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

VIRAL THOUGHTS 4 - THE BETHANY SISTERS

ABOUT 18 MONTHS AGO twelve teenage boys, all members of a football team, became trapped in a flooded cave system in Thailand before being rescued after 17 days as the world looked on.  All of them coped remarkably well – that is, all bar one.  For eleven of them were Buddhists, trained in the skills of meditation, whilst the twelfth was a Christian who he found it hard to cope with such sustained solitude.  At his church, no one taught the importance of contemplation.

I mention them because of the place of the contemplative as we enter Holy Week.  According to St. John’s gospel today, Monday, Jesus came to the home of his friends; Mary, Martha and Lazarus in Bethany (Jn.12.1).  The two sisters, Mary and Martha, play quite a prominent role in the gospels; Martha seems to be the active one whilst Mary appears to be more reflective.  Luke’s gospel contains a famous account of a visit Jesus paid to them when Mary sat at his feet whilst Martha was distracted by the many tasks she had to undertake.  This caused Jesus to observe: “Martha, Martha. you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing.  Mary has chosen the better part which will not be taken away from her” (Lk. 10.41). 

It’s a statement many consider shows Jesus commending the contemplative way over the active; others disagree.  Whatever the truth, it’s clear he’s is drawing attention to the importance of ‘sitting at the feet of Jesus’ – contemplating him – and the dangers of becoming ‘distracted’ from giving attention to that necessity.  And that would certainly seem to be true when consider the way eleven of those Thai boys had been taught the importance of meditation whilst the one who went to church clearly had not.

Discovering our inner world

As I’ve talked about before, this present period of enforced ‘lockdown’, when many cannot pursue their normal activities, has spawned a whole range of virtual replacements: if you can’t sing and dance, go to parties, play sports and so on there’s a whole range of similar activities being offered online so you never need feel alone, never have to explore alternative ways of living.  Even churches are offering online services, some of which are clearly designed to prevent people becoming bored.  And none of that is bad, it’s just that we’re missing an important opportunity to discover our inner world, an opportunity the church ought to be offering.

A long time ago, at another time of social upheaval, a wise monk said to an explorer: “Go to your cell, your cell will teach you everything.”  Those words strike me as important now we’re instructed to self-isolate.  Some, of course, will relish the monk’s instruction more than others, although it’s clear that even in our ‘cell’ we can do everything to avoid being there, never have to face what the cell might teach us. 

Whilst this crisis is a time of major, world-wide danger, it’s also, by definition, a time of opportunity; some-thing which is a very, very rare gift to humanity.  And whilst none of us want anyone to be affected by this virus, some see one consequence might be that we learn some vital truths about this matter of being human.  We’re offered a time when, unable to connect in real-time with friends, we have the opportunity of deepening our spiritual lives.  Instead of attending events where many gather, we’ve the chance of diving deeper into the cave of our inner-being and find our lost soul, both as individuals and as societies.  Will we take it?  Or is that inner world so foreign we fear going there? 

Many, when they first shut the door of their soul to the outer world find what lies within strange, even fearful, but this is the home of the ‘soul-self’, the one from whom we can never be parted, yet we can easily ignore.  Instead of finding the silence of the cell boring, we have the opportunity to practice ways of prayer which can unite us with the Other – which is one of the great discoveries I made as a Religious (a Franciscan), when I had to spend 30 minutes each day in silence alongside my brothers – and realised a depth of connectivity which no amount of partying enables.

At one with the other

Those of us living in ‘advanced’ societies can forget the wisdom of the ages – forget the deeper truths that, for millennia, sustained our ancestors.  After three or more years when we’ve torn ourselves apart over separating from a Union half the country said they wanted, and the other half didn’t, we’re suddenly realising a need for each other in profound ways.  Life’s no longer about some of the goals we’ve become accustomed to reach for; greatness doesn’t come with wealth but compassion; and that compassion is enabled by more than just a sense of empathy, it’s enabled through opening our self, our soul, to the Other. 

Those contemplative prayer-practices many have forgotten, or of which they’re ignorant, have much to offer, especially for those needing to overcome fear and loneliness.  We’re part of a hidden communion, a communion of saints, who surround us and to whom we can open the door of our heart.  That deep, slow breathing into the heart; holding on to a word and repeating it silently with the breath; being aware of ourselves as part of a beautiful, alive and life-giving creation – all this and so much more – reading those strange books called ‘gospels’ which nurtured humankind for over two thousand years, but which have been discarded in one generation – we have the opportunity of re-connecting with all these ways which touch into the heart of our humanity, the heart of God, during this crisis.  But will we take it?  There are so many resources around to help, and I’d be very happy to share some with you if you contacted me for ways of developing contemplative prayer.

