Monday 29 December 2014

On Oracles and Resolutions: New Year's Eve.



Can there be a year of good omen? 2014 was always marked: the hundredth anniversary of 4 August, 1914, beginning the vast malignant conflict once known as the war to end all wars. It was embraced ardently by the nations, on their knees as national anthems played. By its end millions lay dead, by battle, by war-caused disease, by civil conflicts continued far into the new century. Scipio Aemilianus on viewing the ruins of Carthage that he had destroyed (146 BCE), is said to have wept fearing the same fate might one day overtake his own land.
            What have we discovered in 2014? Firstly, that all good works can unravel with astounding speed. The word of Isaiah: ‘The villainies of villains are evil; they devise wicked devices to ruin the poor with lying words, even when the plea of the needy is right.’(Isa 32:7) We see invasions, bombing of cities, exiles of peoples, mass murders, taking of slaves, hostage-taking, public beheadings, all the panoply of war in this year of war memorials.
            We see large scale theft and the reign of the rich, decried by the prophets thousands of years ago. We see the earth plundered. Prophetic stuff.
            Our houses are troubled. Family beatings and murders abound: those we hear about — eight children stabbed to death in one home — and those we do not. Weekly. Daily. Correct relationships of respect and protection too often fail.
            2014 was a year of mourning. Planes fall from the sky; some disappear. A year of the plague called Ebola. Shooting of a school full of children. A carpet of flowers over Sydney’s Martin Place in honour of the dead. ‘Consider the lilies of the field, ‘says Jesus, ‘they toil not, neither do they spin’ yet ‘even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’ I see a carpet of flowers over the whole earth, a tribute, a memorial, and a hope for all in the midst of tragedy.
            This isn’t an exegesis of scripture. Scripture comes to me in word and image to help me make sense of things. Unlike the prophets, I have no oracles for 2015. They’re hardly needed. The prophets of old have already declared them.
            But I have some resolutions. I plan to ask more questions, to view with care the statements made by interested parties, particularly public ones. I mean to set myself straight about the relative importance of my concerns, especially about the past I can’t alter, and the major ones facing the world every day.
            I think it would be a good idea to live in 2015, with as much beauty and kindness as possible, with as much reverence and thoughtfulness as I can. To remember that the carpet of flowers is also a memento mori, meaning we have only so much time on this earth, and that is unknown. Scipio feared that deeds like his could fall upon his own country, and he was not wrong; so be aware of your deeds, as far as you can.
            I have a wish for peace and prosperity in 2015: even a prayer. Peace and prosperity to all.

Thursday 18 December 2014

On Choosing the Right Time: Christmas.



Chapter Eight of the Tao Te Ching compares the Sage to water. ‘Water benefits all things, and does not compete with them.’ It has many qualities, among them the art of ‘choosing the right time.’[1] Water is also the symbol of Baptism, which benefits all who partake of it.
            What is the right time? An example from music suggests the critical time or space between the notes: Mozart called this absence of sound the most beautiful sound in music.The liturgical calendar includes the times or spaces between the seasons of Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter: these are the seasons of Ordinary (ordered, set in order) Time.
            I recently met a friend who attended a family funeral in Advent, and who said he found it changed the meaning of the season for him. Before this, he thought that funerals (and so of course deaths) should only happen in Ordinary Time. Or maybe that’s my interpretation of his actually most profound thoughts. Ordinary Time between Christmas and Lent comprises the events of Christ’s childhood and public ministry: not ordinary at all.
            When is the right time to have a nervous breakdown? Who would choose Christmas? Yet the difficulty of getting a bed in a psychiatric ward during the holidays bears witness to the season being full of time. No one chooses to break down at all, of course, yet something about the time chooses itself.
            The date of Christmas on 25 December places it close to the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere: logical that the birth of the true Light should fall then, when the sun’s power grows again after the fading descent into winter. Yet for us in the South, it’s the Summer Solstice, which provides the greatest number of daylight hours: the most Light.
            The date is actually a little before Christmas Day, 21 or 22 December, giving plenty of time for the Magi to have their conversation with Herod the Great before getting to Bethlehem. The Church originally set 21 December, this year’s solstice date, as the feast of St. Thomas the Apostle, who famously asked the evidence of his senses before believing the risen Christ, since worshipping a ghost would be a serious matter. He chooses the right time: it’s not too late for him.
            St. Paul writes: ‘You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly.’[2] The right time was, he says, ‘while we were still sinners.’ There are many theological implications of this statement. But as regards the time, it seems, it’s not too late for any of us.
            Water seeks a level. That level is often the lowest. Lao Tzu suggests that although everyone despises what is low, the water has no thoughts about this. It just goes on flowing, filling up the low places and dwelling with the Tao.
            Christmas is about the Light of the World, the water of Baptism, the fire of Pentecost. It brings to earth the airy angelic song, ‘bending low’ as the carol says: all the elements, all the seasons, all the past and the future, all at once, at the right time.


