Lighting up time

Three other people, regarded as friends for life, are equally essential to my spiritual stability as is the person to whom I have recently written. They have lived, and still do, within easy reach and within the same parish, though I no longer regularly attend the same church. One of them has always been the safest hands I know, but I have so far been unable to sum up the others in equally definite and all-encompassing ways. But – and it is a ‘but’ that has run through many years of my life – I have almost no contact whatsoever with any of them. That has always felt so wrong to me, but it has also seemed that it was meant to be, as there has never been any definite sign of my felt need for their company, support and reassurance being felt in the opposite direction.

Months ago I saw two of them at a talk on Cardinal Newman, where I spoke with one of them for a while, and was later greeted by the other. We too spoke, about a close family member who is no longer able to live at home. That news created an instant urge to be available if I should be needed at any time, and that has continued undiminished; but what struck me with even more force, and left me with forms of both joy and pain which also have stayed with me ever since, were her first three words on seeing me: - “We miss you.” In several ways those words enfolded me as the loveliest, and the most powerful thing anyone had said to me for a long time. But where, if anywhere, might they lead me? If I continue waiting for others to approach me with the questions I long for them to ask rather than making my thoughts known without invitation, I shall probably be standing in the same place this time next year. That would disappoint and even depress me; and I can already sense that the considerable concern arising from that situation would push me back deeper into the shell from which I have spent so long attempting to emerge.

The purity of purpose which constantly calls me back to them, is strangely sensed in a deepening awareness of the vulnerability into which Christ came as the new-born infant depicted in crib scenes in our homes and churches at this time of year. We are all being called to allow ourselves to become vulnerable in His presence, and through the untangling of my own words in the previous post as well as above, I have brought myself within earshot of His call to vulnerability in the presence of those who have led me to him. I am continually called to fellowship with Him through their own presence in my life: they have always clearly and consistently conveyed to me their bringing of Christ to any table around which we might meet. And yet, I still fear making any approach; even after being blessed by the potential invitation contained in those three words: "We miss you." If I am missed by those with whom I long to have more contact, what can possibly hold me back? I have searched through all that could have distanced them from me, and, while not knowing their thoughts and feelings, I am well aware of my own; there is nothing which would keep me from them. Nor should there be if all of us are the people I have taken us to be. I am therefore left with only the one possibility, and I am almost afraid to admit it even to myself. I am afraid of being rejected by them. I would sooner continue in the unsatisfactory state in which I find myself than discover, without doubt, that they do not wish me to approach them more closely and more frequently.

But now, on the eve of Christmas, the infant in the crib is before me again. Does He suggest that I should stay away from Him? That any of us should do anything other than approach even closer than we dare? Such questions should never need to be asked. He draws us ever closer to Himself, and purity of purpose will take us all the way to His side where we begin to share in the power of His innocence, and in the brilliance of His light as it pours forth into the world. Emmanuel: God with us. No less.

Do I really need anything more? In reality, no; but in my continuing frailty and uncertainty - yes. I need the support and discernment that I shall find only by moving in from the edge: by becoming a more visible and less isolated speck within His Church. I long for His presence in others as company on my journey, and I have taken a very long way round to the realization that in ending my previous post with, 'We have need of each other', I was striving - through the workings of His Spirit - to get that very message through to myself.

God is with us, and we bring His presence to life for each other in our coming together.

May Christmas be a time of peace and knowing, and of sharing in His light for each of us.

Timelessness

Since its inception, my Benedictine friendship has included long periods without any contact. That is true in general terms – with my lifelong connection with Stanbrook Abbey and the later influence of time spent at Douai – as well as with the particular friend on whom my thoughts are presently focussed. Whenever such periods come to an end I am always surprised, usually concerned, and frequently disturbed by the sudden realization of how long they have been. As months passed, receiving a note, a card or a short email would prick my conscience, though even without one of those prompts a discomfort would arise, and I would begin a series of gradually more persistent ‘reminders to self’ to arrange to meet with her. And still more time would slip away, until I finally got round to doing the simplest and easiest of things: picking up the telephone. We would speak briefly, and fix a date and time for meeting. When that time came our meeting and talking would feel as though we had seen each other only a few days earlier, and even that we were picking up the same conversation where we had left off. Afterwards I would always be left with a feeling of having been spiritually recharged or topped up in some way.

For too many years these meetings have been almost my only meaningful spiritual contact with anybody, and that has made the long absences both more remarkable and more troubling. And in writing of it I feel that I am either contradicting myself or denying some relevant but unrecognized truth. ‘Troubling’ is the word which has become my perplexity for today.
I am as puzzled as ever as to how these long gaps occur. It would be easy to add that I am also as puzzled as to why, but for the most part, my conscience has always experienced the how and the why as being pretty much the same thing: slightly different responses to my semi-automatic and recurring feelings of guilt and shame. The mild confusion over what is going on is prolonged and made more demanding of further thought by the fact that those feelings, while being real, immediate and more or less continuous, are themselves never more than mild. It is as though something grips me by the shoulder asking, “Why the guilt?” ... “For what do you feel ashamed?” ... “Do you not understand better than that by now?” At which point I inwardly cringe at being reminded of how long it is since first beginning to wonder what I am called to do ... and that is it; nothing more. I look around, and wherever I happen to be, I find myself standing as in the middle of nowhere, wondering why I am talking to myself. And the guilt subsides. The title, ‘Soliloquy at the Very Edge’, continues to suit much more than just the feel of writing here.

My lack of contact seems contrary to everything I feel and experience as wanting and needing, and yet, with the repetition of both the long absences and my declared amazement at their length, it is gradually becoming clearer that it is only one half of me that truly wants such friendships to involve more frequent contact. I can trace a trail of that apparent character-trait running through my life from almost as far back as I can remember, though it is only now that I am starting to fully take note of it. These days, I sense it as being connected with my apparently endless inability to discern what I am meant to be doing as part of God’s work in this world.
As has always been the case, once my mind is focussed on this particular friend it feels that I have never been away; though it is no longer a question of arranging a time to meet, as her community's relocation has now placed us many miles apart.
It has often struck me as strange that the lengthy gaps in our contact have always been an apparently contradictory source of peace for me. It must have much to do with the fact that our friendship is genuine; that we do not forget each other when we are not in contact, and that we know we share something of infinite importance. The timelessness of that ‘something’ has spread its peace into our friendship in such a way that whether present or absent to each other, that peace remains unchanged and unbreakable. And that is the overriding quality of the gift we have been given. Clearly it is not of this world.
Absence, it seems, does not so much make the heart grow fonder, as make no difference whatsoever to friendships built upon truths beyond merely human contact and trust and shared interests. Any insecurity or hesitation in an otherwise apparently perfect friendship, will almost certainly be caused by some impurity in the relationship. Not necessarily – as frequently coming to mind at once for many of us – impure as in forms of attraction that have distinct and unbefitting sexual overtones, or, perhaps more dangerously, indistinct and unadmitted undercurrents of a similar and equally inappropriate nature, but lacking the purity of purpose and shared desire to journey together towards the one goal that has meaning beyond the sensed confines of our lives.