The two Bethany sisters reflect our humanity and our society: we have grasped at the outer world of activity and ignored our need to nurture contemplation.   Now, for a few weeks, we have the real opportunity to dive deeper and learn practices that will help all of us – change all of us so that the tectonic plates of our humanity make a profound shift.  Practices that will open us to God in whose image we are made; which will enable us to become more at-one with the world.  Spiritual exercises good for the soul – as well as the body.

Go to your cell, your cell will teach you everything …

VIRAL THOUGHTS 2 - THE SILENCE OF GOD (Part 2)

I ENDED THE FIRST REFLECTION by mentioning the way we’re all held in the Sacred Heart of God and need to open ours to him – to open our heart to the silence of God and enter that sacred, loving and creative space.  In a brief meditation that has touched many, the late Mother Osyth of the Anglican Benedictines at West Malling wrote: ‘Be silent, still, aware, for there, within your own heart, the Spirit is at prayer. Listen and learn, open and find, heart-wisdom. Christ.’  …  Remember, when you come to the heart of something – the centre of a wood, the vast expanse of stars in the Milky Way – or when you stop to really look at a painting, a landscape – or listen to a piece of music.  'God', said St Teresa of Kolkata, 'is not to be found in noise and restlessness, but in solitude and silence.'

APART FOR THE WORD spoken in Creation and through Mary, it seems silence is often the language of God.  But silence, for many, can be oppressive, which is why we need to befriend it and let the eye of our heart look beneath the fear, anxiety and despondency which can afflict us.  Look at what the Word has done in Creation; wonder at the stars, at the flower growing in the gutter, the song of birds and glistening of sunlight on leaves; and give thanks.  Only in silence can we realise a communion with creation which will take us beneath outward forms into the heart of being. And because Creation is alive, it is full of what we might experience as ‘good’ and ‘evil’. As I wrote in The Mystery of Faith:

‘Christianity also accepts that (these must co-exist) and what might appear to be random, sometimes chaotic processes are indispensable if we’re to have the universe we know (and we can’t know any other). ‘Good’ and ‘evil’ must co-exist; if things had been even slightly different, life probably couldn’t have emerged from primordial chaos.’ (Ch.2)

GOD ISN’T ABSENT, but we might have become absent to God.  Perhaps this is the time when we might re-discover a communion which is holy and not passing, where our heart needs to expand to encounter the depths of Divinity for which we were made.  When Christ cannot be present to us in the Bread of Life, we need to feed on that Word which comes from the mouth of God in the whole of Creation.  And that usually takes time and attention.

THE PROBLEM IS we often want God to be like instant coffee, ready-to-go, the panacea of our needs; we can pray for miracles, but we can’t depend on one – that’s the nature of a miracle.  God isn’t a Big Daddy who solves every problem; God is the fount of compassion, mercy and goodness, for God has shared in our suffering and lostness.  God is the well-spring of faith, hope and love who doesn’t ‘send’ war and pestilence; such things are the consequence of what it means to live in a world alive with life, a world where people have the freedom to choose how to respond; where there needs to be both light and darkness, where only suffering can reveal the depths of love. 

As we approach Good Friday, we might consider afresh what must it have been like for Jesus’ Mother at the foot of the Cross. There she stayed – there love stayed. Would we ever know the depths of love if there were no suffering? For suffering can bring compassion as well as bitterness and anger and can unite us with the heart of the Other.

FOR MOST PEOPLE, silence isn’t something they associate with prayer, something that happens in the silence of the heart.  I wrote about this in The Mystery of Faith in a section I called The Soul’s Desire, (p. 95): ‘Finding time for silent prayer can seem impossible but we can all develop methods of ‘everyday contemplation’.  A lot of the practices associated with Mindfulness have their roots in ancient traditions of Christian prayer – how to keep focussed, deal with unwanted distractions, develop an inner calmness and stop worrying – yet many think Christians don’t meditate or it’s only for monks and nuns.  But meditation and contemplation are the deepest forms of prayer for all Christians and it’s usually possible to find time when you can simply stop for a while and turn your heart to God.  On the train coming home from work, at times when you set an alert on your phone or as a clock strikes - all are ways of halting the busyness of life.  Here are some suggestions to help you develop your own practice:

              First, slow down. Cycle more slowly, walk more gently and learn to breathe deeply.

