Orthopraxy in much of Buddhism and Hinduism
Orthopraxy is usually distinguished from orthodoxy. Orthodoxy refers to doctrinal correctness, whereas orthopraxy refers to right practice. What we see in many of the Eastern religions is not an emphasis upon verbal orthodoxy, but instead upon practices and lifestyles that, if you do them (not think about them, but do them), end up changing your consciousness.
This was summed up in the Eighth Core Principle of the Center for Action and Contemplation: We don’t think ourselves into a new way of living; we live ourselves into a new way of thinking. I hope that can be a central building block of the Living School.
And – joyfully – today I’ve been chestily croaking ALLELUIA! upon reading today’s thoughts about the witness of art
Unique witness of mythology, poetry, and art
My earliest recordings often included mythological stories, poetry, or art to make the point. Many people are more right-brained learners than left-brained. When you bring in a story, or a poem, or refer to a piece of art, you can see people’s interest triple: “Wow, I’m with you!” Whereas, if you stay on the verbal level all the time, their eyes glaze over, they lose interest, they lose fascination and identification with the message.
I don’t think Western preachers and teachers have really understood the importance of art in general. Until people can “catch” the message with an inner image, it usually does not go deep. We’ve also been afraid of myths that weren’t Christian. In fact, we were afraid of the very word “myth.” We thought it meant something that wasn’t true when, in fact, it’s something that’s always true—if it’s a true myth. This will be a very important substratum of the Living School curriculum.
One of the things I most love and admire about Richard Rohr is his generosity of heart, mind, soul and body. He’s open to seeing the Divine all around us, open to contemplation and to receiving the Wisdom from traditions other – though as he shows us, not always so very “other” – from his own. I love that Fr Richard balances the importance of both orthodoxy and orthopraxy; that he both thinks deeply and feels profoundly. That, it seems to me, is what the call of Jesus Christ – and of other great spiritual masters and teachers – is really all about. As Richard has it, “living ourselves into a new way of thinking”. That’s something all of us can do, all of the time, with or without particular religious frameworks – though many, in the living, will thrive in the kind of religious environment that seeks – as the word religion intends (from Latin religare - ”to reconnect, to bind together”) – to bind up the whole.
My friend Mimi is a generous contemplative - Between Night And Day; as is the marvellous Rebecca Koo - Heads or Tails; and Bill Wooten’s - The Present Moment brings a wonderful word from Thomas Merton – and a stunning photo; Francesca Zelnick is as special as her Today’s Special; David Herbert is one of my diocesan friends and I love his latest post (and we share affection for Parker Palmer); and Rachael Elizabeth’s been having a good time doing Christology and incense-sampling ( ! ) in Durham; James Fielden – always showing us “The Way Home” – meditates exquisitely upon Time; Ginny at “Chasing the Perfect Moment” writes about Re-creation; Ria Gandhi has been wondering about who and what’s Beautiful and has flagged up one answer here; Jenni has been Watching the Symphony here.
What are we looking at in all these human “works of art”. What do I see as I reflect upon the colours, upon the wide spectrum that arches over the whole of my life?
Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus
Holy, Holy, Holy
Multi-coloured and blessed sanctity – God’s art: whether we’re always aware of it – or not …
I’M OFF TO A DAY CONFERENCE on “Catholic Evangelism” tomorrow. I’m not wholly sure whether it’s going to be about Catholic Evangelism (capital C, capital E) or catholic evangelism (small c, small e), and I’m rather hoping for the latter … hoping, that is to say, for a catholic evangelism that really is about good news (evangelism) universally applied (catholic), ie, for everybody – no matter their “faith tradition” or lack thereof – everywhere.
I’ve spent a very great deal of my life passionately pondering what exactly constitutes good news, and in particular why having some sort of acknowledged relationship to / with the Source of our lives might matter – to individuals, to communities, to nations, to our world, to the whole created order – some of these whole and healthy, some desperately broken, hurting, and in need of that Divine touch that brings healing. And I’m consistently finding that old definitions of what it means to be Catholic, or Protestant, or Christian, or shades in between all of these, don’t fit all sizes any more, if they ever did.
