... Dedication

We have no way of knowing where our path will take us, and any map we claim to possess will be proved of little use as the journey progresses. We will learn that however we regard it, and whatever the information it contains, as a map it is of no help to us as it shows only where we have been. Our present inevitably lies at the very edge of it, and we must learn the dangers of trying to anticipate what lies beyond. If our path is the right one it will take us closer to our destination, we may count on that, but whether by comparatively direct roads or by long and arduous paths we cannot know. Somewhere along the way the going will be hard; each of us will have our desert to cross, maybe briefly but possibly for long periods during which we may struggle to maintain our hope and trust in God’s word to us. We can fall into a wasteful and unfruitful waiting in the middle of nowhere, and whether contentment or discontent be the underlying feeling in our hearts, we run the risk of lingering long enough for the restful mood to soak deeply into our spirit, damaging both our receptiveness to God’s word and our ability to discern the need to move on. The end of Robert Frost’s poem, ‘Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening’, conveys a similar imperative in the physical world but carries a haunting echo of the ongoing drive to continue the spiritual journey beyond all distractions, however beautiful, however heartfelt, however filled with questions and answers.

‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.’

In thinking of my own tendency to become too settled in the wordy distractions of reading, writing and associated thought, I have described it as growing ‘too comfortable with the inner hearth of home.’ As soon as I had used the word ‘hearth’, it struck me just how important the other one is – the hearth of our physical home – for the maintaining of the fire deep within ourselves. Without the feeling of warmth, permanence and security (which in the overall scale of things is false) provided by my home and family I do not believe I would have progressed to where I am today on my spiritual journey. But even those same solid foundations for my life, while having been a substantial part of the rock upon which I have built my version of myself, must be cut adrift if I am to truly continue my walk with my Lord; if I am to be remoulded not as I see myself but as the person God sees in me. It is not in fact that they must be cut adrift, for the solidity and sense of security will remain; they are my well prepared base-camp and it is that reliability and permanence which enables me to drift further than I otherwise could in complete safety. I am the one whose tether needs to be severed so that I can reach still further towards my goal. This sounds very selfish and inconsiderate, but while the separation is in reality almost non-existent and should not be taken as being any form of walking out on one’s loved ones, which it certainly is not, there is an aspect of such cutting of ties and of any deep focussing on the path ahead that is presented to us by Jesus Himself.

.

‘No one who prefers father or mother to me is worthy of me.
No one who prefers son or daughter to me is worthy of me.
Anyone who does not take his cross and follow in my footsteps is not worthy of me.’
(Matthew 10:37,38)

Each of us is called to this form of separation: this level of faith and love that places Jesus above all else in our lives. However great a man we may regard Him as having been, if we do not go beyond that human regard to the belief that He was and is the Christ, the fulfilment of prophecy and the anointed one whose life began a transformation of mankind through redemption, we shall forever fail to love Him as we should, and we shall forever lack the desire to follow Him to the ends of the Earth and beyond.
It is the desire to follow that enables the following; it is the love for Him that keeps our focus upon Him as we follow, enabling us to turn away from all that would otherwise hold us back and distract us along the way. The further we walk with Him the less probable it becomes that we shall ever be left behind. We reach a point in our encounters where we no longer join the crowds for a while to see what He is doing or to hear what He is saying, only to return home later in the day until such time as He may pass our way once more. When we finally find it impossible to turn back as evening closes in, being drawn instead into the smaller, closer and more intimate group of true followers, we shall at last understand our progression from lonely outsider to questioning watcher; from solitary seeker to one who is recognized by others; from acquaintance to companion to friend; and from the warmth of a friendship inseparable from the presence of Christ, we are drawn into close fellowship with others. We are now ready for the real journey to begin.

We may venture to the very edge but no longer merely to find hints of warmth or light, or to feel exuberance or trembling, or to confront the darkness or apparent emptiness, but to reaffirm our willingness to follow into the unknown that lies beyond; and then to follow word with further deed.

‘... we are but faint hearted crusaders, even the walkers, now-a-days, who undertake no persevering, never-ending enterprises. Our expeditions are but tours and come round again at evening to the old hearth side from which we set out. Half the walk is but retracing our steps. We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the spirit of undying adventure, never to return; prepared to send back our embalmed hearts only, as relics to our desolate kingdoms. If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again; if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man; then you are ready for a walk.’ (Henry David Thoreau. Walking.)

We have gained our freedom. We know the one who leads, and we await His word. We are ready to follow.

... Dalliance ...

