All things new – Easter II, 26 April 2019

When native wit, after all these years, is simply weary (or wary) of trying to express the truths of resurrection adequately in words, it’s not a bad idea to turn to poetry.  I went back to this Hebrew prophet of the Exile.[1]  He is one of three different prophets in what we now call the Book of Isaiah, and he lived about 500 years before Jesus.  The Jews had come back from Babylon after some two generations in exile.  It was their grandparents who had last seen Jerusalem, as children.  On their return to what war had destroyed long ago, they had to cope not only with rebuilding but also with other people now living there.  How familiar is this?  Here is the prophet’s poetry.  He tells how God sees it:

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind.  But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress.  No more shall there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime…  They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit.  They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands.  They shall not labour in vain, or bear children for calamity…   Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear.  The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; but the serpent—its food shall be dust!  They shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord.

It is a sublime, impossible vision of resurrection – all things new -- and all these many years later, I find, it is easier to describe resurrection not so much in the words of theology and belief, as by quietly noting where we see it, or saw it, marking the changes we didn’t expect.  I have attended Easter services where the announcement of Jesus’s resurrection was accompanied by much shouting and by a fanfare on the organ trumpets.  It is worth remembering that the risen Lord, on the first Easter morning, mests Mary of Magdala in her grief, quietly.  At first she thinks he is the gardener.  He joins the disciples walking to Emmaus as an interesting companion on the road.  They know him later in the breaking of bread. 

Tomorrow shall be my dancing day, sings a very old English carol.  It pictures Jesus singing, I would my true love did so chance / to see the legend of my play / to call my true love to my dance.   We are called to his dance, in a frightening, suffering world.  Our friend Michael Dougherty, who leads meditation groups in Whangarei, very timely sent an Easter poem in which he wrote of Mother Julian of Norwich:  And Mother Julian cried out: What was the Lord's meaning? She was answered: Love was his meaning ….. remain in this, and you will know more of the same.

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[1] The Old Testament reading for Easter Day – Isaiah 65:17-25

Silence and speech – 12 April 2019

…he will, when I speak, be nameless. And to others I implore you: speak the names of those who were lost, rather than the name of the man who took them. He may have sought notoriety, but we in New Zealand will give him nothing. Not even his name. (Jacinda Ardern in the NZ Parliament, 19.3.19)

This caught the attention of, among many, Dr Cynthia Lindner of the University of Chicago Divinity School.  She wrote in wonder of “a media-saturated moment” in which the NZ Prime Minister counsels silence. 

Silence…?  Dr Cynthia points out: …it is a cause for pause when we are asked, implored, not to speak something.  Choosing not to say -- that is, choosing silence -- runs counter to our impulse… That impulse is understandable, and not insignificant, as some of our voices have been hard won.

Of course, the events of 15 March in Christchurch were followed by torrents of words.  We had media reporters, themselves deeply moved, trying everything to make sure we had the facts, even about how people allegedly felt.  We had the police issuing warnings, and officials giving instructions.  We had the stumbling testimonies of witnesses and wounded… and their friends and family.  Then came the wordy reactions of leaders, philosophers, teachers… and of other prime ministers and presidents. 

Through it all, our Jacinda counselled silence about the gunman’s identity.  A week later, having to say something at a vast community event in Christchurch, she said perhaps three sentences – and then sat down.  During the week she had made only the necessary statements, about security and about gun law.

In many ways it is indeed better to be still.  A lot of people don’t know that.  Silence is one of the “thin” or liminal spaces, writes Dr Cynthia.  Silence is a “place” where the light may shine through, where we may hear a word that illuminates, changes things.  So it is important to know how to shut down the chatter and be still, and to wait.  God’s first language is silence, said St John of the Cross – the Moslem Sufi poet Jalal al Din Rumi, said it some three centuries earlier.  Here are words from an American poet laureate, Billy Collins:

And there is the silence of this morning
which I have broken with my pen, a silence that had piled up all night
like snow falling in the darkness of the house—
the silence before I wrote a word
and the poorer silence now.   (“Silence” by Billy Collins, 2005)

Dr Cynthia points out that “free speech” has unfortunately come to mean, not restraint or discipline, but hapless, heedless, and regardless of harm.  It is certainly so in the social media.  It is time to brush up on silence.  Most of the time we do not have to proclaim who we are and what we stand for.  We do not have to plant stakes in the ground about what we are for or against, or what we think.  It is time to be what we are, consistently, to enjoy the openness Jesus makes around us.  Dr Cynthia, who for all her advocacy of silence is still pretty good with words, reminds us… of the subversive power of silence that can help us reclaim the story…and relearn the world. 

No one vexed – 5 April 2019

In the Rule of St Benedict there is a section describing the monastery Cellarer.  The Cellarer is what in the military would be called the Quartermaster, in charge of supply and provision of food and drink and necessary equipment.  Benedict says the Cellarer must be humble and kind, should stick to his job without trying to turn it into a powerful fief, should be efficient, and sensitive to individual need.  And all this, says Benedict, is so that no one may be troubled or vexed in the house of God.  We know what “troubled” means… I think “vexed”, not a word we often use[1], means feeling at least irritated as well as troubled.  The Latin contristetur includes being made sad and possibly angry.

The idea of no one being troubled or vexed in the house of God may sound to us like Shangri-La.  Things do go wrong.  Human pride and perversity, even silly misunderstandings, guarantee that.  If you read the histories of great parishes in New Zealand, and of great church leaders, they are peppered with scandal, dispute, failure, schism and bitterness, at times. 

In contemplative life and prayer we have another frame of reference.  One of the commentators on this passage in the Rule of St Benedict says we are told not to react to those buttons pushed, (except) with love and humility.  We start to learn how to step back, how not to follow anyone else’s agenda of labelling, categorising, passing simplistic judgement, letting emotions rule and decide. 

We become acquainted with compassion, and with what it really means.  Compassion is a Latin derivation which means to suffer with, to share the pain, or sorrow, or bewilderment, or confusion, as it may be.  The equivalent Greek word arrives in English as sympathy, to suffer together with.  So sentimentalism, the popular secular refuge, is not the same as compassion… nor is having once had that happen to me…  In the company of Jesus the first task is not to feel sorry – how we feel is not the point – but to seek to understand and to be present to bear the weight, even the weight of guilt.  Understanding does entail being able to be still, to listen and to pay attention, the willingness to set ego aside, and not be driven by fear.

In Jesus’s company, what Benedict calls the house of God, it is not that everything is serene… that is indeed unlikely… but that our instinct is to bear one another’s burdens, including burdens of guilt and failure – and to decline other agendas.  Paul writes to the Colossians:  Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience.  Bear with one another, and if anyone has a complaint, forgive each other…  Above all clothe yourselves with love…  And let the peace[2] of Christ rule in your hearts… and be thankful.[3] 

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[1] In Pride and Prejudice, Mrs Bennet cries, “Oh Mr Bennet! nothing you say will ever vex me again!”  Mr Bennet replies, “I am sorry to hear that, my dear.”

[2] In Hebrew: Shalom…  In Arabic: Salaam…

[3] Colossians 3:12-15