Christ everywhere …
What constitutes Good News in a ‘catholic’, pluralistic world? Where is an / our anointed Christ to be found? (as I’m sure such a Christ is indeed to be found, anywhere in the world, and across the world’s faith traditions). And the questions are so important to me because as a Christian priest, seeking always to live and learn – to be a disciple – after the pattern of Jesus of Nazareth, I have observed that some kinds of Catholic, some kinds of Protestant, and some kinds of “Christian” plainly do not represent very good news for many people at all. So catholic evangelism must be something quite different, something much more open, something prepared always to be held to account as to the reach of what it purports to be good news. Catholic evangelism will not, I think, be too prescriptive.
Feast of life for all
Catholic evangelism will offer the “feast of life” to people in the “highways and byways” won’t it? Catholic evangelists, personal and corporate, will have dismantled their drawbridges. Catholic evangelism will be less concerned (although not wholly unconcerned) with the Faith of our Fathers and hugely more concerned with Faith Being Received Today. When I’ve asked adults over the past thirty years whether they’d like to come to confirmation classes, so that they can be presented to the bishop, confirmed, and thereafter receive Holy Communion many have politely declined. When I’ve offered the Sacrament of Holy Communion “no questions asked” it has been the case, more frequently than I can count, that the recipient has ended up doing the asking, seeking to confirm a present and acknowledged reality – satisfied hunger – in their lives.
And I remember that Jesus was ever ready to go the extra mile for children, too. “Do not try to stop them for the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these”. Catholic evangelists will work hard at becoming more, well … catholic – so that they’re more plainly seen to be, well … “Christian” or “Anointed”. Catholic evangelists will be interested in marginalised multi-tasking-capable women, tax collectors, prodigal sons, unimaginative but very opinionated men, quieter and more imaginative men, too, and in lost sheep. Catholic evangelism won’t chastise the lost sheep for having left the fold in order to “explore”, still less tell the poor creature that God forbids it. Instead truly catholic evangelists (like Jesus of Nazareth) will make the fold larger so that there’s the space for MORE sheep to engage in the business of exploration, to engage, that is to say, in their God-given Life!
The Sound of Silence
One of the biggest growth areas in our parish (liberal Catholic with blurry edges – a bit like my paintings!) – has been a call to shared and silent meditation in the parish church – arriving and departing in companionable silence. No coffee or handing out electoral roll forms afterwards. And numbers in excess of many a church’s entire Sunday congregation have responded to a call – we believe a Divine call – to dwell for a space, together in the “house for the Church”, to wait upon the Word that touches life in silence. (The Word – not words. There’s not “even” a Bible reading). It’s life-changing, say many participants. It’s the only occasion in my month when I’m really and deeply aware of the heartbeat of God, the pulse of life, say others. This silence, this “that’s not very Catholic” but absolutely catholic encounter is breathing into our common life new elements of what it means to bear good news in our lives today, what it means, first and foremost to BE the Body of Christ now on earth, what it means to be religious in the original sense of the word (religare) – reconnected, re-membered. Restored to what we’ve forgotten.
Old assumptions yield
So whether tomorrow proves to be slanted more to Catholic Evangelism, or to catholic evangelism, I hope we’ll be asking the same question – What is Good News? – at least sometimes. Because, remembering Louis MacNeice’s Mutations again:
… old assumptions yield to new sensations.
The Stranger in the Wings is waiting for his cue.
The fuse is always laid to some annunciation …
THOMAS AND TOBIAS were baptised this morning – when, on the first Sunday of Lent, we recalled Jesus’ own baptism by John: (I absolutely love the little snippet above, beautifully narrated here, from the film The Miracle Maker, and used on this blog before)
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’ And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. – Mark 1.9-15
What was John up to? What were we doing with Tobias and Thomas this morning? And does the doing matter?