At any time and at any place along the paths on which our journey takes us, we are liable to rest for too long in the comfort of our circumstances or good fortune, or in a self-satisfied warmth generated by our knowledge of having come as far as we have. Equally, if we have been unable to leave behind past discomforts or bad fortune, carrying these forward to discolour our view of the present and preventing all recognition of illumination, hope and joy in the future, we keep alive a mindset of resignation, of futility, and even of bitterness, which, though sensed as being a maintaining of what we believe to be the status quo, is in fact as much a ‘resting’ as is the lack of movement in those who bathe in their comfort and smiles. It is as much a wallowing in self-pity as is the other a wallowing in self-satisfaction.

Whatever may have brought us to this point in our journey, it has provided the backdrop for our present thoughts and feelings but is not itself responsible for our state of inactivity; it is ourselves who have brought us to a halt. However largely individuals may figure in the artwork we have applied to our backdrop, and however squarely we lay the blame, or praise, for aspects of our past and present on their shoulders, their involvement in our decision to stop walking our path is at best only indirect: it is part of an attempt to rationalize our view of our situation. We cannot share the responsibility for failing to move on with anybody else, as we alone have distracted ourselves from our purpose as effectively as through our giving of too much time to thinking around God rather than building our relationship with Him.

We may have a sense of being part of something beyond the boundaries of our own existence and beyond our control but which, at the same time, heightens the awareness of our individuality and integrity within that broader and deeper realm; we are at once attracted by it, and as we direct our attention to it, fascination brings an apparently clear invitation to stay.
It is probable that any of us ‘resting’ on the journey in response to such an attraction, and who hold on to whatever they have learned or discerned, discovered or experienced along the way, will begin to believe that this is where they are meant to be. This applies equally to those with a negative backdrop to their present lives, but to re-focus for the moment on those who dwell in the glow of their spiritual advance, however small the advance may be, depending on the duration and the form the rest takes, this delay is not necessarily a bad thing. We must not be unduly waylaid or distracted when it is our turn to be held back in this way – and our turn will come, perhaps repeatedly – but so long as we do not lose sight of the fact that our journeying must go on, and that we have not actually arrived anywhere, this pause need not be the start of our stopping; it need not be the insignificant end to what should have become a significant lifelong quest.

Recognition can be blurred and enthusiasm dissipated when our trust in the truth of our own spiritual map begins to fade. If we do not truly believe that which deep within ourselves we profess to believe, the light by which we are led begins to dim and we are less able to see the map; and despite both its outline and its detail having been compiled by ourselves - having been made, as it were, in our own image - we are unable to retain the confidence and self-belief derived from our gradual seeking and finding without the reassurance of our map. If we are no longer able to see it we cannot read it; if we cannot read it we derive no reassurance from it, and without the reassurance that had been our reason for maintaining the map, we have no grounds for the continued carrying of it. We have lost sight not only of our map but of our objective and of our destination. We have lost our vision: we are blinded, both in the present and in our memory, with no substantial recall of God’s beckoning and leading in the past: the word and deed, the presence and touch, the thought and the dream; the cloud and fire which guided our earlier steps along the way.

'The Lord preceded them, by day in a pillar of cloud to show them the way, and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light ...’

(Exodus 13:21)

Our experience of simply ‘being’: of being in existence and of living life, makes it impossible not to have a backdrop to our lives upon which we have painted and drawn the significant and influential points and pointers from it. But it can be difficult not to also create some sort of spiritual map for ourselves. It will not usually be born of a definite decision, but rather from the unobtrusive piecing together of bits and pieces from our lives: good and bad words, deeds and experiences, and their powerful and influential consequences, all bound into a volume that will not readily yield to being torn apart. We cannot completely leave it all behind when we travel but that is no reason to re-arrange it into a map. Our lives have shaped each one of us, and while all that has gone before influences our present, it does not have to be projected into our future. This may be clear enough to many of us with regard to our worldly lives (the backdrop) but is it as clear with all that has happened during our journey towards, into and in faith?

It may be that we have already been shaped according to God’s will, and that much of what now exists within us will indeed be carried forward to our future calling, but we must remain open to whatever God may have waiting for us, and if and when we do stop, we may rest only long enough to catch our prayerful breath before moving on.

The Israelites were led by God from Egypt into the desert; they took their experience of life under Pharaoh with them; it was a part of who they were; and they were led by Moses, not into some immediate state of comfort or delight but into the desert, away from everything other than their unity, their community, and the presence of God.

Their destination was the Promised Land, but it would not be reached without years of making their own paths in the desert, and those tracks could not be made until they had the freedom to leave.

‘The Lord says this: Let my people go and worship me.’ (Exodus 8:16)

And they could not follow God’s guiding light without leaving their own footprints in the sand.

