to contain only inspired writings which are to be received as the Word of God, we have no way of avoiding or excluding their presence from our spiritual lives unless we include ourselves (if we dare be that honest) among the innumerable members of what is, in effect, the largest Christian denomination of all: the selective, live by this rule, bend that one, ignore the other, suit myself, ‘pick-and-mix’ Christians. Though non-existent as a coherent and communicating body, with their numbers including those who would never admit to sharing much in their backgrounds, denominational territory and rigidly protected grasp on the truth, these self-proclaimed Christians, collectively, though inadvertently, constitute a vast but nebulous ecumenical movement. They are bringing members of the various groups closer to each other by dissolving the barriers, though the resulting paths which would allow access between persons are so convoluted that they will not be seen, let alone be found and successfully followed. The barriers still separate as do the towering hedges of a maze, but there is a way of getting to the other side of every barrier; in the maze we know it, however confusing it may be, while in our selective acceptance and rejection of scripture, of dogma and of expectations, we never recognize our enabling of a mutual accessibility. That recognition would send many of us scurrying back to the denominational corners we had never knowingly left, where our spiritual worlds would carry on the same; we would still pick and choose but with a greater certainty that ecumenism is a very unhealthy idea; it is not for us: it is not for me, for him or for her; it is not for real Christians: my sort of Christians: my denomination: my church.

In spite of this hidden undercurrent of increased compatibility, this is a widespread weakening of what it means to be a Christian, and is, in fact, no friend of Christian unity. It is a movement towards the further splintering of an already fragmented Christianity; a progressive spread of the effects of allowing individuals to decide for themselves in matters of faith, biblical interpretation and adherence or otherwise to church teaching. It is the faltering and weakening, but still destructive outcome of protest upon protest; of difference upon difference; of division upon division: the inevitable outcome of prolonged and expanding Protestantism. Unity is impossible in such circumstances, and ecumenism will never blossom without the Catholic Church. (One does not have to look far to find those who regard ecumenism as a Catholic plot which is slowly seducing members of Protestant churches and their derivatives into moving closer to the Roman Catholic Church; something they insist should be avoided at all costs by every non-Catholic: in their thinking, by every ‘real’ Christian.)

What is as meaningful today as when it was first written is not what Paul had to say about the place of women in the Palestinian world of two thousand years ago. It is everything else: all that our Lord has said, and continues to say through him in his letters to the early churches. The very fact that his teaching rings true for Christians in today’s very different world is witness to the inspired nature of his writings. Those brief passages based on what was to become relegated to the past through his own teaching as much as anyone else’s, can so easily be laid aside as belonging to the world Jesus came to change, to supersede and to redeem. The quotation I reacted to so strongly begins and ends with the reason for Paul’s inclusion of it in his letter: ‘As in all the churches of God’s holy people ... as the Law itself says.’
Jesus brought us into new territory: into a new world and a new covenant. The Law belongs to the old world; to Paul’s old world. The Law and the old covenant are behind us if only we will let go of them. And who is this ‘we’? One answer of course is the Jewish people with their adherence to the Law and to the old covenant, but within Christ’s Church it is for the most part people like me. Not every member of the human race: man, woman and child, but men like me. The entire responsibility for the unwarranted continuation of the subjugation of women within the Church rests with every man who has ever called himself Christian while occupying a place of influence within the body of Christ. The responsibility rests with me.
My regret and my sense of shame end here.

May the very last words of the Bible echo within the hearts of every man and woman long after each closing of the book.

‘May the grace of the Lord Jesus be with you all. Amen.’
(Revelation 22:21)

Voices

As St Paul wrote in the already quoted 1 Corinthians 12:4-6, ‘There are many different gifts ... there are many different ways of serving ... there are many different forms of activity ...’; all are needed and all are of value in the building of God’s Kingdom and His Church, as well as in the advancing of individual sanctity and faith in both those who give and those who receive. ‘... it is always the same Spirit ... the same Lord ... the same God who is at work in them all.’

As I stepped out of our local shop yesterday, I recognized a lady getting into her car and was at once compelled to speak to her.

I know Nancy and her husband by sight and by name, being members of the same parish and having frequently seen them in church over the years, but I do not know them as people, as individual persons, as characters: in reality, I do not known them at all.

I am ashamed to say that I do not recall having ever spoken to either of them before.
It is a long time since I first became aware of just how many people there are whom I recognize, can put a name to, see regularly either as neighbours or as members of a congregation, and yet do not know even superficially. It has always been a slightly troubling awareness: an ongoing discomfort: a matter of conscience. Occasionally it has been more than that, reaching a level where it has almost become a hurt. When such a moment has arisen, it has always been coupled with regret and repentance for not having spoken earlier to whomever the person may be; that person always being someone for whom I have had something to say which has remained unsaid. I have had the thought but it has remained sterile because my voice has not been heard.

I have held my tongue through a combination of reasons which seem to take their turn at surfacing into consciousness; a shyness at meeting new people; a reluctance to be the one to make the initial approach; a fear of opening a contact too far and generating an acquaintance I do not wish to maintain; a fear of being asked to do something, or of being asked to go further than I want to go; a fear of others getting to know me; a fear of others comparing what they find with what they had previously assumed or guessed at, and learning that I fail their expectations on almost all counts. Spread thinly but undeniably throughout this unexceptional and very human mix of hesitancy, insecurity and inadequacy, is another strand which I find less easy to accept.
For one who thinks himself (whatever other faults be admitted) neither proud nor arrogant, to have my instinctive inclination to hang back suddenly laid out before me as a form of pride is disturbing and potentially frightening. It presents the possibility of this being the other side of the flipped ‘humility’ coin, where, once it is in the air nobody quite knows how it is going to land, and even when it comes to rest those present will see different end results, leading to continued disagreement and argument. I recall someone’s immediate response to the word ‘humble’ being used in a discussion, not with reference to any person but simply as the relevant word: – “If you ever think you are humble then you are definitely not.” A misuse and inappropriate emphasis and understanding, as I interpreted it, of a valuable way of looking at humility readily found in books, talks and teachings. I can already hear her voice somewhere saying, “If you think you are not proud, then you definitely are.” For me, an unhelpful thought; and not a helpful voice.

But there are other voices speaking other words, and I thank God for them.
What compelled me to speak to Nancy was her voice: her exceptionally helpful voice. If I had not responded to the inner prompting, letting another opportunity slip away, or if I had done so but hesitated long enough to be just too late to catch her, this would have become another of those moments: a hurt that may have lingered for days. But it did not.
Nancy and her husband, although almost strangers to me – and themselves perhaps not even recognizing me as, unlike them, I have not done anything to make them aware of my presence – are memorable to me through the use of their gifts. Through utilizing their giftedness they are recognized and valued for something more than being naturally gifted in the sense of skilfully exercising a nurtured talent; they are valued as being gifted by God in a way that has enabled the natural talent to be directed towards a maturity expressed for the benefit of others: for edification rather than an empty uttering of words. They are both gifted lectionary readers.

