It is not possible to speak or think of matters related to the initial opening of spiritual doors without returning to one’s own experiences. This may seem to result from the confusion or the emotional turmoil that we went through; or from the impact made by the person, the words, the place, or the incident that became the central point of our particular moment. It may be that our milestone was placed at a point where there was no sudden and all consuming moment, but rather, the recognition of our own awareness having been raised fully into our consciousness for the first time. Of all possible reasons for our own memories being stirred by these thoughts, this quiet raising of awareness is closer to the truth than most. It is not the feeling we associate with our experience that has the true meaning for us; it is the fact that our consciousness was raised to a new level: that we were, in some way, touched by the very presence we were seeking: that we recognized the opening of the door before us.
My own journey into a meaningful spiritual life began, in general terms, in the same way that it begins for each of us; by being in the right place at the right time, and by being with the right people at the right time. My memory always leads me to suggest that the latter was the important factor in my own life, but the passage of time – while not preventing or even reducing the strength of that initial reaction – has enabled me to know that the two aspects of the moment, and of the subsequent months, and even years, are in fact inseparable. In a way that was completely out of character, I responded to something that led me into the presence of the right people. Without them, I would not have arrived at the place in which I now find myself, and I am sure I would not have progressed so far in my journey towards becoming the person God wills me to be.
– (And this is the point at which I stopped writing when last sitting here unravelling my thoughts.)
I have been away from here for five weeks; not physically, but mentally, intellectually, and spiritually. It was not a planned absence, and did not arise out of boredom, or any feelings of staleness, lack of enthusiasm, or futility. Writing here has become fruitful and enjoyable, and the vital feeling that runs through me at times when putting words together is in no way diminished.
Today though, I am being drawn differently into the significance of what I am doing, and I find that I am in fact writing to myself.
I am astonished that so much time has passed since last posting anything here, but I am not concerned by that fact. In my first few weeks of hesitant and self-conscious writing, I did feel that I must keep posting no matter what; but I am no longer gripped by such unnecessary aims manifesting themselves as needs, generated as they are by a competitive aspect of the bloggers’ world which manages to infiltrate the thinking of many of its contributors.
However, having been absent for a while, I do feel the need to write and post something to confirm that I am still here, still brim full, and still quietly overflowing.
But something is different. I had to read through the end of my last post to find where I was when I left off, particularly as I had already started writing its continuation as ‘part 2’ of the same title. In doing so, I was confronted with my own words as partial answers to questions that have been troubling me for only the last forty eight hours. This at once raises the question of timing – in me at least – and leaves me wondering once more about coincidence. What is, and what is not significant? In this instance, is that all it is? Or am I being led to a better understanding of my confusion and my lack of confidence in my own sense of direction? The recently arisen questions have created within me what feels like a form of failure, born of what appears to be an unwarranted timidity.
Over the last few weeks – a period roughly corresponding to the time I have not given thought to writing here – I have had consistent but unobtrusive thoughts of visiting a local church to which I have never been before. The Malvern Evangelical Church (MEC) has been known to me for as long as I have had a real, living faith: for as long as I have been able to truly claim Jesus as my friend. Over the years I have driven past it every now and then, and when I have, it has always raised a flicker of interest: the hint of a question. There has always been a vague, “one day, maybe I shall pop in ...” response, but I have only been as far as the locked door when looking for notices: - once many years ago, and once only a week ago when looking for information on a talk due to be given there.
Having heard about a series of Lent talks arranged by Churches Together in Malvern, and hoping this week’s may offer something of more significance for me than ‘(Saint) Paul the Man’ at a church ten miles away, I sought and found a notice in the local Catholic church. Two of the four talks had already gone, but the third was in three days. The venue? The MEC.
This struck me immediately as being more than coincidence, and, as though having an inbuilt compensation for the possibility that I may not go if uninspired by the subject of the talk, the subject – ‘Bedside Manna’ – was indeed of real interest.
My own journey into a meaningful spiritual life began, in general terms, in the same way that it begins for each of us; by being in the right place at the right time, and by being with the right people at the right time. My memory always leads me to suggest that the latter was the important factor in my own life, but the passage of time – while not preventing or even reducing the strength of that initial reaction – has enabled me to know that the two aspects of the moment, and of the subsequent months, and even years, are in fact inseparable. In a way that was completely out of character, I responded to something that led me into the presence of the right people. Without them, I would not have arrived at the place in which I now find myself, and I am sure I would not have progressed so far in my journey towards becoming the person God wills me to be.