Well, I think the first thing to say about this morning’s baptism is that it certainly appeared to matter, very much indeed, to the supporting families and friends. It’s true that the novelty value appears to have worn off for many a contemporary weekly churchgoing Anglican. Some of ours discreetly hive off back home if they get wind of the idea that “their” service will face the challenge of newcomers. On such occasions, with all due respect to John the Baptist, I thank God that I’m their parish priest rather than he. I understand a bit, I think, where they’re coming from, in that I am myself very fond of a bit of liturgical p and q. But I think they’d be given pretty short shrift from J the B, don’t you?
Back to the opening question. What was John up to? Why would baptism be important for Thomas and Tobias, or for me and you?
The keyword, for me, is “repent”. John called his hearers to repent – a process described in Greek as metanoia – a turning around. Not a sandwich-boarded doom-laden “you’re on the road to hell” sort of a “repent” but nevertheless a turn-around-sort of a repent. A stopping-in-our-tracks sort of a repent. And that’s what I was up to this morning, too: inviting people to take a moment to “turn around”, to have a bit of a rethink. Repentance: a few moments practice in our daily lives – (as wholesome and as necessary a daily-renewed baptism as the practice of having lunch or dinner) – when we turn around to look inside ourselves instead of outside.
And I think that that’s what Jesus’ Lent, his “days in the wilderness”, tempted as we are, were and are all about. Lent’s not just about Jesus in “wilderness” (in the tempting, perplexing, question-provoking aspects of life) but about you and me needing to grapple with those places and those temptations, perplexities and questions, in our time, too.
Who am I? Whose am I? What’s my life for? Am I on the side of right or of wrong? And do my life and actions – does my practice – reflect my answer? And do I feel the same today as I did yesterday? And how am I hoping to feel tomorrow? (Heavens! This is a process that’s gonna take some time. Probably a lifetime. I’d better set some time aside every day – and it would be as well for me to “train up” children to start this practice in their own child-like sure-footed and imaginative way). There’s going to be need to hive off up a mountain on my own from time to time, or take a boat away from the crowds and out into the bay, if I’m really going to find my Way.
Am I at peace with what, having repented, I observe within myself? Do I have the inner resources not only to survive but also to thrive when the Spirit of Life “drives” me into the wilderness spaces and places of my own ordinary day to day life and experience? Does my engagement with this liturgical act, this Baptism, this honouring, and raising and welcoming of two little British boys have anything at all to say to what I feel about the “heaving little tummy” of the 2 year old Syrian boy whose tragic death was witnessed by Marie Colvin, shortly before her own untimely death, the other day?
Baptism? What was John doing? What was Jesus doing? Why did the “Good News” writers notice? Why was I engaged in baptising Tobias and Thomas today?
Stop, look, listen. That’s the content of John’s preaching. Consider. Look left, look right, look left again before you cross, are the themes picked up and developed and run with by Jesus, then and now. Jesus takes preaching a step further. Jesus turns preaching and teaching into living. So let me repeat: Stop, look, listen. Look around you. What’s to be seen in the wilderness of this life – your life? Stop, look, listen. Look inside you. What’s to be seen in the wild places of your own heart? And how, if at all, does the one affect the other?
Baptism isn’t about filling the Church’s pews (so in that sense it shouldn’t matter too much if “we never see them again”). Baptism is more of an invitation to oasis in wilderness, a daily-repeated invitation to a place where we may be assured of welcome, our morning shower and refreshment, the place of preparation before receiving the bread and wine of life itself; Christian Baptism matters because it is sacramental sign and symbol of an invitation to a place, and to a challenge, where we may grow into the discipline and practice of asking questions – and grappling with them until we come upon some answers. Though there may be more questions about questions before ever we arrive at answers.
I heard it suggested recently that the “Good Shepherd”, seeking to keep his whole flock safe, discourages single sheep from going out to explore. They’ll automatically trip up, automatically fall down a hole. He’ll then have the (very worthy but inconvenient) task of setting out to rescue the naughty explorer. But I believe exactly the opposite. I believe that we’re set down in the wilderness of life precisely to ask questions, to employ our inner resources to make sense of what we know exists beyond the walls of our own little (maybe ecclesiastical) sheep pen, and to explore. Co-creators with the Source of our own lives, we won’t necessarily live in perpetual clover, but we’ll be alive! Fully alive – building a home in the heart of humankind for “the reign of God”. And trusted by the Divine parent who’ll wait patiently forever on the lookout for our safe (and better informed) returning.
