Observing Lent

Not all Christians observe the Christian Year, and even those who recognise the main festivals of Easter and Christmas etc do not always pay much regard to Advent or Lent, still less Candlemas or All Souls!

Some quote Scripture in support of this, citing passages such as Galatians 2: 8-11 and Colossians 2: 16-17 where Paul laments the ongoing ‘enslavement’ of Christians to the observance of Jewish Festivals and special days.

Now, while I have been accused, on more than one occasion, of being a ‘fundamentalist’ with regard to the observance of the seasons of the Christian Year (and especially in regard to some of my comments on Advent observance – or the lack thereof!) I am in fact very relaxed about how any individual Christian does or does not observe the days and seasons of the Christian Year. There is no room for legalism here (or anywhere). My oft stated concerns about Advent are more in relation to how difficult it can be for those of us who choose to try and observe that season, to do so, due to the early intrusion of Christmas, not simply in shops and society in general, but also in the Church.

But – apart from the early appearance of Easter Eggs in shops – the same considerations do not seem to apply to Lent, and those of us who are minded to observe some form of Lenten discipline and focus on the somewhat more sombre and sober themes of this season, are free to do so. After all, very few in the church (even amongst those who ‘hang loose’ to the Christian year) suggest we sing a rousing rendition of ‘Thine be the Glory’ in Holy Week!

I suppose, for me, my choosing to observe seasons such as this period of Lent, has to do with my appreciation of rhythms and patterns in life, the challenge and enrichment I find in sometimes having to seriously ponder themes in our faith that I might naturally tend to avoid, my strong sense of being part of a tradition in which I share in the ancient patterns of Christian observance built upon the ancient wisdom of the saints of all ages, and the awareness I have of observing the Seasons of the Christian Year in the company of millions globally – serving as a reminder that the Christian faith is a truly communal faith and that I am part of a community. Christianity is more than just ‘me and Jesus’!

And on Easter Sunday the ‘Hallelujahs’ will, for me, ring out all the more joyfully because they have fallen silent through Lent, and the light of the celebration of the Resurrection will shine so much more brightly because I will make the journey through the dark days of our Lord’s Passion through Holy Week.

The Sound of Silence – part 2

During Advent I published a post on the blog entitled ‘The Sound of Silence’ http://suitcasesojourner.blogspot.com/2018/12/the-sound-of-silence.html

I was reflecting there on how we deal with the apparent silence of God. I commented then that for me the experience of ‘heaven’s silence felt like an assault upon me’.

And I continued ‘this is not a new experience for me and it is far from unusual for people of faith to experience darkness and silence’, and I referenced some biblical episodes to illustrate this.

But in this post it is not God’s silence that I want to consider, but our silence... the ‘discipline of silence’, if you prefer. During this Lenten Season I have been considering this a bit and pondering how I might better exercise this spiritual discipline.

It occurs to me (not that this is in the slightest original!) that today, in our busy and noisy and crowded world, there is little space or place for the discipline of silence. We drive with the radio or music on in our cars, our homes have speakers in many (or all) of the rooms constantly streaming sound, or we wander along the road with our earphones plugged into our phones, listening to podcasts, music or audio books. Even our expressions of Christianity seems to be very noisy and wordy and our worship is often devoid of silence!

I am not seeking to be critical of any or all of these things per se. I  am simply asking myself the question of when and where do I find silence? And is it not so often in the silence that we can deeply encounter God and hear him speak?

After Elijah fled from Jezebel, he ended up on Mount Horeb. There, after the wind, earthquake and fire there was ‘a sound of sheer silence’ (1 Kings 19: 12). And God then met with him and spoke to him.

Where and when do we find or seek these times of ‘sheer silence’? Could it be that the absence of them is why we do not deeply encounter God or hear him speak?

But I am increasingly aware that the silence we need is not simply the outward silence of the absence of sound. It is inner silence, when all the thoughts, worries, concerns and voices within are stilled and we can simply ‘be’ in the presence of God. No words, no spoken (or thought) prayers... just being there in God’s presence. It is what I suppose the hymn writer John Greenleaf Whittier had in mind when we wrote in his well loved hymn ‘Dear Lord and Father’ the line ‘the silence of eternity...’

In that hymn he goes on;

‘With that deep hush subduing all

Our words and works that drown

The tender whisper of Thy call,

As noiseless let Thy blessing fall

As fell Thy manna down.

