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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Questioning

A few nights ago our world was gently illuminated by the full moon. It is not only for those young enough to still regard it as a new or unusual experience that it is an amazing sight: rather, it remains an astonishing presence in the sky for even the oldest of us; at least, I cannot imagine it being any other way.
As a small child I would have looked on it with an innocent and uneducated wonder, but I see it now with the background knowledge of what it actually is, how large, how distant, how its phases result from its orbiting around our world, and, in comparison with even the nearest planet, how relatively close to us it is. A single moment’s pause and the sight of it becomes an open gateway to the stars and to the apparently boundless immensity of the universe. There are no words to describe the fleeting combination of our own insignificance and this vastness, but that does not mean that the two superficially irreconcilable areas of awareness cannot merge into one. It is a real merging, a blending of the two into a new and greater awareness of our belonging; it is only our lack of understanding that makes the awareness an uncomfortable, disconcerting or even frightening experience. It is not like a meeting of matter and antimatter with their mutual annihilation, but a fleeting unity: a oneness with not only our Earth and everything it contains, but with the whole of creation. It is a profound beauty in the form of expanded senses of place and significance: non-specific, but more rather than less profound for that. And is this capacity for going beyond ourselves available from simply pausing to consider the ‘everyday’ in a deeper and more distant way? -From simply disconnecting our usual trains of thought and mental processes while looking at the moon? Yes, it is.

The answer is like the quiet smile on the face of a grandparent when hearing a little child’s question: the truth and the reality are too far beyond the questioner’s mind but, in time, will become a part of the adult’s life and greater awareness. As St Paul has said, ‘When I was a child, I used to talk like a child, and see things as a child does, and think like a child; but now that I have become an adult, I have finished with all childish ways.’ (1 Corinthians 13:11)
The answer is ‘yes’, and in asking the question the child has reminded the listener of his or her own transition from one level of understanding to another, and then to another; and if the moments (of which standing face-to-face with the moon is an example) have been received when offered, there is no limit to the potential for our advance.

The brief tightening of the throat and inexplicable verging on tears that sometimes accompany these thoughts and feelings, were added to recently, as it struck me how well the lunar cycle portrays every possible degree of faith, of belief, of trust and of experience of the presence of God in our world and in our lives. At times the moon is plain to see, and even on a cloudy night the full moon can give light enough to filter dimly through to the ground on which we live; but it can still go unnoticed by those without the eyes to see. When even the final sliver of moon has waned into darkness, or when it is not in our portion of the sky when night has fallen, those who appreciate, who know and who believe, remain fully aware that the moon is still there; it does not have to be visibly obvious, and does not have to be seen for them to continue in their belief. Its presence, and its ability to lead us into a deeper thought and search beyond the easily recognized and the readily understood, makes it almost impossible to override the process which then leads from the far fringes of physical matter to the inner workings of creation, interconnectivity and unity. These workings include the minute detail of the physical vastness but go beyond it to the ungraspable simplicity of the eternal Greatness we call God.

Whatever we believe to be the ultimate nature of all we find out there beyond the stars, of all we see around us, and of all that goes to make the physical, intellectual and emotional beings that we are, we are here; we are in it, we are of it. We belong to it and it belongs to us; we are inseparable. Our journey must continue if we are to approach an understanding, but we are already home. We never left, but without our going away we could never return to comprehend it; and that is part of what we have been born for.
Our spiritual journeying and our seeking are embedded in our existence; they are the brightening of the inner light with which we were born: the stages of our journey are the germination, the growth and the flowering of the seed sown within our fertile ground. Our perseverance will culminate in the bearing of the fruit with which God has already graced us: we shall become the persons we were made to be.
Jesus has clearly told us, ‘So I say to you: Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; everyone who searches finds; everyone who knocks will have the door opened.’ (Luke 11:9,10)

If we believe that God exists our belief in His presence is effortless. We find no reason to believe otherwise, and have no need to pursue any search for reasons not to believe. Our belief generates an equilibrium that is dispersed through every aspect of our lives; not physically separating us from the world but, as it were, edging an inviolable membrane between us and our environment that allows us to continue living within it without being at the constant beck and call of instincts and without being slaves to our imperfect nature. It is in this way that we ‘do not belong to the world’. (John 17:16)
However we sense Him, imagine Him or believe Him to be: whether we do in fact think of God as ‘Him’, or as Her, or as It, or as something beyond any such form of classification, beyond words, and beyond identity as we understand it, the word ‘God’ is effectively the only expression available to us for the specifying of that one eternal Greatness in which we find it impossible to disbelieve.
Those who do not believe in the existence of such an entity have conjured for themselves an impermeable membrane, within which they enclose not only their entire experience of human existence, but their whole world, and every interaction between the two. They become cocooned in the undisturbed calm of the empty fortress they inhabit, insulated from what they would experience as the cold draughts of doubt and wondering, but which would include the wind of the Holy Spirit blowing into and through their lives.
‘Intellectually they are in the dark, and they are estranged from the life of God, because of the ignorance which is the consequence of closed minds.’ (Ephesians 4:18)

