PATIENT TRUST IN THE SLOW WORK OF GOD

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart

and try to love the questions themselves.

Don’t search for the answers,

which could not be given to you now,

because you would not be able to live them.

And the point is to live everything.

Live the questions now.

Then, perhaps, some day, far in the future,

you will gradually,

without even noticing it,

live your way into the answer.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

It’s almost four months since I retired from a life which, for 35 years, provided me with meaning and purpose.  As the days go by the sense of panic which emerged with the letting-go of the structures which had provided that meaning and purpose has subsided.  Yet there is still an urge to find something to fill the space.

But, slowly, I am recognising the importance of that space – of emptiness and no-thing.  At another level this might be a primal urge to understand what happened before the ’Big Bang’, before ‘the beginning’ when the Word brought Creation into being.  Whilst creation is good, grace operates outside the natural world in that space where we don’t have control.  I recognise the problem I have in not being in control of my universe, but I realise that only occupying that place of  ‘not-being-in-control’ enables grace to flow more freely.  God cannot easily move us when we are seeking to be ‘in control’.

So, too, I have begun to realise that so much of our activity can act as a distraction and prevent me from giving my attention to the heart.  In his book Into the Silent Land,  Martin Laird makes the point that we are inclined to pay less attention to ‘the mountain’ on which we live our lives and more to the ‘weather’ which occurs upon it.  The mountain represents the ground of our being, the true Self.  ‘The marvellous world of thoughts, sensation, emotions, and inspiration, the spectacular world of creation around us are all patterns of stunning weather on the holy mountain of God.  But we are not the weather.  We are the mountain.  Weather is happening – delightful sunshine, dull sky, or destructive storm – this is undeniable.  But if we think we are the weather happening on Mount Zion (and most of us do precisely this with our attention riveted to the video), then the fundamental truth of our union with God remains obscured and our sense of painful alienation heightened.  When the mind is brought to stillness we see that we are the mountain and not the changing patterns of weather appearing on the mountain.  We are the awareness in which thoughts and feelings ( what we take to be ourselves) appear like so much weather on Mount Zion.’ (‘Into the Silent Land’ p.16)

At times of transition like this it is easy to find ones attention (and, consequently, oneself) caught by the storms as the climate changes.  Yet the mountain is that to which we need to give our attention at such a time if we are not to become disorientated and lost.  The contemplative within us needs to be focussed on the space beneath the weather (the ‘noises –off’): the emotions, feelings, fears etc…, and attend to the mountain.  To fix the eye of the heart on Mount Zion, the centre of our being.  On God, the rock of our salvation.

FAREWELL

How quickly ten years passes. I was inducted as Rector on July 2nd, 2001, an evening as hot as today when I bade farewell. Then I was a professed member of the Society of St. Francis and was surrounded by my Brothers: today there were no First Order members but two hundred friends of all ages. We celebrated Harvest and gave thanks for all that we have been given that has made us into the people we are. And I gave thanks for all that this parish has given me over these years.


It is hard to say goodbye – parting, as I said in my sermon, is such sweet sorrow. How strangely right it was to say goodbye in this context when we were giving thanks, realising the fullness of life that had been shared with so many of those present. Times of deep sorrow and times of great joy all summed up by celebrating our eucharist. And, strangely, what touched me most was the children whose love and acceptance in our varied contacts through school, the uniformed organisations and the church left me with a deep sense of gratefulness for the trust they had placed in me, a trust I hope I have honored.

This evening I am left with a feeling that what I have been given is far more than what I have offered and I wonder how I can, now, repay that. Of course, it’s too late. We shall be moving on as the parish will. We will learn to let go but, right now, the ties that bind me to them feel very strong. Just how does one say goodbye to all those people who have opened their hearts to me? How do I say goodbye to those people who now carry the responsibility for the parish? Of course, Chris and I will be here for some days yet and I shall be available should they need me. But I am left with a deep feeling of – sorrow – that I have to say goodbye. Maybe I could have stayed some years longer, seen the parish through their 150th celebrations – never left! But, on reflection, I would rather go when the going is good, there is energy and enthusiasm around and when I haven’t passed my ‘Sell by’ date! Yet there is still that nagging feeling that I could have done more: more to make this parting less painful. Such, I suppose, is the nature of grief. And it’s grief I think I feel this evening as I write this. Grief that follows letting go and remembering all that has been. So I grasp those words of Dag Hammerskold: ‘For all that has been, thanks! For all that will be, yes!’

