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Showing posts with label mystery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mystery. Show all posts

Wednesday, 25 March 2026

A moment in which eternity touches time

Here's the reflection that I shared at St Andrew's Wickford this morning:

Malcolm Guite writes that ‘the Annunciation, the visit of Gabriel to the blessed virgin Mary, is that mysterious moment of awareness, assent and transformation in which eternity touches time.’ As we reflect on this mystery, through meditations and poems I have written, let us think ‘about vision, what we allow ourselves to be aware of, and also about freedom, the way all things turn on our discernment and freedom.’


Angelic announcement of peace and goodwill
come in the form of the child found
by night workers, swaddled and lying in a manger.
His mother ponders these things -
annunciation, nativity, incarnation - in her heart.


Bethlehem begins.
Here, human hands hold God for the first time.
Here, God is fed from a human breast for the first time.
Here, God is struck on the back,
takes his first breath, utters his first cry.
Here, heaven and earth are rejoined.
Here, humanity is taken into the Godhead.
Here, God becomes vulnerable.
Here, God experiences created life.
Here, God enters his creation.
Here, God moves into our neighbourhood,
Becomes one with human beings.

In a place of forced migration,
Where no room could be found
For a pregnant woman
whose baby was not the child of her betrothed,
In less than ideal circumstances
Here begins peace on earth
Goodwill to all.
Salvation is birthed and named
The King of the Jews is sought and found,
The Messiah is recognised and praised.

Here the dividing wall
Between Jew and Gentile,
Male and female, slave and free,
Begins to be removed.
Here begins salvation, redemption,
Restoration for one and all.
Reconciliation between
the human and divine.


You have come to us wordless Word, flesh of our flesh,
as a small child, with no words but a hungry cry,
the Word that made humanity
crying for a mother’s breast;
gravity making creativity become a child
that can be dropped and left unfed.
This is the greatest of all gifts,
the gift of eternal vulnerable love;
the infinite clings with tiny arms to a mother's neck.
Caress us now with your tiny hands,
embrace us with your tiny arms
and pierce our hearts with your soft, sweet cries.

Let us run to Mary, and, as little children,
cast ourselves into her arms with a perfect confidence.
Let us watch the baby Jesus sweetly sucking
the sweet breasts of his glorious Mother,
laying his hand upon his Mother's bosom,
looking up and smiling at her all joyous and full of rapture,
as she holds him, her Lord,
at once so great and so little, in her arms;
kissing over and over again her little infant.
Blessed is that mouth, blessed are her kisses.
Let us calm and quiet ourselves,
like weaned children with their mother;
like a weaned child, to be content in the God
who desires to gather her children
as, under her wings, a hen gathers her brood.


Guite writes of Mary as: ‘a woman who, like so many others then as now, bore the appalling consequences of decisions made by men of power. She fled with her child as a refugee, she saw her son wrongfully arrested, beaten, and mocked by the occupying military force and then tortured to death on a public cross, in what was intended by the Romans to be shameful humiliation, but has, in fact, become the revelation of the full extent of God’s Love.

So, I find myself drawn again to the compassionate figure of Mary, not just in empathy with her own sufferings, direct and vicarious, but also because I believe that her compassion, the compassion so perfectly sculpted in Michelangelo’s Pietà, continues in and from heaven: that the compassion of Mary the Mother of God is still a force for good in the world.

As I think of the soldiers who call for her protection or cry out for her pity, on both sides of the war in Ukraine, I, too, yearn towards her, and with her, towards heaven, from this, our exile. I think of her, watching her Son’s torment, still steadfast in agonised love, and I sense her solidarity with all the mothers who are currently compelled to feel such pain.’ As he thinks of her in these ways he sees her ‘ holding up, once more, all the grief-stricken, to be folded in the mantle of her prayer.’
 

Jesus meets his mother

Mother,
you bore me
so that I
can bear the world
on my shoulders.

Mother,
you birthed me
so that I
can give birth
to God’s children.

Mother,
you sheltered me
so that others
can find shelter
under my wing.

Mother,
you carried me
so that I
can carry others
into heaven’s kingdom
on earth.

Mother,
you bore me,
birthed me,
sheltered me,
carried me,
to release me
and give me
in broken pieces
to the world.

Mother,
in a little while
you will not see me
and your heart
will break.

Mother,
in a little while
you will see me
and the shattered
shards of your heart
will be gathered up
and restored.


Jesus is taken down from the cross
And a sword pierced her heart,
as the whip flayed his back,
as the cross made him fall,
as the nails pierced his wrists and feet,
as the spear pierced his side,
as she held the limp, lifeless adult body
she had once held, as a newborn babe, to her breast.


Guite concludes:

Jesus meets his mother

This darker path into the heart of pain
Was also hers whose love enfolded him
In flesh and wove him in her womb. Again
The sword is piercing. She, who cradled him
And gentled and protected her young son,
Must stand and watch the cruelty that mars
Her maiden making. Waves of pain that stun
And sicken pass across his face and hers
As their eyes meet. Now she enfolds the world
He loves in prayer; the mothers of the disappeared
Who know her pain, all bodies bowed and curled
In desperation on this road of tears,
All the grief-stricken in their last despair,
Are folded in the mantle of her prayer.

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Malcolm Guite - Annunciation.

Saturday, 28 February 2026

Peter Rodulfo: Waiting for a Bite


'Peter Rodulfo: Waiting for a bite' opened today at Chappel Galleries. It was good to meet Peter Rodulfo there and to see his wonderful paintings. 

Peter was born in Washington D.C, USA, in 1958. His early years were spent in Australia and India before coming to England in the mid sixties. He was educated in Suffolk, before going to study painting at Norwich School of Art 1975 – 1979. Since leaving art school he has exhibited all over the world in both solo, group and open shows. Rodulfo has a prolific output in many different mediums, such as oil paint, watercolour, etching, bronze sculpture and assemblages. His work can be found in both private and public collections.

The alluring mystery of everyday life is contemplated in his work and this exhibition for which I have written the catalogue essay:

‘Watching and waiting also characterises the work of the artist in creation. Rodulfo writes of casting a line out and waiting for a bite, not knowing which creature will take the bait, because he suspects that something surprising may be lurking under the surface of his image as it emerges and coheres. Through the patient watching and waiting that the artist undertakes for that emergent something in the work, his images entice, tease and challenge us, as viewers, to pay attention to what is revealed through the interplay between the patterns of form and colour within which our interactions in creation and in community occur. The patterns of shadows, reflections, and echoes seen in these works then evoke memories from different times and places in our own lives. Life is an alluring mystery which changes and passes too quickly for us to apprehend fully. Rodulfo’s images still a moment in time, enabling us to stop, wait, and see by paying attention to the emergent something his art has revealed. What will bite, what will surface, what will emerge, what will you notice, as you watch and wait and see?’

See here for information about my catalogue essay on Alan Caine and here for information about an essay on Damien Hirst, originally written to be a catalogue essay.

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Lucinda Williams - The World's Gone Wrong.

Wednesday, 17 September 2025

The mystery of faith

Here's the sermon that I shared at St Andrew’s Wickford this morning:

Very shortly in the Eucharistic Prayer we will say: ‘Great is the mystery of faith: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.’ This Eucharistic Acclamation focuses on Christ’s crucifixion, resurrection, and second coming as the essential elements in the mystery of our faith.

St Paul’s first letter to Timothy has a slightly different and expanded list of what constitutes the mystery of our faith (1 Timothy 3.14-end), so let’s look briefly at the items in Paul’s list.