When that word ‘edification’ comes to mind, I normally think of the hoped-for results of preaching and teaching; of words derived from the spiritual thoughts of the speaker. I may benefit spiritually from reading the Bible to myself, away from all sounds and distraction, but I do not usually find listening to others reading the epistles or the psalms edifying. The scriptures come to mind only because that is the one place where I know I have come across the word, and St Paul speaks of it at a time when none of the New Testament existed in the written form we so easily take for granted today. Every early advance of Christ’s Church was achieved through the spoken words of the apostles and their followers until such documents as Paul’s letters began to be read aloud.
In his letter to the church at Ephesus Paul says, ‘let your words be for the improvement of others, as occasion offers, and do good to your listeners;’ (4:29). Of this verse St John Chrysostom said, ‘That is to say, what edifies your neighbour, that only speak, not a word more. For to this end God gave you a mouth and a tongue, that you might give thanks to Him; that you might build up your neighbour.’ (Homily 14 on Ephesians.)

Every verse of the Bible has the power to edify us; the limitations are in ourselves, not in the Word of God.
We must search and listen for the words that will bring us to life; they are in there somewhere, but it takes more than our coming across them to make us recognize them as the ones we need. We may not know them when they are first found, but with God’s blessing in the form of the right person crossing our path, we can have them brought to life, not simply in themselves through skilful presentation, but within ourselves through a gifted interpretation.
This is what Nancy and her husband have done for me, and though I have thought it frequently, the years have passed without my uttering a word to either of them – until yesterday. In touching me anew with the meaning of the words they have read, they have blessed me and lead me deeper into that meaning; they have drawn me further into my relationship with the Word behind, beneath and between the words.

Hearing and listening attentively to what we hear, begins an absorption into the Presence that underlies the words on the page. The Holy Spirit, through the gifted reader, lifts the words from the page and lays them before our understanding as a gift: as pearls that are not to be idly cast before those without the ears to hear. We are the ones for whom that gift is given; we are the ones for whom the reader has been blessed with the gift of turning God’s Word in scripture into edification rather than words of merely superficial worth. Such ability is the fruit of two natural gifts combining to become a spiritual gift given for the benefit of all who hear; the ability to interpret the written word, and to convey the interpretation without loss and without distraction through an inspired utterance of the words.

My thanks to Nancy and her husband: yes. But more than this; thank you Lord for them: for bringing them to us; for Your gift to them, and for our ability to hear Your Word more clearly through them.
Nancy’s path crossed mine yesterday, as mine crossed hers, and I have at last said what should have been said long ago: the words I needed to utter have been spoken. Perhaps, unknown to me, Nancy also needed to hear me speak.

For that also, dear Lord, I thank you.
Amen

Expressions

‘Philosopher George Santayana once remarked, “Art critics talk about art. Artists talk about where you can buy good turpentine.” ... True artists do not spend much time on talks or thoughts. They prefer to be absorbed in the concrete and direct experience of beauty instead of working with its abstractions.’ (Kenneth S. Leong. The Zen Teachings of Jesus.)

True artists are filled with an ability to see at least one aspect of the world around them in ways that others find impossible, improbable, and generally imperceptible; at best, their recognition may be intermittent or fleeting, or otherwise constant but foggy. Not only are the artists among us blessed with this ability, but they have a corresponding will to bathe in it as an essential part of their lives: it is simply part of them; it forms the empty canvases, the uncut stones, the blank pages, the unsung notes and the un-danced steps among which they search and breathe, strive and dream.
What makes them artists in the minds of others is their desire to express themselves and to reveal to the world at least a glimpse of what they have seen: to those unable to see for themselves and to those who may see but are unable to express and condense their attraction into the skilfully worked end-products we call works of art. Artists live in a balance of two abilities: the ability to see (to hear and to feel) and the ability to express what they see, the two being linked and brought into ever closer harmony by their desire to unite the two and by their longing for others to share in the experience. They are filled to overflowing with whatever inspires them to produce their artistic creations. Their art is the expression of, and the product of their absorption.

Insofar as I do not regularly draw, or paint, or sculpt, or compose, or perform, I am not an artist; but there is a hidden part of me that knows well that I am an artist. I write a little, most of what I complete ending up among the pages I post here, but even without that, and with little if any other evidence to support my instinctive awareness, there is much in me that feels that I am an artist. I have always shied away from any realization of those feelings in purposeful forms of proclamation or action, but I have never avoided my natural tendency toward stillness and a quiet that allows entry to a more than superficial awareness of the natural world around me. That tendency has placed me at the disposal of a leading that takes me deeper into, rather than further out in, that world; toward something that beckons me even further into the beauty and the quiet of which so many seem unaware.
The artist is absorbed in a direct experience of beauty; I am absorbed in the Presence that underlies the tranquillity and harmony which enable the manifestation of beauty. The artist is driven to create an expression of his or her interpretation of the experience; I am compelled to express my awareness of the Presence. The artist strives to create a form that conveys the interpretation to his or her own satisfaction, while hoping that others will correctly interpret the work for themselves. I struggle to achieve similar ends with whatever I write, hoping to convey something of the underlying peace and truth – the Presence – in ways that are accessible to those who may read it, and in a form that speaks back to me.

When I began writing here, with consciousness overfilled and pressing with a sense of having something to say, but with no real idea of what it was I should speak of, I knew that attempts to unravel my thoughts would take me closer to wherever I was meant to be going. My very first words summed up my feeling at the time; - ‘Wherever this may lead, I hope it will lead both of us there: not just you, and not just me’ - and in knowing that those words still ring as true for me today, I find confirmation that I am heading in the right direction: ‘that quiet "Amen" to the sometimes doubted validity of our journey’ that we all need from time to time.
I wander along my path, trying not to move far from the edge beyond which I find an increasingly unfathomable but compelling attraction: an untouchable certainty somewhere out there in the mists of an eternal paradox. I hope I shall continue my walk until I have no more steps in me, and if my future overflowing happens to include the continuation of this trail of words scattered among my footsteps, I hope anyone picking them up will find something for themselves among them: a seed that may lodge and take root within their own prepared and fertile ground.
Just as artists must come to terms with the fact that many viewers of their work will not grasp the message they are conveying, so too I am aware that however I attempt to convey my thoughts in words, they will have little meaning for many who dip into them. I must trust that those who do grasp whatever I try to say will benefit in some way from what they find, and I must hope that those who do not will find the expressions of other writers and artists full of meaning for them. We must each follow our own leads, and for me, on these pages, that means writing in the only way I can: in the way that comes naturally to me.

Such thoughts raise within me the possibility of doing something I have not done before.
It is possible that the absence of any list of blogs I read, and the fact that there is no facility for posting comments at The Very Edge suggests that I was never likely to include here any reference to other blogs. However, I am aware that many who visit here will be looking for something I cannot give, or for the same theme but expressed in different, and for them more meaningful ways, and will benefit from such offerings if only they could find them. There are an awful lot of blogs out there, and once the choice has been narrowed down to more manageable numbers, it is still easy to believe that what you are searching for does not exist, or that the very words you need may have been written but you will never know it because you will never find them.
Anyone feeling compelled to write for others on spiritual matters is, at heart, an artist; some of course are a great deal more. We see, hear and feel something in a way that has simply become a part of us, and in a way we long to share with others. Our experiences differ but the Presence that gives rise to our fullness, and to our wish to communicate it to others, is the same: the same Spirit dwells within each of us.

