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.

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.

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[1] In the translation of Lin Yutang.

[2] NIV.

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.

           

           

On Apocalyptic Names.

The books will be opened. The secrets will all be revealed. Everything will receive its true name. Prophets, angels, teachers, saints have been sent to reveal the truth to us, and still we fail to learn.

            Those who name God as Merciful show no mercy. Those who name God as Love shed blood in hate. The rhetoric of religions is saturated with violence, while Jesus stands in the midst of this maelstrom saying, ‘Do these words mean nothing to you? I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’

            The name represents the identity. The name acts, often, as the person. Your signature is something you had better not lose. ‘Identity theft’ is a crisis for people. The past that has given you meaning, your place in the divine dispensation, as well as your presence in the present secular order, all lost: this is what has been done and is being done to the Aboriginals. Their house of prayer has been ransacked: its name is Country.

            Uncompromising religions sweep across the Middle East. In the fifth century another uncompromising religion swept across the same lands, destroying the monuments of the protectors of cities: Christendom triumphant. We see the ruins of these ancient places, study the archaeology, try to understand them.

            Persons are to be loved, not understood.

            The hymn At the Name of Jesus speaks of Empire. It is God who is humbled in this hymn, in order to be named. Indeed naming is a limitation. You must be humble to receive a name.

            Jews, Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, and others fight across countries, sacred lands, naming enemies and killing even the youngest children, as Herod killed the innocents, martyrs to his power.

            What does the transcendent God think of all this? If ‘think’ is a proper word to use of so great a Being. ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’

            Jesuit spiritual directors have a question that I think is a good question, worthy to be thought over, something to be solved for this day, the only day you are certain to have, although tomorrow you may find a different answer. “Who is Jesus Christ for you today?”

            Who is Jesus Christ for you? What does he say to our present griefs? To me he says: ‘Go and learn the meaning of this: I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’

On Light Lifting: How Hard Do You Work?

The Melbourne Cup favourite, Admire Rakti, returned to his stall after finishing last in the race, and suddenly died. Due to his previous wins, the horse was carrying an unusually heavy 58.5 kg, although the weight itself was not apparently implicated in his death. An autopsy discovered a rare condition called ventricular fibrillation, an abnormal heart rhythm that may occur in athletes — humans as well as horses — in which the heart is unable to pump blood leading to collapse and death. The very strength of his heart and the speed of the race might contribute to the electrical imbalance that led to Admire Rakti’s heart failure.

            Is it possible to be too strong?

            Racehorses are born and bred to run under a set of strict conditions. They’re carefully vetted as valuable animals whose fate may be involved with millions in money. Things like weight and distance, age and form are considered in assessing a horse’s suitability for certain races and tracks. Admire Rakti had just won the Caulfield Cup which led to the extra .5 kg he was carrying.

            Is it possible to be too successful?

            I once met at a day care centre a lady called Alice, only 48 years old, yet unable to take care of herself because of her damaged memory. Alice, a school cleaner, had a heart attack at work. Now she couldn’t be left alone to make a cup of tea. But she had some memories. “I didn’t know how hard I was working,” she said. She said it again and again; she couldn’t remember she’d already said it once.

            Do you know how hard you’re working?

            We’ve spoken of the heart in the body: what about the other heart, that rules your emotions? Can the mind break, the heart break, the spiritual commitment even break? Is it possible to work too hard?

            Jesus invited the crowds that came out to see John the Baptist, the people so heavily burdened, “Come to me, and I will rest you.” It’s not the giving of a rest that’s like a cloudy feather bed where you can lie down and go to sleep. It’s the order of a master to his slaves who’ve been doing some heavy lifting: sit down and take a spell. He works them; but then he rests them.

            Heavy lifting can be sustained for only so long. Extreme speed, success, achievement can only win for so long. Unlike many masters, he respects their limitations. Do you respect your limitations?

            Heavy lifting seems to be much admired these days. We’re not supposed to have limitations. What about some light lifting?

            We could respect the rhythms of our minds and hearts and even our souls and spirits. Is it really necessary to move so fast? It’s very unlikely that you have to run like a racehorse. Nor do you need a penalty weight following your latest success. The practice of something tending to failure might be good for you: I play the piano, despite having a pinched nerve in my neck, which guarantees me a little wholesome failure every day.     

            I can recommend light lifting. Do you know how hard you work? Jesus had another idea. Take a rest, now and then.

On the Blessing of Gay Marriage.

When I was studying at UFT, I took a course called Liturgical Sources. A primary source of liturgy is Blessing. To illustrate the blessing formula, each of the students had to create a blessing for the marriage of Adam and Eve. When it came to my turn, I said, “I’m going to bless the marriage of Adam and Steve.”