He was revealed in flesh – this is the mystery of the incarnation; that Jesus becomes one of us, moving into our neighbourhood and experiencing all that we experience, meaning that God understands all that we go through and takes it into himself in order that we are united with him - being with us, so we can be with him.

Vindicated in spirit – the mystery of vindication is at least twofold. Jesus was vindicated when those things he had prophesied, such as the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem – came true. He was vindicated as a true prophet as a result. He was also vindicated when the Holy Spirit came upon his disciples at Pentecost. Again, this was a promise he had made that was later fulfilled after his Ascension. But also, and more deeply, his Spirit was seen in his disciples and his Spirit taught his disciples all about Jesus. So, his disciples receive his Spirit and learn how to live like him by his Spirit.

Seen by angels – Jesus’ birth was hymned and proclaimed by angels as they sang peace on earth, goodwill to all. Angels were involved at every stage of his birth from the angel at the Annunciation, through the angels that appeared to Joseph, as well as the angels that proclaimed his birth. Later, he was ministered to by angels as he prepared for his ministry in the wilderness.

Proclaimed among Gentiles – although his ministry prior to the events of Passiontide was primarily to the lost sheep of Israel, Jesus did meet and impact the lives of many gentiles. From Peter’s vision that took him to the house of Cornelius, where Cornelius’ whole household became converts, on through Paul’s missionary journeys, the Gospel was increasingly proclaimed among Gentiles. This caused considerable debate in the Early Church, primarily in regard to what aspects of the Mosaic Law should apply to Gentile converts. The answer, as was increasingly understood, was none, beyond the greatest commandment – to love God with all you are and love your neighbour as yourself.

Believed in throughout the world – Christianity began as a Second Temple Judaic movement in the 1st century in the Roman province of Judea, from where it spread throughout and beyond the Roman Empire. Christian missionary activity spread "the Christian Way" and slowly created early centres of Christianity with Gentile adherents in the predominantly Greek-speaking eastern half of the Roman Empire, and then throughout the Hellenistic world and beyond the Roman Empire in Assyria, Mesopotamia, Armenia, Georgia and Persia. Christianity is now the largest religion globally, with over 2.3 billion followers and a significant presence in nearly every country.

Taken up in glory – Jesus ascended to be with God the Father for ever but, by doing so, took his experience of humanity into the Godhead, indeed took humanity itself into the Godhead, meaning that he intercedes at God’s right hand on our behalf continually and that, as the first-fruits of the resurrection from the dead, he is the pioneer of our faith who has gone before us into the presence of God to open the way to God that we can subsequently also follow. He descended to be with us and he ascended that we might be with him.

The mystery of faith is the mystery of God with us, one with us that we might one with him. We state the mystery of faith in the acclamation we make in the Eucharist. Mysteries are not to be explained, instead they are to be experienced. That is what happens when we take bread and wine and thereby take Jesus into our lives. This how we become one with him. This is how the incarnation brings Jesus to us and the resurrection, ascension and Eucharist bring us to Jesus. Amen.

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Bruce Cockburn - Mystery.

Sunday, 28 July 2024

Meeting God in the dark night of the soul

Here's the sermon I shared this evening at St Catherine's Wickford:

The book of Job is the record of one man’s dark night of the soul. In the story Job loses everything that gave his life meaning. His family are wiped out, his home, money and possessions are lost, he experiences severe and painful illnesses and is left alone, except for three friends who are more hindrance than help as they offer only platitudes that essentially pin the blame for his condition on Job himself.

Job knows that the diagnosis offered by his friends is wrong. He knows there is nothing he has done to deserve his suffering. He knows that it is not punishment for something he has done and this gives us one of the reasons why this is such a significant book to find within the pages of the scriptures. The book of Job tells us that much suffering in this world is undeserved. There are times in life when we do reap what we sow and bear the consequences of our choices, as Job’s friends assume must be the case for him. But this is not one of those times and the story is told, in part, to warn us against making the assumptions made by Job’s friends. Not all suffering is brought on by our actions, sometimes life simply deals us a bum hand - and that’s the way it is!

Job is understandably angry about this situation. In the section of the poem we heard read today (Job 19:1-27), he says that he has been broken down on every side and that he has been pursued by both his friends and by God. God accepts Job’s arguing with him and affirms him in so doing. In the final chapter of the book, God says that he is angry with Job’s friends because they did not speak the truth about him, the way his servant Job did. So, the friends who said “it’s all your fault and God is right to punish you” were condemned and Job, who argued his case with God is affirmed.

The book of Job is important, therefore, because it tells us that it is ok to argue with God and to complain to him when life seems unfair. That is important because it is not how we have been brought up to think about relationship with God. Most of us instinctively think that submission to the will of God rather than arguing the toss with God is what makes for a good Christian. Job tells us that that is not so. And, in fact, if we read scripture carefully, we will finish that stories are told of all the heroes of the faith - from Abraham through Moses, Jeremiah and Habbakuk to Jesus and Paul - arguing with God. Why? Because it means we are in real relationship with God. Our virtuous mask comes off and we say what we really mean. We are honest with God in a way that we cannot be when we are trying to be righteous. That is real relationship and that is what God wants more than anything.

This is something which has been acknowledged and understood throughout Church history. The phrase which I used of Job at the beginning of this sermon - the dark night of the soul - was coined by St John of the Cross while imprisoned in a tiny prison cell for his attempts to reform the Church. He was a sixteenth-century Spanish mystic who wrote many of his poems on a scroll smuggled to him by one of his guards. After escaping his captors, he wrote the Dark Night of the Soul, a poem about the painful experience that people endure as they seek to grow in spiritual maturity and union with God.

Similarly, the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote of “That night, that year / Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.”

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light's delay.
With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.

At the end of the Book of Job, Job says, “I talked about things I did not understand, about marvels too great for me to know.” Through his dark night of the soul, he comes to understand that God is not who or what he had thought him to be. God is more than he had imagined or conceived. Human beings can know God but cannot know God fully because is always more than we can imagine or conceive. Every image or idea we have of God is inadequate because God is always more than any human definition. We can say, for example, that God is Father but to say that cannot fully define God as God can also be understood as Mother and as child and as Spirit (without gender). All these different things are true of God at one and the same time. So, God is both known to us and yet unknowable. In the dark night of the soul, all that we had thought we knew of God is taken away from us and we experience something of the mystery of God.

Summing all this up, what can we say? We need to be careful about the advice we offer to those who are suffering. In particular, not to assume that they have in some way brought their suffering on themselves. God said to Job’s friends, “you did not speak the truth about me, the way my servant Job did.” Then, to understand that we do not have to suffer in silence. To argue or complain to God actually brings us into a deeper relationship with him and is a valid part of prayer. Job says, “I still rebel and complain against God; I cannot keep from groaning.” Finally, we need to be prepared to have our understandings of God brought into question as he challenges us to engage with the mystery of who he is, the One who is always more than we can ever conceive or image. And so, like Job, we say “I talked about things I did not understand, about marvels too great for me to know.” May it be so for each one of us. Amen.

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Saturday, 25 December 2021

Wonder of wonders

 


Wonder of wonders,
mystery of mysteries.
The brightness of Christmas
lies on its weather-beaten face.