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

Wherever and whenever the right persons meet together, He is there. I find that utterly undeniable. When people are constantly aware of His presence in their lives they do not need to declare that they meet in His name; nor do they need to consciously focus on making that a reality; the reality is there: it is impossible for them to meet in any other way. Nothing can get in the way of such a three cornered relationship precisely because it has all three of us. No doubt such friendships come into being, and thrive, and last, for the awesomely powerful reason that each person brings Christ to the table with them. And apparent differences between such friends – which may give rise to incredulity in others who find their friendship unfathomable – can be obliterated within the relationship by other shared but intangible factors.

John Henry Newman, in his sermon on Christian Sympathy, gives us a clear pointer to one contributory reason for this compatibility and close fellowship between particular Christians.

‘ ...whereas their sense of the heinousness of sin rises with their own purity, those who are holiest will speak of themselves in the same terms as impure persons use about themselves; so that Christians, though they really differ much, yet as regards the power of sympathising with each other will be found to be on a level. The one is not too high or the other too low. They have common ground; ...’

 
Wherever we may be on our own personal journeys, we can be unified beyond all expectations by the very fact that we are committed to our journeying. The paths we follow, though for the most part very much our own, traverse that common ground as they lead us to the Holy Ground on which we all long to stand. There is no way around it: its seemingly vast expanse has to be crossed; and to hope or attempt to travel beyond it without walking beside others for at least part of the crossing is to turn away from one of the central reasons for the existence of the community we have come to know as the Church.

Having progressed this far: having reached the point where we know we are among those who have been sent, we should also know that we have not been sent out alone.
 

'Then he summoned the Twelve and began to send them out in pairs, giving them authority over unclean spirits.' (Mark 6:7) ‘After this the Lord appointed seventy-two others and sent them out ahead of him in pairs, to all the towns and places he himself would be visiting.’ (Luke 10:1)

 

Both in time and out of it; when called to be God's provision for others, and when in need of His provision for ourselves; when together and when apart; we have need of each other.

 
 

...Thus are their names confirmed

In the early hours of yesterday morning I sent a lengthy email to a spiritual friend with whom I have not been in touch for more than a year; and during the day I had been preparing to post something here about such long gaps between contacts in my important friendships. That will now become my next post, as I have been washed over by a wave of confirmation resulting from a reply received late last night. This will probably be meaningless to anyone else as it is being posted for the same reason as last night’s short entry under the heading, ‘Wisdom & Prudence’: more as a 'reminder to self’ than anything else.

The words quoted are the first of a sequence of ‘O Antiphons’ as they are called, which began yesterday, 17^th December. I have been vaguely aware of them in the past, but they have only now really come to my attention through being referred to in the email I received last night. I had given my already mentioned friend some of the details about what I have been doing over the last year, and those details included the names I have given to two other important persons in my spiritual life in a lengthy writing project on which I have been working. Those names are Wisdom and Prudence, and the reply email expressed delight not only at having heard from me after so long, but with those details and a further reference to what I had called “a wisp of Wisdom” being received on the day that the ‘O Wisdom’ antiphon was used. (Unlike me, she knows the liturgy intimately and follows it closely.)

The information delighted me, as such an apparent coincidence of timing is precisely the kind of thing that has occurred at various times through my own journey, and is therefore running through my present writings. All that I have been doing over the last twenty four hours seems to have returned to me as a confirmation that my choice of names for two friends is not only right, but given a strangely unexpected seal of approval. And I am once again reminded that I am that beggar with his ‘smile in the mind’: - the one who is the real writer of every word I have penned over the last twelve months.

My Benedictine messenger is also to be found in the same mass of words; and, as a final rounding up of all the real, living and essential characters in that part of my life, today is the 45^th anniversary of my first meeting with ‘Providence’, who is not only in there too, but became one of the main reasons that I have anything at all to write about.

How could I possibly fail to acknowledge and appreciate such things!

Wisdom & Prudence ...

'O Sapientia, quæ ex ore Altissimi prodiisti, attingens a fine usque ad finem, fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia: veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiæ.'

'O Wisdom that comest out of the mouth of the Most High, that reachest from one end to another, and orderest all things mightily and sweetly, come to teach us the way of prudence!'

Distracted

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

However rarely I may consciously wish to be drawn from the realities of the world around me, and from the undeniable awareness of something beyond that physically sensed reality, I am, at times, as easily distracted from them as anyone else. Television, radio, music, and the accumulation of past and present interests safely tucked away but readily available on a hard drive, are able to distract me as easily and completely as ever; though thankfully not for long periods, and not to the complete exclusion of everything else. It is never long before I am drawn back, in far more powerful ways, to the thoughts and feelings which really do seem to make me tick: the ways of seeing the world and the power behind its very existence, that give my heart a reason to keep beating.

Disconnecting the computer to move it to another room during a redecorating session, felt like a major wrench while it was being done, but once unplugged, it remained out of action for a while and I got used to its absence. The simple actions of switching off and unplugging it also disconnected me from some of my routines and I found a different form of space in which to think about whatever needed thought. I had not been unplugged from my own power supply, but felt as though I had been put onto ‘standby’. My time was soon taken up by something else which, once started, became difficult to put down. That is ongoing, but it has acted as a reminder that I am frighteningly susceptible to distractions of one kind or another.

It has also made me aware that what I think of as distractions are not necessarily things which steer my trains of thought away from the areas on which I believe they should be focussed: whatever may seem important to me at the time. They are the bulky areas of thought which press gently from just beyond my normal limits of awareness, and which, under that almost imperceptible pressure, flow silently in to fill any empty space as soon as it is created.

The inner void is well known to me, as is the danger inherent in the inevitable fact that it will be filled by something, whether wanted or unwanted, good or bad, blessing or curse. I have previously written about distraction (20^th September 08), and on the infilling of God’s own presence as a form of emptiness within the void created by grief; a transformation of awareness from a hollow form of death to a restful and healing peace that precedes our recognition of His presence within our desolation. That is indeed a blessing; but in every situation, not only those in which we may fully recognize and comprehend our vulnerability, we are nonetheless vulnerable.