              Then stop and be, even for a minute.

              Next, pay attention. Be really present to whatever you’re doing and train yourself to pay attention – whether that’s to the person you’re with, the painting you’re looking at of the view out of the bus window.

              Take a long, loving look at the real. Go into your garden and take a long, deep, loving look at everything you see. (And if you don’t have a garden, gaze at something out of your window.)

              Engage your senses. Notice everything around you by utilising all your senses and give thanks for the presence of God in all things.

              And if you find that your mind is over-active – full of noisy parakeets flying all over the place – train yourself not to give them your attention. The more you do the worse they become.

                       

‘Prayer of the Heart’ engages the rhythm of our breathing to help us deepen prayer and can be practiced whenever and wherever you are. Simply ‘watching’ our breath as it descends into the heart is a profound form of prayer for it intimately connects us with the Spirit who animates all things.  Dom John Main, an English Benedictine, developed a mantra (rhythmic prayer) recommended by the World Community for Christian Meditation in which a single word is used – Maranatha (Come, Lord) for example.  Again, using the breath one silently prays:

Ma-ra … na-tha

A 19^th cent. Russian pilgrim, wanting to grow in prayer, was initiated into the practice of what’s known as the ‘Jesus Prayer’. There are several versions of this, but essentially as you inhale, say:

Jesus Christ, Son of God;

then:

have mercy on me, a sinner.

             

The prayer starts on the lips but needs to descend into the heart where it becomes united with its beat. Sometimes I use this mantra:

Sacred Heart of Jesus … have mercy on me.

Gently pray this 10 times then rest in the presence of God’s merciful Heart. Then repeat the process for 10 minutes. All these forms of prayer have three clear purposes. They:

                             - place the mind in the heart;
                             - open the heart to God;
                             - offer a means to deal with distracting thoughts.
                       

Knowing that we are enfolded in the heart of God, that we’re abiding in him (John 15.4) means that, rather than ‘saying’ lots of prayers, we’re to let go of the conscious ‘praying self’ and simply allow ourselves to become part of the great ocean of divine Love. And when the conscious self does intrude with its nagging commentary on life, to put it gently behind us where it’s out of our sight.’

MAYBE GOD IS SILENT, but that is the silence of God who is as Light hidden behind a dark cloud, love seen in crucifixion and peace which passes all understanding.  ‘God’ St Teresa of Calcutta, ‘is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence...

We need silence to be able to touch souls.’

For God alone my soul in silence waits;

truly my hope is in him.

He alone is my rock and my salvation;

my stronghold, so that I shall not be shaken.

In God is my safety and my honour;

God is my strong rock and my refugee.

Put your trust in him always, O my people;

pour out your hearts before him,

for God is our refuge. (Ps. 62:6-9)

SOLITUDE AND SILENCE

There are times I've heard people say they crave being ‘left alone’ and long for ‘a bit of silence’. And that’s understandable.  But being left alone so that one can enjoy a bit of peace and quiet is only OK, for most people, for so long. Then it’s back to wanting a bit of distraction, especially when there’s nothing much to do. Which may be why the kind of solitude and silence of a monastery can be rather intimidating. Because, as brothers and sisters of the Society of St Francis or the monks and nuns of Mucknall, Burnham Abbey, Fairacres etc. can tell you, silence and solitude also provides the place to encounter self and to work towards that inner conversion – the ‘conversion of the heart’ – which lies at the centre of religious faith. Having helpful spiritual experiences is one thing but this way of conversion where the old ‘self’ can die and a new self be born is quite another!  

            Yet this ‘new birth’ is the essence of the Christian story. The trouble is we live in a society which has become overly-attracted by the sensual and gives little attention to the internal. So it’s hardly surprising that the church seems to be giving most of its attention to this external world: ‘growth’ movements often seem to be about numbers and ‘Church Planting’ can sometimes lack sensitivity. We may recognise the need to be 'reaching out' but are we 'reaching in'? Is the growth of violence among young people in part due to having ignored their spiritual needs? At the very time when western society is gradually awakening to the effects of excessive consumption and the need to develop a profoundly deeper awareness of the relationship between humanity and the planet many in the church are looking west and embracing some of the suspect forms of American evangelism rather than looking east and re-discovering the riches of Christian, Sufi and Buddhist spirituality. Jesus, the Buddha and all the great teachers of spiritual wisdom – Teresa of Avila, Aelred of Rievaulx, Julian of Norwich and all those who see and can speak into the heart – have realised the need for periods of solitude and inner silence. But does the church? Does it really? Because, if it did, it might put the same kind of resources into developing what people really, in their hearts, need.