Look at the cradle!
Look at the child!
Look at the face!
The body of Jesus Christ is our flesh.
He bears our flesh.
Where Christ is, there we are.
It is all our “poor flesh
and blood” which lies there
in the crib.
What happens to Jesus,
happens to us.
He became human,
that we would become
divine.
He came to us that we would
come to him.
He took human nature
that we might be eternally
with him.
Where the body of Jesus Christ is,
there we are;
we are his body.
In the body of this little child,
in the incarnate son of God,
our flesh, our distress,
anxiety, temptation,
our sin, all,
all is borne,
forgiven and healed.
We are accepted,
not despised.
God bears in his body
all our flesh and blood.

All Christian theology
has its origin here.
Without this holy night
there is no theology,
no Christology.
No priest, no theologian
stood at that cradle
and yet all theology arises
from those on bended knees
who do homage
to the mystery
of the divine child
in the stall.

Wonder of wonders,
mystery of mysteries
to know God in the flesh.
Wonder of wonders,
mystery of mysteries.
The brightness of Christmas
lies on its weather-beaten face.

(Adapted from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s writings on Advent and Christmas)

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Dietrich Bonhoeffer - Who Am I.

The four wonders of Christmas

The four wonders of Christmas: A sermon preached at St Martin-in-the-Fields on December 24, 2021 at Midnight Mass

Three miracles or wonders come together on Christmas night. First, the miracle of carrying a baby. The wonder of new life growing within the life and body of a mother. A shelter within the womb in which dependent life can grow towards independence, a life providing all that is necessary to nurture hidden growth and development.

Second, the miracle or wonder of birth itself. The contractions that signal the inevitable, shuddering and painful (for the mother) descent down the birth canal and out, gasping tiny lungfuls of air for the first time. Then the marvel for the parents of holding this tiny being who is flesh of their flesh, bone of their bone; wholly theirs and yet wholly itself.

Third, there is the reaction of others; friends, family, hospital staff, others on the maternity ward, all of whom gather round to share their congratulations and point out those features which confirm that this is a baby that is the child of these parents and these alone. As the saying goes, ‘It takes a village to raise a child’, and that village begins gathering from the moment of birth.

These three miracles or wonders were all present on Christmas night. The miraculous conception of Jesus led Mary from Joseph’s initial rejection and his dream-based acceptance, to the support of her cousin Elizabeth and the recognition of the Messiah by Jesus’ cousin John while still in Elizabeth’s womb, and on to the journey to Bethlehem because of the census, the lack of room for them to stay, with the stable at the inn becoming their resting place in preparation for the birth. Mary was the God-bearer, the one who carried Jesus through his nine-month gestation and who delivered him into a world that neither knew him or particularly wanted him.

That delivery happened on the night that we celebrate tonight. Without midwives and for the usual length of time involving all the usual birth pains, the birth took place of a child about whom prophecies had been spoken and through whom the world itself had come into being and yet he came into a world that did not know him and did not accept him. While born into obscurity, living and dying in obscurity, many, throughout time, have come to see this moment, the birth, as the central moment in human history, the moment around which our wellbeing, salvation and future happiness revolve.

And then others began arriving; first, the animals in the stall, then angels sending shepherds, then a star leading Magi to find the baby born Kings of the Jews. There was celebration and singing, wonder and awe, gift-giving and more dreams providing warnings and directions. A hastily assembled village bringing affirmation, guidance, and protection for the new family who were a long way from home and shortly to become refugees.

All these wonders occurred in less than ideal circumstances, bringing into question our current yearning for Boris to ‘save’ Christmas. To save what and for what, when as we’ve already seen God is always most fully experienced and encountered in adversity, rather than comfort!

Three Christmas wonders, but we have yet to experience the full wonder of Christmas night. There one more wonder, I want to share. I want to encourage you to look more closely into the manger. If you do, looking more intently and closely at the child lying in the manger like new parents seeing their new-born child for the first time and recognising their features in their child, you will see yourself looking back at you.

This insight was first expressed in 1939 by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor who directed an underground seminary in Germany, an intentional Christian community that practised a new form of monasticism. The seminary was closed down in 1937 by the Gestapo and more than two dozen of its students were arrested. Bonhoeffer, too, was arrested in 1943 and executed in 1945, just weeks before the end of World War II. Earlier, while still at liberty, he wrote circular letters to his students encouraging them to pursue and maintain fellowship with one another in any and every way possible.

In his circular letter sent at Christmas in 1939 Bonhoeffer wrote this about the nativity:

‘The body of Jesus Christ is our flesh. He bears our flesh. Therefore, where Jesus Christ is, there we are, whether we know it or not; that is true because of the incarnation. What happens to Jesus Christ, happens to us. It really is all our "poor flesh and blood" which lies there in the crib; it is our flesh which dies with him on the cross and is buried with him. He took human nature so that we might be eternally with him. Where the body of Jesus Christ is, there we are; indeed, we are his body. So the Christmas message for all … runs: You are accepted. God has not despised you, but he bears in his body all your flesh and blood. Look at the cradle! In the body of the little child, in the incarnate son of God, your flesh, all your distress, anxiety, temptation, indeed all your sin, is borne, forgiven and healed.’

That is the great insight of Bonhoeffer’s letters; where Jesus Christ is, there we are, whether we know it or not; what happens to Jesus Christ, happens to us. He became a human being like us, so that we would become divine. He came to us so that we would come to him. He took human nature so that we might be eternally with him. Where the body of Jesus Christ is, there we are; indeed, we are his body. Like new parents seeing their new-born child for the first time and recognising their features in their child, so, when we look in the manger, we see ourselves looking back at us.

‘How shall we deal with such a child?’ Bonhoeffer asks. How shall we respond to so many Christmas wonders? These wonders, these miracles, are all wonderful points of connection with the God who connects with us in and through the Christ-child on Christmas night.

I wonder with which of the four wonders of Christmas night you most identify? I wonder how you will come and connect with the Christ-child this Christmas night? As one who has carried a baby and given birth, as one who has gathered in support of a new family, or as one who has seen something of yourself in the new-born child.

Bonhoeffer also asks us, ‘Have our hands, soiled with daily toil, become too hard and too proud to fold in prayer at the sight of this child? Has our head become too full of serious thoughts … that we cannot bow our head in humility at the wonder of this child? Can we not forget all our stress and struggles, our sense of importance, and for once worship the child, as did the shepherds and the wise men from the East, bowing before the divine child in the manger like children?’ Will you look in the manger this Christmas night to see not only Jesus, but also yourself, and bow your head in humility and worship at the wonder of this God-given child.

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Jennifer Hudson - O Holy Night.  

Wednesday, 5 May 2021

Chaiya Art Awards: A different kind of treasure


A different kind of treasure: Winners Exhibition, Affordable Art Fair at the Oxo Gallery

An invitation to revive and refresh our senses. The Chaiya Art Awards is the UK’s largest awards exploring spirituality through the visual arts with a top prize of £10,000, an inclusive competition for artists, whatever their faith or views on God.

From over 700 entries, the 50 visual artists featured in this juried and curated exhibition explore the theme “God is…” and encourage us to look beyond, to discern what cannot be seen and grasp what cannot be described. A liminal space where life's pain and pleasure dissolve, where questions and answers fade into shadow, where the indefinable lies, a treasure waiting to be found.

“Today, in a world full of conflict and shocks, art bears witness to the most precious part of what makes us human … At a time of global disorder, art embraces life.” Christine Macel

'God is …’ a mystery explored through canvas and paper, photographs and video, others cloth and stitch; 3D metalwork and pottery; bronze and stone sculpture; glass and pipework; a movement sensitive robot alongside an interactive sign with sonic sensors.

