PRIESTLY PONDERING'S (1) - Being beneath the role

This is also available via YouTube:  https://youtu.be/Mk6GeJHV64g

In 2018 I wrote Enfolded in Christ: the inner life of a priest, and it’s been suggested I might offer some further thoughts arising from that, or from my second: The Mystery of Faith: Exploring Christian belief.  So, as we’re in a world-wide crisis at present, I thought I’d go back to something I wrote in chapter nine of ‘Enfolded’ because I think it speaks into something a number of priests might be experiencing.  It’s headed: Beneath the Role and is part of a section on ‘Being in Christ’:

‘While (the) desire for union with Christ is at the heart of our (priestly) calling, I’ve noticed, in directing clergy, that many find it easier to talk about roles and responsibilities. Although ministry may form the expression of our vocation, it’s not its essence, for that can only be found as ‘Cor ad cor loquitur’ – heart speaks to heart.  Vocation concerns the heart of being which our actions express. The demands of ministry can overbalance the call to intimacy and relationship just as doing can easily replace being in our desire for meaning. And while this isn’t unique to priesthood, unless our vocation is rooted in the desire for union with Christ, sooner or later it will wither – and may die.’

Now I’m not suggesting that your spiritual life has died or even withered, but I’ve noticed the way the present coronavirus crisis is causing some clergy to feel a bit lost – or depressed.  Many of the norms which accompany ministry have gone: ‘no church and no congregation’ is causing them to wonder what they’re meant to be doing.  We look at what the media focuses on – doctors and nurses caring for the sick and dying, food banks providing help for those in poverty and people hard at work raising funds for charities and we can easily begin to feel inadequate, or even guilty.  Many people have begun living in ‘virtual reality’ offering online parties and games, and some clergy are turning to the internet to broadcast services.  And whilst much of what’s appearing is helpful, I wonder – I just wonder – if we might be missing something…  If every crisis provides an opportunity, what might this one offer?  What might God be saying to us through it?

One of the reasons, as I mentioned, for writing Enfolded was because I sensed that many clergy live out of their role, something which can easily begin to take over from our vocation.   Many have become very proficient in what they do; they work hard, and their ministry is greatly valued.  But now much of that role seems to have been side-lined.  A century or so ago it was clergy and religious who nursed the sick – Florence Nightingale turned to the emerging Anglican Religious Orders to work in the Crimea, and priests cared for victims of cholera in the slums of 19^th cent. cities, gaining for them the name, ‘Father’.  Now it can feel as if we’re not needed. Yet, many are doing valiant, if hidden, work supporting congregations, helping organise Food Banks and so on.  But the fact that the Archbishops have ‘banned’ clergy from entering their churches to live-stream liturgies feels as if it’s undermined something of great importance and has hit many hard.

I’m one of those who no longer have a parish, or any ‘official’ ministry, and recall the way I, like others, suddenly felt an utter sense of lostness when that came to an end.  My identity as a parish priest had gone, and I suddenly had no idea what meaning life had for me. T. S. Eliot words, in his Four Quartets, captures something of the feeling I had:

‘ … as, when an underground train, in the tube, 
stops too long between stations

And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence

And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deeper

Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about … ‘ (East Coker, III)

That, of course, can be a feeling anyone can have when their job comes to an end – as has happened to thousands of people as a result of the ‘lockdown’ we’re going through.  So, my first reflection is that priests may be sharing the same feelings as many of their parishioners: this loss means we can identify with millions of others.  Like Christ, some of us have suddenly descended into the experience of many – have entered a wilderness that seems endless.  Into a darkness that can be depressive.

Now one of the things I notice about the account of Christ in the Desert is that the first Temptation which came his way was to turn stones into bread; and I then hear his response: “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matt. 4.4).  What might that be saying to the noble attempts of many to offer ‘virtual’ liturgies replicating, as best we can, what happens in church?  If every crisis offers opportunities, what might this crisis offer those who have a responsibility to nurture the spiritual lives of people?  Those who stand at the threshold of heaven?  Of course, many find satisfaction through the familiar and some, consequently, will encounter ‘church’ via the internet for the first time.  But are we missing something? 