‘There are many different gifts, but it is always the same Spirit; there are many different ways of serving, but it is always the same Lord. There are many different forms of activity, but in everybody it is the same God who is at work in them all.’ (1 Corinthians 12:4-6)

Any one of us can walk through an Art Gallery regarding some exhibits as rubbish, others as passable, and recognizing others as works of art, in each case judgement being based on our own tastes and sensibilities, not on what others might say. In the midst of all this variety it is the occasional vision from which we cannot easily tear ourselves away that makes us continue our search, longing for more. In our own ways, we who write in this wordy web are providing the same possibilities for all who wander the internet galleries. Those of us who are absorbed in our faith, following a lead and feeling compelled to share our spiritual imperatives, are here for a reason: we are to attempt the production, not of works of art, but of meaningful seed-sowing invitations to others to take their place, to trust and to persevere on their own spiritual paths toward the life God holds out to all mankind. Through our own absorption we hope to attract others, not to ourselves, but to the Presence in which we are absorbed. Each of us is writing for someone, somewhere.

I have recently been reminded of how diverse we all are in our spiritual lives, even when rooted in the same traditions; past experiences have been recalled where differences have become apparent between people who are outwardly the same; sharing the same faith, the same priests and other religious contacts, and the same parish communities and church buildings. But having spent time reading a blog that brought these things to mind, I recognized within it the same essential similarity underlying our differences that holds together the diversity of belief and interpretation within any spiritual community. We are following parallel paths, always seeking for ourselves but knowing that we are far enough into our journeys to feel the responsibility to hold our hands out to others whose paths we may cross. Every one of us needs a steadying hand at some time, whether as encouragement, consolation or in the unsteadiness of overwhelming joy.

If you should find that my offerings are not for you, I hope you will continue to search for the words you seek; it matters that you do.
They are out there somewhere, and you will know them when they are found.


Dear Lord, grant that my words among these pages may never be evidence of my foolishness. Grant that I may, as did Francesco Bernadone, ‘not so much seek to be understood as to understand.’

‘A fool takes no pleasure in understanding but only in airing an opinion.’
(Proverbs 18:2)

And called again

It is the reality of our being called that makes the difference: not only that we are indeed being called, but that the call itself is the voice of Truth. On hearing it our potential is shifted from one of goodness alone to goodness willingly submitted to the direction of the Holy Spirit. Our awareness of it is our reception of a deeper communication directly to ourselves from that Truth. It is a calling forth of the gifts we have been given; a calling forth, from beneath the worldly cloaks with which we have clothed ourselves, of the persons we were made to be.
Every one of us is called at some time to respond to the inner promptings and external signs that strive for recognition in our lives. Recognition is our first acknowledgement of having heard the call and of having known it for what it is: a call to respond and follow in ways already built into our individual traits of nature and character, whether through direct action, organization, proclamation, protection, guidance, teaching, mercy; as a minister in the Church, as a religious, or as laity. It is to recognize our gifts, or, if these are not yet discernable, to recognize our giftedness, and to become aware of the direction in which we are being pointed and led. It is to fall more closely into step with what we refer to as our vocation; something we may more clearly see in others than in ourselves.

'Where your talents and the needs of the world cross, there lies your vocation.'

(attributed to Aristotle.)

The needs of the world are many and diverse; those of communities frequently various and mingled, with priorities confused and sometimes unclear; those of individuals commonly all but undecipherable to everyone but themselves. The needs of the world and of large communities are manifest but are not plain for all to see. In this age of rapid and easily accessible communication we learn of desperate situations and disasters around the world almost as soon as they occur. We turn on the television, radio or computer and the news pours into our homes. In general, we are not able to remain unaware of the sufferings of others when these occur suddenly and on a large scale, but the reality of the suffering evades us, however much we may protest that we find it horrific, unbearable, unforgivable, evil, impossible to imagine ... However deeply we believe we feel it, the reality is imperceptible to the majority of mankind.

In our early history we had no knowledge of what occurred in other parts of the world because we were unaware of the existence of those places. As the extent of the world was discovered and revealed we found ourselves able to travel between known places on the Earth’s surface and to bring news and knowledge home with us. We learnt of distant happenings – news of wars, of conquests and of unimagined wonders rather than of the then inconsequential sufferings of distant peoples. What we did learn was recent history rather than current news: facts which may have been entirely swept away by the time we came to know them. Today we know – in the broadest sense – what is happening right now around the world. And closer to home – as close as one can get, where we have no better means of knowing the truth about our neighbours’ lives than did our ancestors in Old Testament times – what of our knowledge and our sympathies here? We live our insulated lives, minding our own business while others mind theirs, and for the most part never really getting to know the people who live within calling distance of us.
And here we are within reach of a call again; this one is the call of person to person: of man to man, of woman to woman. It is also the call of man to woman and woman to man, but there is so much in needs expressed between the genders that can divert us from an otherwise ‘super-natural’ call into a consciously natural empathy and distracting mutual attraction, that this is best, not excluded, but held aside to prevent the understanding being unnecessarily confused by the purely natural possibilities.

It is logical to assume that we are most closely anchored to our human existence in community by our relationships with those who live closest to us, and there are of course many instances where this is the case. But generally this is merely part of the scenery we prepare for the middle acts of whatever play we are presently acting in; it bears little resemblance to act I: scene I, where everyone is equally unknown and apparently alone, before the intrigues, relationships and gossips fill both our eager expectations and our spiritual voids. It is even further from the longed for reality of the final act, where nature and supernature combine in the fulfilment of our scarcely experienced and barely understood dreams. Apart from the few real and meaningful friendships we may have among our neighbours, we remain distant and unknown to each other. Our lives lack the necessary common denominator that will bring us together: the shared faith, complete with all the doubts and fears that we shrink from ever disclosing. And without real, truthful and loving contact with others we are forever withering at the end of the bough, in danger of dying back still further and being cut out and cast aside when the vine is assessed and pruned for the coming harvest.
We are not meant to be entirely alone in our spiritual search, nor during our journey, and we should not seek to remain alone when trying to respond to our call. This applies not only to the individual somewhat distant or reserved member of the laity, whether completely outside a church community or well within, but to the recognized pillars of such communities including, and in some cases especially, the ministers themselves. They, above all of us, have gone beyond the point of no return in their commitment to the responsibility that comes with their gifts and their recognized vocation.

'Once the hand is laid on the plough, no one who looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.’

(Luke 9:62)

This was Jesus’ response to someone willing to follow Him but who wanted to say goodbye to his family first. A complete surrender to one’s vocation and a committed following of our Lord and submission to the guidance of the Holy Spirit requires a shelving of all previous priorities and commitments; a turning away from all that was previously held dear; not a literal forgetting of one’s family, but a recognition of the new and irreplaceable purpose of one’s life.
However total our commitment we remain human: we are women and men until the moment of our death, and as such we shall be forever distracted and tempted to waver from our course. Anyone working in line with their vocation is no longer sidelined by the schemes and falsehoods of Satan, and will be constantly attacked wherever their walls are weakest. All persons with power and influence within the Church, especially our priests, will be assailed by inflammations of their inbuilt tendencies; pride or greed, or the natural longing for companionship and understanding, love, and joy in the everyday experience of their human life in this beautiful world, the full appreciation of which can only be enjoyed when shared with others.