Distraction ...

We are carried through life, and sometimes driven through it, by our human nature. It is impossible to make the journey without it.
‘We are only human’, is often heard as an explanation for our sometimes questionable behaviour and as an excuse when that behaviour falls below the level generally agreed to be the limit of acceptability. But however varied the details of our lives, in whatever area you may wish to consider: health, strength, prosperity, responsibility, freedom, and so on, our nature does take us along life’s course in a way that proclaims an underlying similarity in all our stories. After all, it is not that we are “only” human but that we do indeed share the same nature: we are all human. Our instincts and our basic needs are generally very much alike, but as we mature, and as we begin to carve out and occupy our own niche within the world, our different levels of competence, success, responsibility and income begin to take over in a ready response to the way the world generally sees the people within it.
How different the demands of our spiritual nature. Our natural and supernatural needs can pull us in opposite directions, each having the potential to become an annoyance and a frustration in the attempted satisfaction of the other.

Our search for stability, and our longing for some form of certainty in the fragile balancing of belief and disbelief has left us floundering at times, and having now found ourselves within reach of a door for which we had searched but could not find, we are either bowled along with a sudden surge of joy or we slowly and nervously try to approach in fear of its sudden disappearance; our joy trying to burst forth but suppressed while we attempt to confirm within ourselves that it is real.

We had never thought beyond the finding of the door, but without having made any attempt to imagine its discovery – we could not have known where to begin - we had in some way anticipated a process of unknown length that would eventually lead to its being unlocked for us. But here it is, and it is already ajar; we had not been prepared for that, or so we feel. We had not expected it to be open before us but something in the days, weeks, months and even the years leading us to this particular point in our lives had indeed been preparing us for this time; we had been prepared without knowing it, and now that we have arrived here we still fail to recognize that truth because the experience has taken us beyond all that we were capable of imagining or anticipating.

We are once again, as it were, brought to the very edge, and despite the significance of the place (whether real or imagined), we are further reminded of three important truths (10.3.07 post).
- The edge itself is of no importance, as that which we seek is always beyond.
- Each small approach brings utterly new changes to our awareness and understanding.
- Despite our apparently rapid advance, the possibility of finding all answers and of seeing God face to face remains far from us.
Somehow we must break through the attraction of our experience and learn that we are once again merely climbing a tree to get a closer look at what lies beyond Earth’s limits.

Breaking away from that attraction can be very difficult, as the wonder irreversibly linked with our new-found proximity to the door keeps us wrapped in a cosy glow that is the reflection of light and love. These sensations hold as tightly as the memory of any experience of the presence of God, and become just as difficult to leave behind. This in itself should tell us that we are wandering from the right road, as we find ourselves placing the same degree of importance and reliance on feelings with no substance behind them as we do on the undeniable awareness of Christ’s presence. We are distracted by our feelings, and the outcome can easily degenerate into immobility and stagnation while we wallow in the sensation itself, or wait for whatever else those feelings may bring.
Our place in the world, with family, work, joy and grief, with everything that goes into the making of our intricate latticework of relationships and living, is ever pulling us back from any half-hearted attempt to stop and think about something outside its usual range. It is a constant attraction and it demands attention. That is why we have to make a conscious effort to break away from it when we are drawn to look more deeply into our spiritual needs. We cannot progress with our first inner questions, and with wondering what it is that begins to attract us, without stopping in our worldly routine and brushing all other thoughts aside. One single minute of focussed pondering, or even of emptying the mind of its usual themes without any conscious thought on anything different, is all that it takes to begin the ongoing and expanding process of spiritual discovery. We must give our own minds space in which to think, and allow our hearts to feel. Once begun, these small oases in our daily routines will become of increasing importance to us, and as we walk the new paths as they are revealed, we shall be drawn into prayer, and that is the start of a more intimate relationship with God.

‘Indeed, were anyone perfect among the sons of men,
if he lacked the Wisdom that comes from you,
he would still count for nothing.’ (Wisdom 9:6)

