Now jump - 17 February 2012

You know, there is a vast fund of more or less ancient spiritual stories, some of which seem to me only marginally intelligible (some might think, a bit like the paintings of Colin McCahon). Some of the best of them come from the Desert Fathers and Mothers of long ago. A more recent one concerns a man (or a woman) who aspired to higher things, and started to climb a very high ladder. No one knew where the top of this ladder was. It went out of sight, far above the clouds. And so he climbed, ever upward, fighting fatigue and weather, doubt, fear and despair, onward and upward. He left the admiring plaudits of the people far behind. Of course, his view of the world and all it meant became panoramic, all-encompassing. But eventually even that was left far behind, as doggedly he climbed. And one day, or it may have been night, suddenly it was as though he had broken through all the pain and cloud and mystery, eternal light was shining upon him and he had arrived. All the angels of God welcomed him with sustained applause, to say nothing of the cherubim and seraphim, and promised to acquaint him now with the unveiling of all mysteries and the healing of all his wounds. Then, there was a silence, and out of the silence came a voice. Well done, good and faithful servant. Now jump.

Terrifying and unlikely as that may seem in the story, it is I think an experience people have. The person who realises that the faith and understanding they acquired in earlier years is no longer satisfying or credible, for one reason or another. We watch as one generation’s faith is set aside by the next generation. Someone learns that they have a serious illness which, they assumed, always happened to other people. It may be that old age seems to have become mainly a matter of watching old land marks disappear. I could continue the list for a long time. And it may all seem quite dismal -- except that letting go of the ladder is another form of faith, of being whole and alive. Clinging on to the ladder may not always be a good idea.

Our contemplative prayer is an experience of letting go the ladder. During these minutes all we have is silence and stillness and the faithful repetition of our mantra. Of course there remains part of our brain which knows that the ladder is actually still within arm’s reach if we want it. But to a real contemplative it would eventually be alright to have pushed the ladder away. It is to have consented deeply and inwardly to God in both life and in death. Of course it will always be scary. Our climber assumed that it was the ladder that was the act of faith. It was necessary, and having scaled it he would have arrived. Well, we are having small and brief space walks, as it were. You never know what might happen.