The panel of five judges, all well respected experts in the arts arena, will be announcing the winner of the top prize of £10,000 along with other prizes. But visitors will also have their say, in voting for public prize of £1,000 from the artwork on display during the exhibition.

EVENT: Chaiya Art Awards 2021, Winners Exhibition, Affordable Art Fair

DATES: Fri 14 May – Sun 23 April 2021
OPEN: 11am – 6pm every day (till 4pm on last day)
VENUE: Gallery@OXO, Oxo Tower Wharf, Bargehouse Street, South Bank, London, SE1 9PH

Entrance is free. Artwork for sale, prices from £50 - £20,000

10% of all artwork sold goes to our Charity partner UNSEEN - working to end human trafficking and modern slavery.

THE EXHIBITION WILL ALSO BE ONLINE SIMULTANEOUSLY from 14-May to 31 July 2021, to allow access from all over the world.

For more information, visit: chaiyaartawards.co.uk

Facebook: @ChaiyaArtAwards
Twitter: @ChaiyaArtAwards
Instagram: chaiyaartawards

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Mica Paris - Mamma Said.

Friday, 1 November 2019

Foyer Display: Jenny Cox




The changing monthly display by the artists' and craftspeople's group at St Martin-in-the-Fields in the Foyer of the Crypt for November is by Jenny Cox. Each month a different member of the group or artists linked to it will show examples of their work, so do look regularly to see the changing display.

Jenny says, "Although I was born and brought up in London, I have felt close to the land and the countryside all my life. Nature was my extended family, and is still where I feel most at home. My relationship to Creation is a love affair, and my photographs are an expression of that love.

Since I was a child I have photographed the landscape, and it remains a process of prayer and praise. The images in this exhibition do not depict extraordinary places, but woodlands and forestry and streams.... I hope they express at least a little of the magic and mystery of the unseen worlds that can sometimes be sensed behind what we see.

The photographs are for sale. 25% of the proceeds will be given to Connection. If you would like to purchase one please contact me at jennyllcox@gmail.com, or on 07891 015332.

There are also 2 chalk pastel drawings in the display, made in the St Martin’s Art Club. To purchase a print of one of the drawings, please send an email, or phone".

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Leonard Cohen - Happens To The Heart.

Saturday, 30 December 2017

Faith, Mystery & Poetry

Peter Levi stated that Elizabeth Jennings ‘may be the last poet of what used to be called ‘the soul’. 'One strand of her writing vitalizes English mystical verse in which she was steeped.' Her book Every Changing Shape, published in 1961, considers from a Christian poet's perspective how religious or mystical experience informs the imagination.

She avoids terms like 'inspiration', 'ecstasy', sticking to particulars - words, meanings - rather than ideology or theory. A collection of studies of writers and mystics past and present, the book brings literary judgement to bear on a subject neglected in a secular age. Though her first concern is poetry, she draws on prose writers to effect her penetrating explorations.

This collection studies writers and mystics, past and present. The text provides readings of Jennings's chosen authors and offers clues to her own poetry. Writers considered include: St Augustine; St Teresa of Avila; George Herbert; T.S. Eliot; Charles Peguy; Simone Weil; Gerald Manley Hopkins; David Gascoyne; Julian of Norwich; St John of the Cross; Henry Vaughan; Thomas Traherne; Rainer Maria Rilke; Edwin Muir; Hart Crane; and Wallace Stevens.’ David Gascoyne she considered 'the only living English poet, apart from Eliot, in the true mystical tradition.’ ‘If not directly influenced by it,’ she wrote, ‘his work undoubtedly leads back to the visionary poetry of Vaughan, Herbert and Traherne.'

In Christianity and Poetry (1965) she also considered the influence of religion on literature':

'Poets and mystics who have experienced some close, personal but supra-rational awareness of God have always carried away from such moments of illumination an increased subtlety, a profoundly original understanding of human experience and of the apparent contradictions even in the physical universe.’ … ‘Poetry is not rationalization but revelation and what is healing in it, both for the poet and his readers, is the ability to depict conflict at its most vulnerable point.' ’While frequently making parallels between poetry and religion, Jennings teases out the differences between the mystic and the poet: the poet wants to communicate ordinary experience while the mystic moves away from it.’

‘Christianity Today (1965) was what she called a ‘personal book’, dealing with ‘problems of taste and fashion, dogma and belief, style and form, tradition and the avant-garde’. She confronted the danger of the Christian label, with its associations of didacticism and moralizing. For her, it was about taking a Christian lens to all subjects, following on from Chaucer, Milton, Dryden, Patmore, Hopkins and T.S. Eliot. She refers to Peter Levi being a Jesuit, W.H. Auden’s piece ‘Christianity and Poetry’ in The Dyer’s Hand and David Jones’ application of his Catholic heritage to his poetry and painting. The chapters are titled: Anglo-Saxon; Middle English; The Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries; The Seventeenth Century; The Eighteenth Century; The Nineteenth Century; Women’s Visionary Poets – Emily Bronte and Emily Dickinson; The Twentieth Century. “Foreigners and Mystics’ that includes Dante, Claudel, Peguy and Baudelaire.’

From a similar time period Modern Religious Verse edited by Tim Beaumont and An Anthology of Religious Verse edited by Norman Nicholson provide an interesting range of poets and approaches to religious poetry. Beaumont says of his selection that his choices are ‘typical of modern poetry’ and also ‘of modern religious feeling’. As a result, there is a strong emphasis on poems of doubt and poems of protest, with a consequent lack of ‘cultic or worshipping poems’. In his choices he drew heavily on poems published in Prism, as selected by Nicholas Mosley. Poets included are: W.H. Auden, D.C. Barker, Thomas Blackburn, James Brabazon, Edwin Brock, Roy Campbell, Charles Causley, G.K. Chesterton, E.E. Cummings, Paul Dehn, T.S. Eliot, Peter Firth, David Gascoyne, Helen Grundy, Alec D. Hope, L.E. Jones, Peter Levi, E.L. Mascall, John Masefield, Edwin Muir, Valerie Pitt, Ruth Pitter, F. Pratt Green, John Press, Dylan Thomas, Chad Walsh, Charles Williams.

Nicholson writes that to ‘many modern poets the events of Our Lord’s life are so vivid that they seem to be contemporary, so that it is natural for them to write in the language, imagery and form of our time.’ The structure of his book deals with modern conceptions of God and of life in relation to God. Poets included are: W.H. Auden, Hilaire Belloc, S.L. Bethell, G.K. Chesterton, Walter de la Mare, Clifford Dyment, T.S. Eliot, George Every, M. Farrow, David Gascoyne, Thomas Hardy, Rayner Heppenstall, G.M. Hopkins, D.H. Lawrence, Andrew Murray, Norman Nicholson, J.D.C. Pellow, Ruth Pitter, Anne Ridler, Michael Roberts, Walter Roberts, John Short, Tambimuttu, Allen Tate, Dylan Thomas, Charles Williams, W.B. Yeats and Andrew Young.

‘Mark Van Doren (June 13, 1894 – December 10, 1972) was an American poet, writer and critic, apart from being a scholar and a professor of English at Columbia University for nearly 40 years, where he inspired a generation of influential writers and thinkers including Thomas Merton, Robert Lax, John Berryman, Whittaker Chambers, and Beat Generation writers such as Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac.’