‘... you begin to consider what personal fulfilment you would secure in a home of your own, and all at once you seem to realise how much easier everything would be if you had the affection of a wife and the presence of children who would compel your steadfast attention. With this prospect in mind, which in the hour of temptation seems obvious, the contract binding you to our Lord looks empty, drab, too much of a burden, and without apparent result.’ (René Voillaume. Brothers of Men.)

George Herbert, amid thoughts of breaking free, began his poem, The Collar –

'I Struck the board, and cry’d, “No more.

I will abroad.”

The poem builds with a determination to say what he feels and to cast off the constraints of priesthood and obedience to something holding him back from experiencing all that life has to offer: something which has trapped him and restrained him by a tether once seeming so real but now felt to be mere imagination.
But then, in the final lines of the poem, he hears once more the gentle voice ... and in that moment faith, submission, and recognition of his vocation return to their place in his life.

Lord, May we never lose our ability to hear and respond to your call.

‘But as I rav’d and grew more fierce and wilde

At every word,

Me thoughts I heard one calling, "Childe":
And I reply’d, "My Lord".

Hearken !

Our preference for maintaining the status quo and our willingness to remain apart from one another stem from our failure to see ourselves as we really are.
We know we have our faults and have made mistakes along the way, but we have suppressed our regret and our remorse in order to minimize their effects on our ability to maintain our self-image. We may worry about how others see us, but how we see ourselves is of far greater importance; it is what enables us to project an air of self-sufficiency and confidence, and a well maintained self-image allows us to keep the constant pricking of conscience from weakening our resolve to stand firm. We conceal our essential aloofness beneath a superficial openness and friendly smiles on the face of the gregarious shell concealing our vulnerability. All feelings of weakness and humility are denied; our pride rules, and nothing must be allowed to bring us down.
Thus we are successfully restrained by our own imagination: by the envisaged unacceptable consequences of breaking out from our seclusion, and behind that restraint is a shadowy presence, as it were, contentedly drumming fingers on the list of wrongdoings we are unable to leave behind. Wisdom and Prudence have become unrecognizable. Our failure to see or feel the power that presses us deeper into the shadows, confirming our shame and our sinfulness, distorts any occasional appreciation of quiet solitude into a felt need for continued isolation. One of the most effective tools in keeping us from contributing to the building of God’s kingdom has halted us in our tracks. Satan has us securely bound; he has, as it were, taken us out of the game. For as long as we remain in this state he has no further need to concentrate on us; we keep ourselves inactive without any great trials or aggressive attacks from him. He knows we are incapable of standing against him. He is right, for we do not see our predicament for what it is: we have come close to believing in the image we project and we have no inkling of his involvement in our suppressed inner struggles. We have almost shut our conscience away deeply enough to make it inaudible: almost, but not quite; and we please him most by having almost completely forgotten that he exists.

Despite the difficulties involved in dragging ourselves out of these depths, great things can happen when we are in isolation. Of itself (and in this particular situation) the isolation is more likely to be a hindrance than a blessing, though The Holy Spirit can and does transform individual lives wherever and whenever God wills. What brings our solitary sorrowing to God’s feet with a longing for His touch is the radical dismantling of our self-image and our descent into a sense of utter lostness.
Hagar, abandoned in the desert with Ishmael, her son, heard ‘the angel of God’ calling to her: ‘What is wrong Hagar?’ he asked. ‘Do not be afraid, for God has heard the boy’s cry in his plight. Go and pick the boy up and hold him safe, for I shall make him into a great nation’ (Genesis 21:17,18).
Here we have the Bible’s portrayal of God’s first indication that Ishmael was dear to Him and would achieve great things. (See also 16:7-12 and 21:13, 19-21). The Qur’an also tells the story of Abraham, Ishmael and Issac, and though the differences one would expect to find in two entirely separate sources are evident, the story is essentially the same.
We are all called to that place at God’s feet, and whether we are within the Church, on the fringes of it, or outside it, we are called together; our paths, however separated and seemingly irreconcilable, are all heading in the same direction. Much of the troubled disagreement between us arises from the inevitable narrowing of the spaces between our paths as we move inexorably toward a distant convergence.

The descendents of Ishmael are spoken of first in a Vatican II document referring to those who are outside the Church but nevertheless sharing the same call:
‘...the plan of salvation ...includes those who acknowledge the Creator. In the first place amongst these there are the Mohammedans, who, professing to hold the faith of Abraham, along with us adore the one and merciful God, who on the last day will judge mankind. Nor is God far distant from those who in shadows and images seek the unknown God, for it is He who gives to all men life and breath and all things, and as Saviour wills that all men be saved. Those also can attain to salvation who through no fault of their own do not know the Gospel of Christ or His Church, yet sincerely seek God and moved by grace strive by their deeds to do His will as it is known to them through the dictates of conscience. Nor does Divine Providence deny the helps necessary for salvation to those who, without blame on their part, have not yet arrived at an explicit knowledge of God and with His grace strive to live a good life. Whatever good or truth is found amongst them is looked upon by the Church as a preparation for the Gospel. She knows that it is given by Him who enlightens all men so that they may finally have life.’ (Lumen Gentium 16.)

Pope John Paul II has also referred to the breadth of inclusiveness that calls for the Church to enfold all of us, however far away or lost we believe ourselves to be.
‘... we need to look further and go further afield, knowing that "the wind blows where it wills," according to the image used by Jesus in his conversation with Nicodemus (John 3:8). The Second Vatican Council, centered primarily on the theme of the Church, reminds us of the Holy Spirit's activity also "outside the visible body of the Church." The council speaks precisely of "all people of good will in whose hearts grace works in an unseen way. For, since Christ died for all, and since the ultimate vocation of man is in fact one, and divine, we ought to believe that the Holy Spirit in a manner known only to God offers to every man the possibility of being associated with this Paschal Mystery." (Dominum et vivificantem 53)

Left entirely to our own devices, most of us lack the faith, the strength and the perseverance to turn our awareness of shame and sinfulness from the negative and wounding confirmation received from the powers that restrain us, into our own distressing but healing admissions in the sight of the One whose love and whose power will free us.
We need the increased faith and strength that comes from daring to merge our own vulnerability with the jumbled doubts and fears of others. Focussing our thoughts and our conversation on matters of faith, even if only with one other person, for an occasional few minutes when the opportunity arises is all that is needed to begin the process. There are times when we are already assembled with a common purpose and with our shared accumulations of beliefs and doubts only just beneath the surface. It takes just one of us to begin.
Let us communicate with each other beyond the ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye’, and the everyday chatter in car parks or over cups of tea and coffee. We all have the same Spirit within us, driving us towards a standing up and a speaking out, but all fear of the consequences dissolves in the completely unseen and private decision to allow our conscience to be heard. There is the voice, the touch, the impenetrable way cleared for our journey, and the path pointed out.
Our vocation already resides deep within us. Let us release it, that we may hear it and understand.
‘Hearken’ is an old word but the urgency of its meaning lives on.

‘In the end the notion that someone was “calling” me won’t make one bit of difference. Unless it is the truth.’
(Paula D’Arcy. Where The Wind Begins.)

