THE DESCENDING WAY

I recently read a short little book by Henri Nouwen, titled "Letters to Marc about Jesus".  Nouwen wrote seven letters to his nephew Marc, with the aim of providing some spiritual direction to this young man who was making his way in a world that is increasingly lacking in spiritual opportunities. 

The letters are composed at a time when Nouwen himself was discerning his own spiritual call; he was working with Canadian Jean Vanier in one of the L'Arche communities in France.  Eventually, he came to Canada to work at L'Arche Daybreak in the Richmond Hill area.  But, enough of the book review and history.

One piece of spiritual advice that Nouwen offers his nephew is to follow Jesus' path on the descending Way.  He goes to some length to explain what he means by "descending", focusing on the theme of Jesus' demonstrated relationship to others: a relationship of humility, servant-hood, shared suffering, shared joy.  It was a new way of being in community, a community built on compassion.

Nouwen expresses his understanding that Jesus demonstrated and taught his disciples that God's love would take them downwards into grief, pain and sorrow, a descending journey where they would encounter those who were hurt, damaged and crushed.  It was in this place, with these people, that God's love would be found, and where God's work would be done.  Those that followed Jesus would do that work, God being their helper.  In that work, the ascending Way would be shown.

Nouwen's letter about the descending Way frames a challenge that I'm not certain I can handle.  Frankly, I don't know if my faith is strong enough to do what he suggests; I don't think I have the heart for it and I'm fearful of failure.  Nouwen declares that it is not enough to stand on the high ground I've chosen and extend a hand to those below.  It's not enough to offer money when it's my hand, my heart and my soul that's needed. 

Nouwen says that the descending Way cannot be travelled by proxy and God's love cannot be experienced at arm's length. Nouwen recognized in himself, the brokenness, the damaged and hurtful parts that were keeping him from God's love; he was convinced that it was the descending Way of love that would allow him to return to living fully.

I have heard this message, or a similar message, from other spiritual leaders.  If you want to find Jesus, go to where the hurt is.  Intuitively, I get the rightness of it; but, it's a major step away from the comfortable place that I have chosen.  I have a sense that in taking the descending Way, I will leave one community behind while encountering another.  One thing that I'm afraid of is that I cannot have a foot in both communities - that I will have to make a choice.  The other fear that lurks in my mind is what I will find out about myself on that journey...at the very least, an imperfect version of myself.  Who will accompany me on the Way, and who will I meet when I get there?

I suppose the other challenge (it's actually another fear) is that I do not know...I'm not allowed to know, how the journey will unfold.  I'm not even certain if it will end.  Can I take it slowly, one step at a time ?  Or, will it be like sitting down on a playground slide and letting go - no stopping until you get to the bottom?  For someone who prides himself on map reading and navigation skills, this would truly be a journey into the unknown.  All it takes is one, deliberate first step.

Pat<><

CAN I SEE THROUGH NEW EYES?

There are days when I despair.  I haven't got a lot to despair about, but somehow, that feeling creeps in.  There's nothing like despair to change how you see the world, to tint your outlook with the taint of hopelessness.  It's like someone whispering in your ear, "quit fighting it, let someone else worry about it, give it up." 

When this is happening, it is like seeing the world through "old" eyes.  I mean old eyes not in the sense of learning from the past, honouring traditions and that sort of thing.  The old eyes I'm talking about are those that see everything through filters of disappointment, anger, hurt, suspicion...even hatred.  These are eyes that have given up, given in.

A life fully lived demands that I see through "new" eyes.  Through these eyes, I will have a deeper, truer understanding of myself and other human beings.  These eyes will accept imperfections as part of the human condition.  The lenses of these eyes are hope, patience, joy and love.  These are welcoming eyes, open to possibility, embracing all that life brings.

By seeing through new eyes, I make a commitment to get rid of all the things that prevent me from living fully.  In Colossians 3, those restrictive, inhibiting traits are listed: anger, wrath, malice, slander, abusive language, lying to one another.  The list is long.