My separation from the computer resulted in periods spent on something else which still occupies large chunks of my available time. I had not been longing to find a gap of some sort in which I could make a start on it; it had not been waiting for the opportunity; it had seemingly come from nowhere as a means of filling the gap which had not previously been there. And it was from that realization that my present thoughts have come. I have always longed for space, for peace, for quiet, for emptiness, for solitude; but is that longing, at least partially, a cover for my fear of those very same things? Rather than using the newfound space to appreciate and deepen the space itself, I maintained my level of busyness by transferring my mental energies to something new which kept me from the space for which I was supposedly always longing. I am always telling myself that I should lay things aside and give more time to simply being with God. Why do I not? I tell myself that, in reality, I spend almost no time in prayer, and should do all I can to change that; that I should receive any space, when it comes, as a blessing granted specifically for that purpose. Why do I not?

Knowing that my longing for quiet and solitude are inseparable from my longing to spend time in God’s presence, and knowing from experience that there is nothing more beneficial to my own peace, contentment and wellbeing than spending time in silence and prayer, what is there that could possibly keep me from it when the opportunity arises? And an immediate effect of asking myself that question is, as it were, the lifting aside of a veil that has been obscuring the truth: the opportunity is there – and always has been there – all the time, not only when I discover a newly created space in which all things may be possible.

St Paul’s words in Romans 7:14-25, have been prodding at me since I began to unravel my thinking at the keyboard; and though they are written with specific reference to the effects of our sinful nature, they are providing me with new food for thought around similarities between that nature and sin itself, and the distractions to which I am referring. They are not sinful distractions, but they do at times steer my awareness away from spiritual matters, and from my awareness of God’s presence. Is that not the beginning of all sin?

There are many ways of picking and choosing our way through scriptures: both good and bad; and there are just as many ways of refusing to do so which can be no less misguided and even abusive towards what God had intended. In the present context, I find it helpful to read St Paul’s words adjusted to fit my circumstances, and I write them here in the knowledge that some may not approve, but also in the knowledge that any disapproval is born of an inability to see and to hear, and thus to understand the fullness of what we have been given through the word of God. These verses are absolutely true where sin is concerned, and I have not altered that truth. I have not read the words and decided they are not relevant to me, but rather, have found a way to delve deeper into understanding my own sinfulness by using the truth they contain to speak into a personal situation which at first glance would have no connection with St Paul’s words. I am open to any scriptural words to speak meaningfully to me. And who would dare to say that I have not been guided to read these words in this way?

‘We are well aware that the Law is spiritual: but I am a creature of flesh and blood; I am easily distracted and misled. I do not understand my own behaviour; I do not act as I mean to. While I am acting as I do not want to, I still acknowledge the Law as good, so it is not myself acting, but a power which works to distance me from God’s law. For though the will to do what is good is in me, the power to do it is not: the good thing I want to do, I rarely do; instead, I follow my distractions. But every time I do what I do not want to, then it is not myself acting, but that unrecognized power working against me and against all that is good. So I find this rule: that for me, where I want to do nothing but good, evil is close at my side. In my inmost self I dearly love God's law, but I see that acting on my mind and body there is a different law which battles against the law I long to keep in my mind. Who will rescue me from this situation? God – thanks be to him through Jesus Christ our Lord. So it is that I myself with my mind obey the law of God, but in my disordered nature I obey that which distracts me.’

Surely my distractions, though not in themselves sinful, are inseparable from my sinfulness and from that ‘different law which battles against’ God’s law. Without any doubt, at all times, ‘evil is close at my side’. My best way to remain aware of it, and to counter it, is to end as I began: to continue to maintain, to the best of my ability, an ongoing spiral of awareness of his presence in my life; and to strive continually to obey that simple, peaceful instruction: to –

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

All our yesterdays

‘... the vision is for its appointed time, it hastens towards its end and it will not lie; although it may take some time, wait for it, for come it certainly will before too long.’ (Habakkuk 2:3)

I have so many questions half-buried in my mind. Doing my best to ignore them is part of the process of fitting into the routine, the company, or the form of expression with which I have become comfortable.

This can appear to make some sort of sense in the day-to-day happenings of my life, but most of these questions need bringing to the surface occasionally; they will not go away of their own accord, and cannot be made to fade into insignificance without first being brought into the open and answered honestly.

I am not alone in this. Indeed, I would be surprised if any man or woman is without their own doubts, discomforts or discontents; and those who truly believe otherwise are in far greater danger and have already lost far more than they will ever be able to comprehend. I dare to say this, because I know some part of what I have lost, and am conscious of how little I understand, through always being aware of my own half-submerged questions.

Finding the honest answers is not a matter of forcing ourselves into submission, as it were; attempting to implant what we perceive as the expected answers: the ones proclaimed by others as the only possible ones available to right-thinking people. We should not allow ourselves to bury the questions so completely that we forget them, and nor should we remain aware of our doubts and difficulties of faith without acknowledging them and pondering them. It is through our calm consideration of them, not through an anguished building of barricades against them, that we come to see them as they truly are. They are not enemies to be feared, hidden away from, or fought against; some of the consequences of bringing them to the surface may indeed disturb our peace and equilibrium, but the consequences of thought are not the same as the questions themselves.

Trying to learn more about our particular areas of difficulty, in an attempt to understand what we really believe and what we value sufficiently to openly profess, frees us to continue our journey instead of shrinking into immobility and a form of invisibility that keeps us unnoticed and untroubled. How could we ever believe that a desert can bloom if we do not see it for ourselves? And how shall we see it for ourselves if we remain with our heads buried in the very sand from which the blossoming will come?

We may give some thought to aspects of our faith without ever moving on in our knowing of ourselves. The matter rises and falls in our consciousness, but is never met full on: we never confront it; and, as with getting to know other people, and relating closely to family and friends, we need to meet our doubts and concerns face to face that we may see them, recognize them, accept and understand them more fully.

What do I believe? Where does faith lead me? What is faith? Do I have faith?

Such inner questions may once have troubled me in some way, and, in the past, more specific aspects of such blueprints and horizon-scanning thoughts have certainly been kept to myself. A combination of fear and shame locked them away as inadmissible secrets. Others were not allowed to know of my doubting when, apparently, everyone around me believed without question. How wrong we can be; how wrong I was. How many years have been lost in that all-enveloping self-deception? And yet they are not lost; they are never lost – for any of us. That we continue to regard them as being so, is evidence of an ongoing failure to appreciate the fullness of our relationship with God; and the extent of His gifts, so freely given into our undeserving lives.

However long the period behind us, and however short the time ahead may appear to be, those years have been our preparation for the steps we are asked to make today.