Baptism matters because it washes the dust of desert from our souls, refreshing and awakening and dawning and calling. Baptism matters – even infant baptism – because the questions it raises and the confidence it inspires are addressed and gifted to the whole community. Baptism matters because it has an eye to everything that’s going on around us, to the future security and mutual society of Thomas and Tobias, and because it calls us, every day of our lives, to be quiet enough, for long enough, to hear the Word that God speaks into every fibre, cell and atom of all creation. “YOU – all of you – are my Beloved …” You, all of you are, as the great hymn of the incarnation puts it: Of the Father’s Love begotten.
Yes: Becoming the Beloved – or, more accurately, recognizing that we are the Beloved of God. That’s what we’re up to, or should be up to, in Homs and in Bramhall equally. All of us.
WRITING ABOUT stained glass fragments “blown apart in wars” and haphazardly reassembled later, the priest poet David Scott, in the second stanza of his A Window in Ely Cathedral, tells of
A leering bit of face with twisted lips,
a bit of beard, and letters almost spelling ‘holy’,
a sheaf of corn, a leaf, and then the sun dips,
lighting Mary in her simple glory.
A Window in Ely Cathedral,
stanza 2 of 3, page 29
In the economy of God there’s something afoot. I can feel it in my bones. The downtrodden, the dispossessed, the shattered, the fragmented and the forgotten, wherever they are in the world, are raising their voices. They cry for the reconciliation, resurrection and restoration of a humane humanity – for people of every race and nation, and of every creed (or lack thereof), or “class”, or colour. Too much has been blown apart by wars and for too long. But days wear on, the sun dips in her course, illuminating that which speaks of life’s real glory, and is thereby truly holy.
This is exciting. This is the stuff of the reign of the Source of all of our lives, to whom we have prayed, and with whom we have yearned, in every time and place, in every political and religious tradition, for so very long. Whether we’re speaking of ordinary Libyans standing up to be counted, intent on “occupying” their own entitlement to a bit of their own space as human beings; whether we’re speaking of Occupy New York, or Occupy London, or occupy-a-space-in-the-queue for fresh air, or clean water, or a bowl of rice, something is most assuredly afoot. The sun dips, lighting Mary in her simple glory, and because at evensong we’re rather quieter than usual we may hear her softly say and pray
he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seat: and hath exalted the humble and meek
Come Christ-Mass this year the stable and the tent will not be featured only in hand-picked and glossy Christmas cards. Tents and stables are being raised up alongside cathedrals and churches. Tents and stables are being raised up in our dreams and in our slowly-awakening hearts. Here are opportunities to catch real glimpses for the possibilities of life’s glory, opportunities that are thereby truly holy. Some amongst us, nonetheless, will not look any more kindly upon such fragmented opportunities than they would ever have looked upon the teenage mother in the stable of Bethlehem.
But something of and from the divine is afoot. The leering bit of face with twisted lips, a bit of beard, and letters almost spelling ‘holy’, must give way to the sun’s dipping
lighting Mary in her simple glory.
THE FULL HOUSE for the joy-filled Baptism of Maximilian this morning gives me (another) opportunity to head up this post with my very favourite account, by a simply wonderful narrator, of Jesus’ Baptism! But more than that, it’s always such a joy when our House for the Church is full of people come to celebrate the goodness of God and the richness of the gifts we revel in. And there’s no greater gift to a family than that of an infant. Nor, perhaps, any greater responsibility laid upon older shoulders. Bringing infants to Baptism in and into the House of the Lord provides glorious opportunity for all of us to reflect upon the giftedness and gratuitousness of our lives, upon our hopes and our aspirations, what – in co-creating with, and in, and surrounded by God – we want to make of our world, our humanity, our society, our church – for Maximilian, for ourselves, and for God.