Drop Thy still dews of quietness,

Till all our strivings cease;

Take from our souls the strain and stress,

And let our ordered lives confess

The beauty of Thy peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desire

Thy coolness and Thy balm;

Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;

Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,

O still, small voice of calm’

 Yes, indeed.

Years of Plenty, Years of Famine

‘..gather all the food of these good years that are coming...that food shall be a reserve for the land against the seven years of famine...’ (Genesis 41: 35-36)

In the story of Joseph in Egypt and his interpretation of Pharaoh’s dreams and his execution of his plan, the seven years of good crops allowed for the storage of sufficient grain to provide for the population during the seven subsequent years of famine.

It is a story that has come to me again and again during this past difficult year, and at different times various aspects of the whole story have spoken to me. I recently preached on the reconciliation of Joseph with his brothers and father – the denouement of a tale that begins with a dysfunctional family, favouritism, arrogance, jealousy and violence.

But it this concept of storing in times of plenty to provide in times of need that especially resonates with me.

Speaking with a wise friend some months ago I commented on how, in the midst of our hard times, I was finding it difficult to spend time in prayer or maintain my usual pattern of spiritual discipline. I had lost the rhythm, as it were.

He encouraged me not to be anxious about that. He offered this thought, that over the years I had dug the wells of spiritual discipline sufficiently deeply for there to be reservoirs of spiritual resource sufficient to sustain me through the dark and dry times.

To be honest, I am not sure that he did not have a rather idealised view of my previous spiritual patterns, but nonetheless, what he said struck me.

Now that I am feeling somewhat better and the darkest times are possibly passing, I am using this season of Lent to gradually re-establish the rhythm and pattern of spiritual discipline. And as I look back over these past months I realise that indeed, what I had stored in the ‘years of plenty’ seems to have sustained me during the ‘years of famine’.

Glory into Glory

‘All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image, from one degree of glory to another.’

(2 Corinthians 3: 19)

Once more we find ourselves in this season of Lent, a time of preparation, spiritual discipline, repentance etc.

As I did last Advent, I plan to try and post on my blog somewhat more frequently during Lent.

A lot of things have been going through my mind in the days approaching Lent. Questions arose in my mind, some a little deeper than others;

Why do we do Lent? (those of us who do!)

What does repentance mean and signify?

What do Christians mean when they speak about ‘holiness’?

Am I going to give up (or ‘take up’) anything for Lent?

...and so on and on.

As I pondered these my thoughts began to turn to the concept of theosis which – as taught by the Eastern Orthodox Churches is a transformative process whose aim is likeness to or union with God. A rough translation might be ‘divinisation’ as in the words of St Athanasius who famously said ‘He was incarnate that we might be made divine’.

These are not concepts that have generally been popular in Western Christianity and have even been regarded as heresy by some parts of the Western Church.

And I can understand why (but won’t bore you with that here!).

But I see this as a biblical emphasis which is one that makes sense to me. It emphasises a process of becoming more like God – a process made possible by the Incarnation and enabled by the Spirit at work in us.

Paul said ‘work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you...’ (Philippians 2: 12-13). We are in a process of becoming. God is working within us to effect the transformation that we require and seek. But we are to work with him in this process (and – again – to some Christians in the West, even this may be a little controversial!)

This all fits with my own experience and understanding. It is a process, and I cannot do it by myself, but neither can I expect the transformation to occur unless I cooperate and work with God who is at work in me.

We are being changed from glory into glory.

Heigh ho, heigh ho...

... it’s off to work I go!

Yes, having been off work for a few months, I have begun a phased return to work. Thank goodness!

Far from the attitude implied by ‘heigh ho’ (defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as an attitude of langour, weariness or disappointment) I am actually really engaged with and excited about my return to work and what passes for normality!

I like the shape and structure that work brings to my life, and I find my ministry very fulfilling. I think that I have been generally happier and more settled since I began back to work a fortnight ago, than I was previously.

But, at the back of my mind there is a wee niggle.

Aware that I am only 2 or 3 years away from retirement, I wonder how I will cope. Yes, I have lots of interests and many hobbies to pursue. But will these give me the same sense of structure and satisfaction?

Indeed, I now wonder if this fear lies behind my insistent determination to keep working as best I can in spite of health challenges that could have justified me giving up a while back.

Hmmm...

And what does that say about me and where I find my sense of self and worth?