In what we call the ‘spiritual life’ there’s a clear correlation between the wilderness and the monastic cell.  You probably know that saying of the 4^th cent. Desert Father, Abba Moses: “Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.”  In a world where many feel lost, might the most important thing we have to share be that simple piece of teaching?  If you’re finding life difficult at present, don’t go looking for distractions – virtual games and sports, chat rooms and so on.  Simply stay in that place of emptiness and listen to what it might teach you – you may never have another opportunity to learn what this solitude, this enforced ‘retreat’ might offer.  And that, of course, means clergy need to do just that.  As Eliot said:

                            ‘I said to my soul, be still, 
                            and let the darkness come upon you

                            Which shall be the darkness of God.’ (East Coker, III)

That darkness, of course, can feel very dark – a darkness which can feel hellish.  And I’m reminded that Christ entered that darkness on Holy Saturday with the light of the Resurrection – and I want to consider that on another occasion because it is of such importance, yet often ignored.  For now, let’s consider the difference between that feeling of loneliness and the awareness of being alone.  Feeling lonely is about isolation, whereas being alone concerns realising in in-depth at-one-ness with all things.  Just listen to these words of Mother Mary Clare of the Sisters of the Love of God at Fairacres from their pamphlet, Aloneness Not Loneliness:

‘Like the solitary sailor, we deliberately choose our aloneness as part of a personal quest.  We are people engaged on a search.  It is always a search for God, but it is also a quest that brings us to a place of exposure to a deep, heart-searching, listening awareness of the fundamental, crying need of the world.  This is precisely the monk’s or nun’s chief service to humanity.  In aloneness we learn to share in a basic way in the emptiness and lostness that people today often know but also often tried to block out and ignore. … It is essential that we realise the intensely positive use and value of being alone and trying to stop being frightened at the very negative reaction or feeling lonely.’  (Fairacres Pubs. FP002)

I wonder if one of the most important things clergy can do at this time – at any time – is not only to be open to and aware of that basic emptiness and lost-ness, but to encourage people not to run from that primary human condition, the calling to and of God deep within their deepest self – the soul.  Rather than offering people religious ‘distractions’ isn’t one of our primary tasks to enable people to realise they’re called to enter the depths of their being?  Instead of just streaming services, might we also address this primary experience which so many are having but can’t make sense of or seek to avoid – aloneness?  Only the church can do that – the media have no understanding of the deeper reaches of our common humanity.  Doesn’t this crisis offer an opportunity – hopefully, one that won’t be repeated for a long time, but one we need to grasp – the opportunity to encounter ourselves in a creative way.  And to encounter God.   

So, use this time to create a fresh rhythm of prayer.  Make sure you’re having a day offline from time to time – now’s a wonderful opportunity to take an at-home Quiet Day where you can focus on prayer and meditation, a solitary walk and a little light reading. And, if you haven’t already, make sure the Blessed Sacrament is kept in a worthy place at home, a place you can ‘visit’ each day where you can be still before the Lord.  Let’s discover what this time has to offer so we can share with others from our experience.

Do you remember the way, also in 2018, that a group of boys became trapped in a cave system in Thailand for over a fortnight?  Their leader, a former Buddhist monk, led them in various meditation practices which helped them cope with their enforced isolation and kept them sane.  It’s clear many people at present are experiencing great anxiety, and whilst Christian meditation is primarily concerned with opening the eye of the heart to God, it has also been shown to be of great help in addressing anxiety and stress which can lead to depression.  I realise meditation might be difficult if you sense you’re extraverted – you may be finding the loss of human interaction really painful.  But, maybe, this is an opportunity to give attention to your inner life – and to teach others the importance of these practices.  

In a society which judges the church by what it can be seen to do, its actions, might God be offering us an opportunity to reach out to others from the hidden wisdom of our tradition – of the contemplative way?  Might this be a time when we remind the world it has a forgotten soul which needs nurturing?  Isn’t that the meaning behind our role?  Rather than this being a time when the church hardly seems needed, maybe it’s a time when we’re needed even more – we just need to realise what we have and find ways of sharing it with others. 

