The echoes of silence

"Breathe through the heats of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm!"
Dear Lord and Father of Mankind (John G. Whit­ti­er)

Recently I have been thinking a lot about Sabbath and about rest. I am slowly coming to a realisation that I am approaching it the wrong way. Or rather that I am expecting the wrong thing. I find myself going into a period of retreat by offering it to God and asking him to meet me in it. I usually enjoy the time immensely but emerge the other end feeling faintly disappointed that God has not met me. It is as if I expect some blinding new revelation or a magical transformation of my circumstances. When this does not materialise I feel as if God failed to show up - or perhaps I failed to notice him.

What I do find, however, is that in subsequent days I am more aware of God's presence. Of his grace in my daily life. Of empowering and equipping to do the things I need to do. I have always faintly objected to the last line of the hymn 'Dear Lord and Father', because in Elijah's case it was not until the earthquake, wind and fire had abated that God spoke. In the stillness after. But perhaps the hymn writer is right after all. Because it was in the power of the silent voice that Elijah went on to do the difficult things God asked of him. As if in some way the silence was woven into the fabric of his soul, so he could carry it with him into the turmoil of daily living.

A different reality

"The Matrix is everywhere. It is all around us. Even now, in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work... when you go to church... when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth." - Morpheus. The Matrix

2009 got off to a slow start. The good intentions of Christmas and New Year pushed gently to one side by the cares and concerns of daily living. Discouragement and uncertainty abound. I see it in the news. I hear it in the stories of people I meet. I feel it within me. Omissions, recurring failures, doubts and fears that drive me away from God.

Last week heavy snowfall broke my plans and left me with a free weekend. On Sunday I decided to exploit my freedom and visit a different church. There I was brought face to face with Gideon interpreted in the light of Paul's letter to the Romans. The underlying message was simple. God sees our world very differently to the way that we see it. In God's eyes frightened, subdued Gideon is a mighty warrior. In God's eyes our discouragment and uncertainty still work together for good.

My minor failures are no obstactle to God. Any distance from him is of my own making. In the The Message I see now - striped right through the letter to the Romans - a subtle truth. God sets me in right-standing with himself. I knew this before of course. In theory. But whilst this reality is all-pervasive somehow, all too often, I choose not to live in it.

But in our time something new has been added. What Moses and the prophets witnessed to all those years has happened. The God-setting-things-right that we read about has become Jesus-setting-things-right for us. And not only for us, but for everyone who believes in him. For there is no difference between us and them in this. Since we've compiled this long and sorry record as sinners (both us and them) and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us. Out of sheer generosity he put us in right standing with himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we're in and restored us to where he always wanted us to be. And he did it by means of Jesus Christ.

Romans 3:21-24 (The Message)

The word made flesh

"I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. " Ps 119: 10-11

It's been a while since I have written. Moving house, a bout of ill health and other preoccupations have kept me away. The last few weeks have been a spiritually dry place. I have yelled at God a lot. His answers are, more often than not, non-answers. I see this often in scripture. God does not answer man's direct question, choosing rather to focus his replies on strengthening our relationship with him.

Last weekend I was home again, helping my father look after my mother who's Alzheimer's continues to get worse. During this time he told me how little time he had to himself these days. He hardly even finds time to read his bible. Here is someone who has a real cause to yell at God. And yet his words were tinged with hope and joy not sadness or anger. He went on to tell me that many days he just picks a story in his mind and goes over what he knows of it. He has read the bible so many times it has become part of his thinking. So deeply ingrained in his soul that being deprived of the text is no hardship.

As I left, I stole two of my mother's Henri Nouwen books. She cannot read more than a few words without losing the thread these days so I figured she would not miss them. In one of them I found this.

The purpose of a fish trap is to catch fish and when the fish are caught the trap is forgotten. The purpose of a rabbit snare is to snare rabbits and when the rabbits are caught the snare is forgotten. The purpose of the word is to convey ideas. When the ideas are grasped the words are forgotten. Where can I find a man who has forgotten words? He is the one I would like to talk to.

In my thinking about the sermon on the mount I am drawn to conclude that the words are not the important thing, beautiful though they are. It is the lifestyle that is important. The concepts need to be so deeply carved into the fabric of our souls that we live that way without thinking. Looking at the example of my father I fear I still have a long way to go...

Small is beautiful

I'm not quite sure how to approach the beatitudes. They are so counter-intuitive. Are they a promise for the future or a statement of fact? Is Jesus saying that they are ideals or reality? It is easy to see them as being a nice piece of speaker's rhetoric; a poetic statement of contradictions which sounds profound but contains no real substance. Yet somehow I think they are more than that.

Take the third one for example. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. On the surface it seems all wrong. We know it is the rich, the powerful, the ruthless who run things. And yet do they truly inherit the earth? Is anything they create built to last? History is packed with empires which crumble when their founder dies. This is true in the business world too.

In the book Good to Great Jim Collins comes to the surprising conclusion that what sets apart the most successful leaders is "a paradoxical blend of personal humility and professional will." Humility at the heart of success? Maybe Jesus knew what he was talking about after all.