Remembrance (3)

‘... everyone should be quick to listen ...’ (James 1:19)

Military orders, whether verbal or written, are to be obeyed. Any person regarding themselves as part of one of the world’s armed forces accepts that fact as a basic and essential part of their existence. Whether having to respond to the written command shown at the head of the previous post, by travelling alone for 1,200 miles across North Africa, or whether obeying a spoken order in Afghanistan today, the response must be the same. The instruction has to be heard, understood, incorporated into one’s mindset and acted upon.

An absolute belief in the ‘rightness’ of whatever one is called upon to do, will undoubtedly make one’s immediate obedient response more straightforward than when that belief is absent. But where there is no such personal conviction, its absence is overridden by the transference of all certainties into one’s faith in those whose orders are being followed.

Such obedience can lead to otherwise impossible results, but, as Remembrance Day never fails to remind us, it is, always has been, and always will be very costly. The ‘war to end all wars’ never had a chance of coming close to ending war as part of the human experience; the human race has not moved beyond its belief in it, its support for it, and in too many quarters, its hunger for it.

It has only been in recent days that I have been struck by the similarity of that response to the one required of us as Christians: as followers of Christ. We are always to be awake: alert, and ready to respond to any calling to do God’s will, whether in some far-reaching, life-changing aspect of His will for us and for the world, or in our day-to-day lives among our neighbours and friends, those with whom we work , and with whom we travel.

Just as my father’s travel orders were both command and authorization, so too our instructions from God give us the authority to do whatever He may assign to us. The very same words apply: ‘You are authorized ... to carry out an assigned mission.’ We only comprehend the implications of this when we not only hear, but understand His Word, and incorporate it into our own mindset.

‘Humbly welcome the Word which has been planted in you ...’ (James 1:21)

We should do only that which we have been authorised to do, not simply what may appeal in some way; but we do have the additional stage of discernment to go through. Where our calling and subsequent sending out come from is not always as obvious as it is for military personnel. We are constantly called by a power that would misguide us; that will do whatever it takes to keep us from putting into action any thoughts we may have of working for the advance of God’s Kingdom. We have the freedom to choose, but having discerned the source of the Word which has come to us, we should respond accordingly, either rejecting it, or acting on it with no more hesitation than would the soldier, sailor or airman.

God may make his will known to us through the presence of others in our lives, but just as General Eisenhower was in command of the invasion of Italy, so God’s command still comes from Him, not from the one who brings the message to us;

‘... you must do what the Word tells you and not just listen to it ...’ (James 1:22)

If it comes from a known and recognized source: from Allied Force Headquarters, or through the guidance or prompting of the Holy Spirit, we should not spend time thinking about it, talking about it, questioning it; we should respond to it. If it requires something of us, we should not hesitate; we should do it.

It is in our ability to discern God’s Word and to act upon it, that we become aware that all previous steps along our path have been leading us towards that ability. From realizing that we have been the Found, the Named, and the Touched, and each of the other imagined followers (see 6^th January 07 …for the journey) through to the Empowered, we now find that we have become the Directed. God has strengthened us and shown us the way; and in our willingness to act according to His direction we wordlessly proclaim, “I shall obey you Lord.”

And thus we find ourselves at what we once thought to be a destination, but which is now greeted joyfully as a new start-point for our continuing journey. When we began, it had seemed so very far away: out of reach even; but now the journey seems to have been so short. And that has made real for us the value of having companions along the way.

We have narrowed down our choices, and in finding the compass bearing we were made to follow, we have entered into the realm of true freedom. We have discerned and chosen, and have no desire for any other way; the narrow way is wide enough for all of us.

Dear Lord, we thank you for your presence in our lives; you have waited so long for us to fully turn to You.

I welcome the blessings and responsibilities which come with being counted as one of ‘The Sent’.

You have commanded and sent me.

Do with me what you will.

Remembrance (2)

In a way similar to that in which All Souls Day quietly comes into focus, and, after lingering for several days, drifts from my everyday awareness, Remembrance Day takes its place in the annual rhythm of my life. My awareness of it is shared with the country as a whole and with every individual in it, just as my acknowledgement of it is shared with the majority of the population; awareness of the day, after all, has become unavoidable, and conforming to the recognizable acknowledgement of it now appears to be almost compulsory. But what speaks of both my underlying valuing of it and of its effect on me, is my experience of the day. That experience is not a comfortable one.
This contrasts starkly with my relationship with All Souls Day, which is always comfortable and peaceful, and which, in spite of merely tip-toeing into my consciousness every year, is every bit as unavoidable for me. Since its introduction into my life, its low profile has anchored itself within me in a way that the visible face of Remembrance Day has not, does not, and probably will not.
All Souls has become a meaningful and undeniable link with something barely understood but tied in with my faith as much as with thoughts of life and death. Most people do not share my awareness of this day; it has not been made unavoidable. From most viewpoints it is all but invisible, and most people’s awareness around that time is likely to be based on Halloween; but nothing hides the occurrence and the presence of Remembrance Day when it comes round. Indeed it has become as the secular aspects of both Christmas and Easter: obvious to all long before the day itself.

.
The experience, as well as the day itself, has now slipped away and I am able to write this in a way that would not have been possible a few days ago. As soon as I had thought to write something here on the subject, I found myself struggling to put my thoughts into words. The answer was found in The Guardian editorial of November 7th, and the following link will take you to the relevant writing should you wish to read it. Far better that than for both of us to waste time on words that would not do the job nearly so well.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/nov/07/remembrance-day-poppies-cenotaph

Quoting from the above, ‘One recent poll found that four-fifths of the population think the two-minute silence is “relevant to them”.
It is certainly relevant to me, but not through any experience of loss or grief associated with wars and conflict between peoples.

For everyone in Britain, Afghanistan is today’s constant reminder of the cost of involvement in war, but other than those who are directly involved in the conflict – military personnel and their families, and, to a lesser degree, their friends and neighbours – none of us really know that cost or truly find remembrance relevant as a result of what is happening in Afghanistan. The relevance comes from what is embedded in our own lives: remembrance is made real by conflicts which are already part of our own reality.
For those of us whose whole lives have been lived in peace, the sacrifices made and the risks taken in the cause of retaining and protecting that relatively secure and peaceful world are known to us only through reflections of history and through the memories of older family members. It is the Second World War that makes Remembrance Day relevant for me. For those who lived through it, civilians included, it is part of their own life story, and they may see all that has occurred since 1945 in the light of their own uncertainties during those preceding years. But having been born just after the war, I have no direct experience of it, no personal memory, no loss, no grief. Awareness of its importance in my own life is through consciousness of the important place it occupied in the lives of two people who did live through it: the soldier and the nurse who became my parents.
A few years ago, during this month of remembrance, a quiet but powerful chapter in my life, representative of the same half-century story of the local community as a whole, and indeed of the entire country, came to an end with the death of the last of my father’s siblings.

