MAKING UP OUR MINDS ABOUT THE CHURCH

Sometimes I imagine that I can still hear him say it. His neat little body shook with vigour as he pronounced the last two words; " I want to make the church, strong again". Trouble was, he had his own problems as we all knew, personal problems, and YES for sure, we all knew.  We all knew and so we all believed that his kind of problem interfered  with our great shared mission as the Church. What a colossal error of judgement.

All too tempting to look for a simple, one-stroke answer, one that will unburden us of the drudgery of hearing the same old excuses, over and over again. There's just got to be an answer, a straight forward, complete, once-and-for- all answer, so that the whole messy business can be over and done with for good and we can get on with our great work. Sorry, no, there isn't. Whatever the malady, it's the human condition that is the real problem. And the human condition is not something that distracts from our glorious mission, the saving of souls or some such, it IS our Mission.

Let's not forget either that for all its loudly proclaimed theological stature, the cement used in the building of our much treasured church is, once again, the human condition. It is still our church, our stupid old, sin-laden Church and we love it. In the face of everything the Human Condition brings to the surface in life, the church is ready with it's own secret weapon: rather than hide behind a mask of  ornate vestments, the church is not ashamed to be weak. 


St. Paul knew the churches secret of success. In second Corinthians he tells us: "If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness". (2.Cor 11-30,) Good old Paul in at the very heart of it as usual. Encouraged by the Apostle let's dare to ask today's question. A question  not just about weak human beings struggling with addictions, but about the Church itself. Is it really such a dreadful thing to be so weak that we lose buildings and territory? Losing our local churches,  even those dearly loved icons of fondness and devotion never comes easy and churchmen rightly struggle to prevent it happening. But if the tide of history asks us to do so, let's not look at it for more than it is. Let's not be afraid to be weak, losing ground and face.

Perhaps we thought that having come so far, history would not repeat itself. The pain of growth and change would never again come to trouble us. If so, we were wrong. The future we plan for may yet be thousands of years off, in which case the discomfort we presently endure is no more than our version of the catacombs. We all want the Church to be strong again, yes ALL of us. But first we must not be afraid to be weak for we have his parting words for it, " I am with you always, yes to the end of time." (Matt: 28-20)

BEHIND THE FRONT

"They constantly try to escape
from the darkness outside and within
by dreaming of systems so perfect 
that no one will need to be good."

The lines are from T.S. Eliot's "Choruses from the Rock" which I have lately been revisiting after many years. His lines seem so full of foreboding it was probably inevitable that I would use them while penning my thoughts recently on the tragic death of a young relative. So, for the moment at least, Eliot has found a place among so many other notes and references in my crowded little writing space. But there's a difference this time around.

Back in the day, when T.S. came more frequently to mind, I was busy telling the world where and how it should get it's act together; improve itself. Now, many years later, I can't helping being haunted by the thought, as Fr Geoffrey Adamson once put it to me, of "what a damn fool I've been".

The night air around my bed is frequently heavy-laden with ghostly memories (or should that be ghastly) of stupid incidents each bearing my name. The temptation to despair is frighteningly real, but I am regularly saved by good people who break from the undergrowth of the years to say they can't even remember the incident and anyway not to worry, they  forgive me. And then too of course, there's always the church! Yes, the Church, the stupid old, sin-laden Church. Don't you just love it! Thank God for the Church.

For my sins, that must have been why, I was at one stage sent to teach R.E. to boys of secondary school age in a Junior Seminary at Upholland. Its front wing was designed to impress and usually did, which is probably why today people are genuinely shocked to learn that the once carefully manicured grounds and self-satisfied looking building are now nothing more than a collection of ruins. 

 Who could possibly imagine such a fate befalling St. Peter's in Rome? And would it matter all that much if it did? Well, would it?

Jesus founded his church on the rock we know as St Peter, Peter who three times denied he even knew him. Peter may well have hero-worshiped Jesus but he like all of us have to learn that following Christ in faith is no mere fan club. Impressive architecture should not beguile us nor the memory of our own stupidity haunt us. We have come to lean not on a system but on Christ himself. I must learn to laugh at myself, trust in the Lord and sleep better.



 

PEACE IN YOUR HEART AND IN THE WORLD

It Is Possible 
Just take a fresh look at where you are and how much being here means to you. 
Then, from the bottom of your heart, utter this most simple of prayers:
"Good Old Earth; thanks for everything". 

 It really is as simple as that.

HOW IT GETS TO ME

 I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

SORTING MYSELF OUT

I had quite forgotten how the man put it, all those years ago, but just now, as I scrambled about searching for a foothold, the words tumbled into mind. Suddenly they were there in the very centre of my room, blocking every exit. There was to be no escape. The man insisted that I listen and not just for old-time sake.


"There is one who remembers the way to your door:
Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
You shall not deny the Stranger." (Eliot: Choruses from the Rock)

Evade Life? Who would be so foolish? We of course, who else? We who are forever on our phones, busy with the affairs of others, in return for their feigned interest in ours. With so many keys to tap, so many interests to entertain us, Life can very easily be given the slip, until, that is, just like the man said, "the stranger" calls. 

Her voice came first, still shaking with shock: "He died just yesterday, your old friend of teenage days. Cancer, you know." She continued "That means that the children have lost two grandfathers and a cousin, all within eleven short weeks". Ah, so, I thought, he has not forgotten the way to our door. Time to put evasion aside: the stranger stands within our very walls. He will be heard. 

No, I have not forgotten, the cousin. No indeed, it is his going from us above all others, that has me searching for words. No, I had not forgotten the young man's passing. I pause only that you may better appreciate the effect of the stranger's knock on the door of our house.

I have known a Father and Son who daily worked side by side, yet spoke but little. Even so, the partnership was a success, it brought results, something to pass on. But this was different; here was the happy embrace of human beings meeting life together. A generation apart, they nonetheless welcomed  time and its gifts with youthful enthusiasm, as their shared futures unfolded about them. 

Why, we all knew they were partners before ever a partnership was formed. Could not the stranger have stood quietly by and enjoyed the sight of his eyes just as we all did? Did he have to come knocking, reminding us of the fragility of our days?

To that one question there came many answers but none that satisfied. "Oh, isn't it true what they say, he only takes the best?"  Really? And a hidden part of us turns away, without conviction. "He'll be looking down on us for sure;" more hollow still. It's simple really. As the man said, "we shall not deny the stranger". It had all been done so nicely, the words, the music, the ceremony, but then? Then came the living without him. The smile, the jokes, the texts and phone calls, no more. "We shall not deny the stranger." 

Some say LIFE is God's maiden name and silence his vernacular, his everyday mode of speech. We shall have to see, won't we? We can switch off the phones;  they simply ring out. Even the well-intended pretty music friends draw to our attention struggles to cope with pain. It is into the silence, His silence, His vernacular, that we must direct our ways. It is a silence that speaks more loudly than words, but can be heard only with the heart. It is the secret language of life, and it is with this, we must now engage.