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On not being able to help

I love these tenacious alpine plants, this grew up from a tiny piece of stem that fell off another plant.

My favourite spot on our walk around the village is an old wall with lots of cracks between the stones. As the heat of the sun warms the stones, the lizards that hide there venture tentatively out. I have spent much time gazing upon these sublime creatures as they sunbathe, at least until they perceive my presence and flee away. Last week, I was distracted from these beauties by the sight of an ant scurrying up the wall. It had in its legs a dried-up worm that must have been at least four times its size. It was determinedly struggling to drag its bounty up, what for it was, a sheer cliff face, beyond which lay the approval and delight of everyone back home. But the worm was bulky and the wall covered in obstacles. At one point, the ant lost its grip on its burden as it got caught in a snare of moss. Another ant came within spitting distance but didn’t notice the one I was cheering on. I was so tempted to try and help, but managed to control myself. Thankfully, the ant was remarkably tenacious; it set its prize free and dragged it off out of sight.

I wonder whether God sometimes feels that way about us?

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Psalm 84

The hope of cherries.

I find Psalm 84 a bit much. The Psalmist’s enthusiasm for the temple is difficult to relate to, so I’ve tried coming at it from a slightly different angle. Here are some thoughts about verses 1-4.

How lovely is your dwelling place,
O Lord of hosts!
My soul longs, indeed it faints
for the courts of the Lord;
my heart and my flesh sing for joy
to the living God.
My soul certainly longs for the place where I experience God, but that doesn’t necessarily equate to going to church on Sunday.

Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may lay her young,
at your altars, O Lord of hosts,
my King and my God.
Even the flighty, distracted, busy, not-intentionally-worshipful parts of myself can find a home there.

Happy are those who live in your house,
ever singing your praise.
Happy indeed, at the deepest level, where contentment lies.

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Hannah, a model of faith?

It’s tulip time! These happy fellows are the first to appear in my garden.

My other half tells me I’m overacting, but the story of Hannah abandoning her young child Samuel really makes me mad. To be fair, it’s not the story itself, but the way in which Hannah is commended for what she did. To recap the story, Hannah was barren and desperate to conceive a child. While weeping during a visit to the temple, she encountered the priest Eli who chastised her, misguidedly assuming she was drunk, and they entered into conversation. Hannah promised God that if she conceived a male child, she would dedicate him as a Nazarite until the day he died (I’m not clear how she thought she had the right to make such an important vow on behalf of someone else, but I’ll let that slip for now).

God answered her prayer and Hannah fulfilled her promise by sending her son to live in the temple with Eli as soon as he was weaned. Granted, in those days children would be weaned when they were much older, but Samuel would still have been a very small child. Can you imagine the distressed little boy pleading with his mother not to abandon him? Can you imagine how he must have felt at being left with total strangers? Hannah’s husband, Elkanah, abdicated all responsibility by just telling his wife to do what she thought best, but that’s about as much as we might expect from a man who couldn’t understand his wife’s grief over being barren, saying ‘am I not more to you than ten sons?’

It reminds me of the story of Jephthah, who sacrificed his daughter as a burnt offering because of a misguided promise to God. I can’t help but read these stories from the perspective of the victim – surely if you make a foolish promise to God, then you should bear the ‘wrath’ of God for breaking it, rather than having the consequences pour out over someone who had nothing to do with making the promise?

I see parallels with the experiences of many missionary kids, whose parents sent them away for their education, prioritizing their calling over the needs of their children. Although to be fair, if you subscribe to a theory of atonement that requires God to demand the brutal death of his own son, then what right would you have to spare your own child? On a more mundane level, I remember the family of a very active church member saying there was ‘always a quiche in the fridge, but never for us.’

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t keep promises or make commitments, but I do think we need to think carefully about the impact of our choices on those around us. I know that, if they were reading this now, at least one of my children would be pointing their finger directly at me.

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There is need of only one thing

The first willow shoots pushing through to new life.

Luke 10:38-42

While reflecting on the story of Mary and Martha, I was struck by the words ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing’ and I wondered why. I put in the hours in terms of my prayer life, admittedly rather distractedly in recent months, but I am at least trying to sit at Jesus’ feet as Mary did. Then I wondered whether there might be another meaning for me.