I said to my soul be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing;

wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing;

there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope 
       are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, 
       for you are not ready for thought:

So the darkness shall be the light, 
       and the stillness the dancing.  (East Coker III)

John-Francis Friendship

April 17^th, 2020

GOOD FRIDAY 2020 - Sermon for All Saints, Blackheath

O EVER-LIVING GOD,

let this mind be in us which was in Christ Jesus:

that as He from His loftiness stooped

to the death of the Cross,

so we in our lowliness may humble ourselves,

believing, obeying, living and dying

to the glory of the Father

and in the power of the Holy Spirit,

for the same Jesus Christ’s sake.  Amen

(Christina Rossetti)

INTRODUCTION

At the end of the 14^th cent there lived a Recluse – or Anchoress – in a cell attached to a tiny church on the outskirts of Norwich.  She had grown up during a time when the Black Death had ravaged the city and, on the 8^th of May, 1373, received a number of revelations which, for the next 20 years, she meditated upon until finally setting down her ‘shewings’ – her revelations – in a book.  The name of the hermit was never recorded, but she’s now known to millions by the name of the church where she lived: Julian of Norwich.   Her book, the Revelations of Divine Love, has become world-famous and what she reveals is especially relevant at a time when we’ve been affected by another plague.

There were sixteen shewings in all and they concerned the love of God realised through the crucifixion of Jesus.  She received them sometime after asking God to grant her three favours: to understand Christ’s passion; to share in his sufferings; and to have as God’s gift three wounds.  Ultimately all her wishes were granted; and, because of the depth and profundity of her desires, we are the richer.  The second of these, to share in the sufferings of Christ, was realised when, at the age of 31, she suffered from an illness that brought her close to death and received the Last Rites of the Church. 

Three days afterwards, whilst lingering between life and death, her parish priest was again sent for.  He held a crucifix before her eyes with the words, “I have brought you the image of your Maker and Saviour.  Look at it and be strengthened.”  It’s an image that any of us might benefit from gazing on when we’re suffering – why not find a crucifix now and spend some time in contemplation.  What happened when Julian did that, she records in these words…

THE FIRST REVELATION: THE CROWNING OF CHRIST

“And at once I saw the red blood trickling down from the crown of thorns, hot, fresh and plentiful, … At the same moment the Trinity filled me full of heartfelt joy, and I knew that all eternity was like this for those who attain heaven.  For the Trinity is God, and God the Trinity; the Trinity is our Maker and keeper, our eternal lover, joy and bliss – all through our Lord Jesus Christ”

What do we see when we look on the figure of the Crucified?  What did Mary and the disciples see when they stood before his Cross?  And the centurion, and the crowd of onlookers?   I imagine all saw something different: a suffering son; a dying friend; a terrorist rightly punished; yet another victim of foreign invaders.  Just another criminal.

A vulnerable human being. 

And what did God see? 

I pose that question because it was God-in-Jesus who was dying on the Cross.  We can believe that God ‘saw’ his own suffering and death; indeed, if he did not, then he could not have fully shared in this world-changing moment.   I believe he saw the love of his friends and the anguish of his Mother; the lack of insight in some, the superficiality of others.  The lack of interest in the onlookers and the fear of his disciples that they might get too involved. 

He saw it all, and more.  He saw the weakness and vulnerability of those around him: those who were scared and frightened of the consequences of being labelled his followers and friends. 

And he saw the depth of his own heart.  He saw love.  He saw his own fear yet, beneath that and stronger than that, he saw love.   And that’s why we come to the foot of the Cross on Good Friday; why we open ourselves to the love of God known through the death of Christ.

THE ETERNAL SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST

These Revelations occurred after three bouts of plague had ravaged East Anglia, yet nowhere in her writing does one get the impression that Julian doubted the love and mercy of God, became angry or disillusioned.  Quite the contrary.  What is evident is that she, like so many at that and other times, looked at the Crucified and gained immense re-assurance and comfort that God shared their sufferings. 