“I baptise with water”, said John the Baptist. One who will come after me will baptise with Holy Spirit. And so it came to pass. Today and every day humankind is baptised “new every morning” by the Spirit of Divine Grace and Love. Perhaps that’s why Maximilian and his wonderful parents were smiling so much in our sacramental celebration of the fact this morning. Perhaps that’s why people had travelled from far and wide to celebrate the gift and the treasure. Yes! – wherever and whenever humankind is “baptised” in the Spirit of God we can rest assured that the Source of our Life continues to turn the world upside down. “Whoever has seen (this human) me has seen the Father” said the anointed Jesus to Philip. And this morning he might have said “whoever has seen Maximilian has seen the Father”. What a joy, what a commission, what a responsibility – this living of the Life and Love of God in and through each one of us, dear created people.
Mother and Father, Sister and Brother of us all,
in company with Jesus,
in the power of your Spirit,
with prophets, priests and royal leaders,
and with every woman, man and child
upon the face of the earth,
we bless you for the gift of life and of abundance.
And as we bless you we also ask
your blessing for ourselves that we may be
inspired, strengthened and encouraged daily
to share that life and that abundance
throughout the world.
LUNCH WITH ROGER CLARKE the other day reminded me of one of the hymns we’ve got lined up for the 9am Eucharist here tomorrow: “As water to the thirsty”. Lunch with Roger has been like that for me, every now and again, for over a quarter of a century. The steak burger was great but I came away, as ever, with another kind of food, too, the kind for which I have a large appetite. Introduction to someone else asking – and seeking to live faithfully with – the same kinds of theological questions that are on my heart and mind day and night. In this case Roger mentioned Dale C Allison’s Constructing Jesus: Memory, imagination and history. The title had instant appeal and was purchased that afternoon alongside Allison’s The Historical Christ and The Theological Jesus – page 1 of which offered instant relief for the present writer, this committed Christian (and parish priest) who for the whole of his life has doubted the possibility of theological certainties:
“It may be necessary to live with uncertainty as an alternative to living with a closed mind” – David Hay p.1
quoted by Dale C Allison Jr
The Historical Christ and the Theological Jesus
Does the (hotly disputed) “historical Jesus” matter as much as some religious agencies would have us believe? Is the “theological Jesus” rather that voice, that Spirit, Advocate, Comforter and Guide of God, that Jesus is said to have promised would be “sent” to lead us into “all truth”, and is the theological Jesus just as important, or more important than the historical? Should both be given equal weight? Are we to be directed by a once and for all Jesus, and if so, whose Jesus? (including consideration of the “Jesus” known through other world faith traditions) – or are we to be open to a degree of fluidity, a continued outpouring and outworking? – the Word engraved on tablets of stone (or papyrus) – or the Word emanating from hearts and minds and souls and bodies “new every morning”?
Are we still waiting for the physical Second Coming of the Historical Christ or can we know his continuing advent in hearts and souls and minds and bodies NOW – if only we’d “hush the noise” a bit, if only we’d “be still for the presence …” of the Theological Jesus. ? These are the questions of my daily life, and they matter to me, as I’ve said so often, because of my passionate conviction that matter matters … all created things are from God, belong to God, and are intended to return to the fullness of God. And too many elements of that Creation are engaged in doing battle over unknowable “certainties”.
My personal soteriology has more to do with salvation from such certainty than with “nights of wonderful conversion”. I rather wish that church attendance, or bible reading, or the sacraments really could show me, or anyone else, “how to have life in all its fullness”, but such fullness lies yet in the future for me, and for many (millions of) others – amongst these, sons and daughters of God whose physical hunger and thirst leaves neither time, opportunity, energy or inclination to debate theological niceties. Would that (anyone’s) theological certainty might give food and drink to more than just the token few of such as these.