The more I think about it, the more convinced I become that the establishment of the kingdom is not something which can be franchised. The most successful examples of kingdom life spring from small groups of people engaging with their communities in projects that they are passionate about. As such projects grow there is the temptation to become more professional. To move away from the model of Christ and to take on business principles. The danger of this is that the workers become employees not disciples. It doesn't always happen, of course. There are some excellent Christian charities with dedicated staff. I believe, however, that these are the exception, not the norm. The kingdom is about the insignificant rubbing shoulders with the disenfranchised and both being transformed in the process...

Holiness

It is interesting to note how Jesus begins his transformation. Matthew's gospel shows Jesus undertaking two concrete actions before commencing his public ministry. The first is a symbolic act, baptism.

New Testament Christians associate baptism with Jesus' death and resurrection - symbolising death to sin and new life. John, however, did not have the benefit of Paul's letter to the Romans. For the Jew it is likely that baptism would have been seen as a purification ritual. Such rituals were performed to cleanse people or objects. To make them fit for worship. The old testament outlines many such rituals for making things pure. For setting things apart, or making them holy.

It seems to me that the concept of holiness has become devalued. We think now of holiness as being an aloof perfection. Holy people are not comfortable to be with because they will judge us and look down on our failings. Yet Jesus is the ultimate in holiness, and for the most part he seems to have been a very approachable person. People were fascinated by him. 2,000 years have gone by and people are still captivated by him.

This throws down a challenge to me. In repenting; in realigning my life towards the kingdom of God; in being transformed I should be becoming more approachable. More open to those around me. More visibly Christ-like. It is a high standard to attain.

Fortunately we are not expected to attain it unaided. The baptism of John was symbolic. John says of it "I baptise you with water for repentance, but he will baptise you with the holy spirit." The baptism of today should be more than symbolic. Baptism in water is external. It cannot actually change our hearts and attitudes. The baptism of the spirit is internal. The spirit wells up inside and powers the transformation. But this will happen only if I let it, and all too often I don't.

Transformation by service

Last November my mother was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. Over a period of a few short months she deteriorated from very tired and mildly forgetful to being almost incapable of looking after herself. In the early days before a care plan was established things became a little fraught at home. To help my father I spent some time looking after mum. Part way through this I found myself washing her (very dirty) feet. It was not a task that I would have naturally chosen.

It was not an easy few days. I had very little sleep and was emotionally and physically exhausted. Yet those moments stick out in my memory as immensely special times. In caring for someone I loved, I found myself able to do jobs which under any other circumstance I would have found distasteful and looked back on in horror. On reflection it was not really my mother who benefited. Certainly her feet were cleaner and her toenails cut. She would have been more comfortable for a few days at least. I doubt that she has any recollection of it now. The impact on me runs far deeper. I learned things about myself I never knew. It made me think in new ways about what it really means to love my neighbour.

Each evening after I had settled my mother to sleep I read a bit from The Jesus I Never Knew by Philip Yancey. One chapter talks of an encounter with Henri Nouwen. Yancey was staggered to find that Nouwen had given up a high-profile job to look after mentally handicapped patients.

Nouwen told me it took him nearly two hours to prepare Adam each day. Bathing and shaving him, brushing his teeth, combing his hair, guiding his hand as he tried to eat breakfast - these simple, repetitive acts had become for him almost like an hour of meditation.

I must admit I had a fleeting doubt as to whether this was the best use of the busy priest's time. Could not someone else take over the manual chores? When I cautiously broached the subject with Nouwen himself, he informed me that I had completely misinterpreted him. "I am not giving up anything," he insisted. "It is I, not Adam, who gets the main benefit from our friendship."

Now, nearly six months later I am still absorbing this. Nouwen was a well-known author and theologian. He had earned world-wide respect for the insight of his books, and yet he dedicated the last ten years of his life to the direct care of others. This takes me back to the idea of living sacrifice I started with. And yet losing his life to serve others Nouwen gained so much. Yancy goes on to write "He had learned to love Adam, truly to love him. In the process he had learned what it must be like for God to love us."

Transformers...

"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Romans 12: 2

This week I saw the movie Transformers. Lots of slick CGI and overly fast action sequences interleaved with some clumsy, moralising dialogue, good old fashioned heroics and a fairly standard good versus evil plot. The best bit for me were the sequences where the robots transformed. In the space of a few skidding yards Optimus Prime changes from a truck into a towering biped robot, and turns to face the enemy. Despite the transformation, however, you can still see the elements of the truck from which he has come.

Transformation is one of my favourite biblical concepts. Although the actual word occurs only three times in the new testament, the idea is deeply embedded. In Matthew 3 and 4, we see Jesus change from a carpenter from Nazareth into a rabbi, from a private to a public figure. The gospels tell us almost nothing of his early life, and then after his baptism and retreat into the wilderness he explodes into action.

In Matthew 4: 17 he takes up John the Baptist's cry: "Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near." That word again. Repent. Turn about. Change. Transform. Reconfigure yourself for life in the kingdom.

Unlike Optimus Prime, I fear I cannot transform in a few seconds. For me it is a gradual sometimes painful process. Bits of me turning more towards God, bits turning away. Paul's take on the subject in Romans is at least encouraging. Be transformed. Not transform yourself. Transformation is something which happens to us rather than something we do. At least - I hope so…