At one point in her contemplation she had a conversation with Jesus in which he told her that if he could have suffered more for her he would willingly have done so.  As she marvelled at this, she realised that – in her words – “though the dear humanity of Christ could only suffer once, his goodness would always make him do so – every day if need be.  If he were to say that for love of me he would make a new heaven and earth, this would be a comparatively simple matter; something he could do every day if he wanted, with no great effort.  But for love of me to be willing to die times without number – beyond human capacity to compute – is, to my mind, the greatest gesture our Lord God could make to the human soul.  This is his meaning: ‘How could I not, out of love for you, do all I can for you?’.” (‘Revelations of Divine Love’ Ch. 22: Ninth Revelation)

‘How could I not, out of love for you, do all I can for you?’  That is the truth of this moment in time, a truth upon which we’re invited to dwell.  Not how terrible is the suffering, yet that is true.  Nor how sad the fact that few will gather at the Cross, and that is true also; perhaps, if more did, they would realise why these three holy days, this Sacred Triduum is of such profound importance, for they teach us all there is to know about being human.  Why, then, are so many of our church’s normally half-empty today?  For the truth Julian discovered, and in which we need to share, is this: how could God not, out of love for us, do all he can for us.  For … me.   Not take away the suffering – for to live involves suffering – but to share in that suffering with us. 

Most didn’t see that; many standing there had come because they’d heard that this man had done great things – the man they’d welcomed with such enthusiasm into Jerusalem just five days before – might he do something spectacular and make something ‘happen’?  But, no: this healer (he may have healed them), teacher and popular leader was now hanging there on a cross, like a common criminal.  Perhaps he wasn’t such a great figure after all.  Just another Johnny-come-lately.  So, with a shrug, they’re off.  And God must see all that, too. 

Could he who made heaven and earth not have ended it differently?  Snapped his divine fingers, waved a majestic hand and sorted it – and himself – out?  If there is a God, why doesn’t he zap the virus?  Surely, that’s what gods are meant to do – to save us from trouble and not get too involved.  But this God got involved.  What nonsense, the reasonable ones say.  It’s all nonsense or, at best, just a story.  And, in a way, they would be right.  As St. Paul would later come to realise:  ‘Jews demand signs, Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ nailed to the cross; and through this is an offence to Jews and folly to Gentiles, yet to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, he is the power of God and the wisdom of God.’ 

CONCLUSION

The God who hangs before us on the Cross is not some all-mighty, ever-powerful Lord but a naked, vulnerable human being.  That is the uniqueness of our faith and the terrible consequence of the Incarnation.  For the God in whom we believe, the maker of heaven and earth, was prepared to know what it is like to be en-fleshed – to be weak, frightened and lonely.  That is why women and men down the ages have been drawn to and by this moment.  That is what has inspired the greatest artists, musicians and writers.  That is what moulded our culture, this insight into God-made-man hanging, dying, on the cross who unites himself with all who suffer and die.  That is what spoke to Julian.  And we?  We recognise the nonsense of it all yet are drawn by the vulnerability of this man. 

So those who have the eyes to see recognise in sweating, bruised, torn flesh; in fear and loneliness, vulnerability and passion, a glimpse of themselves.  We identify with our God, not in his majesty but in his broken humanity.  That’s why God had to do this.  Julian of Norwich, like every other saint, wanted to know Christ.  Not just to be one who, like the bystanders, came along, gazed around and went home.  Nor one who wanted God to do something.  But to know Christ in the depth of her heart.  “And at once I saw the red blood trickling down from the crown of thorns, hot, fresh and plentiful.”  This moment which seemed to be ending in death was, in fact, the moment of glory.  For it was at this moment that the truth of God was revealed.  This is the moment which reveals the paradox – that out of suffering comes new life.  As we live through an immense pandemic that is what we’re, even now, seeing, as people reach out with compassion; break down barriers that have restricted them; find reservoirs of creative living, and – after a period when we seemed to have become a broken, divided nation, experience a unity forgotten by many.