Within limits

We have come so far and yet we have barely begun.
That occasional thought: that random awareness, regardless of our levels of understanding or realization of its meaning, or its value to our awakening consciousness, is something of which we all have an inbuilt need. As a species we have become a truly global phenomenon – as we were meant to be – but in spite of our easily acquired impressions that we are at the height of our powers, we have only recently begun to awaken to our place within the vastness of creation; indeed we have only just begun to appreciate the vastness itself. We are born to become not merely global but a universal phenomenon.

Within the sum total of our knowledge, mankind is remarkable; and as our knowledge continues to expand into the presently unimaginable, we shall reveal to ourselves that we are forever remarkable. Ultimately we shall reach a point where we can progress no further without an astonished and humbling acknowledgement that we have need of revelation from beyond ourselves. The final and complete knowledge of our existence can only be revealed to us from beyond our limitations.
The glory of mankind is seen by many as being that we are without limitations: that we have no limit other than our own capacity for perseverance, our desire to know, our adventurous spirit and our daring. The fact that we perceive no boundaries to our place and our belonging is one of the wonders of the human race, but today, as from the very beginning, our presumptuousness overrides the central powerhouse of our consciousness: the seed of our remarkable presence within Earth’s creative bloom: the heart of our phenomenal existence within eternity’s whispers. It overrides conscience.

The wisdom that first conveyed mankind’s reach beyond the stability and safety of his limitations in the story of the Garden of Eden, is still expressed and ignored today. That garden with its one faint echo of something else, something more, something beyond, something illicit but irresistible – what harm can it do? The first vague thought that led to a dwelling on the possibility, the probability and then the seeming inevitability of the hand reaching out; that first touch; the daring to pluck the fruit from its bough; the apple held, desired, retained and possessed – that single bite; the juice, the taste, the knowing. The apple: the apple of the tree: the tree of the knowledge: the knowledge of that which was not to be part of mankind’s relationship with creation and Creator. The knowledge of having gone beyond; of having gone awry; of having attempted to bypass the life-support system with which we had been blessed, by a guessed at short-cut to knowing what we had no reason to ever imagine, let alone experience as a downgraded form of existence. The knowledge of having separated ourselves from our natural integrity and from our supernatural unity. Mankind has been misfiring ever since.

Each one of us lives through this same situation every day, hidden in the realities of our own individual lives with their unseen ebb and flow of virtues and vice; their tangle of confused sorrow and tears, comfort and joy; the give and take of day-to-day loves, hates, injustices and hesitations over our own desires and cares, and the needs of others. And throughout the entire ongoing mêlée, the conscience is either brushed aside, or its discomforting prompts are felt and cringed at only until buried deep beneath the piles of muffling exterior sounds we pile upon them.

Any idea that we differ from the people around us: that we are not like them: that we are better than them – as believed the Pharisee at prayer, ‘I thank you, God, that I am not grasping, unjust, adulterous like everyone else ...’ (Luke 18:11) – must be banished as soon as it surfaces. We are the sinner we see in others, and it is our separation that allows us to ignore the reflection of ourselves that confronts us every day in other people’s weaknesses. Our continued willingness, even preference, to remain apart is our way of ensuring that we do not have to confront our hidden shame. We fear the unavoidable meeting with our conscience that we sense to be part and parcel of our moving closer to one another, and if our well constructed barriers begin to weaken we dare not risk that meeting; we know we shall be unable to stand in the inevitable light without breaking utterly. Deep within, we know well that we have not built our lives upon rock, and we want no part of anything that hints at reminding us, let alone something that shows the promise of transformation with all the self-recognition that would entail.

‘Some people have put conscience aside and wrecked their faith in consequence.’ (1 Timothy 1:19)

The truth about ourselves is partly buried by our desire to maintain our image, not necessarily projected, but quietly slotted into place over time by our being regularly seen and superficially known by those around us. We fear accusations of hypocrisy even if we find ourselves unable to imagine being hypocrites; we sense that others will quickly fill that gap, and if we have any particular regrets or unforgettable reasons for feelings of shame, we fear these being brought into the open and we remain inconspicuous, on the fringes of the Church, or even completely outside the Christian community. Having found fault in our lives people will find it easy to doubt everything we say; how can our faith and our gifts be recognized and bear fruit in such a situation? Even without such debilitating concerns the deep-seated need to maintain one’s image can still extend the silence, even among long-standing church members.

It needs all of us to build a worthwhile community: those whose experience and gifts demand that they take their share of responsibility, those who need their support, and all those between the two who shun responsibility but feel no particular need for anything from others. Needed as much as these are all those on the fringes and beyond who are looking in and wondering whether they could, whether they should, and whether they dare.

‘No believer can stand back and say “I have nothing to contribute”.’ (David Pytches. Come Holy Spirit.)

A powerful sense of belonging should underpin all family life. The Church is both family and home, and we should all feel the welcome and the belonging that should thrive within her folds; there are no limitations to either of these.
If their edges are clearly defined there is much work to be done.

If there is no belonging, then Christ is not in it; it is not the Church.

.

Belonging

It is reasonable to assume that many people rarely experience belonging in ways that make them feel and believe that they really do belong. Most of us are held in an all-pervading form of comfort which runs through our lives, seeming to sustain and support our general acceptance of ourselves and others in the world at large. While this maintains a baseline of confidence in our worth and in our right to claim our share of whatever the world has to offer, it also provides a contradictory means of dissolving that acceptance into an unnoticed and unrealized lack of awareness. This is where we are; we are used to being here; everything here is familiar to us; this is where we belong. We think no further than this. For as long as there is nothing to jolt us out of our comfortable numbness, we fail to even register that we have no sense of belonging. This pseudo-sense of home and of collective safety is born of our worldly existence as social beings; we live and we function in groups, as do many other creatures; as do sheep.
This is why the question rarely arises in our minds; without something to trigger an awakening, we do not even understand what belonging is: we have no way of knowing what it means and how it feels to belong. We really are sheep, and we will not be able to appreciate the food available to us until we have been rounded up from the hillsides and gathered into the safety of the fold.
How can any of us truly belong if we do not feel it? Basing our assessment of truth in our own lives solely on feelings is usually regarded as a distinctly unreliable means of progressing, but, more than anything else, belonging is a feeling, and it is generated through the deepening of our relationships with each other. More than this, it is a powerful antidote for those powers quietly working to maintain our disinterest and our separation, not only from each other, but from any awareness of our relationship with God.

‘The Christians describe (God) as one “without whom Nothing is strong”. And Nothing is very strong: strong enough to steal away a man’s best years not in sweet sins but in a dreary flickering of the mind over it knows not what and knows not why, in the gratification of curiosities so feeble that the man is only half aware of them, in drumming of fingers and kicking of heels, in whistling tunes that he does not like, or in the long, dim labyrinth of reveries that have not even lust or ambition to give them a relish, but which, once chance association has started them, the creature is too weak and fuddled to shake off.’ (C. S. Lewis. The Screwtape Letters.)

In almost every occupation, interest, social group or activity, we can be regarded as belonging in a variety of ways and at different levels, both by ourselves and by others. Some of these have real meaning, while others are accepted as being mere tokens allowing easy access to superficial memberships of what is already open to all. We have our club-cards with which to gain points or other ‘benefits’ at the supermarket checkouts and from countless other stores and groups. Such examples do bring measurable benefits but not anything we can really believe to be worthwhile. What they successfully do, and what they are designed to do, is encourage us to return rather than take our custom and our ‘membership’ elsewhere.