'This was the time of Vatican II and Ed Rice's Jubilee magazine when a springtime of the church was celebrated in art, poetry and deep spirituality extending to all faiths - all this jubilation aided and abetted by Merton and Lax.' (Ned O'Gorman, blurb for 'Merton and Friends')

Van Doren taught that only religious poetry can be truly great. David Zlotnick reported on an address given by Van Doren to an Undergraduate Newman Club audience where he argued that "if poetry is about the world, religious poetry is about the universe":

‘"Today," he said, "we have narrowed and specialized the function of poetry," and tend to think of the Hymn as being symbolic of religious poetry. Professor Van Doren, however, finds it "the weakest and least moving form of religious poetry," because it is a limited form. Great religious poetry, he indicated, is poetry or prose which has emerged after struggle, conflict, and "terrific drama" have taken place in the souls of the authors, as they search for God. Expanding his thesis that those who initially fight most within themselves are, after coming to the truth, the most religious of people, Professor Van Doren emphasized that "God is very difficult to understand." "God did a tremendous thing when he made us free to hate him—he could have made us unfree to hate him. Yet," Professor Van Doren went on, referring to Lucretius' criticism of religion, "there is nothing like an attack on religion to reveal its power.”'

‘Merton, Lax, and Rice ‘were college buddies who became life-long friends, literary innovators, and spiritual iconoclasts.’

‘Merton, who died some 30 years before the other two, was the first to achieve fame with his best-selling spiritual autobiography, The Seven-Story Mountain. Lax, whom Jack Kerouac dubbed "one of the great original voices of our times," eventually received recognition as one of "America's greatest experimental poets, a true minimalist who can weave awesome poems from remarkably few words" (New York Times Book Review). He spent most of the last 35 years of his life living frugally on one of the remotest of the Greek isles. After Jubilee folded, Rice wrote 20 books on world culture, religion, and biography. His 1970 biography of Merton, The Man in the Sycamore Tree, was judged too intimate, forthright, and candid by those who, in Lax's words, "were trying so hard to get pictures of [Merton's] halo that they missed his face." His biography of the 19th century explorer and "orientalist" Sir Richard Burton became a New York Times bestseller.’

'Merton was a prolific poet, religious writer, and essayist whose diversity of work has rendered a precise definition of his life and an estimation of the significance of his career difficult.' ‘Merton corresponded with an extraordinary range of writers, among them Evelyn Waugh, Henry Miller, Jacques Maritain, Walker Percy and William Carlos Williams. He spoke out boldly against political oppression, social injustice, racism and nuclear weapons, and expressed solidarity with Boris Pasternak, Czeslaw Milosz and James Baldwin. His letters to Nicaraguan poet Ernesto Cardenal and to Argentine feminist Victoria Ocampo reflect his deep love of Latin American culture.’

'Lax pursued an approach to life he called pure act - a way of living in the moment that was both spontaneous and practiced, God-inspired and self-chosen. By devoting himself to simplicity, poverty and prayer, he expanded his capacity for peace, joy and lovewhile producing distinctive poetry of such stark beauty critics called him "one of America's greatest experimental poets" and "one of the new 'saints' of the avant-garde."'
In his introduction to Upholding Mystery, his 1997 anthology of contemporary Christian poetry, David Impastato argues that nothing is off-limits to the Christian poet who is equally comfortable with the “polyphony of self” as with the notion of history as ‘a web of narratives floating rather free of historical fact, if there is such a thing as fact.’ Such poetry, he suggests, seeks ‘to understand human personhood less in the conventional realms of “self” than in relation to the “other,” to community, and to the shaping of tradition.’ Finally, there is an acceptance of the universe ‘as a mystery beyond the reach of rational or scientific constructs.’

‘From Andrew Hudgins's often humorous narratives to Geoffery Hill's darkly impassioned lyrics, from Denise Levertov's incisive personal and political insights to Wendell Berry's lovely evocations of the divine presence in nature, the book provides generous selections of work by such well-known poets as Richard Wilbur, Annie Dillard, Daniel Berrigan, Les Murray, Louise Erdrich, and Kathleen Norris, along with the impressive though less known voices of David Craig, David Citino, Scott Cairns, Maura Eichner, and David Brendan Hopes. Together the anthology's fifteen poets have created what critic Jonathan Holden calls a "revolutionary core" of work that is recognized equally for the stature of its verse and for its illumination of the Christian ethos. By limiting the number of poets to fifteen rather than presenting the usual broad sampling, this unique collection allows readers to gain a thorough familiarity with each poet's work to see the struggle, discovery, and transformation of the spiritual quest throughout an individual body of verse, yet still to see how each poet contributes to a vision of the sacred that can be understood only in diversity, in the very contrast between one voice and another.’

Here ‘is a contemporary encounter with Christian mystery, in poetry that is as vibrant, as compelling, and as meaningful as any being written today’ ‘showing that the transcendent is indeed alive and well in the hands of contemporary poets, despite reports to the contrary.’

In Faith, Hope and Poetry Malcolm Guite, by means of a critical appreciation and analysis of particular poems from across the vast span of English literature beginning with The Dream of the Rood and ending with the work of Seamus Heaney, explores the idea that transfigured vision is fundamental to the experience both of writing and reading poetry, while arguing that the transfiguring of vision through a revitalized imagination is a common task for science, poetry, and theology. Foundational to this argument are Guite’s detailed and insightful readings of firstly The Dream of the Rood, followed by works from the pens of Shakespeare, Davies, Donne, Herbert, Vaughan, Milton, Coleridge, Hardy, Larkin, Hill, and Heaney.

Faith, Hope and Poetry seeks 'to show that a study of poetic imagination turns out to be a form of theology; that in seeking to understand how multiple meanings come to be’ bodied forth’ in finite poems which ‘grow to something of great constancy’ we discover a new understanding of the prime embodiment of all meaning which is the Incarnation. And this new understanding of incarnation in its turn gives us a new confidence in the ultimate significance of our own acts of poetic embodiment. But if poetry as a manifestation of particular embodiment speaks of the immanence of God, then poetry as a means of cleansing and transfiguring vision speaks of God’s transcendence.'

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Elizabeth Jennings - Friends.

Friday, 5 August 2016

When one does not die for the other, we are dead already

N.N. Trakakis has a marvellous meditation on humility and anonymity in his excellent article
Found in Translation: on translating Tasos Leivaditis:

"Leivaditis has often been classified as a poet of the margins, even the ‘guardian angel’ of the marginal, the outcasts of society that repeatedly populate his poems: the blind, the forgotten, beggars, anarchists, prostitutes, drunkards, the mentally ill—‘those poor and mad souls who imagined themselves to be birds, ladders or trees’, as he wonderfully put it. Leivaditis helps us see that the marginal is that which cannot be placed under the rule of the conventional and the socially acceptable, and so it resists falsification, dishonesty and dissembling. The real critics of the establishment are therefore those who live precariously on the margins, not those ‘professional sceptics’ (e.g., academic philosophers) who invariably turn out to be the system’s co-conspirators.