“At the same moment the Trinity filled me full of heartfelt joy, and I knew that all eternity was like this for those who attain heaven.  For the Trinity is God, and God the Trinity; the Trinity is our Maker and keeper, our eternal lover, joy and bliss – all through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

VIRAL THOUGHTS - LENT AND CORONAVIRUS

LENT AND CORONAVIRUS

‘In God I trust and will not be afraid’ (Ps.56.11)

THE sudden arrival of an unwelcome guest into the life of our nation has caught most by surprise and the consequences of having to live with coronavirus for the foreseeable future will take time to be understood.  The virus’s arrival in Europe may have happened some time ago, but it was at the beginning of Lent it began to make itself known so Lent and the pandemic seem closely connected. 

AFTER Jesus had been living a normal life around the shores of Galilee he seems to have suddenly been drawn south, to the Jordan, by the preaching of his cousin, St. John Baptist.  He must have been aware of the way people were being affected by John’s radical message and the changes it was making in the way people lived, yet it wasn’t until he arrived at the Jordan that he seems to have been affected.  It was then that the Spirit suddenly descended on him and he was driven into the Wilderness for that Lenten period of forty days (Matt.3.13-4.11). Now, we also seem to have suddenly entered such a wilderness period, which also reflects the ‘forty years’ spent by the Hebrew people in another desert (Ex.22.15ff) which they had entered after their liberation from slavery in Egypt.

This motif of suddenly finding yourself in a place of disorientation happens from time to time.  A sudden illness or accident thrusts one into an unexpected place; at the outbreak of World War II, for example, people must have been filled with a variety of concerns:  Will I be safe?  How will I get food for the family?  What will happen to my job?  What will be the consequences?  Will I die?  We’re hardly prepared for such times and, for a while, it can affect us in unexpected ways.

As the Hebrew people began their wanderings, they, like Jesus, had to adjust to life without their accustomed norms. So, they began to want to return to Egypt where life seemed better, wondered from where food would come and, after panicking (never a good thing to do) gave themselves over to ‘eat, drink and be merry …’  Moses had to remind them of what was of fundamental importance, which was to be rooted in their relationship with God.  Perhaps this is a time when we, who live in a society where, for many, the greatest desire is to travel to Disneyworld, need to reflect on what is of fundamental importance to us: what we would like to be remembered for – momento mori.  What is the ground of our being? For both the Hebrews and Jesus this wilderness time was of greatest importance, and Jesus’ three Temptations seem to resonate with our present times.

‘COMMAND these stones to become loaves of bread.’ 

The panic buying and abuse of shop staff that has occurred in some places since the emergency was declared reveal how easy it is for human nature to be corrupted.  No one suddenly turns from civilised behaviour to acting like a vicious animal; corruption has developed over a long time.  Jesus’ response? ‘One does not live by bread alone but by every word that comes from the mouth of God’ (Matt.4.4) calls us back to consider the way we seek to live, and the way we have sought to mould the heart of who we are.

              His response also seems to speak into this time when most of us can no longer feed on the Eucharist, Bread of Life, no longer be nourished by Christ’s Real Presence, a loss which is felt keenly by those of us for whom Mass is the ‘centre around which their life revolves’.  Jesus’ response, that we live by every word that comes from the mouth of God touches on the fact that he is the Word: ‘The Father spoke one Word, which was His Son, and this Word He always speaks in eternal silence, and in silence must It be heard by the soul.’ (St John of the Cross, Maxims 21). This is a time when, denied the Bread of Life, we need to feed on the Word in the scriptures. To spend time silently meditating on the Word present amongst all the words we read. What is God saying to us through his Word?

One of the things, I  believe, is that at a time when emotions can get the better of us – fear, worry, irritation, anger etc. we need to recall the gracious words of Jesus in the Beatitudes he taught his disciples and the crowds who followed him: ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit … the meek … the merciful … the pure in heart … peacemakers’. This is a time when those who seek to live in Christ need to be expressing those virtues because it’s as easy for the lure of Satan (the Deceiver) to corrupt us now as it was then.  Have we, as a society, been encouraged to chase after the inconsequential, rather than facing what life actually involves?  We need to feed on food which will do more than satisfy our superficial cravings, and to realise that the way we face pain and suffering, the ‘dark’ side of life, help to mould who we are becoming.

