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.

On Regrets

Even the Dalai Lama, I understand, has regrets. We all know regrets can arise by doing the things we ought not to have done; or even more by not doing the things we ought to have done. And there is no health in us.

            I once brought home a Japanese teacup: blue and white stripes. My late husband was disappointed I’d not bought two, so we could have them both the same, but I didn’t get another. Sadly, my mother refused to buy my brother an orange jumper, thinking the colour didn’t suit. After his death in a crash, she searched everywhere for that lost orange jumper. She did often, ignoring her tastes, buy her children clothing they adored. Just not this time. I let down my neighbour who’d eagerly prepared for an outing, because I’d got myself so exhausted I couldn’t drive anyone anywhere. All regrets, for she is now gone.

            A feeling of loss attends regret. Someone who spends the children’s childhoods at work may later regret, but those times are lost. Regret isn’t retrievable. A blue teacup; an orange jumper; a trip to the dog show. The regret is about what came afterward. Loss of an opportunity to show love, compassion, commitment.

            Regret is related to remorse: a wholesome sentiment. Who is it that testifies for us? It is Jesus, standing at the right hand of God.

On Worry

I know people who prefer to plan, not worry. Plan B isn’t enough: you need plans C and D as well. They always find a way through.

            I find, myself, that a limited amount of worry in the daytime is ok. If you don’t let it take over. But night time worry, when you should be sleeping, is a waste of time. Since you’re just lying there, and can’t take a walk, you need a substitute thought realm to distract worry, and the most effective is maths.

            Now I’m hopeless at mental arithmetic. As a child I found it so boring I couldn’t concentrate at all, but you want boring to contradict all that thrilling worry, don’t you? Catastrophising is a form of entertainment. The more exciting it becomes the more all those energising worry chemicals float about your body, keeping you awake, alert, and alarmed.  

            I began with the eleven times tables because I thought I could probably just about handle the ones. Then I worked out that eleven fifteens was the same as fifteen elevens. A breakthrough! You have to check something like that a number of times. Keep it up, and put worry to bed.

On Mood

I recall the fashion when I was young for mood rings. The ring changed colour apparently according to your mood: in fact, according to your temperature. What is mood? The word is related to mind or spirit: a spirited mood would be a brave one.

            Moods can be affected by many things: even weather. Somehow I know what sun and moon are doing, even within the house. A full moon means a sleepless night. An overcast sky is lowering; a sunny day encouraging. A walk in light sunshine is calming.

            A listening walk is fine meditation. Realising how noisy our vehicles are: they block out bees, birds, even barking dogs. Chainsaws with their scything grind; shovels scraping, mowers rattling. The dog’s toenails scraping the footpath; wind sounds past my ears; the kids’ ball bouncing.

            A fine day is enlivening. The road mender who came to tell the church the road would be refinished next week (“a road only lasts four or five years, so we have to work at it continually”) gave a recipe for life. Our life roads need refinishing too, maybe just as often. “What a beautiful day,” he said. “Makes you glad to be alive!”

On Communication

When I was a student of Art History, I was sent to the museum to examine prints of Goya’s Los Desastres de la Guerra. These were kept in map drawers and handled with white gloves. The dramatic images of starvation, torture, murder, defilement and death during Napoleon’s Peninsular War in Spain have influenced artists for two centuries. The disasters of war have not changed.

            In Wellington’s time, communication determined battles. News of ceasefires and peace agreements might take weeks to reach engaged armies. The enemy’s communications could be delayed or halted so orders and dispositions failed to reach them. Much depended on the weather.

            History is vital. We need to remember Napoleon and others seeking world domination. We need also to view our own time and the ways it differs from the past. Chiefly at the present, we should understand communication.

            Reading news of the massive earthquake in Nepal (an act of nature) I learned that all the Sherpas at Mt. Everest are on Facebook. People in Nepal consult technology. Very soon, no corner of the earth will be unconnected, with implications for the whole world.

            How does God communicate with us? Can our orders and dispositions be delayed? Are we fighting battles when peace is already agreed? Should we, like Wellington, hold back when communications are not yet clear? Liturgy, reading, prayer: listen, and attend.