Perhaps the greatest value Leivaditis unearths in these marginal characters is their anonymity, a value he wants to ascribe to writing as much as to existence. In a prose poem entitled ‘Anonymity’ and displaying Leivaditis’ characteristic magic realism, anonymity is linked to notions of authenticity and freedom:

No-one waited for him. And he himself knew no-one. Who was he? Where was he going? This was never discovered. The only established fact was that the other day he was found dead on the street and when they went to lift him, as they would have been expected to do, they saw that the dead man—despite the continuing rain—was untouched and his old worn-out clothes were dry. They were naturally taken aback, for they of course could not see the beautiful cover of anonymity…

There is no attempt made by such outsiders to ‘make a name for oneself’, to secure a place in the cherished annals of history, for they recognise that, ‘What else is anonymity but to live in purity and to depart even purer’. This naturally provokes perplexity and fear in those who have compromised with the standards and expectations of society:

At times mother would ask me with tears in her eyes, ‘Why do you like to humble yourself?’ ‘I want to understand, mother’.

It is only the anonymous themselves, Leivaditis writes, who ‘comprehend the mystery of being a nobody’. Anonymity, to be sure, may well arouse in self-defeating fashion curiosity. But the point of anonymity is not to incite in an underhand way the interest of others, but to open up another way of being and writing. Anonymity as a matter of not merely going underground, but as emerging onto new ground.

Together with anonymity, one can detect an insistence in Leivaditis on ‘lightness’—to be become unobtrusive, like light, remaining invisible so as to make it possible for the other to be seen. At work here is something like a Levinasian principle of ‘substitution’, reflected in Leivaditis’ oft-quoted line: ‘And when one does not die for the other, we are dead already’. The life of the writer, on this model, is sacrificial, commanded by a call to give, and so always at a loss and always at sea."

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Corinne Bailey Rae - The Skies Will Break.

Friday, 11 March 2016

Paying attention: Ethics

"All this should make us think a bit harder about how we as Christians approach the whole business of ethics. . . . if the desert literature is right, then we all need training in listening and attending almost more than anything else. Unless we are capable of patience before each other, before the mysteriousness of each other, it’s very unlikely that we will do God’s will with any kind of fullness. Without a basic education in attention, no deeply ethical behavior is really going to be possible; we may only keep the rules and do what is technically and externally the right thing. but that 'doing the right thing' will not be grounded yet in who we are, in the person God wants us to become, and it may not survive stress and temptation. It may also be quite capable of existing alongside attitudes and habits dangerous to ourselves and each other; it may not bring us life with and through the neighbour. Our Christian codes of behaviour quite rightly tell us that some sorts of action are always wrong - torture or fraud, killing the innocents or the unborn, sexual violence and infidelity - but to see why that is so requires us to go back a step or two to see why this or that action is bound to speak of inattention, why this or that action makes it impossible to listen for the word in another person. Unless we can grasp something of that, our ethics will never really be integrated with our search and our prayer for holy life in community."


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Jennifer Warnes - Joan Of Arc.

Monday, 29 February 2016

Paying Attention: Mystery

Here is the third of addresses from 'Paying Attention', the Silent Retreat at the Retreat House, Pleshey, organised for the communities of St Martin-in-the-Fields and St Stephen Walbrook. We explored ways of paying attention to people, creation, events, emotions, absence and mystery. Earlier, at St Martin's, I had also spoken about paying attention in terms of the Arts.

Paying Attention: Mystery

The singer-songwriter Bruce Cockburn sings, “You can't tell me there is no mystery / It's everywhere I turn.”

Andrew Davison has helpfully explained why this is so:

“It is fairly obvious that theology concerns topics beyond our full comprehension. This is illustrated in science by the way our basic picture has to change for time to time: Newton eclipsed Aristotle; quantum mechanics eclipsed Newton. Such shifts are no disaster, unless your only standard for intellectual success is completeness: having things cut and dried, sorted out. Scientific revolutions show us that the world is always beyond our grasp.

Knowledge is always partial because, frankly, the world is rather strange. Human knowledge goes only so far; behind it there is mystery. The development of science over the centuries confirms that mystery rather than denying it. The fact that science is forced to shift, again and again, demonstrates that human knowledge is constitutively incomplete.

I would give the name “faith” to this mixture of knowledge and mystery; we understand in part, as St Paul memorably put it.

Science grasps something of the truth about the world, but it is partial, and it develops. Religion and theology grasp something of the truth about the world and about God — although I would rather say that they touch God than that they grasp him. That is also partial knowledge, and it develops. As Aristotle said, one can take great joy in even a little knowledge of the highest things …

Finally, science knows only in part, just as theology knows only in part. We never fully know what we are talking about; but we can talk about it. Saying that you know in part is not a weakness; it is reason at its strongest and most mature. There is to everything a mysterious depth that eludes us.”

St Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 13. 9 – 12: “For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.”

In thinking about the way scripture speaks to us about God, Stephen Fowl notes that, “When it comes to almost any topic in Christian theology, but particularly to God, we will not get off to a good start if we expect the scriptures to demonstrate a unified, cut-and-dried doctrine of God.

Viewing scripture as a receptacle of doctrines will frustrate us, because on the one hand scripture’s accounts of God are rich and variegated, but on the other these accounts are not systematically organised.”

It is more theologically fruitful, he suggests, to see that scripture recognises this diversity and theologising about how we can organise and account for this variety.

In their book ‘The Abundant Community’, John McKnight and Peter Block suggest:

“A competent community creates space for what is unknowable about life. This is another major distinction from systems. In system life, living with mystery is considered poor planning. Systems are organized around the desire for certainty, science, and measurability. Planning, goals, blueprints are a defense against mystery. Institutions are about eliminating mystery. They are concerned with risk reduction or risk management. Taking uncertainty out of the future …

“Mystery is the answer to the unknown. In actualising its abundance, a community welcomes mystery, for that is a catalyst for creativity. Mystery gives us freedom from the burden of answers. Answers are just a restatement of the past …

Mystery is to the unknown as grief is to sorrow. What do you do when you do not know what is going to happen to you? You name it a mystery. It lets you go. It is a name for things we cannot fully know or control …

“The reason we need art in all its forms is to grasp the mystery in our lives, to recognize the mysteries around us. To get away from the pre-ordained structured way of seeing things. That is why you can listen to a song over and over. You know exactly what is coming, and it still holds an element of wonder. Which may be the primary function of art and why it is so essential to sustaining community.”

One gift that poetry, in particular, has to offer to us “is not an affirmation, but a negation of the power of any formulation.” Malcolm Guite writes that:

“Because poets push language to the limit, they are especially aware that language has its limits. Often a poet’s greatest art is to bring us to the brink of language, and gesture wordlessly beyond it.

This is especially T. S. Eliot’s art in his greatest achievement, Four Quartets. The fifth section of each quartet constantly returns to his theme of words that “strain, Crack and sometimes break, under the burden . . . Decay with imprecision” (“Burnt Norton”).

Even the radiant spiritual poetry of these quartets has, as it were watermarked into every page, Eliot’s explicit confession of the limitations of language: “only . . . Hints followed by guesses” (“The Dry Salvages”).

All of that is summed up in two lines from “East Coker”:

The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.”

If we are to pay attention to the mystery of God, there are ultimately only three responses we can make. The first is to keep exploring. Eliot writes in ‘Little Gidding,’ “We shall not cease from exploration,” and that is right because if we stop searching, if we stop questioning, then we get stuck and stagnate. We only have to look at nature to see the way in which all growth involves change; the caterpillar and butterfly being one of the most dramatic examples. Our own bodies are constantly changing throughout our lives with many of our cells being replaced as we progress through life. Growth involves constant change and if we apply this same principle to our thought life, our emotional life and our spiritual life then, as Eliot wrote, we must not cease from exploration.