Even the smallest beginning of a spiritually enquiring mind, that first momentary wondering – perhaps while looking upwards to the night sky – gives access to all that made the great spiritual names of the past the men and women they became: the persons they were made to be. And that led them ultimately to the place where we all long to be.

‘Now we see only reflections in a mirror, mere riddles, but then we shall be seeing face to face. Now, I can know only imperfectly; but then I shall know just as fully as I am myself known.’ (1 Corinthians 13:12)

Freedom

‘Freedom’. Such an evocative word, even when only read or thought; but when spoken aloud it becomes so much more: it is a truly powerful word. And I am surely wrong to say ‘when only thought’; the thinking is the source of the utterance, and has the potential to breed far stronger feelings that may otherwise be relieved by venting into speech. And yet, in the hands, in the mind and on the tongue of the capable speaker who couples eloquence to the truth and the needs of his hearers, it becomes a belt, a breastplate, shoes, a shield, a helmet and a sword. That one word becomes a manifestation of ‘the full armour of God.’ (Ephesians 6:11)

Our use of language was born within the overlapping layers of generations gradually building on their understanding within this worldly existence. The rise of mankind has been possible because long ago an awakening awareness brought with it the desire to communicate more fully with others around us, not only in the naming of objects and the passing on of knowledge and skills, but in the formulating and sharing of questions. It was the beginning of what amounted to the same all-encompassing questions that we are still asking today. What is it all about? What is this life? What is life? How and why are we here?

Freedom is such a phenomenal concept; such an awe inspiring idea that mankind is still only working towards a full realization of just what it does mean, what it actually does involve, and the necessity to balance individual freedom with the requirements of a peaceful, just and free community, wider society and worldwide family of mankind.
That mankind ever progressed far enough to have need of such a word is proof that we have come a very long way, and with every language generating the word from within, the wider horizons it helped to reveal brought the inevitable increase in awareness of its opposite. Safety cannot exist without a consciousness of danger; cold cannot be known without a knowledge of heat; freedom cannot be understood without some experience of being restricted, confined, trapped, enslaved, immobilized.

For most of us who are able to read or write, as I am now, freedom is what we take for granted every day of our lives, and because we believe we are already in possession of it, we do not think to stop long enough to weigh up our situation in such terms. But that remains a far from universal truth. The cry for freedom still reaches out to the comfortable lives of people like you and me. It is not something that has been dealt with in the past and can now be forgotten; somewhere among the many parts of the world where freedom does not reign, the sights and sounds of my youth are as real and as meaningful as ever they were. At this moment someone, somewhere, is uttering the heartfelt cry that still anchors the collective idea of mankind in 2008 firmly to the 1960s, from where some of my own clear memories come.
Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech for example (http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=gZLvSnr6s50 ), and Joan Baez singing ‘Oh Freedom’ ( http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=EcNN5SEb-Kg ); and further back, not only to William Wilberforce’s long campaign to abolish the slave trade, but to the attitudes of those who made slavery their own, and back through the history of mankind.
In subtle and not so subtle ways the slave trade continues to thrive today. It remains as one of the evils against which St Paul urges us to put on the full armour of God.
He goes on: - ‘...pray for me to be given an opportunity to open my mouth and fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel ... pray that in proclaiming it I may speak as fearlessly as I ought to.’ (Ephesians 6:19,20)

It is through our own fearless proclamation that, regardless of our worldly circumstances, we attain the freedom to be truly free; to recognize no man as our master beyond that recognition required for a peaceful, just and truly civilized functioning of community, society and its culture, yet always knowing there is One who is Master of all.

As Carl Yung had carved above his own door, and as is inscribed upon his tombstone: - ‘Vocatus atque non vocatus Deus aderit’. (Desiderius Erasmus)

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‘Bidden or not bidden God is present’.

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... 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.

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‘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.)

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