ABIDING IN SOLITUDE

In the late summer of 1975 Bill Kirkpatrick, later known as Br Aelred William N/SSF and then Fr Bill, began to test his vocation as a Franciscan at Hilfield Friary in Dorset, at that time the initial formation House of the Anglican Society of St Francis.  He had been born in Canada where, at the age of 18, he had worked with Fr Aelred Carlyle who had become Chaplain to the Nursing Home his mother ran. That Aelred had founded, in about 1895, the first Benedictine community for men in the Church of England and became Abbot of Caldey Island where they finally settled. But by the time they met Aelred had been released from his vows. Bill was a qualified nurse and, after ordination, had become Coordinator of the homeless charity, Centrepoint in Soho. At his novicing in 1976 Bill took the name of Aelred William – ‘Aelred’ after the great 12th c. Cistercian saint of Rievaulx whose classic work, On Spiritual Friendship, greatly appealed to him (and, possibly, connected him to Aelred Carlyle) whilst ‘William’ was not only his baptismal name but also the name of the founder of Glasshampton monastery (Fr. William Sirr SDC d.1937 – a contemplative whose life and spirituality many saw resembled that of St Charles de Foucauld. St Charles had inspired the Little Brothers and Sisters of Jesus whose charism would also influence Bill).  But he wasn’t destined for the Religious Life and, in 1978 left the Franciscans, settling in a small flat in Earls Court where he became an Honorary As­­sist­ant Curate at St Cuthbert’s, Phil­beach Gardens. From his flat he founded the ministry known as ‘Reaching Out’, a ‘hearing-through-listening’ service freely available to all. Bill described this as ‘a small cell of contemplative action within the Earls Court area … allowing for a ministry of sharing from within the sacredness of each other’s vulnerabilities and strengths where there is no ‘them’ and ‘us’. This ministry led to a vital yet to a large extent hidden ministry to the LGBT community in Earls Court, a ministry which helped shape his vocation and had its most profound effect when AIDS emerged in the 1980’s. Bill’s was a life of “being there” informed by Divine Compassion. 

In his book The Creativity of Listening Bill writes of the way he spent a month in 1975 with the RC Franciscans at San Damiano in Assisi and met, during the last two weeks of his stay, Raymond Lloyd.  ‘Raymond’s charismatic enthusiasm was infectious’ he wrote, ‘We laughed, sang, ran up and down hills and spent much time in prayer in the various chapels within the cathedral and  elsewhere in the area.’ In the same year that Bill left the Franciscans Raymond, another former nurse, would also go to test his vocation to the Franciscans. This description of the brief meeting of two souls who shared so much in common seems to illustrate a Principal of Franciscan life:

‘… the brothers and sisters, rejoicing in the Lord always (Phil 4.4) must show forth in their lives the grace and beauty of divine joy. They must remember that they follow the Son of Man, who came eating and drinking (Luke 7.34), who loved the birds and the flowers, who blessed little children, who was a friend of tax collectors and sinners (cf Mark 10.16), who sat at the tables alike of the rich and the poor. They will, therefore, put aside all gloom and moroseness, all undue aloofness from the common interests of people and delight in laughter and good fellowship. They will rejoice in God’s world and all its beauty and its living creatures, calling (nothing) profane or unclean. (Acts 10.28)

They will mingle freely with all kinds of people, seeking to banish sorrow and to bring good cheer into other lives. They will carry with them an inner secret of happiness and peace which all will feel, if they may not know its source.’ (Day 28)

They were not to meet again.

Raymond had grown up in the Welsh non-conformist tradition and had had a conversion experience when he was seven. He took part in many evangelistic missions and his utter love for Christ and the gospel drew him to pacifism. Later he became a Baptist pastor before being ordained as an Anglican priest before testing his vocation to the Franciscans. In 1979 Raymond was made a novice of the Society and took the name Ramon after the great 13th century Spanish Franciscan, Ramon Lull (or Llull). Lull had entered the Third Order of St Francis in 1263 shortly after a series of visions. Apart from probably writing the first major piece of literature in Catalan he also wrote mystical poetry and his greatest work was probably his ‘Book of the Lover and the Beloved’:

"Tell me, lover," said the beloved, "will you still be patient if I double your suffering?" "Yes, as long as you also double my love."