In March 1944 photographs of four soldiers, my father and his three brothers, appeared in a local newspaper article reporting on their whereabouts. They had all volunteered in 1940 and had gone their separate ways for the duration of the war. All four survived, though it was not until April 1946 that the last of them finally returned. I have often wondered how that must have felt to my grandparents: saying farewell to all four of them and not knowing if they would ever see them again; and then, having all four of them return safely home. Not only the brothers, but their parents too will have known and felt what remembrance was all about.

Every November, the poppies, the parades, the silences, the coverage of the Cenotaph and the Albert Hall: all these, built upon year by year through my parents’ thoughts, words, and quiet tears, have somehow made the war a defining part of my own life despite its having ended before I was born.
Yes, we will remember them. Not only those who died: those who never came home, but also those who did return; the men and women who lived on, and made the world that is ours today. Men like my father and his brothers: men who risked all for our sakes, and then rebuilt the security of home in their quiet lives.
One day, after the death of the last of the brothers, and as his executor, I came across his medals. He had done exactly the same as my Father. They had opened those small brown cardboard boxes, looked at the medals, and replaced them, the ribbons still unattached and folded. And there they stayed for the next fifty years. There they remain today; valued and evocative; safe in their boxes.
I also came across a small unimportant looking notebook among assorted bits and pieces; something which could so easily have been simply thrown away. It was several days before I picked it up again and opened it. It was ‘The Boys’ Diary’, as my Grandmother had called it at the top of the first page. Her handwritten record of every known move they made during the war, and every communication received from them, from the day the first one left home, to the day the last one returned, - a period of more than six years.
It is a wonderful fragment of truth from a troubled time; a time that finally came to an end for me when a surviving soldier’s ashes were placed in his parents’ grave and his generation was finally at rest. As with their return from war: all safely home, and together once more.

I remember, as a boy, watching my father close up his shop to take his place in the Remembrance Day parade, and marching through the town with the other men. I always wondered why he had no medals; everyone else seemed to. That was before my sense of awe and wonder when I first came across them. From those far off years right up to the end of his life, his face always looked different on Remembrance Day. Experiences undisclosed, faces only he could see, and names that I would never hear; all these he has somehow passed down to me. Together with that silent box and its contents, they join my awareness and appreciation of all that my parents gave to me and to my own siblings: foundations for the forming of my own very personal and very real experience of Remembrance Day and all that it should signify.
Yes. We will remember them.

At the dawning of each new day we shall remember them: all of them.
And may we who remain do as well for those who follow.

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Remembrance (1)

I was almost taken by surprise this morning when words from the radio nudged me from my lack of awareness. I am relieved to be able to use the word ‘almost’, as to have found that the day had slipped by without my recognition of it would have troubled me, though I would have struggled in vain to find a solid and acceptable reason for being so troubled by it; acceptable for anyone other than myself, that is. My own acceptance of my feelings is not based on anything particularly solid either, and nor are the feelings themselves, but they are undeniable, unforgettable, and form part of a sequence of memories that echo the early stages of my movement from wherever I once was to the place where I find myself today. All Souls is quietly come around. I failed to see or hear it coming, and in some strange way that troubles me. It is a day that has crept up on me before; announcing itself in whispers as though in explanation of why I have been drawn to a deeper thinking, and a wrestling with words as my only way of laying to rest the ghosts of unknown sorrows which hung their cloaks of grief about my shoulders. ‘... All Souls is quietly come around. He weeps upon the whispering ground, as warmth bleeds from his naked flesh to be lost in the sobbing wind. ...’ So read lines from the end of one of the first poems I ever tried to write. It was written, not so much because I wanted to write poetry, as because I needed to find a way to still the restless thoughts, and sounds, and voices that increasingly filled any empty space I managed to create within my mind. I seemed drawn to acknowledge and record the fact that I was filled with an awareness of something or someone forgotten: something reaching out for anyone with the faintest glimmer of recognition who may pause to ‘harken to the darkening of the memory in the sand’. A longing that searched for ‘just one to stop and wonder what it was he thought he heard; ... to sense the loss: to understand; to hear, to feel the pain, to pray and to remember.’ It was the writing of that poem that stilled the restless voices; and it was the realization, as the quiet returned after weeks without peace, that it was the closing of All Souls Day, which embedded the memory of that unrest within me. That was years ago, before my days of walking the sand with Jesus; but it was the same sand: it was the same Irish strand that would play its part in my awakening to His presence. Earlier today, I received news of another life ended; Raymond Taylor, a gentleman with whom I have been working, after more than sixty years of hunched and silent life, died today. All Souls is quietly come around, and now slips quietly away again having gathered him in its passing. May the souls of all who have passed this way, whether long ago, more recently, or during this very day, rest in peace. .

Windblown

Leaves are gathering under the trees once more, and until the wind scatters them across the countryside they will lie there, en masse, as though each leaf looks up in awe at the tree which had given it life. The stillness of some of these autumn days makes the falling of leaves an audible experience; not something we would usually anticipate from what is, for us, a predominantly visual experience, but which can cause us to turn in surprise when a dry leaf from an Ash slowly ricochets down through twigs and branches on its way to the ground in an otherwise silent world. Each has its own tune, from the almost silent shower of Birch leaves to the stiff ticking sound of Beech as each leaf seems to proudly proclaim its intention to remain un-rotted throughout the coming winter. Not only to those who are out and about in the countryside, but also to people strolling in the park, or round their own gardens, leaves have contributed to a full orchestra of voices from the first greening of the hedgerows to the final shedding of their un-greened and crinkled forms.
Thomas Hardy’s tale, Under The Greenwood Tree, begins with an expression of this fact: ‘To dwellers in a wood, almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature. At the passing of the breeze, the fir trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quiverings; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall.’

Within the next few weeks I shall have a large pile of leaves in a corner of the garden, raked up from the grass when the trees are almost bare. Even in springtime and through the summer, I frequently picture the view leading up to that time, with the leaves being blown from the trees to fly briefly before dancing along the ground until caught and held by some snag or barrier, muddy hollow or puddle. It is a picture which conveys to me a paradoxical message of movement and activity in response to the guidance of a power greater than myself, while always carrying the blessings of peace and quiet joy. I do not need to see the leaves to be reminded, but the message is there whenever I walk from the house. Similar scenes are available to all of us almost everywhere throughout the autumn, but I find this meaning only where I am able to take time out to look and to become, as it were, part of the scene. This makes home the obvious place to appreciate the experience.