“I believe there are visions that come to us only in memory, in retrospect. That’s the pulpit speaking but it’s telling the truth.” – Marilynne Robinson p.6
quoted by Dale C Allison Jr
The Historical Christ and the Theological Jesus
Isn’t there a measure of truth that comes to us today as we engage in theological reflection? Isn’t it the case that we sometimes just intuit truth for our time and our place and circumstance as did the prophets of old? Do we leave room in our learning, our discipleship, and especially in our preaching for “visions that come to us only in memory … the pulpit speaking … telling the truth”. Might not a move away from tired literalism stem the exodus from our churches? Wouldn’t a genuine openness to the voice of the Spirit of God in our own day make way for re-energising and for necessary revolution?
Bishop John V Taylor wrote in 1989
Though we may not understand what he meant by it, we know what the Gospel of Jesus was: “The time has come; the Kingdom of God is almost here; turn your minds round and believe the good news.” Here is the keynote of the faith of Jesus of Nazareth. Here is the word which, on his lips, moved people with such extraordinary power. If we could resuscitate that declaration so that it conveyed in the terms and in the experience of our world the essence of what it meant to his, might it not stir the pulse and quicken the imagination of a new generation in our own day and restore a clarity of purpose to the churches?
John V Taylor
What and where is the Kingdom of God that is almost here? What will it look like? How will our politics look? Will the hungry be fed? Will justice and peace prevail, and how? Will the long-running and tragic sores of our denominationalism, gender issues, homophobia, “Westernism”, and other-phobic forms of alienation from almost anything different from ourselves have been resolved? And how? Will our addiction to “raising funds” have been quietened? Will our “growth action plans” have been sufficiently brought to prayer so that the “still small voice” can get a word in edgeways? Will we “redeem the time” – make the time? Do we need to turn our minds round first?
The Church of England’s General Synod last week heard a non-too-cheerful exchange:
The Church of England will no longer be “functionally extant” in 20 years time according to some projections, a member of the General Synod has warned. The Rev Dr Patrick Richmond, from Norwich, told members of the Church’s national assembly that they were facing a “perfect storm” of ageing congregations and falling clergy numbers. The average age of congregations was 61, with many above that, he said. “These congregations will be led by fewer and fewer stipendiary clergy … 2020 apparently is when our congregations start falling through the floor because of just natural wastage, that is people dying. “Another 10 years on, some extrapolations put the Church of England as no longer functionally extant at all.”
The first Church Estates Commissioner Andreas Whittam Smith said the demographic “time bomb of 2020” for Anglicans was a “crisis”, “One problem may be that decline is so slow and imperceptible that we don’t really see it coming clearly enough,” he said.“We know about it in theory but we don’t really know about it in practice.” He added: “I wish that all of us would have a sense of real crisis about this.” – Yorkshire Post
Mr Whittam Smith is not alone in wishing members were possessed of a “real sense of crisis about this”. I sense already that Dale Allison will be “water to the thirsty” for me in that he IS possessed of just such a sense of crisis, and it comforts me beyond all telling that there are others out there in the big wide world, and in the big wide Church, who doubt that adherence to the biblical / theological literalism of the past is going to do anything much at all to lead us out of it, and may even lead us deeper into it.
But “visions that come to us only in memory … the pulpit speaking but … telling the truth” … could this be the nudging of the Divine Word – from pulpits within and without the Church in our day? Please God …
CYNTHIA BOURGEAULT’S The Meaning of Mary Magdalene has been such a gift to me this year; and so, more recently, has Jan Richardson, and her In the Sanctuary of Women, both of which books I’ve been revelling in, and recommending widely.
I’ve often spoken of my undying gratitude for something the late and great Archbishop Michael Ramsey said – I believe quite frequently – and once to me and a small group of doting ‘disciples’ gathered around him in my small rooms in Salisbury 30+ years ago: (Gleefully and with a slight stammer) “We’re the early Christians!”
How glad I’ve been to recall the truth and the depth of the archbishop’s wisdom! How glad to be a disciple alive today – 2000 years (only!) after Jesus and Mary Magdalene and their friends graced and anointed human encounters – glad to be alive in a wide world and in wide faith communities that are still being blessed, and still being graced, with new and ever deeper understandings of what it means to be fully human; to be anointed, to be loved, and graced, and held (even “after the Cross”) and sustained, and still learning.