I do not know of any churches which offer club-cards, though I have little doubt that they exist. It takes only a small shift in focus and in the intentions of those who organize such things, to change a genuine desire to develop effective outreach programmes and to help others, into an almost incestuous self-supporting system that offers discounts and other inducements, and access to such things as financial and legal services operated by members of the church. This gradually builds and strengthens an ‘in house’ attitude to a wide variety of things not directly connected with the work of the church; at least, not connected with what the church’s work should be.

It can quickly deteriorate further into a reflection of the business and marketing world in which it has grown, aiming for continual growth and regarding ‘membership’ numbers and their level of financial contribution as the most important measures of success.
It must be said that many such churches can and do also generate a real sense of belonging through their effective use of interpersonal skills, fellowship and following up after new contacts have been made, but, in some, the structure and the forces underlying the welcome and the wish to retain can stamp the entire enterprise with a marketing strategy label.

This is what belonging to a church can be: a lively experience and a sense of belonging similar to that which could be found in any other happy social gathering; but what makes for belonging in the Christian community sense is beyond all this. It can be missing from churches similar to the outline above just as it can be absent from those seeming to be unchangeable in their hushed and apparently irrelevant greyness. This does not only relate to particular churches of whatever denomination, but can be the sum total of our ‘belonging’ to The Church, to Christ’s Church complete with its guiding and enabling power of the Holy Spirit. This is being in touch with the Church without being touched by it. And being no more than in touch with it becomes a habit; we drift into a soporific void slowly losing all touch with God, His Word and His Church.
C. S. Lewis’s Devil continues, ‘... the only thing that matters is the extent to which you separate the man from (his God). It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one – the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts, ...’ (The Screwtape Letters.)

How can those of us who are within the Church attract, welcome, befriend and encourage those who may think to approach us from outside, when the only ones appearing to ask meaningful questions, who are journeying and seeking the answers, are those who hesitantly arrive at our door? It is essential that Christians be awakened from their sleep, and, with many of us unable or unwilling to rouse ourselves, those who are already awake must persistently strive to awaken others.
The words of Jesus to Peter when foretelling his denials of knowing Him, and his subsequent grief, repentance and return to strength, demonstrate both the recovery and growth to maturity required of us, and the fall from our own self-assurance that is frequently necessary before we are able to recognize the need for that fall and recovery in our arrival at real conviction.

“Look, Satan has got his wish to sift you all like wheat; but I have prayed for you, ... that your faith may not fail, and once you have recovered, you in your turn must strengthen your brothers.” (Luke 22:31,32)

In general terms, those who regard themselves as being part of the Church: those who are known and recognized as members of their own particular church congregations, parish communities and faith groups, have either arrived at a level of conviction –like Peter– that carries the responsibility to ‘strengthen’ their fellow members, or unknowingly make up the body of untouched Christians to whom I have been referring: those who need the support and encouragement of the ones who have already been enlivened by God’s touch. But the Church reaches beyond these apparently clear but non-existent boundaries to include real but seemingly invisible men and women. It includes everyone who entertains the thought that the Church may hold the answers, the safety, the acceptance and the spiritual home they seek. Every person presently out of touch with the Church, searching and possibly longing for contact and inclusion, and who sees enough in their limited external view of the Church to believe it may have the answers, is of immense importance to the life of the Church – and this has nothing to do with head counts. As individuals they have no less worth in the mind of God than any person with an established and visible place within the Church. Would that we could believe the same about our own views of membership and belonging.
If, as you read this, you recognize yourself as one who is outside the Church but aware of an inner calling to approach, however faint that call may be, be aware also, that your moving in from beyond the outer edge of Christian faith to the possibility of welcome and growth within it, is not only an answering of your own calling, but is necessary to the spiritual strength and wellbeing of those already within the Church. Your arrival, and your expression of a need to discover and to know, has the potential to awaken dormant hearts and minds; you can bring a badly needed jolt from an unexpected direction. We have need of you to walk with us every bit as much as you may need us during parts of your journey.

The world saw nothing remarkable or worthy about the people Jesus called to be His Apostles, but He knew them: He knew the men they had been born to become. He had need of them; He called, and they followed.

Becoming aware of being called or touched makes us members of the wider Church, belonging to a large but mostly unseen group of companions, Christ’s followers, sharing in the journey and having the potential to support one another. (January 2007 posts: ‘Companionship for the journey.’) Even hanging back as a half-hidden follower of His followers, rather than of Jesus Himself, finds us all on the same hillside; in following these other people we are already following our Lord before consciously acknowledging recognition of Him. All that is needed to gain access to the food, the shelter and the safety we all need, and that He alone has made available to us, is to respond fully to the call; to come right into the fold with His closer followers: to step into the light and take our place within His Church.

‘And at once they left their nets and followed him.’ (Matthew 4:20)

The Catholic in me (5)

There is no longer any real struggle within me over conscience and belief in connection with the teachings of the Church.
I take more interest now in what the Church teaches than at any earlier stage of my life’s journey, but my interest is not accompanied by any overwhelming sense that I must believe what I am told to believe, and must do what the Church tells me to do. I do have a lingering feeling that I ought to do as I am told, and ought to believe according to whatever the Church says, but I interpret this as an echo of the unquestioning fear that kept so many returning to their church pews in past years.
It is easier and safer to go along with routines and rules, whether written or unwritten, than to risk any action or expression of doubt or disbelief which would draw attention to oneself; attention that could result in anything from merely being frowned upon by some, and somewhat distanced from the fellowship previously enjoyed (if indeed there was any fellowship as opposed to secular friendship), to being shunned and completely ostracized by one’s fellow ‘Christians’. And heaven forbid that, once begun, this process should continue to the point where we may be confronted with the likelihood of excommunication from the Church. However remote this possibility may in fact be, the barely understood reality of such a separation and its possible causes hovers in the mind’s recesses in such a way that it plays its part in keeping the mouths of those who doubt firmly closed.

The fear experienced has not been a trembling in the face of imagined consequences so much as an underlying unease, among those around us as well as within ourselves, that someone might rock the boat by expressing a doubt or disagreement with which we are already burdened. As long as everyone maintains the outwardly peaceful status quo by remaining willing to bury their heads in the sand as often as may be necessary, we will all get along fine in everything from ecumenism to Eucharist and from love to liturgy; from riches to reconciliation and from poverty to prayer; this harmony may extend to encompass all parishioners and priests. We will rest easy in the knowledge that our own church – the one each of us believes to be how we imagine it to be – is the same today as it was yesterday, and if nothing draws attention to its instability, that it will still be the same tomorrow. If it has remained unchanged for many years, then surely it must be a rock upon which we can safely continue to stand.

In much of Europe today, Britain included, there are more people searching for a spiritual home than there are those who believe they already have one. Leaving aside those who are already part of a faith community, how can an active seeker after spiritual sustenance find reasons to think of joining a church if all they appear to offer is a house of cards, held together by a strangely peaceful combination of intellectual laziness, rugged individualism and spiritual numbness that makes their members ideally suited to being part of a flock? Jesus knew well what people were like; He knew that most of those who followed Him would never complete their spiritual journeys on their own: left to themselves they would drift and fall away; and He knows that we are still the same today.

