Monday 28 September 2015

On Learning the Collects



Children once had to learn the collect off by heart every Sunday. What value in this practice? Such memory work is no longer asked of children: reciting poetry, learning Shakespeare, learning collects. But maybe adults could ask it of ourselves.
            Collects remind us of the passage of seasons and shape of the year, something the commercial secular dimension distorts for its purposes. Some collects are very old, coming down from Late Antiquity: a collect gathers up history, without which we have no guide to this world. A collect is concise, prayer in a nutshell.
            Collects begin with a vocative: O God, Everliving God, Blessed Lord, teaching us divine address. And divine qualities follow: ‘who has caused all Holy Scriptures to be written for our learning.’ The God who does. We pray precisely: ‘keep us … from all things that may hurt us’ and for why? To accomplish the things that God would have done. In Jesus’ name, collects will conclude.
            Memorising collects can be a meditative practice. Mindfully recollecting – ‘Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn and inwardly digest them’ – we can return to them in times of stress, distraction, or self-criticism. It brings a touch of the divine to ordinary negativity. It places us in the divine calendar, at home in our minds.

Monday 21 September 2015

On Compassion for the Body



In a Mindfulness course, I heard of self-compassion. Everyone suffers. Our own suffering is also worthy of compassion. Mistakes, emotions, confusions can be viewed objectively, with kindness, not subjectively with fear or a need to win.
            Compassion for thoughts and feelings, even for actions can be understood, but what about compassion for the body? St. Francis called his body ‘Brother Donkey,’ mistreating it for many years. St. Paul thought the body should be disciplined to win the race. What about those of us whose bodies cannot win?
            The body is the brain’s field of play. Movement in distant nerves, chemical exchanges, hormonal flows, relaxation states, desires, excitements, breathing, growth and aging: the brain at play. Gentleness with the body is gentleness with the brain.
            Moderation, taking care, providing safety, avoiding haste or violence are gentle behaviours. Can we show this gentleness to our suffering body? Would it make the body itself gentler, easier to manage, feeling understood and so understanding?
            Gentleness refers too to the quality of being well-born, of honourable lineage. The body has this quality: God’s image in human form. Does such a body deserve harsh treatment, impatience, or neglect? Or should a Spirit of kindness, graciousness and good temper rule our dealings with our bodies, the site of so much suffering and compassion?

Saturday 12 September 2015

On Lectio Divina



I’ve been reading His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. Part science fiction, part theological reflection, Blake and Milton, high fantasy and modern physics. This includes the idea of parallel worlds.
            The monastic practice of Lectio Divina seems similar to me. It’s a way of reading scripture that puts you into a parallel world which informs and infuses us. I read the first eight verses beginning Mark: ‘John did baptise in the wilderness, and preach the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins.’ Because I’m reading King James, I get ‘did baptise’ which appears to me. It’s emphatic. In this parallel world where all the land converges on Jordan River John stands as a marker. I can see the prophet, preparing to baptise the Lord.
            What did John do? He did baptise. He preached. He preached the baptism of spirit, after the water. When I read this passage again, I get the word ‘remission.’ I would dearly love a remission of illness. John preached the remission of sins. Yet it was Jesus who has the actual power to forgive sins. On third reading, John baptised in the wilderness. Are we not in wilderness, much of the time? In this parallel world, some healing is taking place. It’s a world worth exploring: Lectio Divina is one way.
           

Saturday 5 September 2015

On the Body and the Blood



I’ve just received a little over nine bottles of a substance derived from other people’s blood. Nine is the number Dante associates with his blessed lady Beatrice: so much so, that she’s said to be the number nine. Her name calls her a Blessing; her number calls her a miracle. Dante’s maths makes three the sole factor of nine, and three is comprised of Father, Son and Holy Spirit (three in One) the root of miracles.
            Many in hospital were needing miracles. Not only the patients, but the staff were contending with illness, distress, and close calls. A nurse told me she was in this country looking after her dying sister. Another had been a cancer patient on this same ward. A doctor had two sick family members. Being a nurse, a doctor, or a priest won’t exempt you from the suffering all around. The truth of suffering is Buddhism’s first Noble Truth.
            Can the blood of others entering the body contribute to miracles? In Dante’s day it would have seemed so. The blood of one Other in particular carries miraculous power. The recovered nurse believed her faith had made her well. ‘Others can cure,’ she said, ‘but Jesus heals!’