The second is to express our sense of awe and wonder by kneeling in worship. Once again, T. S. Eliot’s ‘Little Gidding’ describes this well:

“If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel …”

The answer to our questions is a person, not a fact, and the person who is the answer to our questions turns out to be God himself. Because God is infinite, he cannot be fully known or understood by human beings. With God, there is always more for us to know and understand. Knowing God in this way is exploration; like diving into the ocean and always being able to dive down deeper

The third response is to give gifts. Christina Rossetti expressed the gift we should give in her carol, ‘In the bleak midwinter’:

“What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.”

I began by quoting Bruce Cockburn and I’d like to end doing so again. Death is the ultimate mystery for us and here Cockburn pictures it as entering into mystery:

"There you go
Swimming deeper into mystery
Here I remain
Only seeing where you used to be
Stared at the ceiling
'Til my ears filled up with tears
Never got to know you
Suddenly you're out of here

Gone from mystery into mystery
Gone from daylight into night
Another step deeper into darkness
Closer to the light"

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Bruce Cockburn - Mystery.

Thursday, 1 October 2015

The mystery of humility

“The mystery is this – the more you go beyond yourself, the more you will become your true self; the more you lose yourself in loving and serving others, the more you will find yourself; the more you keep company with those who suffer, the more you will be healed.

This is the knowledge which passes all understanding. This is certain and has been proved experimentally in the life of all the saints.”

Those words were spoken by Richard Chartres, the Bishop of London, at the thanksgiving service for the life of Princess Diana but they could have been written for our gospel reading (Luke 1. 1 - 11) today.

Jesus noted our tendency to put ourselves first, wanting the best places, making our claim to be the most important. He saw it in guests at a wedding. We see it every time we try to board a bus or a tube train. We tend to think that a decrease in politeness and civility is something that applies only to our own day and time but Jesus saw it in his community as well. Vying for position and honour is a consistent human trait in all of us and one of which we need to repent.

Jesus deals with the issue very pragmatically. He says to those wanting the best seats that they are likely to come a cropper because someone more important than them may arrive and then they’ll have the embarrassment of having to stand down. It would be much better for your self esteem, he says, if you were to take the lowest seat and then have the honour of being invited up. So, Jesus pragmatically commends humility to these people by appealing to their self interest.

But the point that he is making is that humility is the only way to true greatness. Richard Chartres explains why we are only truly great when we are truly humble. It is because going beyond ourselves, losing ourselves in service of others is actually the way in which we find ourselves and really come to know ourselves as we really are.

Those who are continually pushing themselves forward, wanting to be first, needing to be honoured are those who do not feel confident in themselves. Their lack of self-confidence and self-knowledge means that they are forever needing the praise of others. Those who know themselves do not need that kind of recognition and so can be in the background quietly serving others because they know themselves and have found out who they truly are.

Much of what we do Jesus says is for payment, even when no money changes hands. We invite friends or relatives or wealthy neighbours knowing that they will pay us back by inviting us back. That is not true humility, Jesus says. True humility does not expect payment or recompense. When we are truly humble then we will invite those who cannot repay us in kind; those who are suffering. Richard Chartres says that, just as we find ourselves by losing ourselves, by keeping company with those who are suffering we ourselves find healing.

To put ourselves first reveals our underlying insecurity and does nothing to fill the need we have for recognition. So many of us live life this way and are profoundly dissatisfied as a result. The mystery is though that those who humble themselves will be made great, those who go beyond themselves will become themselves, those who lose themselves in loving and serving others will find themselves, those who bless and keep company with the suffering are themselves healed.

What Jesus and the Bishop are talking about is profoundly counter-cultural, it goes against the grain of our lives and our society, but it is the way that God designed human life to be and our frantic lives only truly rest when they find their rest in him.

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John Tavener - Song For Athene.

Thursday, 6 August 2015

The Transfiguration: From mystery into mystery

Here is the reflection from this evening's Choral Evensong for the Feast of the Transfiguration at St Stephen Walbrook:

The Transfiguration (Mark 9. 2 - 8) ‘is a vivid portrayal of the mystery of Jesus’ being with us, with the law and the prophets, and with God, all at the same time, and an invitation for us to enter that mystery.’ Through the responses of the disciples, it ‘demonstrates how much we resist doing so, and how Jesus finds a way to be with us regardless.’ (Sam Wells, A Nazareth Manifesto)

The great modern religious artist Albert Herbert viewed ‘Bible stories … as symbols, metaphors, revealing the ‘marvellous’.’ He said that his ‘painting of Moses climbing the mountain and speaking to God in a cloud, is about the incomprehensible; God is beyond understanding, it is the revelation coming from outside the tangible world of the senses. It cannot be put better than in this Biblical image of something hidden from you by a cloud; and you going upwards with great difficulty, away from the ordinary world, and looking for something hidden from you.’

The Transfiguration is about this same sense of being taken out of our routine lives and routine experience in order that we experience something more, something beyond, something outside our current experience which is transforming and transfiguring without being fully explicable. If it is real our encounter with God must ultimately be an encounter with mystery because God is someone other, someone more than, someone beyond and outside of human comprehension and reasoning. God reveals himself through Jesus, in ways that we can see and know and understand, but, ultimately, remains someone who is more than we can fully see and know and understand.

The Transfiguration was, therefore, the disciples (and, through them, ourselves) encountering the mystery of God. We call such experiences, ‘mountain-top experiences’. We are all likely to have had them at some point in our lives. Moments when something we encounter takes our breath away and we are taken out of ourselves and become specially aware of the wonder of the world, of existence or, directly, of God. They can be times of great blessing and revelation when all seems well with the world and when we know without any uncertainty that we are God’s children. Our mountain-top experience might be a great worship service, an experience of healing, answered prayer or the gifts of the Holy Spirit, or a sense of overwhelming joy or of union with every other living thing in the whole created order but, equally, cannot be restricted just to those moments.

We can go with the flow in such moments and open ourselves to experience something beyond our understanding and experience or we can respond, like the disciples, with some fear and trepidation at this disruption of our usual experience and make attempts, as Peter did in proposing tents for Jesus, Moses and Elijah, to get this disturbing experience back inside the limits of our control and understanding.

Whatever it is and however wonderful it is, we will inevitably, as Jesus, did come down from the mountain-top to experience suffering or in our case failure. We cannot live on the mountain-tops but those experience sustain us when we are in the valleys. Such experiences are one of the means God uses to go with us through the valleys, even the valley of the shadow of death.

Mountain-top experiences are surprises which we cannot look for or manufacture. They are gifts for us to experience, appreciate and enjoy. The singer-songwriter Bruce Cockburn sums up the attitude we need when he sings:

‘There you go
Swimming deeper into mystery
Here I remain
Only seeing where you used to be
Stared at the ceiling
'Til my ears filled up with tears
Never got to know you
Suddenly you're out of here

Gone from mystery into mystery
Gone from daylight into night
Another step deeper into darkness
Closer to the light’

To genuinely encounter God as he is, we cannot constrain or control him but have to accept that he is beyond our understanding, more than we can fully grasp, comprehend or reason. When we are open in this way, we can go swimming deeper into mystery, we can go from mystery to mystery, from daylight into night, another step deeper into darkness, closer to the light. This is the invitation and welcome extended to us through the Transfiguration.

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Bruce Cockburn - Closer To The Light.

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Resurrection: A mystery which continues to fascinate and enthral

Here is my sermon from tonight's Easter Vigil Service at St Stephen Walbrook. It will shortly be added to the London Internet Church website as an audio file.

