This slight momentary
affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure,
because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what
can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal. For we know that if the earthly tent we live
in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands,
eternal in the heavens. [II Corinthians 4:17 – 5:1]
That is part of the epistle reading for next Sunday. I knew I was troubled by (M’s) point last
week… a woman he knew, now in a wheelchair and helpless. The question was: How can Paul describe this as this slight momentary affliction…? or claim, her
inner nature is being renewed day by day…?
I imagine, each member of our group can think of someone to whom the
same questions apply, or once did. Neither
should we sidestep any of this. Both in
Paul’s time and ours, there are forms of mindless affliction which defy our
high ideals and our need to understand and to relieve suffering.
Paul is writing to the Corinthians as though they are all
fit and well. Nevertheless, he reminds
them, the earthly tent we live in
(will be) destroyed. Well now, I am not quite so ready to be
dismissive of the earthly tent we live in.
It may look increasingly subject to gravity, and bits fall off, but it
is an amazing apparatus, a gift from God.
I want to say to Paul, if we have, as he says, a heavenly home not made
with hands… well, neither was this earthly tent made with hands. We received it as a gift. For some it has always been a problematic
gift. However, for any of us leading a
contemplative life, with contemplative prayer, we are indeed being renewed day
by day. That is the point, and I think
that is what Paul meant.
We are all bewildered these days by the prevalence of
dementia in its various forms, and I am remembering that this most painfully
affects families represented here in our group.
The earthly tent gets afflicted by terrible damage to the consciousness,
brain damage, while other parts of us keep functioning robustly. Dementia is one issue among others that bring
a sadness and a helplessness which it seems God cannot relieve. If I lose my wits, it scarcely matters what’s
left, one would think. So it is indeed
hard to see a divine purpose or a merciful love in any of that, and I think we
need to learn stillness and silence, and how to do what’s necessary.
Paul becomes more helpful in other places, where he writes,
for instance:
Now we see in a
mirror, dimly… Now I know only in part – then I will know fully, even as I have
been fully known.[1] The
Spirit helps us in our weakness, for we do not know how to pray as we ought,
but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words… Nothing shall separate us from the love of
God…[2]
No comments:
Post a Comment