Seeing through new eyes, I strip off those old ways and replace them with a renewed outlook that is based on hope and love.  I want this outlook to turn my life around to a new direction.  I know there will be times when I will slip back into the manner of seeing with old eyes, but God being my helper, those relapses will be fewer and shorter in number.  New eyes will be the norm.

We all have negative days, but that doesn't mean we are pessimistic.

We all do stupid things, but that doesn't mean we are stupid.

It is important to be able to distinguish between what happens to us and who we are,

and, to look forward with hope for new and better days ahead.  Lindsey Stirling.

 Pat<><

NEW PEOPLE OF GOD

For some unexplained reason, over the past month, I have been confronted by writing and philosophy related to collapse and catastrophe.  It seems that every direction I turn, I stumble over responses to the question of what to do when things fall apart.  The following passage is taken from The Message, the Bible in Contemporary Language.  I came across it while researching some lectionary resources for the Lenten reflection project that I have been working on with my brother Thom and photographer Bob McGauley.

This is commentary preceding the book of Ezekiel - a major prophet during the time of Israel's invasion by the Babylonians.  It is in that ancient context that Ezekiel wrote his story.  If you have a good teaching bible, it's worth reading all of Ezekiel.

Catastrophe strikes and a person's world falls apart.  People respond variously, but two of the more common responses are denial and despair.  Denial refuses to acknowledge the catastrophe.  It shuts its eyes tight or looks the other way; it manages to act as if everything is going to be just fine; it takes refuge in distractions and lies and fantasies.  Despair is paralyzed by the catastrophe and accepts it as the end of the world.  It is unwilling to do anything, concluding that life for all intents and purposes is over.  Despair listlessly closes it eyes to a world in which all the colour has drained out, a world gone dead.

Among biblical writers, Ezekiel is our master at dealing with catastrophe.  When catastrophe struck in 6th century BC...denial was the primary response.  Ezekiel found himself living among a people of God who stubbornly refused to see what was right before their eyes (the denial crowd).  There were also others who refused to see anything BUT what was right before their eyes (the despair crowd).

The denial people refused to see that the catastrophe was in fact catastrophic.  How could it be?  God couldn't let anything bad happen to them.  The despair people, overwhelmed by the devastation, refused to see that life was worth living.  How could it be?  They had lost everything.

Ezekiel showed the denial crowd that, yes, there was catastrophe, but God was at work in the catastrophe, that they would be able to embrace God in the worst of times...especially in the worst of times.  He showed the despair people that God was and would be at work in the wreckage and rubble, to create a new people of God. 

Whether through denial or despair, the people of God nearly lost their identity as a people of God.  But they didn't.  God's people emerged from that catastrophic century robust and whole.

Pat<><

PRAYER FOR COURAGE

O Saviour, who didst set thy face steadfastly to go to Jerusalem to thy Cross and passion: help us, thy weak and wavering disciples, to be firm and resolute in doing those things that lie before us.

Help us to overcome difficulties and to persevere in spite of failures.

When we are weary and disheartened and ready to give in, do thou fill us with fresh courage and strength, and keep us faithfully to our work; for thy name's sake.  

Amen

Taken from the Divine Service Book for the Armed Forces, 1950.

CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN

The following story was a sermon delivered by Thom McDonough on September 23, 2012, at Goulais United Church

Once upon a time, there was a man who lived at the base of a mountain.  As he tended his garden, and it was a  wonderful garden giving all the food that he needed, he would often look up the mountain.  He would watch the clouds come scooting along towards it and then be forced up into the air, dropping the rain as they went higher.

He was thankful for the rain because it watered his garden and provided water for the stream that flowed by.  He often wondered what it would be like to climb that mountain.

One day, as he was out in his garden, tending to his vegetables, the fruit trees and the flowers, he looked up to see a stranger leaning on the stone fence.  The stranger had a pleasant face and the man, being kindly and very hospitable, asked the stranger if he would like a drink and something to eat.  The man thought the stranger looked weary from travel.

The stranger said that his offer was most welcome and yes, he would like to take a break for some water and fruit.   So the man provided a pitcher of cool water and cut open a fresh melon that was sweet and juicy.  As they sat in the shade of a vine, they chatted about the weather and the world in a way that men do.