"If ye will have fire," the Lover cried, "O ye that love, come light your lanterns at my heart." This aphorism would have appealed to Ramon whose heart burned with a powerful love for God.

            I feel privileged to have known both men who, to me, mirror souls whose love of God is so powerful – or, perhaps I should say whose awareness of God’s love for them was so powerful – that it led each to a form of the solitary life. Not that either lived apart from others – Bill had his hermitage beneath a pavement in Earls Court Road in south west London where he would spend a significant period of time each morning in silent prayer, whilst most nights would be spent talking to people on the streets and bars of Earls Court. Ramon, on the other hand, never left the Franciscans but was permitted to spend long periods of time in a variety of hermitages in Dorset, North Wales and, finally, Glasshampton in Worcestershire. Yet what both experienced was the lure, the draw – the call – of silent, solitary contemplative prayer. Of that call Ramon wrote: ‘One of the most precious experiences of the time was to descend into the depths beyond my own individuality into a profound corporate sense of our common humanity with its pains and joys, and to find that the divine Love is in and through all, and will ultimately be manifested as ‘all in all.’ (Br. Ramon SSF, A Hidden Fire, Marshall Pickering, p.57). Bill, on the other hand, wrote profusely about the importance of listening in depth – of ‘being there’ for people and of the value of ‘co-creativity’.  That 'co-creativity' can only occur when the call of 'deep unto deep' is heard (Ps.42.7). As someone said: 'their disposition to allow God to pull them into their depths, in the grittiness of life without removing them from it, empowers them to be evermore immersed in human reality. Going beyond/below themselves and into that place where the Divine resides within, propels them into that fullness of life which exudes love, compassion and friendship to all.' (1)

            Bill and Ramon both found in Mother Mary Clare SLG ² a woman whose wisdom they valued and who helped to guide them forward in their eremitical ways. (*Mother Mary Clare had written about solitude and prayer (Encountering the Depths, SLG Press, 1993). 

            They were also informed by the writings of people such as Thomas Merton; Bill had a paper published by the Thomas Merton Society, A Contemplative in the City’ (date unknown) in which he says: As I pray within and before the mystery of God for the world and for all God’s people, I can identify with Thomas Merton when he writes, ‘I am talking about a special dimension of inner discipline and experience, a certain integrity and fullness of personal development which are not compatible with action, with creative work, with dedicated love. On the contrary, all these go together’³.  Merton’s influence on Ramon can be explored in his book Soul Friends – a Journey with Thomas Merton. ⁴
            Both also wrote a series of books which in different ways concern this ‘listening to the Other’ and which continue to speak to people. And whilst both had their own, small physical hermitages it is clear that it was the ‘cell of the heart’ that mattered to them –that place deep within them where they encountered the One they sought. It was also their struggle with solitude and prayer which truly united them in that inner place.

Ramon died in June 2000 and Bill in January 2018 although his ministry had been curtailed in 2007 after a serious breakdown.

            People like Bill and Ramon do not often appear in the life of the Church but those three decades, from 1978 to 2007, they shone for a brief time like stars in the firmament and, if the Church of England had a process for recognising saints, would be clear candidates. We poorer for their passing but enriched through their lives.

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¹  JMO’B

² Mother Mary Clare SLG:

'Our life proves the reality of our prayer, and prayer which is the fruit of true conversion is an activity, an adventure - and sometimes a dangerous one - because it brings neither peace nor comfort, but always challenge, conflict and new responsibility.  We must try to understand the meaning of the age in which we are called to bear witness. We must accept the fact that this is an age in which the cloth is being unwoven. It is therefore no good trying to patch. We must, rather, set up the loom on which coming generations may weave new cloth according to the pattern God provides. We must learn to wait upon the Spirit of God. As he moves us, we are led into deeper purgation, drawn to greater self-sacrifice, and we come to know in the end the stillness, the awful stillness, in which we see the world from the height of Calvary.’ 

³  Merton, T. 1971, Contemplation in a World of Action, London, George Allen and Unwin.

⁴  Br Ramon SSF, Soul Friends – a Journey with Thomas Merton, Marshall Pickering, 1989