“Feed my sheep.” (John 21:17 ) He told Peter. We are His sheep, and we need constant feeding and shepherding even to maintain our present position as part of a community of believers. To advance both our faith and our fellowship we need to be fed well, by today’s Peter and by the Bishops and priests whose task it is to bring the reality of God to life in the Holy Spirit led Church which exists for every one of us, but we particularly need to be fed by each other. Our individual relationships, our belonging and functioning as part of a parish or local community, our commitment to truth and justice and the need for all denominations to meet and draw closer together: an underlying commitment to the longing for the unity of all Christians; all these are both food and journey. Our own experiences form part of our journey, while our awareness of and involvement in the journeys of others provides food for our own, just as their sharing in our journey provides them with food for theirs.

In so many of life’s encounters outside the parish community, or away from our small groups of spiritual friends, we should be asking, ‘What would Jesus do?’ ‘What would Jesus say?’ If we can find the right answers to those questions, and act accordingly, we truly are Christians. Those answers will come through the guidance of the Holy Spirit; that is what He is here for, and in seeking that guidance we are striving for all that is truth. When we do this collectively, even if only two at a time, we are being the Church: we are proclaiming and advancing God’s Kingdom in Christ’s presence.

“For where two or three meet in my name, I am there among them.” (Matthew 18:20)

Immediately before saying (in ‘Shaping our Future’), that ‘the church today’ is still ‘constituted by and utterly dependent upon the Holy Spirit’, J.S.Freeman wrote, ‘The church itself is ... not a sacred trust given to one generation to be handed on to the next, or a human institution to be carefully guarded or even carefully reformed for human purposes...’ (Quoted by Alan Abernethy in ‘Fulfilment and Frustration'.) The Church was instituted by Jesus for God’s purposes and for the benefit of mankind, not for mankind’s purposes and, if it should happen to coincide, for God’s benefit. Still less was it devised and instituted by mankind.

In his encyclical, On the Holy Spirit in the Life of the Church and the World, Pope John Paul II wrote of Baptism, ‘... the life-giving power of the Sacrament which brings about sharing in the life of the Triune God, for it gives sanctifying grace as a supernatural gift to man. Through grace, man is called and made "capable" of sharing in the inscrutable life of God.’ (Dominum et vivificantem 9.)

Does baptism have any value? Does it matter to us whether or not a baby is baptized?
Having spent time thinking about that young mother and her baby, I find myself longing for the baptism to take place. Yes, it does matter. Being ‘made capable’ of receiving all that God offers is not something any man or woman should knowingly deny to another.
Those of us who are baptized have been blessed with this capability, and it lives within us whether we are churchgoers or not. As adults, it is up to us to realize our blessings. Even those of us who give no more thought to God than to ‘religiously’ attend a weekly church service, blindly marking time in our pews and making sure we do not rock the boat, particularly for ourselves, are in touch with the reality of Christ’s Church. But being in touch with it is not enough; we must allow ourselves to be touched by it, to be fed by it, to be sheltered and healed by it if we are to become Christians in more than name. Then, as the Spirit lives in us, so shall we live in the Spirit. For those who are searching, we, individually and as a community, shall then become their reason to approach Christ’s Church.

I enjoy every contact I have with other churches and shall never regard any supposed differences between us as being anything other than what they are: entirely man made, and therefore completely within our own control. The complete unity of all Christians into one living whole – the Church as it is meant to be – is for us to aim for and to achieve. We already have the answer to all possible doubts, disbeliefs, divisions and protestations: the Holy Spirit. And if God is with us, and if we believe, why should we still fear a little unsteadiness? Why do we imagine everything turning into a storm? And if the storm does come, the only thing truly fearful about it is our own doubt.

‘... as they sailed He fell asleep ... they went to rouse Him saying, “Master! Master! We are lost!” (Luke 8:23, 24).

If we still allow ourselves to be ruled by doubt we have yet to embrace the change from being in touch with the Church to being touched by it. It is the touch that will bring both ourselves and the Church to life. It is the touch that makes us the Church.

The food is here in abundance. I have quoted above from one of Pope John Paul II’s encyclicals, and every such document is a powerful expression of a truth which awakens more deeply within the reader. I increasingly find such writings helpful as information and interpretation, both in their own right and in connection with my own directions and levels of belief, but more noticeably, and more relevantly, without quite understanding what it is they stir within me, these documents repeatedly confirm to me not only that I am a member of Christ’s Church, but a member of the Roman Catholic Church: the Church from which the various other churches and denominations have moved away.

I am learning over and over again that I am fortunate: that I am truly blessed to know that I am already home.

Small beginnings

With so many people distanced from any form of organized religion yet still searching and spiritually aware, any approach towards God needs to be accompanied by a search for whatever God may already be doing in people’s lives.

This can be a rewarding start-point for any of us, wherever we may be on our journey, but for a person who is setting out on the spiritual path for the first time, or who is only giving a first thought to the possibility, this may bear particular fruit through the blessings received as a result of that inner search. To examine one’s life looking for previously unnoticed touches or influences of God is to acknowledge not only His existence but His presence in the world and in one’s own life. That acknowledgement, however unintentional, is an expression of a desire that may have been buried for years, and is the beginning of a communication that has the power to transform our lives. For those who already live, or try to live, in God’s presence, that same search (but in another’s life) is essential whenever their paths are crossed by someone outside the church: someone who may have had no contact at all with Christianity. In such situations I believe we should simply be asking ourselves, ‘What would Jesus do?’ ‘What would Jesus say?’ There will always be those who insist that the start point should be, ‘What does the Church teach? ‘What does the Church say we should do?’ and by Church they will mean their own particular denomination or group: their own church.

The Holy Spirit has been given to us as guide and teacher, an unwavering presence whose reason for being with us is to inspire, build and empower the Church, spreading knowledge and truth among its members. We cannot separate the two: the Holy Spirit is the powerhouse of Christ’s Church, and no man or woman can claim the authority to stand, proclaim, teach or lead within it without His gifts and His guidance.
‘... The church today, as much as at the church at Pentecost, is constituted by and utterly dependent upon the Holy Spirit.” (Shaping our Future. J.S.Freeman. (Quoted in Fulfilment and Frustration. Alan Abernethy.))

In the past I have had an ongoing discomfort with anything causing me to even think of questioning what others within my own church say should be done. It was a part of the overlong extension of my perceived spiritual immaturity: what I had taken as being a lengthy period of preparation and learning prior to any advance along my path. How blind I had been. When I became aware that it was time to move along, my view of myself and of my place in the world altered as though rousing from a half sleep. I awoke to find myself in unknown territory somewhere further along the road on which I had set out. I had been travelling all the time but my lack of confidence – my lack of trust – had held my perception back; I had not been prepared to take any form of risk: to risk thinking that I might be ready for anything other than requiring support from others. I had clung to my own felt needs without recognizing that they had evaporated, leaving a calm and non-threatening understanding that I was now in a position to begin reaching out to others.

As I write about it now, it sounds and seems so simple: a quick and easy transition from needy vulnerability to a potentially fruitful resilience and self-belief. That is not how it usually is, and that is not how it was for me. Between the two was a long period of comfortable self-absorption during which any felt need for support from others faded away in step with their increasing absence. Whether this was cause and effect (whichever side of the situation may have been the cause), or whether it was a mutual but unplanned withdrawal in response to the guidance of the Holy Spirit, I may never know; but I do know that it is in the past and is of no consequence now, apart from having taught how easily valuable time can be lost.