Picturing this flurry of leaves always leads me into the memory of another similar scene from nearly twenty years ago; again, in a place where I spent much time and could pause every day to appreciate what was happening beyond the window. Here, I was looking beyond the garden boundary into the grounds of a school for children with special needs. The school itself was almost out of sight at the top of a small hill, though the sounds of children in the playground would drift down to me on the breeze.
I remember being struck by that sound one autumn day when all seemed well with the world, and the shouts and laughter combined to produce an effect that was so obviously joyful in the known circumstances, but in isolation was in fact a noise; not joyful, not anything: just a noise. And then, momentarily, I heard that noise differently. The sound was the same but the circumstances seemed changed utterly; the shouts became screams and the laughter turned to cries of grief and terror. The change was real enough to have me searching the skyline for the reassurance of children running into and out of view at the edge of their playground. They were there. All was well.

The experience lasted for only a few seconds but left me wondering; what if something terrible suddenly occurred up there and the sounds were of anguish and horror? How long would it be before anyone at my distance from those children realized anything was wrong? The noises seemed frighteningly similar. Thankfully I have never been witness to any of the dreadful occurrences the world has seen and continues to see; perhaps the differences between the sounds would be all too obvious to me if I had, but those few moments taught me how easily we can presume that all is well – in almost any situation – when in fact it is not.
The enduring image here is of the leaves on that windy day being blown down the slope towards me, like hundreds of children running, jumping and dancing across the grass. The wind blew the sounds from the playground to me louder than usual, and as my hearing of them changed from quiet pleasure to deep concern, so the happily dancing leaves changed to terrified and panic-stricken children fleeing from heaven only knew what.

I have been reminded of these images by words in an article by Charles Whitehead in the September/October 2008 edition of Good News magazine. Writing on discernment, he says, ‘If it is God’s Holy Spirit at work, then I want to be inspired, blessed, touched, and empowered by what is happening. But if not, then I need to be protected from being “blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming” (Ephesians 4:14), or, even worse, being lead astray by the lies and strategies of Satan and his demons.’

Learning to distinguish truth and falsehood in our lives, and discerning our direction and the genuine calls on our time, our support, and our action, helps us to know when all is well and when it is not. It not only keeps us from being “blown here and there by every wind ...”, but enables us to recognize dangers and the presence of evil in even the most settled and apparently safe conditions and situations.
A great deal can happen, for good or ill, when we are relaxed, unconcerned, and generally at peace. A lowering of our barriers will allow us to be more open to seemingly good and plausible, but false, ideas from elsewhere, anywhere and everywhere, but will also make us more receptive to the work of the Holy Spirit within us. Knowing which is which is not as easy as we may think, especially if we expect all that is good to be comfortable, and all that is evil to present itself in the form of a struggle.

It is like a re-run of the leaves being blown down that grassy hill. Are the children shouting and laughing? Or are they screaming and crying? Do we make assumptions and switch off again? Do we hear them at all? Or do we focus, question, and discern before deciding that all is well? Before returning to the peace and the empty space we have created for ourselves?
A space which – if we are fortunate – will become similar to

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‘... the crucible of the desert, in which the soul ... is twisted and shaken like a leaf in the storm of the Spirit.’
(Carlo Carretto. Love is for Living.)
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... and clear

‘... ever since the creation of the world, the invisible existence of God and his everlasting power
have been clearly seen by the mind's understanding of created things.’
(Romans 1:20)
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People use many well known words or phrases to express such things as anger, surprise, contempt, or disbelief. Many are obscenities, used deliberately by some to cause offence, and by others as part of their habitual and unthinking stream of language; others are variations on the theme of taking the Lord’s name in vain, again used without thought or, less frequently, with deliberate blasphemous intent. But there are other expressions which have either lost their original meaning or relevance completely (e.g. “Gordon Bennett”), or which no longer convey their meaning with the force they once did. Among these is the protestation, “Is nothing sacred?”
In a world where respect for other people as well as for their human and legal rights, traditions, beliefs, and property, and for authority in general, was only part-way through its decline, the accepted ‘untouchable’ nature of respected things was an acknowledgement of their basic correctness and goodness for the individual, for the community, and for a wider social health and stability. Our progress into civilization, and the continuing refinement of our ways of living in this world and with each other, had, at some time in the past, reached a point where we were able to stand back from the balance of respect and freedom we had created: the rules, written and unwritten, by which we aimed to live. We stood back, we looked, and we saw that it was good. It was because it was good that it was regarded as untouchable: unchangeable. Other than through the continued refinement of its goodness, why would anyone ever want to change it? It became sacred to us. As parts of this constructed goodness began to be undermined, the offended parts of society would rapidly have found ways of expressing their concerns, their disappointments and their disgust. “Is nothing sacred?” would have grown out of this atmosphere, and would have had very real meaning.
We would have been conscious of this sacredness in the non-religious sense, but, because it was indeed good, and pointing in the direction God intended for us, it was also sacred in the sense that it was holy. Unawares, we were being directed by it towards holiness.

In the Creation story, in the first chapter of Genesis, we read that God looked at His creative work at each stage, and ‘God saw that it was good.’ We are told this seven times, beginning where ‘God saw that light was good’ (v.4), and ending where, having made man and woman, ‘God saw all he had made, and indeed it was very good’ (v.31).
The physical world is sacred. The whole of creation is sacred. Our journey into holiness and a better understanding of our place in this world is part of our slow awakening to our relationship with our Creator and our purpose in His plan, not only for mankind, but for all that He saw, and continues to see, as good.

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‘... for the whole creation is waiting with eagerness for the children of God to be revealed.
... We are well aware that the whole creation, until this time, has been groaning in labour pains.’
(Romans 8:19, 22)
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Wisdom 13:1-9 speaks of those ‘who, from good things seen, have not been able to discover Him-who-is, or, by studying the works, have not recognized the Artificer ‘(v.1), and asks, ‘if they are capable of acquiring enough knowledge to be able to investigate the world, how have they been so slow to find its Master?’ (v.9).
Today’s answer to that ages old question is that, in general terms, very little is seen as being sacred any more. We look but we do not see; we listen but we do not hear. We are increasingly conscious of something not being right in our world, but we seem incapable of holding the veil aside: we do not recognize the sacred even when it lies at our feet.

The message is clear enough, but it is not being heard or seen by the majority of mankind, and most of those who do see and hear it fail to recognize it for what it is. Of the few who do know it, most make little or no attempt to acknowledge it; and among those who do, there are few who are prepared to rise, who are called and directed to shout loudly from the mountain tops. These are our prophets, and we have need of them today.
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We are all being called to hear the psalmist’s words, not as a whimper from the past, but loud and clear in today’s world, as we stand in awe of the creation of which we are all a part, and for which we have been given responsibility as masters. Only when this is achieved can God's prophets fade silently into the valleys once more.