Then the stranger asked the man, have you never left this place.  “Oh, no” said the man, “I am content to work in my garden and around the house. There is enough here for me.”

“But you do so well,” said the stranger.  “I’ve heard about you from others on the road.  They say you are kind and generous and I have experienced your hospitality.  You have been here for some time.  Isn’t there anything else you would like to do?”

The man replied, “It is comfortable here, doing what I know the best.  I have all that I need.”  But as he spoke, his eyes drifted off towards the mountain.  The stranger said, “Have you never thought about climbing the mountain, to see what is up there?”

“Oh, I could never do that” replied the man.  I am just a farmer, not an adventurer.  Leave the comfort of doing what I know?  No, I don’t think I could do that.  

But there may be others who need your skills and knowledge said the stranger.  You can never tell what you might discover if you leave this comfortable place.  You have much to share with others.  You know kindness.  You show love for your neighbours and even a stranger such as I. Why don’t you climb the mountain and share what you have learned?

The melon was finished and the water, drank.  The stranger thanked the man and asked him to consider what he had said.  The man just smiled and shook his head, thinking, “no, I really couldn’t do that.”

But the words of the stranger stayed with him.  As he tended his garden, the words seemed to be berating him.  “Go and proclaim the good that you know.”

One morning, without really knowing why, he took his tools and put them in his shed.  He took a bag with some food, a change of his clothing, and some seeds, shut the door to his home and began the climb to the mountain top.

Well, he said to himself as he entered the rolling hills, this isn’t so difficult.  Hours later, still climbing, with the sweat pouring off his brow, his confidence was waning - but a voice called him on.

Struggling up a steep cliff, he came to a plateau and saw a village.  Actually, he heard the sound of people first.  They were weeping.  From the sounds of it, they were in great distress.  Entering the village he came upon the people in the square.  Asking of their grief, they told him that the food they gathered from the mountain forest had been scarce.  The young children were dying of starvation.  The people were hungry and it was very hard on the elderly.

The man asked them why they did not grow their own food.  All replied that no one had shown them how.  So the man showed them how to gather what few wild crops were still available and how to take the seeds from them.  He showed them how to till the land, how to plant the seeds.  He showed them how to harvest the food and to store it for times when food was scarce.  He showed them how to share.

He had been so busy, the man did not feel the years slip away.  His bones were stiffer now - he ached in places he hadn’t before.  But finally he said he had to leave, because he wanted to climb to the mountain top.  

As he left, he thought of the village and how, now, he heard laughing.  The children were healthy, the elderly lived long lives.  The village had become a community - they cared for each other, helped each other.

And so he climbed higher.  After a number of days, he thought he heard thunder, yet the skies were clear.  Climbing along the mountain trail he come to a fork in the road, one leading west, the other east.  

From the east came a horde of riders galloping as fast as they could.  Behind came another group riding madly, gesturing angrily at the riders in front.  In the distance, the man could see smoke rising from homes on fire.

The two groups thundered past.   In a short time he heard thunder to the west and saw smoke rising from homes set afire.  

He stopped to rest at this fork in the road.  The scene was repeated the next week and the next.  Back and forth the groups chased each other.

With a sigh the man opened his sack, took some seeds.  Using a piece of wood that he fashioned into a hoe, he began to create a small garden.  He built himself a shelter.  He piled stones around the garden.

At first the riders paid him no attention as they chased each other back and forth across the ground.  But as the man tilled his garden even larger, soon they had to ride around it.

Finally, the riders from the east stopped their chase and asked the man, what in the world he was doing.  “Growing food,” said the man.   “Don’t you just take what you need from others” said the riders?  “No,” said the man.  “There is no need to do so, I grow my own and I also share it. And really, I don’t believe one should take what others have worked to grow.”  

Soon, the riders from the west came back wondering why they were not being pursued.  They asked the same questions of the man.    They wondered at his strange words, about simply growing one’s own food; not just taking.  

Not everyone thought this was a good idea, but one or two riders from both sides were interested and they worked at fields beside the man.  Soon a few more joined in the growing.  The riders chasing each other were fewer.  Then, they stopped.