RETIREMENT

‘INTO ANOTHER INTENSITY – Diminishment and Retirement’ by Bp. Oliver Tomkins (ob. 1992)
(extracted from SLG Publication 119)
 What was to be the value of the long looked forward to,
Long hoped for calm, the autumnal serenity
And the wisdom of age? Had they deceived us
Or deceived themselves, the quiet-voiced elders,
Bequeathing us merely a receipt for deceit? …
The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

(T.S.Eliot, ‘East Coker II')

‘But is not ‘retirement’ … the relinquishing of one’s ‘charge’ (as a priest)? I do not think that it is only my over-conscientious temperament which makes me think not. A priest is ordained not primarily to a charge but for ‘office and work in the Church of God’: so long as I have breath and a neighbour there is no discharge. Indeed, I suppose that what I am here trying to express has its own resonance in every life which has been largely devoted to the service of God and our neighbour,. The hardest thing to bear is a sense of being useless. This is where ‘retirement’ slides into the rather different matter of simply growing old. There comes a time when death is the next probable event, with the mixture that brings fear and hope.

Yet, as we pass, gradually or suddenly, into that phase, the score is marked rallentando. It becomes primarily a matter of pace; in prayer, in neighbourly caring, in reading and in sharing one’s thoughts, the attitude remains that of the Godward side of men and the manward side of God, only with an even clearer awareness that we have this treasure in earthen vessels.

… But of course the whole joke is that we know how incomplete it has all been right along – the foolishness of preaching, the puzzling reflections in a mirror, the veil which hides that dazzling face. There are hints, though, that the fog is lifting.

The soul’s dark cottage, battered and decayed
Lets in new light through chinks which Time hath made:
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As they draw near to their eternal home.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stands upon the threshold of the new.
Edmund Waller, ‘Old Age’

Perhaps the best bonus of retirement is that it is one stage nearer home.

RETIREMENT

On Sunday, February 6th, having spoken with the churchwardens and informed the Parochial Church Council, I announced at all Masses my intention of retiring as Rector of St. Andrew’s at the end of September this year.

Such a decision has not been easy to reach. I was Inducted to the Parish in July 2001 whilst still a Franciscan and my transition from Religious Life to secular priesthood was aided by the welcome given me here. I was also deeply touched by the way in which the parish accepted and welcomed my partner and have always treated us with great respect and affection. I have felt a deep bond with people here and it isn’t easy to face separation.

However, it has become clear to me that I need to move on. I believe that the parish is strong and, from the responses I nave so far received, it seems clear that people will greet the future with confidence. S. Andrew’s is known for its welcome and has consistently shown a warmth and acceptance of all who pass through our doors. The Catholic Faith, which has nurtured and nourished generations, offers a treasury that will continue to enable all to grow. In 2012 they will celebrate their 150th Anniversary, which people are beginning to recognise is an opportunity not only to give thanks for the past but to look forward to the future.

Chris and I are now in the process of finding somewhere to live and we are being greatly helped by the Church of England Pensions Board. After 25 years as a Religious I do not have sufficient funds just to sit back and do nothing! But I also see retirement from the responsibilities of being a parish priest as an opportunity to develop my interest in spirituality and will continue to offer my ministry of Spiritual Direction and Supervision and, in time, to offer my priesthood for use elsewhere.

I have a clear sense that this move will provide an opportunity for new growth to develop both for the parish and myself and take heart from the words of that great Christian and international statesman, Dag Hammarskjöld;

For all that has been, thanks;

For all that will be, Yes!