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‘No utterance at all, no speech,
not a sound to be heard,
but from the entire earth the design stands out,
this message reaches the whole world.’
(Psalm 19:3-4)
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Shout loud ...

Nobody can deny the extent to which poverty and deprivation, injustice and greed, cruelty and abuse, disfigure the mind and mutilate the body of mankind. As a species, we regard ourselves as supreme; even those among us whose thoughts would never include any conscious awareness of Scripture in even the broadest sense, are somehow reinforced in their arrogance by a faint echo, as it were, of God’s words as laid out in the book of Genesis after the creation of humankind: ‘God blessed them, saying to them, “Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth and subdue it. Be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven and all the living creatures that move on earth.”(Genesis 1:28)
Looked at coldly, without any disturbance or intervention from the parts of our nature that make us different from the rest of creation, the qualities that define us as members of the human race, we could look at what we have accomplished and congratulate ourselves on a job well done. We have been fruitful, and we have definitely multiplied; there are now some 6.8 billion of us. Can we even begin to imagine how many people that is? It is clear that we have done our best to fill the earth, and in so doing it must be said that we have accomplished some astonishingly wonderful things; but we have also been the cause of horrifyingly destructive consequences of our attempts to subdue the earth and everything in it. We have taken it upon ourselves to enslave everything, finding no possible alternative meaning for the instruction to “Be masters”, and we carry our natural tendency to lord it over the world into our relationships with other people, ignoring, depriving, robbing and abusing those who have been created as our equals.

And how can we read the next two verses of Genesis without further doubting both the integrity of our mindsets, and the wisdom of our actions?
“Look, to you I give all the seed-bearing plants everywhere on the surface of the earth, and all the trees with seed-bearing fruit; this will be your food.” (1:29) – without being visited by images of the famine stricken and starving peoples of our world?
“And to all the wild animals, all the birds of heaven and all the living creatures that creep along the ground, I give all the foliage of the plants as their food.” (1:30) – without being assailed by images of the planet’s blatant destruction, and the desolation, emptiness and silence that follow our rape and pillage of the environment and all that it once had the ability to sustain.

Our free will is potentially our greatest gift, and granting to others the freedom to exercise theirs is in keeping with the brotherhood and sisterhood of humankind. But, for ourselves and for the world, it is what we each do with our freedom that determines whether we become a blessing or a curse. In those areas where we fail to bless our neighbours and our world, an apparent indifference is as much a curse as any active or militant contribution to destruction and injustice. A terrifying reality of our freedom and of any failure to bless, is that the curse to which we contribute may sweep across the entire face of the globe, with no way of differentiating between those who are blessings upon the earth and their destructive neighbours.

Our actions have ensured there is no shortage of blood, but however much we spill and wherever we may smear it, destruction and death will not be kept from anybody’s door.
‘Some of the blood must then be taken and put on both door-posts and the lintel of the houses where it is eaten. ... The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are. When I see the blood I shall pass over you, and you will escape the destructive plague when I strike Egypt.’ (Exodus 12:7-13)
We regard ourselves as absolute masters of our own destiny. However late we may leave it, we believe that we shall come up with the right answers and act accordingly; that we have the power and the ability to put things right; that everything will be fine. It is only now that most of us are beginning to suspect that all this talk may be more than just a potential script for another exciting disaster movie; we have stopped popping popcorn into our mouths, and our smiles are beginning to fade. Some of us are wondering whether there may even come a time when there are no more movies to watch.

Those whose freedom is a blessing for all of us, in terms of economics, the environment, health, education, justice, peace, and all areas which have a bearing on human dignity, have, in recent years, raised their concerns loudly enough to make the difference we now see being accepted and acknowledged by political leaders around the world. These pressures must be maintained of course, but more than this, we must learn to appreciate our ability to choose: our freedom to exercise our free will; and those who are called to be today’s prophets – they are out there somewhere – must allow the Spirit to take them where it will, and must proclaim the message God places within them. This message will not only be, “Wake up! Open your eyes; look, and see”; and it will not be merely an additional urging to find the scientific counterbalance for the destructive path down which we are all slipping. It will undoubtedly include a call to finally understand the intended responsibilities inherent in God’s will that we should “Be masters of ... all the living creatures that move on earth”, and that “this will be your food”.
We shall receive and act on that understanding, only when we realize we are the keepers and carers of our world and everything in it; that we have been appointed as caretakers of our own home, planet Earth, while The One who is our own Master, and Master of all that is, longs for our return to harmony with the rest of creation, and to the dignity, equality and unity that should be hallmarks of our trust in Him.

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‘Go up on a high mountain, messenger of Zion.
Shout as loud as you can, messenger of Jerusalem!
Shout fearlessly, say to the towns of Judah
“Here is your God.”
(Isaiah 40:9)
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Available to all

Since making the decision to set up and convey my thoughts via this blog, I have become increasingly aware of coming across thoughts from other people that support my own way of thinking after I have committed my ideas to the written page. Instead of raising doubts over whether or not the ideas are truly my own through being read or heard before writing, they have provided me with a welcome and strengthening form of confirmation that what I am doing is worthwhile and, in general, in line with what I believe to be the truths that I allow to govern my life.
This has been highlighted over the last few days by a series of apparent coincidences that have supported my decision to pass thoughts on to someone for whom life has not been going smoothly. I have referred to a brief contact with the people most immediately affected by this situation, and since that meeting, despite not really knowing the nature of the problems, I have been pressed by an urge to make known to them what my own thoughts are. At the same time however, I still have an underlying wish to remain anonymous, not for any particular reason, but – as I have said in my profile – because it really does not matter who I am. Nor have I hurried to make known to people I know that I am writing here; if they happen to come across my ‘Soliloquy’ and then realize who I am, that is fine, as would be their spreading of that knowledge to others, but I do not seek their attention, their praise or their comments on what I am doing. I am here for whoever may cross my path, and for those who, in crossing, may glance at what is written here. If just one person finds what they read to be meaningful and of real help to them, then I thank God for it, and I am content.
But having experienced the prompting to offer my thoughts, I know it would be a failure on my part if I did not respond. It is part of the ongoing multiplicity of chances to respond to God’s desire for us to act when asked to do so.
I do feel somewhat confused over my decision to maintain anonymity when I am in fact well known to the people in question, but the chances are that I shall be ‘discovered’ and recognized before too long.