Am I a human being or a human doing?

Is it my work, my efforts, and my achievements that define who I feel myself to be?

Or, to be more theological... am I justified by grace or by works?

And again, to be more personally spiritual, what does this say about the nature of my relationship with God, my sense of self in relation to Christ etc?

Interesting questions, worth pondering...

...but they will have to wait... I need to get back to work!

Why?

I have just begun a phased return to work after several months off.

While health is not yet 100% and situations that helped to precipitate our crisis are not yet fully resolved, it is very good to be re-engaging with ministry, and especially good that my return to work has begun with a conference along with my colleagues in the Interim and Transition Ministry team.

But now that I am beginning to look ahead to re-engaging, I am also looking back over these last few months.

A question that has been in my mind for much of this last period of time remains and persists.

Why?

Of course, we all ask that question at times in our lives, and not least when we face an unexpected, untimely or particularly tragic bereavement, or an unwelcome diagnosis or many other life events of that nature.

Why?

In general, I tend to consider that suffering simply remains a mystery.

The Cross of Jesus does not explain suffering, but it does remind us that suffering cannot be avoided, that even the very best person who ever lived suffered in a cruel, painful, untimely and unjust way. But the Cross also reminds us that in our suffering we are not alone, and that – in the end – the reality of suffering cannot be divorced from the even greater reality of God’s love.

That does not explain the mystery... but perhaps it can change our perspective and our experience of unjust suffering.

At times, my questions have taken a more specific turn.

Why?

Is what we have experienced to do with what some would regard as ‘spiritual warfare’ (however, that is understood)?

Or, instead could this be the means by which God is calling us to review our direction, callings, ministries?

Or, there again, might it be a call to repent for some (as yet unidentified) sin or wrong turn?

I cannot reflect on these questions for too long before being reminded of the story of Job in the Old Testament. Afflicted by the most dreadful suffering, Job finds his friends attempting to explain his afflictions, to debate reasons and solutions and to offer him advice and counsel.

Job ultimately condemns all their counsel, beliefs, and critiques of him as false.

When God eventually appears and speaks, he still offers no explanation.

So perhaps there are no easy answers, and maybe even the questions are not appropriate.

Perhaps it is just that ‘stuff’ (you may insert a more familiar and fruity word of your choosing!) happens. And when it does, perhaps we should simply keep on keeping on, obedient and faithful, trusting that the God of the Cross is present, even when he feels absent and appears indifferent and remains silent.

But it isn’t easy... I don’t suppose anyone said it would be.

Hymns, Homelessness and Hope

Over these last few months, while Jane and I have not had our normal Sunday responsibilities we have worshipped in a wide variety of places and settings and – with only three exceptions – have not gone to the same place twice.

As you might expect, our experience has been varied. But we have never come away without having been glad to have joined with others in worship.

Last Saturday evening, as Jane has been abroad for a week, I was trying to make up my mind where I would go on my own the next day. I had made my mind up, but in the event my night’s sleep was interrupted and disturbed by one of our dogs who has developed an upper respiratory tract infection. When I did get back to sleep I ended up sleeping in! No time to get to my chosen church.

So I did something I have never done before... I watched a livecast on facebook from the congregation of a colleague and friend. I was surprised at how engaged I was with the worship, and how meaningful and moving I found it.

During the service one person spoke to promote a local charity. Some years ago, she had found herself unexpectedly homeless having had a good job and what she thought was a stable domestic situation. Then her husband suddenly left her and she found herself with nothing. As she spoke it was clear that she was also someone with a strong faith, and while she had undoubtedly faced great trauma and suffering and uncertainty, she had lost neither faith nor hope. Now, years on, she could see what she had been unable to see at the time; something of the presence of God and indeed God’s guiding and protecting hand in the midst of the dark times.

I found her story deeply moving, but also both comforting and challenging.

And if watching a live service on my phone was an unusual experience, the afternoon brought another! I watched Songs of Praise on the telly! That is something I have not done in years and years! And – unexpectedly – it came from Edinburgh and again focussed on homelessness, with footage of the Sleep in the Park event in Princes Street Gardens. There were plenty of images of the outside of my former church, interviews with folks I knew, hymns from Stockbridge Church in whose congregation I spotted many familiar faces, and – once again – a testimony from someone who had been homeless but for whom faith and hope had brought meaning and a change of circumstance.

And again – for me – comfort and challenge.