I have recently been told of a young woman who had approached her local church because she wanted her baby to be baptised. She does not go to church, but becoming a mother had changed her whole outlook on life. Having her child baptised suddenly became very important to her, but it seems that it will not happen. The vicar had told her that she would have to come regularly to the church for three months before the baptism could take place, and this she was not prepared to do.
I can understand some of the thinking behind this situation, from both the mother’s and the vicar’s points of view, but it leaves me with a real feeling of sadness that this young person’s recognition of something, and what may have been the start of her tentative spiritual search has been brushed away by a man-made suppression of spontaneity and a corresponding need for conformity and adherence to rules. Does it matter to anyone else apart from the mother whether the baby is baptized? Does it matter to us? What would Jesus have said to her? These questions only have meaning if we believe baptism to have any value. Is it something of real worth and therefore of importance, or is it one of the many parts of church life and organized religion which are conjured up, encouraged and then virtually set in stone without any requirement or instruction from God? If the former, somebody should run after that young mother and her child, spend time listening and finding out about them, and then find a way of discussing the question of baptism without creating a gulf between us and them: without turning them away from the possibility of future contact. If the latter, it is time to look closely at what we are doing and what we believe. Are we in any way even in touch with the reality of Christ’s Church? Are we Christians in anything but name?

That same young mother, perhaps unknowingly longing for the gift of the Holy Spirit, not only for her child but for herself, could so easily have been present in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost. She could have been in the crowds that listened to Peter as he said,
“You must repent, and every one of you must be baptised in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.” (Acts 2:38).
As a stranger to the country and its religion, she would have heard him go on to say, “The promise that was made is for you and your children (the Jews), and for all those who are far away (the gentiles), for all those whom the Lord our God is calling to himself.” (Acts 2:39)

I picture her walking home in the quiet of evening, smiling at her baby, with heart filled to bursting and with tears of joy on her cheeks; she has found her Lord and is wrapped in the safety of an awareness of His having found her. They are inseparable: they are the Holy Spirit and Christ’s Church portrayed at the level of a single human life. What a mother she will be for her child.
God’s plan for mankind is echoed in her newfound sense of wonder as she is anonymously included in the words of Acts 2:41.

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‘That very day about three thousand were added to their number.’
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We are saints

Each person we think of as embodying a life lived for God, and each name we recognize as belonging among those instantly thought of as synonymous with faith in God, reveals to us a fruit born of perseverance: a gift unwrapped in the light of unfailing trust in the worth of the journey.
Even for these seemingly exceptional men and women, nothing has been achieved without a series of forks, junctions and crossroads having presented themselves during life’s progress towards fulfilment. Nobody becomes a saint - be that understood as a person canonised by the Catholic Church, or as a person unrecognised in that formal way but seen as having led a holy life - without the twists and turns, struggles and trials of their own journey. Hidden these may be, but they are at least as real as any hurdle or hardship experienced by anyone else. Within saintly exteriors there may well be saints, but within the saints there are men as we are men, and women as we are women. This has always seemed improbable to many of us, but of even greater difficulty has been an acceptance that within each one of us there rests, not only the image, but the reality of a saint. Saints are what we are called to be; the road to holiness and sainthood runs parallel to the one we follow in our growth towards becoming the persons we are meant to be.

I have mentioned the name Francesco Bernadone, and the effect it had on me when found on an otherwise blank page. St Francis was already there: he was wrapped within the developing heart and mind of a boy who was actually named Giovanni not Francesco. Francis is believed to have been given first as a form of nickname, and it was as Francis that the world came to know him.
It continues to astonish me how important the smallest of things can be to us as individuals. For example, one could say that the name on that page should more correctly have been Giovanni Bernadone, but if that had been the case I believe it would not have struck me in the same way, and I would not have learned from it as I did; the initial extra step required to make the connections may have been lost on me, and I would not have been fed by the experience through these last years.

We all have moments, words, glimpses and touches that affect us deeply while the rest of the world carries on oblivious to our plight, our sorrow, our joy, our ecstasy: unaware of our emptiness or desolation, our fullness and our overflowing. Of similar importance in our journey of faith are the availability and attention we receive from others in response to, not only our doubts and fears, but our newfound strengths and increasing realization of our own giftedness. The affirmation we desire and the confirmation we need when first venturing along our spiritual path, seeking and daring to ask our first tentative questions, are both essential to our progress. The right person crossing our path at the right time is a gift from God: God’s provision for us in that moment, however fleeting their presence may be.

That first moment of wondering could become the key to our own sainthood, and as we mature it can be an unnerving experience to suddenly find ourselves called to act as a support for someone else. It is far easier to continue in our belief that we are the ones who need someone to lean on, but just as the person who steadies us at the start of our journey can be essential to our remaining on the right track, so the one who needs support from us can bless us by making us aware that we have to move: that we must take our place further along the path. It is frequently only through such eye-opening moments of need in the lives of others that we are roused from our immobility and pushed out from our comfort zones.

Every move forward in our journey is accompanied by increased responsibility, but it can take a long time for both our awareness and our acceptance of that responsibility to catch up with our focus upon ourselves. We can only begin to believe that we are stepping towards maturity and wisdom when our sense of responsibility finally walks in time with our continued seeking.
To recognise the responsibility immediately, even when the blessing is not through another person’s need but through the experience of God’s presence takes real maturity. Jesus walked with me to bring me to life, not to hold me back while I bathed in the pleasure of His company. In my immaturity it took me far too long to understand that, though in truth I still find myself rationalizing the delay with a belief that I had to wait until the time was right. Perhaps I would never have known when it was time; but Jesus knew. He knows the time for every one of us.
What are believed to be Saint Francis of Assisi’s last words are relevant here: "I have done what is mine to do; may Christ teach you what you are to do."

Alan Abernethy, in his book, Fulfilment and Frustration, gives an example of what I regard as his own maturity: - “I have just experienced (Jesus’) presence in a very moving and inspiring act of worship in the Abbey on Iona. There is a danger I do not want the present to become the past. This was a mountain top experience and, like Saint Peter, I want to stay here for a while. However, I cannot, these moments must become part of my past to encourage me to go forward. ... It is good to be here but I cannot stay here.”
The author has responded to his vocation and has struggled with aspects of it throughout his ministry. The book portrays an example of the perseverance required if we are to discover and strengthen the saint within us, and his willingness to reach out to all denominations in his own search for peace and truth speaks to me, not of division and lack of commitment, but of Christ’s Church.
Is this not what every Christian minister should be doing? Is this not what every minister should be encouraging every one of us to do?
Not ‘What does my church say?’ but ‘What does Jesus say?’
Based purely on the portrayal in his book, I know that he is a man, a minister in whom I would place my trust and with whom I would be ready to walk and to learn. The more often we are able to say that about individuals outside our own churches and beyond the reaches of Christianity the better.
What he has described as ‘a mountain top experience’ is one of the unpredictable outcomes of spending time alone with our God. It is why I take every opportunity to step away from the highways of life, to approach and to linger, whenever I can, at the very edge.

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‘Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done.’
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