And tonight I fell upon this achingly beautiful video produced and gifted to the world (thanks be to God) by Jan Richardson and her own “sweetheart” Garrison Doles. May it bless a wider and more humane humankind, and awaken new riches in all of us. May we know, and feel, and be thankful for, and above all understand, passiontide - Christ’s and all peoples’ passiontide – in new and personal ways. May we delight in the Love of the God who sees the deepest and truest beauty in us. May we know the fullness of the blessing of Life. May we hear Life say “Today: today you will be with me in paradise”.
FROM MAY SARTON’S WELL is one of my favourite anthologies of her writing, a beautiful book richly illustrated by the photographs of her friend Edith Royce Schade. Each was herself a well, a deep well, and the springs of creativity and of life’s Spirit flowed freely within them. In writing and photography the life of Self rose up from the depths of their contemplative selves. May Sarton, writing of gardens
To the flowers we never have to say good-by forever. We grow older every year, but not the garden; it is reborn every spring.
There the door is always open into the “holy” – growth, birth, death. Every flower holds the whole mystery in its short cycle, and in the garden we are never far away from death, the fertilizing, good, creative death.
When I am gardening I do not think of anything at all; I am wholly involved in the physical work and when I go in, I feel whole again, centred. Why? I think maybe it is because when things pile up one does nothing with the whole of oneself. The next thing on the calendar is already moving in before one has finished whatever it is one is at. Then pressure builds up. Gardening empties the mind.
Emptying the mind. Always and everywhere at some time in every day I’m glad of the reminder, glad of the invitation to empty the mind. For I know that to draw upon the well in me (and I, like every other created thing have been graced with the gift of such a Well) I must enter into the depths of stillness and of silence. And I need to draw upon the well in order to do and to finish, later, “whatever it is one is at.” Though I love gardens I’m not actually a member of the fellowship of the green-fingered. All the more important then that I turn deliberately, daily, to the depths, to the silence, to the stillness, to the holy, fertilizing, mystery of prayer Where, and in Whom, all things live, and die, and live and die each day, and rise to spring.
ONCE AGAIN I’M GLAD that Bishop Nick Baines takes the risk of being “a bit silly to write too much here.” His is an humane, incisive, truth seeking and reflective eye and ear. What he writes about the Chilcot Inquiry below may infuriate some nearly as much as others have been inflamed by Tony Blair himself. But we need to read / hear it. Especially this year. And maybe a quick trip round to our local (whichever) party office with an offer of help might set any one of us on the path to a day and a time when we really COULD “do better”. Maybe in the UK. Maybe in Jerusalem?
It may just be that these impossible wrangles, where there’s not a single simple answer, where thousands of simple answers are demanded, it may just be that you really could do better? And it’s really important that we all know about you because the need for folks to “do better” shows no signs of going away.
Millions of words will be banged out today following Tony Blair’s appearance before the Iraq Inquisition yesterday, so it is a bit silly to write too much here. I’ll limit it to three observations that have the virtue of being honest, but run the risk of running counter to everyone else.
1. I think the war was wrong on every front: politically, militarily and morally. The premises as presented were false and it still appears that the Brits were too keen to be in Bush’s pocket. Nothing said so far in the Chilcot Inquiry has demanded a change of view on these matters.
2. The Inquiry is not a trial. Hectoring inquisition may satisfy the blood lust of would-be interrogators, but might also illicit less information than otherwise. Let someone talk: the more they say, the more words they use, the more holes they will potentially dig either by saying too much or too little. Shouting at people or questioning every detail is not necessarily the best way of getting to the truth. We must wait until the report is published to see what conclusions are being drawn.
3. Thank God the baying crowds or the foaming commentators don’t run the country. Blair’s appearance before the Inquiry Panel has been built up as a trial when it can be no such thing. The Inquiry is there to discover the truth – and they can only do this by looking at the matter from very different perspectives. This requires patience, attention and a willingness to hold judgement until all the evidence has been heard. Yet, already the Inquiry is being written off as a whitewash and a failure by the establishment to beat up one of its own.
via Nick Baines’s Blog.