I have totally internalised the protestant work ethic, which leads to an almost capitalistic perspective on how I use my time – every moment of every day needs to ‘useful’ or, at the very least, justified in some way. This has always been the case but is particularly pronounced in this very busy period of my life. I have a long list of things that need to be got through, and even when there is a hiatus, this list is still there at the back of my mind, leaving me no rest.

I wonder if the ‘one thing’ I need is to be present to the present moment, to live life to the full in the complexity of the here and now – not at some mythical point in the future when life is simpler and I’ve crossed every last item off my list?

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The Gospel of Mary Magdalene

Wild garlic filling the vacuum.

I recently came across the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, a short text that wasn’t included in the New Testament canon when the council of Nicaea met just over 1700 years ago. It contains some beautiful words that bring me great joy, given my love of inner and outer gardening. Let me share a few of them with you:

The Saviour answered: “All that is created, everything that is formed, every natural thing, all exist interdependently in and with each other. Then each will be dissolved again back into its own roots. It is [the way of] nature that everything will eventually decompose back into its own elements. Those who have ears, let them hear…This is why the Good has come into your midst, pursuing [the Good] which is in everyone’s true nature, to restore it inward to its root.”

You can read the full text here.

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Make disciples of all nations?

New life pushing its way up through the darkness and into the light

Matthew 28:18-20

These verses at the end of Matthew have long been understood as a command for Christians to get out there and convert people. Not just our friends and neighbours, but people in far-off countries, right to the ends of the earth. The call to evangelise people who don’t want it is difficult enough, but worse than that, the history of Christian missions is intertwined with the history of colonialism. Is there a way to interpret these verses in a more life-giving way?

A disciple is someone who follows a leader, who seeks to learn from them, to live like them, to imitate the good things about them. I suggest that this is mostly behavioural, and that what a disciple actually believes about the ontological nature of their leader only matters in as far as it affects their behaviour. Making disciples is more about supporting and encouraging people to follow a certain path – expressed in these verses as obeying Jesus’s commands. This is where it gets interesting. What did Jesus actually command? Compared to the volumes of theological statements made over the years, he commanded remarkably little, and the few commands he gave seem to be grounded in love, for example:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” Matthew 22:37-39

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. John 13:34

But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. Matthew 5:44

In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets. Matthew 7:12

These are values that, were they adopted worldwide, would result in massive changes for the better. This isn’t a list of religious tenets to believe in, these are commands to follow the way of love as incarnated in Christ. This is what we are called to encourage and support in others.

The other potential sticking point is the matter of baptism. This symbolic act marks a major life transition, traditionally a turning away from sin and turning to Christ – couched in the extreme terms of dying to sin and rising to new life (although for many of us the turn from darkness to the light is more gradual.) The important thing is the turning from darkness to light, turning away from a destructive way of life to a more constructive one, not the marking of that turn, helpful though that may be.

What then might this mean in practise? To make disciples of Christ in a culture that is hostile to Christianity or that has a different spiritual identity, we need to interpret our understanding of Christ and his commands into language and concepts that make sense. For people who already adhere to some sort of religion or philosophy, this might mean supporting them to dig deeper. For someone with no obvious interest in spirituality, it might mean encouraging them to reflect on their inner life, to consider what their values are and how they might want to live them out more fully. We can encourage others to seek the gift of a rich spiritual life, but I don’t think we need to feel obliged to insist that people ascribe to a certain set of beliefs. Discipleship is about following the way of love, and that can be expressed in as many different ways are there are human beings.

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Brace/embrace

Spring is officially the best season.

Rainer Maria Rilke’s beautiful poem Go to the Limits of Your Longing contains the striking words:

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

They inspire me to live life in a stance of openness, with arms outstretched to welcome what comes, and the flexibility to absorb the shocks. A position of embrace. However, recently I have been a million miles from that. Rather, I am holding myself in brace position, permanently tensed up and ready to defend myself against the next problem that comes. This is entirely counterproductive, as a rigid structure cannot absorb shocks but rather shatters, and in my case this is being expressed in chronic lower back pain that I don’t seem able to shift.

How I respond to events will not change their essential nature of beauty or terror, but whether I hold myself in brace or embrace position will affect how I live my response. It might help me to live in embrace position if I fully take on board that God is holding me safe in her womb and that a spiritual ‘umbilical chord’ deep inside of me connects me with the Divine, whether I feel it or not.