‘IF YOU ARE the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written: ‘He will command his Angels concerning you …’  Inevitably people want God to ‘do something’ and can become anxious as to why our prayers don’t seem answered.  Some will say, ‘If God exists, why isn’t he acting?’ and we might wonder the same; but notice Jesus’ response to this temptation: ‘ … do not put the Lord your God to the test’. 

We can wonder why God seems silent at a time like this.  Yet the matter of trust, which this temptation concerns, goes far deeper than simply wanting to test God.  Jesus counters this potentially desolating temptation by saying that we simply need to trust.  We cannot know how the Divine Economy works, how God manages his household, and cannot know the deeper movements that might be going on at this time. 

For a generation wealthy, ‘modern’, First World nations have been spared the kind of conflicts and desperation which some other nations face.  We have thought that we are in complete charge, masters of our destiny, science has solved every problem.  Now we face vulnerability and are being exposed in ways that will reveal so much about both ourselves and the world we’ve created.  A world that is its own master – that doesn’t need God.  A world of competition rather than co-operation, which has seeped into our psyche.  A world which puts self first and looks for distractions to occupy time.  We’ve lived mindlessly rather than mindfully (recollectedly) and the depth of our hearts have ceased to be nurtured by being open to God.  Which leads on to the third temptation.

THE DEVIL took Jesus to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world … and said to him, ‘All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me’.
Worship is often laughed at in the West; it’s what ‘religious’ people do with odd services in odd buildings.  Yet it’s clear we worship something all the time – to be human is to be a person who worships.  The great 19th cent. American thinker and writer, Ralph Waldo Emmerson, said:

‘A person will worship something, have no doubt about that. We may think our tribute is paid in secret in the dark recesses of our hearts, but it will come out. That which dominates our imaginations and our thoughts will determine our lives, and our character. Therefore, it behoves us to be careful what we worship, for what we are worshipping, we are becoming.’

To this temptation of the Devil, Jesus responds: ‘Away with you, Satan!  For it is written, “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him”’ (Matt.4.10).  Any society which dismisses the worship of God, the highest Good, but happily adores celebrities or gives itself to the desire for this world’s goods, is in grave danger of being let down.  Of becoming disconnected with the one source of life which can draw us into the fullness of our humanity.  At times like this we need to reflect on what we have given ourselves to, what we worship.

We have the choice, now, of being more God-like, or simply continuing in the way we have lived before.  In the 19th cent. people suddenly woke up to the terrible social conditions in which many lived, many women (in particular) gave themselves to the service of those in need by consecrating their lives to God as Religious sisters nursing the sick, teaching and caring for those in need.  We may not feel the call to such a radical life, but we can wake up to the need to give ourselves to our ‘higher self’ and begin deepening our prayer so we learn heart-wisdom. We need prayer-practices which enable us to open the centre of who we are to God so we can become rooted in the Divine.

             

Holy Week and Easter – simple spirituality

The Lenten Fast prepares us for Holy Week when the depths of our humanity are laid bare. 

Serving with thanks and praise. We may not be able to attend a Eucharist but, more importantly, we can live eucharistically, sacrificially … stop … notice the world around … see something to wonder at … lift up your heart and give thanks to the Creator.  Offer a prayer and your love to God. This is what expresses the essence of the Divine within us – makes us more human. And love your neighbour as you serve them.

Good Friday proclaims the need, in the end, to abandon the centre of our being to God in faith and trust, recognising just how hard might be the future we face – for forty days or forty years.  But this is also a time which offers the opportunity to reflect on how we would like to be remembered when we die – momento mori.

Holy Saturday, when Christ descended into Hell, is a reminder that even in the depths of despair Christ is present. Loneliness can become alone-ness as we turn to Christ, present in the depths. Beneath any view that this is a ‘day of rest’ we need to realise the great work being done by Christ in the deepest parts of our humanity as we abandon ourselves to him.  That work is for our freedom – our liberation through the ‘waters of death’.  At times we’ll feel overwhelmed but, held by God, we can never be overcome and, at the last, will come to new life – resurrection life.  These times of trouble will be overpassed. 

