Letting go is a major theme of contemplative life and
prayer. It is as though we have two ways
we can live – one is clinging, and the other is relinquishing. Jesus seemed to be in no doubt… freedom and
truth, joy and peace, if they are there, are down the path of relinquishing.
Let’s look at clinging.
Of course we know what it means -- it means to hang on to something, to grip,
stick or adhere. A character in a novel
I read referred to his ever-looming mother-in-law as Old Clingwrap. In Old English, interestingly, cling could
mean also to wither or shrivel… which is a bit of a warning. We can easily cling to possessions, as we
know. That can be good, or not. These things we own may be beautiful, or
valuable, or carry memories – important then for such reasons. We all have property, and we do what we can
to keep it nice. We protect it. We give thanks for it. It is important to have a view of how we
would be if we had to relinquish it – as, at present, in Sulawesi or Syria. Jesus visited these themes, and there are
echoes in the Sermon on the Mount and in the parables.
But possessions are only the start. There is clinging to or letting go of aspects
of the past. Of course, we can’t
“un-remember” things. Neither, in a way,
should we. It matters, often, that we don’t
forget, that we re-member, in the sense that we reassemble the past in our
minds and memories, accurately and with understanding, even when it is
painful. The relinquishing of memories,
then, is not pretending anything was otherwise than it was, but doing the work
to ensure that events of the past are accurate and understood, and that they
are not poisoning the present any more.
The stillness and silence of contemplative prayer is a gracious pathway down
which the stings of the past may indeed be gently drawn, and we realise one day
that we have moved on.
Or it may be that the challenge is to let go of people. Sons or daughters grow up, we hope, have
their own lives, aspects of which we don’t share… we lose loved ones, who
aren’t there any more… old friends unaccountably change… I am well aware that this is a minefield of
many emotions. But love is scarcely love
if it clings, or tries to control or possess.
Love entails the willingness to let go, to accord freedom to the loved
one. It is the way we are loved, by God,
who as we know creates and gifts us with freedom and choice. Our love of God too is very much a matter of
letting-go. We do not own or control
faith or truth. We humbly receive these
things, learning as we go, and confirming it day by day, that all is gift and
grace.
If you think about it, letting-go may come with a sense of release. If I can, as I can, I relinquish control and
the need to control. Faith says it is
for the sake of something better, which I may not yet fully see or understand. Ageing, often problematic, may indeed be seen
in another light. Other people can do the tasks I used to do. I may have to take leave of religious
assumptions that sustained me once upon a time, but not now. I now require space, for mindfulness, for
thought, for managing physical issues, for remembering and reassessing and
enjoying, for being still and silent, and perhaps alone. And there will come a time, a kairos, when I must let go even of all
that. And in Lady Julian’s words, all will be well.