No more houses were destroyed.  The people ate the food they produced.  They set up a market at the cross roads to trade.  Children learned to be farmers rather than riders.  Horses were used to till the fields, not for raiding.

The man had been so busy that he had not realized how the years had slipped by.  He had not realized how old he had become.  He looked down the mountain side and in the distant plain, he could see his old home - there appeared to be someone living there - smoke rose from the chimney, the fields looked good. He smiled.

He looked halfway down the mountainside and saw the first village he had stopped at.  All seemed to be well.  Some the villagers where now coming up to trade at the market that had been built at the cross road.  He smiled but felt so tired.  Maybe he would stay a little longer and climb to the top of the mountain in a month or so.   

Later that week, as he sat in the shade of the vine growing outside his small shelter, the stranger who had set him on his journey came walking up the road.  “You have been busy,” said the stranger.   “But I haven’t made it to the mountain top.” said the man.  

“Ah,” said the stranger.  “It isn’t about getting to the top that is important.  It is the journey and what you have done on your way that is important.  You have been a teacher, a peace maker.  You have shared your wisdom and have proclaimed the good you know.   You have made a difference in the lives of others and peace has come.”

Three days later, the man who proclaimed good things passed away.

Who was the stranger?  I don’t know, but I do know that God calls us to go into the world to proclaim good news.  Who was the man?  I don’t know - he could have been a she - could have been you or me.

We are called to journey.  We are called to climb the mountain of life - a mountain that is beset with obstacles to our journey, full of hardships, dangers, disappointments and yet - full of loving potential.

God does not measure our effort on whether or not we climb to the mountain top.  God calls us on a journey of faith to create a new earth, where we find it is needed.  God does not ask us to stay where we are comfortable.  It is the journey to proclaim Good News that is important.  

And as we climb God’s holy mountain, we know that nothing in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

It is the journey and what we do on that journey, that is important.  Amen.

IS THERE A PURPOSE TO COLLAPSE?

I am compelled by life circumstances to ask the question: Is there a purpose to collapse?  I think there is, but I'll get to that in a bit.

As I look around me, I detect many signs of collapse at many different levels.  The levels almost don't matter; if I experience the sense of collapse, then the level is in some way, always personal.  And, so I do - experience a sense of collapse, for myself and those around me.  Collapse of people and of things.  Collapse in health, collapse in confidence, collapse in purpose, collapse in strength...you might be able to add to that list.

From a scientific perspective, collapse is linked to implosion.  That is, a circumstance when "objects are destroyed by collapsing on themselves.  Implosion concentrates matter and energy.  Implosion involves a difference between inward and outward forces, so large that the structure collapses inward into itself."  That scientific explanation just about says it all...except for the grief, pain, stress, sense of loss and helplessness, all the human elements that are involved in collapse.  It's the human or personal aspects of collapse that are so daunting and which have brought me to the point of asking the question of "purpose". 

Is collapse "natural", something that is a part of nature?  If it is, any attempt to prevent it will ultimately fail.  If it's not part of nature (i.e., it is something that is a product of human action or inaction), then can we prevent it and how would we do that?  As living beings, are we a catalyst to collapse?  I know...too many questions!

On a recent walk along a nearby side-road, I arrived at some personal conclusions which I offer to share, along with the all the questions I posed.  My feelings and response to collapse change depending on whether I am inside the fall or outside it.  When I am an active player in collapse (a "stakeholder" as they say), my tendency is to fight it, to analyze it, to make plans, to take action.  Sometimes this action is helpful; collapse can be forestalled but only, as it turns out, in the sense of delay.  When I am on the outside of collapse and looking in, it is easy to take a calmer approach.  Danger looms when calmness becomes disconnectedness.

Inside or out, I conclude that times of collapse are opportunities for discernment.  Some time ago, a woman who was at a different place on her faith journey than I am, gave me a hint of that when she warned that in being so deeply invested in church life, I was in danger of not being able to foresee the likely outcome of my actions.  And so I recognize that in the midst of collapse, if I can find the focus for it, there is the need to see and understand people, things and situations with clarity and intelligence.  There is a need to re-examine the values that have been declared as important, to see if that still holds true.  There is a need to weigh priorities.  It is a time for choices - not "yes" or "no", but perhaps "both/and".  Above all, there is a need to treat everyone involved with kindness, fairness and with love.