This morning was beautiful: the sort of summer morn we have had so very few of this year. It brought me out for a slow stroll around the garden, with unplanned and uncontrolled thoughts drifting in and out of my awareness of the sights and sounds around me.
I was recently asked to give thought to a particular aspect of making Christ known to others, and have devoted time and effort to putting my thoughts on paper in a written response. Having completed that task I felt the need to find something to post here as the days are slipping quietly and quickly away. During my stroll it struck me that all such things can become a form of idolatry: they are seen as of far greater importance than they actually are, and I have certainly found myself, at times, without any awareness that I am giving no attention to my relationship with my greatest and most faithful friend, Jesus. I have been spending so little quality time in His company, in prayer, and in reading the Bible, that anyone able to record my thoughts would believe I did not have an ongoing relationship with Him.
I have been happily buried in “good” thoughts, believed to be of value and all directly linked to Christianity and my faith, but they have all turned into distraction; I have been drawn too far away from the very thing I need most, which feeds and strengthens me, gradually maturing me in ways no amount of reading and writing and thinking can achieve on their own.
Looking back at the house from the far end of the garden, I realized I had again grown too comfortable with the inner hearth of home, and with the feelings of security and certainty that enable me to feel fulfilled while the days slip away without my actually achieving anything. It came as quite a jolt to see that I had wandered so far without knowing it. The reawakened awareness has brought a longing to stand at the very edge once more; to breathe deeply there in readiness for whatever may be revealed.


‘We may be capable of writing or giving a brilliant conference, the fruit of reflection and meditation. Thus we could happily spend our prayer time with thoughts and the time would pass pleasantly. After all they are thoughts about God! But if we are under the influence of the mystical action of God our inmost heart will tell us that, for us, this sort of mental activity at prayer is a distraction and an infidelity. It is quite incapable of nourishing our being. It merely occupies us and gives an illusory sense that we have passed the time well, achieved something.’ (Guidelines for Mystical Prayer. Ruth Burrows.)

.

Door ajar

Whether in His presence, or through a subsequent awareness that He had been present, knowledge of His having been beside us leaves the imprint of our Lord’s presence within us.
The reality gives way to a short-lived hope that He has not in fact left us, and then to a longing for His return which slips into a felt need to perpetuate those feelings associated with the experience. When this has at last been shed, we are still left with something more than simply a memory: an ongoing retention of the reality which lacks the moment to moment experience yet is a living echo of that previous time. This may last for a long time, but even this may eventually come down to the level of memory; as such, becoming so far removed from the actual presence that it cannot meaningfully rerun the experience for us.

Nothing can duplicate what has occured, and it is this felt experience that holds us so tightly and is so difficult to leave behind; it blinds us to the fact that He has not left us at all: our longing for sensation blinds us to the light of truth within the heart of the experience. It may slowly fade to the level of memory but not merely to memory itself, alone, insubstantial and leaving no pulse of inseparable presence within.
Rather, this becomes a living remembrance that something unforgettable has occurred. An awareness that lifts from fragile story and thinning mirage, heightens the reality and imprints within in a way that cannot be lost, unlike feelings that may have flooded or overwhelmed us at the time, or footprints in the sand which are so soon washed away. A deep recollection and ongoing presence that enlivens a line from a much repeated story; raises from thought-provoking anecdote, un-grasped meaning and doubted relevance to life-giving hope, the words of our Lord Himself: words spoken in anticipation of something truly unforgettable that was soon to occur, ‘... do this in remembrance of me.’ (Luke 22:19)

‘... no one on earth knows precisely what it means to “seek God” until he himself has set out to find Him. No man can tell another what this search means unless that other is enlightened, at the same time, by the Spirit speaking within his own heart.’ (Thomas Merton. The Silent Life.)

This living remembrance of our experience reveals the presence of the Spirit within. We must be at peace, be still, and allow ourselves to hear Him speak.
We can remain unaware, failing to recognize God’s presence around us; we can be conscious of His work in our lives and in the world but skim over the surface of things, never going beyond the skin of our own existence; or we can begin to listen and look within ourselves, to question, to wonder and to hope. If we hear His words within our heart we can be led to our own personal experience of His life within our own, and our life within His infinite plan. We may be shaken, filled, consumed or completely swept or blown away by the experience, but we must learn that this is merely our human response and not the value of the occurrence. We can be left in thrall to the power of the moment without ever recognizing that we have failed to cross the threshold: we have settled merely for a glimpse, a foretaste of what is offered to us.

We become like the child in a current television advert for Disneyland, totally absorbed and enthralled by what lies before him while his parent gently tries to break into his wonder filled mind, “Jack ... Jack ... Jack ... This is just the entrance; why don’t we go inside?”

We do not walk simply to find the door. The door is ajar, and however bright the light coming through it, our journey is into the presence of ‘The Light of the World’ Himself, not just to the fringes of where His light may fall.
Rather than lingering at the very edge of something that constantly attracts us, but which we somehow still manage to avoid, let us approach and prepare to respond to His call; let us step through to a deeper discovery of our God, of ourselves, and of our place in His plan.

‘Look, I have opened in front of you a door that no one will be able to close ...’
(Revelation 3:8)