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Protestant guilt and Ignatian desire

An embarrassment of riches!

I seem to bear a lot of ‘protestant guilt’. For a long time, my anchor text was Luke 12:48 From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded – aware that I have been given so much, I have felt under a constant obligation to give more of myself, without much consideration for my own well-being. This kind of thinking made it extremely difficult to say no to a request when I had the time and capacity to answer it. All these obligations crowded out my soul to the point that I couldn’t hear what she needed. I repeatedly ended up overwhelmed, overworked and resentful – the only thing that saved me was moving house or even country!

Ignatian spirituality is teaching me that I need to clear away these obligations so that my soul is free to breathe. That I need to let go of the idea that I can somehow assuage my guilt by taking on duties that I might be good at but do not find life-giving. As I shed such activities, a free and unencumbered space opens up within me, from where I may discern the true calling of my heart. In times when I am acting in tune with the desire of my heart, I feel light, peaceful, in the flow, even joyful – in harmony with the Holy Spirit within me. At such times it seems I am both following my calling and doing something I enjoy, as Frederick Buechner famously said, vocation is the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.

But I can’t help circling back to my deep sense of responsibility – how dare I enjoy my life when so many others are suffering? Isn’t there more that I ought to be doing? At such times, I reflect on a forest walk I once took alongside a small stream. The water was flowing down a slight incline; for long stretches it moved very slowly in wide clear pools, then suddenly dropping into a cascade of rushing, foaming chaos. When life feels like a still pool – with peace and joy and all the good things – rather than feeling guilty, this is a time to rejoice, to be thankful and to dig into the goodness, gathering up the graces of the moment into my inner storehouse. After all, sooner or later, I will surely be rudely interrupted by the next cascade of life’s troubles. As Jesus says in Matthew 6:34 do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

If I am to take this Ignatian desire seriously, perhaps it’s time for a new anchor text, how about these words from Matthew 11:29-30 . Take my yoke upon you… for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light?

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Become still

Life is full of complexity at the moment. A change in the weather and the sight of these fabulous snowdrops has significantly lifted my mood.

Before we pray, it can help to become still, to quieten our hearts and minds and make ourselves available to listen to the whisperings of the Spirit. I invite you to try out the stilling I’ve written below, but do it slowly, taking all the time you need at each stage to fully be with the experience:

Start by making sure that you are sitting comfortably, with your back supported and your feet on the ground.
Close your eyes, or lower and soften your gaze.
Notice your breathing, but do not change it.
Take a few deep breaths.
Become aware of the life-giving oxygen entering your body as you breathe in and of the carbon dioxide you breathe out, which feeds the plants and trees around you.
Life entering your body, and the potential for new life leaving your body.
Notice how your body feels.
Starting with the top of your head and flowing down through your whole body.
Pause at any places of tension or pain, and offer that pain up to God.
Notice how you are feeling today, and offer those feelings up to God.
Become aware of God in whom you live and breathe and have your being.
Become aware of God who is found deep within you.
And rest in that space.

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Stressing over seeds

Some spinach holding its own against the cold of the winter and visits from the pheasant.

As part of our house hunting efforts, last Sunday we visited a church that sits five minutes from a place we have our eye on. This was a very friendly, welcoming congregation and would be very convenient, but I know that it isn’t for us. Apart from not being my preferred style of worship, which perhaps I ought to be able to get over, I was put off by the altar call with a sinners’ prayer beginning ‘despite deserving outer darkness…’ and an injunction to the rest of us to get out there and evangelise.

My reading for this morning was the growing seed. It paints a picture of a mysterious process, whereby seed sown grows on its own, without any effort on the part of the farmer, resulting in a harvest that just needs to be gathered in. The farmer doesn’t go out to his field every day and fret over the seeds, he doesn’t coax, threaten or cajole then into sprouting and growing – he trusts that the mysterious alchemy of soil, sun and moisture will do its work.

Perhaps this is just my personal bias against evangelism, forged in the conflict between the expectations of certain forms of churchmanship and my own introversion, shyness and hatred of conflict, but trying to persuade people to become Christian feels like a farmer fretting over his seeds. It feels like so much stressful labour with, I suspect, diminishing returns these days.

It looks like our job is to sow seeds and gather the harvest. That will look a little different for each one of us, and might even mean standing on street corners for some, but definitely not for me.