‘For the Lord will comfort Zion; he will comfort all her waste places, and will make her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the voice of song’ (Isaiah 51. 3).

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THIS ‘Lent’ offers a powerful opportunity to renew our faith. 
What do I live for?  How does Christ in the Desert speak to me? 

JESUS CHRIST, Son of God, have compassion on me, a sinner.

(Isaiah 51. 3).

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SOME RESOURCES can be found here:
Some Ways of Developing Prayer; Spiritual Communion; Online Worship; Prayer in Anxiety

VIRAL THOUGHTS - FAITH IN A TIME OF EPIDEMIC

None of us can be unmoved by the reports concerning the Covid-19 pandemic which has suddenly infected the world, changing our behaviour and, on an almost daily basis, the way we live.  Some sporting events have now been cancelled and the Archbishop’s of Canterbury and York have just sent out instructions that the chalice is not to be offered for the duration.  This will be a step some find hard to accept, although I know most will understand it is for the common good.  As I pointed out before, to receive only the Host is not to receive less of the grace conferred by the Sacrament – Christ cannot be divided.  It’s one of the reasons why the priest places a portion of a Host into the Chalice before communion.    

This is a time when we depend on those medical experts who are qualified to give good advice, and to make sure we follow it as best we can – and if you’re fed up with singing Happy Birthday twice as you wash your hands, you may prefer to say the Hail Mary – which has the added benefit of being a prayer.  But there are deeper issues which our Faith addresses and I wanted to say a few things about that this morning as it may be our churches have to close.

The world has not faced a pandemic like this since the outbreak of ‘Spanish’ ‘flu at the close of the First World War.  There have been other epidemics – Ebola, for example – but most hardly affected countries outside parts of Africa or Asia.  Now, suddenly, the wider world is involved.  When I look at what’s happening in some places it makes me wonder if we’re experiencing something of the fear, concern and panic that must have affected people when war was declared in 1939.  Will I be safe?  How will I get food for the family?  What will happen to my job?  What will be the consequences?  Will I die?  And older people, those with certain existing health problems or who know someone at risk, are rightly concerned.  More and more cases are being reported of people suffering from anxiety and depression due to fears about the virus.  There’s nothing wrong with feeling deeply disturbed, but we need to have faith that God is with us, no matter what happens.  That is why we pray ‘thy will be done’; in His will is our peace.  With that in mind, Bp. Jonathan of Croydon has written:

‘Our response to the coronavirus can’t be merely pragmatic, still less fearful – it must be informed by our faith in God.  We come into God’s presence recognising our weakness, our sin and our fear – and opening ourselves to be filled again with God’s gifts of faith, hope and love.  In the incarnation of Christ, God comes to share all our human state, including our desire to avoid suffering – ‘Father if this cup can pass from me’, Jesus prayed in Gethsemane – but with complete trust and commitment to do whatever was the Father’s will.  Because he has passed through death and defeated death, we too can approach whatever may come, knowing that God will be walking with us.’

We have faced situations like this before, but from a background of faith.  Not that God will suddenly end an epidemic or plague but that we trust that God will never forsake us.  In His Will we trust.  It’s not that there’s no point in praying for a miracle – there’s every point in praying for a containment of the virus, that those who suffer will be made well and that a cure will be found.  But miracles are just that – they are out of the ordinary.  In the year 1230, for example, when Rome was suffering from the plague, Pope Gregory IX (a holy man and close to St Francis of Assisi) and people carried a portrait of our Lady through the city and the plague ended.  Icon kept in Church of Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome, but few in the UK have such faith. 

Looking forward it may be that large gatherings for Mass have to be cancelled – although I hope your midweek Masses can continue as well as times when the church can be open for prayer. Even though we may not be able to receive the Blessed Sacrament, we can continue to feed on Christ through deepening our prayer and Notes on how to do this available here, including some on a tradition known as ‘Spiritual Communion’ and other resources. I’d also encourage you to really listen to our Second Reading this morning from Paul’s Letter to the Romans (5:1-11).