– (And this is the point at which I stopped writing when last sitting here unravelling my thoughts.)
I have been away from here for five weeks; not physically, but mentally, intellectually, and spiritually. It was not a planned absence, and did not arise out of boredom, or any feelings of staleness, lack of enthusiasm, or futility. Writing here has become fruitful and enjoyable, and the vital feeling that runs through me at times when putting words together is in no way diminished.
Today though, I am being drawn differently into the significance of what I am doing, and I find that I am in fact writing to myself.
I am astonished that so much time has passed since last posting anything here, but I am not concerned by that fact. In my first few weeks of hesitant and self-conscious writing, I did feel that I must keep posting no matter what; but I am no longer gripped by such unnecessary aims manifesting themselves as needs, generated as they are by a competitive aspect of the bloggers’ world which manages to infiltrate the thinking of many of its contributors.
However, having been absent for a while, I do feel the need to write and post something to confirm that I am still here, still brim full, and still quietly overflowing.
But something is different. I had to read through the end of my last post to find where I was when I left off, particularly as I had already started writing its continuation as ‘part 2’ of the same title. In doing so, I was confronted with my own words as partial answers to questions that have been troubling me for only the last forty eight hours. This at once raises the question of timing – in me at least – and leaves me wondering once more about coincidence. What is, and what is not significant? In this instance, is that all it is? Or am I being led to a better understanding of my confusion and my lack of confidence in my own sense of direction? The recently arisen questions have created within me what feels like a form of failure, born of what appears to be an unwarranted timidity.
Over the last few weeks – a period roughly corresponding to the time I have not given thought to writing here – I have had consistent but unobtrusive thoughts of visiting a local church to which I have never been before. The Malvern Evangelical Church (MEC) has been known to me for as long as I have had a real, living faith: for as long as I have been able to truly claim Jesus as my friend. Over the years I have driven past it every now and then, and when I have, it has always raised a flicker of interest: the hint of a question. There has always been a vague, “one day, maybe I shall pop in ...” response, but I have only been as far as the locked door when looking for notices: - once many years ago, and once only a week ago when looking for information on a talk due to be given there.
Having heard about a series of Lent talks arranged by Churches Together in Malvern, and hoping this week’s may offer something of more significance for me than ‘(Saint) Paul the Man’ at a church ten miles away, I sought and found a notice in the local Catholic church. Two of the four talks had already gone, but the third was in three days. The venue? The MEC.
This struck me immediately as being more than coincidence, and, as though having an inbuilt compensation for the possibility that I may not go if uninspired by the subject of the talk, the subject – ‘Bedside Manna’ – was indeed of real interest.
For the next three days I was in no doubt; I was going to the MEC for that talk. The mild apprehension at meeting new people, and at being on foreign soil, so to speak, was brushed aside. I was going; I was looking forward to it; I was quietly excited by the prospect.
I spent the day of the talk in the garden, rescuing more trees from thirty years of ivy growth, and in the visual grasp of the beautifully shaped tree I had given its freedom nearly two years ago. (4th & 5th July 2007. Talk of trees … and of a tree)
It was only as I started to keep an eye on the time, at the end of the afternoon, that I became gradually less sure about what I was going to do. My eagerness slowly ebbed away until, when the time came for me to go indoors to get ready, I was left with uncertainties and the knowledge that I would not be going. The admission itself is almost frightening, but what I felt was a low-key version of fear: a fear of being seen; of becoming known; of being drawn into something which I may want, and even need, but which I may not be able to follow through.
The feeling of failure shadows me because I now regret having not gone. I had sensed that I was being drawn there for a good reason; whether connected with the talk or the venue, or both, (or neither) matters not. But I failed to respond in the way that all my instincts told me I would. I still have those feelings. I am being drawn; I am being called to move forward; and I have horrified myself with my failure to respond in the way I thought I would find so utterly simple. It should be that simple.
Having read through those posts from July 2007, I find so much there that is now speaking back to me. Have I progressed at all since then?
And what of the open door? It was open then. It is still open now. Knowing that to be so confirms my failure.
Turning the last words of my previous post back on myself: - He understands me: He knows me through and through. He is still waiting for me. No matter what, He is always awaiting my return. No matter what, the door, once opened, always remains open.
How can I be so aware of these things, and yet suddenly find myself frozen in my tracks?
‘It is God who, for his own generous purpose, gives you the intention and the powers to act.’
(Philippians 2:13)
