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)