For the most part, I am happiest when unobserved and out of mind. I am just another ordinary man who has had the good fortune to fall into the hands of the living God; a nobody who has learned that every ordinary person, every nobody, is in reality an extraordinary daughter or son of God, loved, valued, and graced with a potential for good in this world that is far beyond their comprehension.
I have been too timid to write or phone directly, primarily because I do not know what is the right thing to do, but this space on the internet allows me to say what is in me to be said without editing to suit the anticipated – or more accurately, the guessed at – responses, and in a manner more likely to speak to people in general rather than to a particular soul.

An excellent example of the affirmation I have received from other sources over recent weeks, is a website I came across for the first time yesterday. It struck me at once because the theme for the day (15.10.09) was ‘Resolving your problems’, and on reading through the quotations used in support of that theme I felt they would speak to the heart of the particular person I already had in mind. More than this, however, the stated belief that God calls out to all people, not only Christians, and that ‘inspiration can be found in all spiritual faiths’, echoes my belief that the Church as we know it (both as Christians, and more specifically, as Catholics) has boundaries that extend far beyond the limits of our restricted and regimented thinking.

I do not make a habit of promoting other websites – we have to make our own ways through the immense variety of viewpoints available – but this may be of interest or of value to you, and therefore becomes only the fourth such link I have provided here. There are of course many wonderful places to visit, but with a little thought most of these can be found easily; it is the comparatively unknown, unsung, and unsuspected sources of inspiration that need to be pointed to for the sake of those who may seek precisely what they have to offer. This one may or may not be of value for you; there is only one way to find out.

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...........................................................................http://www.thereligionnetwork.com/index.html

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It is far too easy for us to believe that those who are not Christians (without venturing into the dreadful disunity which exists between some sections of the broad Christian Church) are beyond the reach of God.
How do we dare believe that God does not reach out to every living person, and to the whole of creation? Nothing, and nobody, is beyond His reach. Banish all thoughts that the Catholic Church teaches otherwise, and read the following passages from the documents of the Second Vatican Council:

‘All this holds true not only for Christians, but for all men of good will in whose hearts grace works in an unseen way. For, since Christ died for all men, 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. (Gaudium et Spes 22.)

‘... those who have not yet received the Gospel are related in various ways to the people of God. In the first place we must recall the people to whom the testament and the promises were given and from whom Christ was born according to the flesh. On account of their fathers this people remains most dear to God, for God does not repent of the gifts He makes nor of the calls He issues. But the plan of salvation also includes those who acknowledge the Creator. In the first place amongst these there are the Mohamedans, 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 2:16.)
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Great and good

I can see clearly that the ideas conveyed in my previous two posts are the product of my own experience. If I had not written down the resolutions that grew out of my thoughts on that cold and wet night long ago, I would not have had the same powerful memory of that time, nor of the echoes which followed me for so long after; and a recent brief contact with people whose present situation brought it to mind again, would not have resulted in the words that were posted here. I may have found something to say based on what I had heard or read, but it is unlikely that I would have had the feeling that I should write something; the feeling that arose in me as a result of my own experience, and as a reaction to my uncertainty over whether or not to respond to their distress in a more personal way.

This has reminded me that the bulk of what we take for granted today, most of the systems and structures and processes in society, the options and laws and theories and beliefs, are the product of other people’s thoughts. The answers to nearly all our questions have been born in some other person’s experience. Their experience gave power to their thinking – not that experiences were necessarily good, nor the thinking well founded – and thoughts gave wings to delusions and errors as well as to their insights. But if their ideas and propositions were sound they were taken up and built upon by others whose experience confirmed the value and the truth of these foundations.
In a similar way, our faith will come alive only through our own experience, not merely as a result of listening to others: belief in the existence of God is achieved, as Newman said, ‘not because others say it, not on the word of man merely, but with a personal apprehension of its truth.'
Most of mankind has been led through history by a succession of people, few in number, whose thoughts and actions, in one way or another, have steered the advance of mankind into increased knowledge and (in theory at least) increasingly civilized forms of society.
Thomas Carlyle’s thinking – of nearly one hundred and seventy years ago – is not accepted as fully as once it was, but it still carries within it underlying truths relating to humanity’s continued progress towards a realized potential, harmony, and perfection.

‘... the history of what man has accomplished in this world, is at bottom the history of the Great Men who have worked here. They were the leaders of men, these great ones; the modellers, patterns, and in a wide sense creators, of whatsoever the general mass of men contrived to do or to attain; all things that we see standing accomplished in the world are properly the outer material result, the practical realization and embodiment, of thoughts that dwelt in the Great Men sent into the world: ... We cannot look, however imperfectly, upon a great man, without gaining something by him. He is the living light-fountain, which it is good and pleasant to be near. The light which enlightens, which has enlightened the darkness of the world; and this not as a kindled lamp only, but rather as a natural luminary shining by the gift of Heaven; a flowing light-fountain, as I say, of native original insight, of manhood and heroic nobleness;--in whose radiance all souls feel that it is well with them.’
(On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History.)

How well that also describes the biblical journey from Genesis all the way through to the incarnation of Jesus Christ, and the place of the Apostles, Paul, and the sequence of other great men in the early years of the Christian Church. From Noah, and Abraham, and the chain of great people empowered by God to command, to lead, and to teach the people: Moses, Solomon, David, the Prophets, and all the wonderful names God has raised and used to achieve His ends, the world’s awareness of God at work has been dependent on the thoughts and deeds of these few men, each one ‘a natural luminary shining by the gift of Heaven.’

The Muslim statement that “There is no god but God” is in complete agreement with both the Jewish and Christian certainties that there is only the one God. In that basic agreement, we are all of one mind. We all sit, kneel, and prostrate ourselves at the feet of the same God, and it is to the one undisputed source of our being that our prayers are directed. In the same work, Carlyle had in mind not only great men in general, but Muhammad and Islam in particular when he wrote, ‘the Great Man was always as lightning out of Heaven; the rest of men waited for him like fuel, and then they too would flame.’
This appears to contradict the suggestion that other people’s words and deeds are, in themselves, not sufficient to bring us to a real belief in God, but it is the experience of being led towards faith by such people that enables us to approach the very edge of our own doubts and fears , and to venture into our own surrender into His unseen hands. God works through such people to draw us out of ourselves and into our own defining experience.

Jesus was, and is, the ultimate Great and Good Man: God’s own expression of perfection in mankind, and our Teacher, Example, and Saviour. In coming to Him, and following Him, we are not being led towards an encounter with God; we are encountering God. In the meaningful context of our own lives we are experiencing Him for ourselves, and it is this experience, devoid of all worldly advancement, honour, or material gain, that has the power to transform us.
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