By the end of my morning walk, I had regained most of my resolve and determination: I can do discernment.  Part of my hope in the outcome of collapse is the understanding that in Creation, collapse leads to a new equilibrium, a regaining of balance.  It's won't be the same as before, but it can be better, stronger, clearer and truer.  That's my hope.

Pat<><

DIVINE LIGHT

Several years ago, I was asked to answer this question: "Where have you seen evidence of God's presence in this world?"  I stumbled over that question for days before I came to an answer that felt right to me and now, looking back on that time, I no longer have confidence that I got it right.  I think that in trying to answer that question, my horizon was too limited or my focus was too narrow.  A lot of the effort I put into spiritual growth now has to do with finding ways to see further, hear clearly, wait patiently, read widely and work diligently - all towards the expectation that I might find it easier to recognize God's presence. 

But, it's not easy, I'll confess that upfront.  Many things in our culture and society make it hard to find the Divine in my life.  My daily routine often works against me; I recognize that I'm not a natural when it comes to being open and receptive to the signs that are coming my way.  But I work at it and take my inspiration from wherever I can find it.  I wish that I had a habit of prayer, but I don't - yet - but that might come in the future.

 This photo from Bob McGauley is an example of how perception is so important to being aware of a divine presence.  When I first saw it, I didn't know what to make of the golden beads or bubbling foam that seems to be floating on the blue water.  It looked a bit like a "loofa" or some sort of material that had been thrown on to the waves...it looked artificial.  When you look closely, you realize that it's 100% natural; it's water, air and sunlight.  In combination, they make this amazing texture, this startling image that initially causes wonder.  And so I ask myself: how amazing, how startling, how wonder-full does something have to be until we agree that it could be Divine in origin?  Are we too jaded now to appreciate the Divine when it is right in front of us or all around us?

In the days of the early church, before dogma was firmly established, Christian mystics devoted their lives to the search for the Word of God, the Divine presence.  You might imagine that, without the distractions of life that we face in the 21st century, their search might have been easy.  From what I have read though, it was difficult.  It required sacrifice, it required dedication, it often meant living in conditions of extreme frugality, isolation and exposure to the elements.  Those mystics believed that enduring those conditions helped them find the "thin" places and times where the Spirit could be encountered by humankind.  It was in those places and times where clarity was possible, if fleeting.  This is a belief that has not lost its currency and there are many meditative, spiritual practices that can be cultivated to help us connect. 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who wrote about authentic Christian life and community, believed that singing, praying, reading, meditation, fellowship of the table, even work itself, could be avenues to encountering the presence of Jesus Christ.  I find this view to be comforting and challenging at the same time.  Another gifted writer about contemporary Christian life, Thomas Merton, echoed many of Bonhoeffer's ideas, with the added caution that in order to know God, one had to know one's self..."to have the humility to accept ourselves as we are."  Another challenge to us.

I'm beginning to have a better idea of what it means to be on a journey of spiritual growth and faith-building, but I still do not have the final destination pegged down.  The journey includes the activities that Bonhoeffer and Merton (and many others) point out as necessary to a life in God.  I don't think there's a precise road map for the journey; there are probably lots of different ways to be on the Way...if you know what I mean (if you don't, we can talk).  When in community and sometimes when I am alone, I seem to tune in to that sense of God's presence and it's a joyous and strengthening feeling.  It doesn't last long, but the experience is enough to keep me moving along the Way.

I hope you find your path too.

Pat<><

"We are warmed by the fire, not by the smoke of the fire.

We are carried over the sea by a ship, not by the wake of a ship.

So too, what we are is to be sought in the invisible depths of our own being, not in our outward reflection in our own acts.

We must find our real selves not in the froth stirred up by the impact of our being upon the beings around us, but in our own soul which is the principle of all our acts."

Thomas Merton, No Man is an Island, 1955.