[1] In the translation of Lin Yutang.
[2] NIV.

Tuesday 9 December 2014

On Guilt: Advent



Many of us spend a lot of time feeling guilty — except for politicians, some of whom seem to have no sense of guilt at all — but what is actual guilt? There seems to be a distinction between feeling guilty about something, and carrying guilt for some crime actually committed.
            The heroes of antiquity, like Agamemnon and Orestes, responded to the anger of gods who demanded explicit recompense for insults against them: Agamemnon’s sacrifice of his daughter, Iphigenia, leads (not amazingly) to his own murder by his wife, Clytemnestra, who then dies at the hand of their son Orestes, avenging his father. Such antique domestic violence here, but also national violence, where kings and rulers are involved. These people carry actual guilt for deeds done, as commonly in Greek tragedy, under compulsion from the gods. The consequences for themselves and others are typically severe.
            What, then, is ‘feeling guilty’ about our real or imagined misdeeds? First of all, how important do we think we are? Secondly, is our sin, crime, or mistake real, or is it imagined? Obviously something imagined requires a different approach for our healing than something having consequences in the real world.
            Advent is a season of repentance. All around us the secular world jingles, croons and crows about everything Christmaslike from reindeers to drummer tunes. Traffic rushes hither and yon, banking up and barking, while trains close their doors stuffed full of package-carrying maenads. No matter what the weather is, it adds to our woes. Schools and workplaces, in this part of the world, pack on closing concerts, parties and entertainments, plus lists and events towards next year’s demands, while adults struggle with extra workloads, financial burdens, general complications and dramas. Everything is folding up and caving in.
            Do we get to ‘look forward’ to a spectacular day at Christmas, or do we ‘feel guilty’ about ‘not making it’ with the right behaviour, expenditure, excitements, family bliss, vacation plans? Do we have any family to have bliss with; is anybody really speaking to us by now, is our money dire, our health dodgy, our temper short? Do we feel guilty?
            Christ comes as a human being to share our human limitations. These are many. More than you think. Almost certainly, more than you think should apply to you and me. The Gospels don’t discuss the general health of Jesus, but given prevailing patterns in the first century, it seems likely he would have suffered sickness from time to time. He does require rest and respite, rather often, going into the desert with a few friends for prayer, and one hopes, sleep.
            At Christmas, despite the New Year rushing towards us filled with regrets for the old, we have a glimpse of a new life. Sadly there’s too much feeling of personal guilt, anxiety, depression, anger turned outwards or inwards not only throughout Advent but for the whole Christmas season. Perhaps we know that we have an old life, and must learn to live with it. For that reason, Advent is a season of repentance. As John the Baptist cried: ‘Repent, and believe the good news!’ That news is good, and not fearsome. When the haunting emotions arise, blessed is the one who can say, “I have repented!” and for the lucky ones among us, as Luther has it, ‘In spite of everything, I have been baptised!’ You can feel guilty if you must, but your guilt has been washed away.