At a time when we might feel fearful of the future, worried for ourselves and those we love or have a sense of deepening darkness, it’s vital that we maintain those practices of daily prayer and bible reading which give us life.  Past experience shows that now is the time to turn to God and say – ‘in Your will is my peace.’  The psalms, in particular, can be a real source of strength in facing the future, and if you cannot attend Mass on Sunday I would encourage you to read through the scriptures for the day when you make your Spiritual Communion.

In an uncertain time like this God isn’t a heavenly insurance policy: Christ was not rescued from suffering but was faithful through it.  In fact, what he experienced only deepened his faith in his Father and, through the Resurrection, was profoundly made whole.  This is what we recall during Lent as we look forward to Passiontide and Easter.  We may have to pass through our own Holy Week, but God drew Christ through suffering into new life.  That’s the faith we have and which we need at a time like this and which, as Bp. Jonathan went on to say:

’In the light of that wholeness and that promise, we can live the life we are given with the joy that Christ gives, day by day, looking forward to the fullness of eternal life.’ 

And with that faith it’s important we allow it to inform our life.

It’s at times like this I realise how fortunate I am to be living in a country with a National Health Service.  And I wonder what it must be like for those who are homeless or living on our streets?  Or who are foreigners amongst us, or refugees?  To be a Christian means to be someone who follows the way of Christ, who welcomes the stranger and shows compassion to the foreigner.  We are not to do what some are doing – fight over supplies, be rude to shop staff, show impatience and anger.  Times like this reveal both the best in human nature as well as what happens when we allow it to become corrupted – and it’s not nice.  Whatever happens there’s every reason why we must continue to show compassion and kindness – anything else would mean we were less than human. 

At a time when it’s important to take sensible precautions, we mustn’t erect barriers but witness to the love of the God who breaks down barriers, who reaches out to embrace us, who heals and reconciles us by the gift of his own body, his own blood, of which we are part through baptism.  As our bishops have written:

‘We continue to be the Body of Christ and in the face of perils and adversity we become yet more the Church, for it is by encountering these challenges in a right spirit and trusting in God that we are forged into the image of Christ and become the people God made us to be.  May we encounter such trials as may come our way in a hopeful spirit.   Let us then be of good courage, sensible and cautious, but not anxious and fearful: and may the light of Christ that he has given to burn in us and… shine brightly in these days.

As we make our journey towards Holy Week and Easter the Way of the Cross will be very much before us this year.  We will be bringing the suffering of many to the foot of the Cross from which Our Lord extended his saving love for the world and for us all.’

Finally, if it helps, the Diocese of St Alban’s have published four ‘Golden Rules’ to help us at this time:

Rule One: think about how you can protect and support your neighbours and stop spreading fear about the other.  Don’t demonise anyone or any group.

Rule Two: Think about who may be suffering more than you.  Let each church undertake an audit of all the vulnerable people you know and share out the responsibility to phone them each day – a friendly voice offers solace when someone is worried.

Rule Three. Don’t give into panic and start hoarding food.  Ask your neighbours what they need and do your best to help them get it because if you’re are self-isolating, you’ll need someone to help you.

Rule Four. Live today to the full.  None of us ever know what the future holds so do not be afraid.  Every time we are tempted to give in to fear we need to make a conscious choice to respond in trust, as the psalmist said:

‘Whenever I am afraid, I will put my trust in you;

in God whose word I praise.

In God I trust and will not be afraid,

what can mortals do to me.’ (56.3f)

So, when you leave Mass this morning, look out for the wonder of God in little things – the buds opening on trees, tiny violets smiling through the grass, daffodils waving in the wind – and let your heart offer thanks. Let us pray:

Loving God,
source of healing and comfort,
at this time of fear fill us with your grace
that the sick may be made whole,
this virus contained and a cure may be found.
Strengthen those who care for the sick,
calm the anxious,
protect the most vulnerable
and help us see your beauty in the world.
This we ask in the power of Spirit
and in the faith of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Fr. John-Francis Friendship
15.03.2020

(Parts of this article reflect the writings of Jonathan, Bishop of Croydon, the Diocese of St. Alban’s and the Dean of Southwark)