On Old Ideas

One of my library tasks lately has been to check the shelves and add catalogue records to books that don’t have them, so the Cataloguer can create order in the collection and computer records can be kept. Fascinating stuff turns up, some seriously old, some quite quaint, some useful still and some passed on, of interest mainly to historians.  

            Conference papers, acts of meetings, journalistic experiments, dogmatic themes. Explications of everything. Investigations, determinations, arguments. Some books with a beat-up appearance call up the passage of time: Science and Faith in the 21st Century, for example, wakes me to the fact that the 21st century is already 15 years old. How did that happen?

            What strikes me is how current these ideas seemed at the time. I can remember the themes of 1986, although not the catechism on papal teachings of 1908. The latest, newest, things, though often based on the oldest. I give you surrogacy, and Hagar.

             So, too, today’s ideas, the good and the bad. Some ideas, very old, still keep their force. Forgiveness of sins. Reverence towards creation. Active mercy. Reading the signs of the times. We need to read the signs of our own times, and that means now.

On Numbers

I was called in to work suddenly and had to get a key. To get the key, I needed a number. More than one number: I found I didn’t have the phone numbers of several people I had to contact. Many people don’t list their numbers anywhere. Eventually, with the number, I got the key.

            Numbers are everywhere; whenever you count, you need numbers. Much is constructed with them. They’re either with us, or sometimes without us. Think of the hairs of our heads that are numbered or the sands of the seas unnumbered. Who does the counting?

            Some things are important to count, yet uncountable. You may count your friends, or perhaps your enemies, but the count says nothing about value. One friend may be a key: uncountable. One enemy may be more grievous than all the counted rest.

            Our years are said to be counted, somewhere, and the psalmist appeals for our days to be numbered. Of course they’re numbered, only we don’t know what number is on them. Today the exequies for a friend, Robbie Bates, are being performed. Many are counted as mourners. Why number the days, before we fly? The psalmist says: to apply our hearts to wisdom.

On Theological Education

I spent eleven years in a theological school, studying part-time. Years flowed past so when I thought back on it, it seemed much shorter. What’s left when a course like this begins to fade into the past?

            It changed my viewpoint. I learned there are many ways to address a question, from the understanding of Christ Himself, to ecclesiastical history to Gospel contexts. I learned many paths of study.

            I retained less Greek than I would have liked. I never fully mastered my computer. But I found a church community and a place in the continuum of Christianity. I met remarkable people, students and teachers alike.

            Things keep coming back to you. Layers of prayer: from antique liturgical forms to cries from the heart. Biblical stories, coming fresh in your face today in both private and public events. Spiritual examples recalled without warning.

            An Ignatian spiritual director taught me to ask: ‘Where is the love?’ If you’re widowed, or otherwise bereaved, this is a question that appears every day, for the answer isn’t immediately obvious. It becomes a spiritual practice.

            For someone who does not become clergy, theological study still gives a direction for life. A gift to be given.