In recent years a surprising number of Jesus novels have been published. Novels which retell aspects of the life of Jesus have been unexpectedly popular, both with writers and their readers. This fact is a demonstration of the continuing interest that the story of Jesus generates, even in a secularized culture. “Most of the Jesus-centred new fiction retells the familiar story of Christ from an unrecorded viewpoint, whether Mary, Mary Magdalene, Judas (very often) or Jesus himself” (Philip Hensher)

The latest of these, Acts of the Assassins by Richard Beard, has as its central character Gallio, who has been assigned the task of minding the corpse of Christ. He finds himself in deep trouble when the body goes missing. Christ’s disciples claim he has come back to life so Gallio is tasked with proving them wrong in order to stop the worrying spread of this new religion. He tracks the disciples around the world, only to find each one murdered in ever more gruesome ways (http://www.booktrust.org.uk/books/view/34202).

Beard contrasts Gallio’s search for a rational explanation with the mystery of Christ’s resurrection and the joyful walk of his disciples towards martyrdom. Reviewing the novel, Philip Hensher wrote that, as a result, we sense that the resurrection narrative is one “that we can only gaze at and realise the inadequacies of our tools for explanation?”

Whatever happened on the first Easter morning it transformed the lives of Jesus’ disciples to the extent that they were willing to die for their belief that Jesus was alive. People simply do not allow themselves to be killed for the sake of something that they know to be a lie. Christ’s disciples were all martyred because of an unwavering, unrelenting claim that Christ rose from the grave. Similarly, through the history of the Church into the present people like us have continued to claim that they have encountered Christ in their lives and that this encounter has transformed us in that we have become people who are seeking to become, however falteringly, Christ-like. Like the disciples our claim, as a result, is that Jesus is alive and at work, by his Spirit, in our lives. While we have not been placed in the position where we have to choose whether or not to die for this belief, many Christians throughout the history of the Church right into the present have, and have maintained their belief that Jesus is alive even when faced with death as a result.

As Beard explores through the character of Gallio, there is no rational explanation for this reality. It is a mystery which continues to fascinate and enthral even those who seek dismiss it with inadequate rational explanations. For those who believe it is Christ, the power of God and wisdom of God.

Why is this so? In the account of the resurrection found in Mark’s Gospel, the angel at the empty tomb instructs Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome to tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus has gone ahead of them. This is both a literal statement - that Jesus had gone ahead of them to Galilee and that they would find him there – and a theological statement – that Christ has been raised from the dead as the first fruits of those who have died.

In his incarnation, Christ identified with humanity by becoming one with us and taking on to himself the consequences of our sin. In his resurrection, Christ reveals all that humanity can become if we allow our sinful way of life to be dead and buried and are then brought back to life - awakened and enlivened - by the Spirit of Jesus. It is as we live in this new reality – this new way of being human – that the kingdom of God is seen in our world: lives are transformed; injustice is challenged; diversity is honoured; care is shown to creation; people, communities and cultures are loved into life.

When such signs of the kingdom of God are seen in reality it seems that people increasingly recognise that, at the very least, the resurrection narrative is one “that we can only gaze at and realise the inadequacies of our tools for explanation” and, at the very best, say, with us and the disciples that Jesus is alive, alleluia!

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Aradhna - Mukteshwar.

Sunday, 22 December 2013

Windows on the world / Metaxu (273)


Tower of London, 2013

William Kentridge, in Figuring Faith, applies Plato's term metaxu to art in a way that has considerable synergy with the Windows on the world series:

"Plato's term metaxu describes that which separates and connects, an ironic or oxymoronic, contradictory position. It makes me think of the wall between two prisoners that separates them, but that also makes communication possible through knocking. Or a window that separates you from the view outside, but also frames the view and makes you aware of what you are looking at. Metaxu also refers to an "in-between state", between being separated and connected, between a quotidian, every day reality and the world of mystery and transcendence beyond ... the very activity of making the work involves the artist in a journey of going from what is known to what is glimpsed at, half understood and tentatively approached with the work."

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Leonard Cohen and U2 - Tower Of Song.

Tuesday, 15 October 2013

When God Was a Rabbit

I've just read Sarah Winman's When God Was a Rabbit which was of interest on several levels. One of Winman's favourite authors is Tim Winton and the book she would most like to have written is his magnum opus Cloudstreet.

While When God Was a Rabbit is not as substantial a novel as Cloudstreet, the two books do share some characteristics. Both authors use a significant amount of biographical material in their novels and, as Winman hails from Redbridge, this is of particular interest for those of us in the borough because she sets the early part of her story in Ilford.

Both also use elements of magic realism within their stories. Winman has said: "I believe in mystery, whatever form it comes in. I like to think that the inexplicable exists in our world, that somehow there is room for a kind of magic, whatever that might be."

Winton's novel has "twin themes of social consensus and spiritual transcendence" with "ordinary family life … seen as sacred and devotional." Similarly, Winman's novel "is the story of a fabulous but flawed family and the slew of ordinary and extraordinary incidents that shape their everyday lives." Several of the younger characters in the novel are intrigued by religion. Winman has explained this theme in the following terms:
 "I look at it that all the characters are haunted - have ghosts - and are searching in some ways to put these ghosts to rest. When that happens, they gain a certain amount of freedom - spiritual, emotional - but most of all they gain themselves. Do I think about this? Yes, I suppose. How to balance loss, acceptance, attain some kind of redemption ... I write about these themes, maybe because they're mine."

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Midnight Oil - Dreamworld.

Monday, 12 November 2012

What?

What is …

the sound of one voice conversing,
the tread of one foot dancing,
the feel of one hand caressing?

Impossibility? Loneliness? Stillness? Silence? Mystery?

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McIntosh Ross - All My Trust I Place In You.

Wednesday, 31 October 2012

Brian Whelan: The exchange of conversation and creativity



Brian Whelan is a raconteur and an artist. As such he goes against the accepted norm of artists by being very ready to talk about his paintings including actively striking up conversations with those who visit exhibitions. His current show, Mystery of the Message, is in the Crypt Gallery at St Martin-in-the-Fields. The Mystery of the Message refers to the cognitive space between the viewer and a work of art, or the distance the pilgrim may have to travel before the journey gives up its meaning. Every figure, plant, animal, inanimate object and gesture in the painting points a way.

Whelan's convivial personality and dialogical practice has resulted in a fascinating book, The Exchange, which is the record of a conversation by email with Lutheran pastor Jeff Frohner about his work. The correspondence between the pair "took on the qualities of a conversation that seemed so authentic that it wasn't long before we were buying symbolic 'pints' for each other as we settled into a comfortable rhythm of meaningful debate."

There is a sacred space, they suggest, created between art and the viewer where "angels and demons sit side by side and join in the conversation"; conversation which continues the life of Whelan's paintings as they are used "to see not only ourselves, but each other, the world and even God more fully." Whelan thinks that "a work of art is only completed when it is shared" and that the work of art exists between the artist and the viewer with the creativity of the viewer enhancing the understanding that the artist has of the work.

In his work Whelan brings together collage with painting; through paint he forms fragments of found objects - sweet wrappers, wrapping paper - into iconic images of characters from biblical, church, mythic and national history which shine through the strength of his colours and from the play of light on his shimmering surfaces. His paintings combine the profundity of play with the original intent of icons to create images which possess both deep past resonance and contemporary surface and shine.

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The Pogues - Lullaby Of London.