            My blessing ran, “Blessed are You, Lord God, Creator of Love, who has caused your Son Jesus Christ to be born of a Virgin, to be our Light and Salvation: we thank you for the love between Adam and Steve, that we celebrate here today, and for the uniting of their families through their union. We pray that you will give them length of days together, in unity, patience, wholeness and joy, that they may serve as an example of true affection, faithfulness, and care, and  through their marriage enrich their families, their friends, and all who come to know them. Through Jesus Christ Our Lord. Amen.

            The Jesuits who were taking this course with me thought this was a fine blessing: they particularly liked the part about uniting the families. Marriage was always a family affair, and this is one reason why gay marriage is so important. The churches should lead the way even if the state resists something ‘different.’ The church should be blessing gay marriages no matter what the state thinks.

            Families like marriages. (They love weddings!) You know who your family is with marriages. For who is my brother’s husband but my brother-in-law? You can have more people in your family. That’s a consideration for some of us. And you can openly acknowledge your family, which is something that more and more straight people want to do and are doing: this is my brother, my sister, his husband, her wife.

            Then there’s the blessing that gay marriage is. Rather like the blessing that any marriage is. You could get to the point of dropping the word ‘gay’ and understand that when two people commit themselves to love and be faithful, to share and support, to protect and serve one another the whole social fabric is strengthened.

            Since I’m supposed to be writing about social justice here, I’ll just mention that of the 2500 annual suicides in this country, as many as one third may be gay, with young persons particularly vulnerable. I’ll never forget a significant churchman saying, one day, that when he was a child a gay couple had visited his parents’ church for a while. They didn’t stay, but, he said, “they meant the world to me, because for the first time in my life I saw that I might have a future.” This man deserves to stand at the altar and exchange his vows with his husband. Every gay child deserves to look forward to having a future: the lack of that perspective (among other factors) can lead to death.

            What is marriage? It is a bond that, as St. Paul says, contains sexual desires and places them in a context of family belonging. It may often (not always) lead to the birth of children who must be cared for, educated and protected in a set of secure relationships. Hence it is a collective, not only an individual, responsibility: all the family is involved.  It is, as the Prayer Book has it, ‘an honourable estate’ if by honour we mean the public acknowledgement of worth and value. Married people are esteemed and respected wherever the family is regarded.  Therefore the church needs, in its pastoral oversight, to bless gay marriages. Blessing gives life, hope, love, light, and value: it is a chief Christian action, Blessing, in the name of Jesus Christ, who blessed all the world.

On Praise: All Saints.

Thomas Aquinas was a wordy man. But what attracts me is his life. All those words spilled in combat with the Gnostic heretics, who claimed that the world was created by an evil spirit. Not perhaps entirely different from today, when some claim that the world is created by nobody. Surely not the right spirit.

            It has all the ingredients of a good fairy tale. The castle, the seven brothers, the imprisoned prince, the mysterious Quest. Aquinas’ cousin was the Holy Roman Emperor. The seven brothers’ favourite thing was fighting: big landholders fighting other big landowners. Aquinas was the strange fairytale hero whose childhood question — What is God? — fuelled the incessant reading that disturbed his family: they were religious, of course, as everybody in the thirteenth century was religious, but Thomas was taking things too far. There’s a place for people like him. The local Benedictine monastery will do fine: let’s make him the abbot! (Monte Cassino, no less.)

            That’s the kind of family he has: Let’s make him take a vow of stability, run the monastery like a real aristocrat, deal with all the admin and the personalities, do a little reading in his spare time. No, says Thomas. The brothers tried everything: they kidnapped him, locked him up in the castle, locked him in with a pretty girl. He threw her out, escaped, and took to the roads as a wandering friar.

            Let’s see the world! Of course, since he’d joined the frightfully exciting Dominican preachers, he had a Dominican boss: you nearly always have someone to obey, in the thirteenth century. You will see Paris, he’s told: specifically you’ll see the University of Paris. He won’t be the last young person to be directed thus.

            Thomas was wordy, but also silent. The words were all inside. They called him ‘the dumb ox’ because he had so little to say. When the words came out, they smashed the heretics’ case.

            Dominicans like to praise God: naturally enough, God must first exist to make this possible. I sympathise: when I look around, I see much to praise. In yesterday’s hailstorm I saw the red young maple leaves tossed upside down, showing silvery undersides amongst the red in the Japanese garden. Praise. Of course. What else?

            All Hallows: all saints praise God. Francis famously praised God in nature: earth, air, fire and water. Benedict, whose name means ‘blessed’ listened carefully for praise of God in every soul. Thomas followed the Dominican way: praise, bless, preach. The first of his preaching is the existence of God. Otherwise, he said, there’s nothing to discuss.

            The God of Exodus is named I AM. Existence is the basic quality. Thomas, in the end, lost all his words. Praying before an icon of Christ, he fell into trance and had a mystical experience that changed his life. He no longer wrote a word. He had received the only thing he wanted: his Lord. Soon after, he died.

             His Lord, Jesus, called himself the Truth. As truth is, God is. Is this logic, or faith? Praise is a sure thing. All saints, praise God.