The Absence of God

Then about that time Jesus shouted, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’

Mark 15:34

Not a word we use very often: Godforsaken.

Is there a time and place when even God has had enough of us, when even the immortal invisible needs to take some personal time? 

Was God now hiding from Jesus... or was it just that Jesus lost sight of God?

When it feels like that, what’s the difference?

And if you believe that Jesus, somehow, was also God, this is a kind of self-abandonment - God taking leave of himself, forgetting himself. A kind of madness?

As darkness falls, confusion rises. Voices nearby drop away, disappear. Spectators lose interest. Now just the silent sound of hearts breaking, hope evaporating. 

‘Hello?’

No reply. 

‘Anyone there?’

Nothing answers. 

Just you and nothing.

Forsaken. 

Jesus Christ abandoned to his fate in the middle of history.

Foolishness.

The mad epicentre of all things.

Losing it. Always losing it.

‘You have to lose your life in order to find it’, he had said.                                                            

Martin Wroe

It may seem odd to offer a reflection on the crucifixion of Jesus in the midst of Advent. But, for me, it is not really that strange.

On the Cross, Jesus is taking upon himself and into himself that sense of abandonment and forsakenness that God’s people had been experiencing as they waited for God to redeem and rescue them, and just as it would have seemed to them that their prayers were not heard, no action occurred and God felt absent, so now Jesus was enduring these very things.

I have often preached on the gospel story of the storm on the Sea of Galilee when the disciples are in the boat and afraid. Not the account where Jesus is asleep in the boat and is awakened and commands the storms to be still, but the other one were the disciples are in a boat… the wind is getting up, the waves are crashing... a storm is blowing... and Jesus is not even there with them!

And how often do we feel that? The storms are blowing up in our lives and Jesus feels very absent.

Indeed, the absence of Jesus in the gospels is a very interesting study in itself. He is absent when the disciples are struggling – and failing – to heal an epileptic boy; absent when Lazarus dies and Mary and Martha are filled with grief; absent when this storm hits the disciples’ boat.

Where are you, Lord? Where are you when we need you?

Most of us find that in the course of our life journey and faith journey storms blow up from time to time... personal, circumstantial, spiritual, medical, emotional, financial, relational... whatever… and Jesus seems absent… sometimes very absent.

And Jesus himself – on the Cross – experiences that sense of abandonment: the absence of God.

‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’

In these last months I have often felt somewhat abandoned by God, and I have certainly had only the rarest sense of his presence in the midst of an overwhelming sense of his absence.

But, perhaps the most interesting bit of the story of the storm on Galilee concerns where it is that Jesus is eventually seen. Not in the boat with us, but out there in the very storm that is battering us. And – initially at least – he is unrecognised.

Like all of us who have faced storms in life, what I want to do in difficult and dark times is batten down the hatches and hope to find God right there beside me, speaking peace and making the storm go away!

Like children afraid of the dark we want someone to cuddle us and put the light on! 

But what if, in these experiences of doubt, of loss, of emotional turmoil, relationship tensions, God is – in fact – in the very midst of the storm and calling us not to keep low until the storm has past, but to face up to it, walk out into it, and find God in it.

God may seem absent and we may feel abandoned.  But maybe sometimes he is just not where we expect him to be.

The Sound of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

–        Paul Simon

A few months ago I attended Paul Simon’s concert in Glasgow which was part of his ‘farewell’ tour. At the very end of what was a wonderful and moving concert, Simon sang ‘The Sound of Silence’ as the last song of the performance. For me it was an intensely emotional moment. I cried freely as he sang.  In part that was because of the beauty of the song, in part because it felt like it was taking me back to my childhood when I first heard Simon and Garfunkel sing it, in part because it was likely the last song I would ever hear Paul Simon sing live – the end of an era. But also it was partly because the idea of ‘darkness’ and ‘silence’ resonated with me just at that point. The difficulties that have afflicted our family these past months had just descended upon us, and two of the four bereavements we have experienced this past year had only just occurred.

I was in a fragile state.

I did feel engulfed by ‘darkness’ and in response to all of my requests, pleadings and railings at God, heaven remained silent. In a time of extremity, when a word of comfort or guidance is so desperately desired, silence is anything but ‘golden’.

Now, I know that the ‘darkness’ in Simon’s lyrics is greeted as a friend, and there is an ambiguity about the nature of the silence. But for me as I listened to him sing, the darkness was anything but a welcome companion and heaven’s silence felt like an assault upon me.

This is not a new experience for me and it is far from unusual for people of faith to experience darkness and silence.

Job said ‘I cry to you for help and you do not answer me; I stand, and you only look at me.’ (Job 30: 20).

And the Psalmist writes ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.’ (Psalm 22: 1-2)

For generations God’s people cried out to God for deliverance, prayed for Messiah to come, waited and listened...

...it was a long wait.

Why does God seem silent in times when we feel we need to hear him speak? Well, I am not sure. I still struggle a bit with that, I confess. Any suggested answers I could offer would end up sounding like a load of pious platitudes. Perhaps I don’t need to attempt an answer. Perhaps acknowledging the reality is enough.

But this is not the only reality. During these months of apparent darkness and silence there have been moments – brief, barely perceived, swiftly passing – when in the gloom, out of the corner of my eye, I think I have glimpsed God – just fleetingly; I have caught sight of his smile for a second. There have been moments when I wonder if I may have heard a quiet whisper of reassurance, then I have strained to hear it again, and it is no longer there. But these passing moments have been enough.... just.

Perhaps we are more likely to meet God in the silence, and when we come to the end of ourselves. It was true for Elijah when he encountered God in the sound of sheer silence after he had fled in fear, despair and defeat. God was not in the earthquake or fire, but in the silence. (See 1 Kings chapter 19).

Someone said ‘God’s silence is how it feels, not how it is’. And that may be true, but let’s not pretend that silence is not how it feels! Our feelings are not unimportant, our experience is not to be dismissed, our struggles are not to be ignored.

But keep alert too. For even in the darkness you may still glimpse him for a moment. Even in the silence, you may – like Elijah – hear a word.

There is an old hymn which once comforted me many years ago when I felt in a place of darkness and God seemed very silent.

‘Somewhere in the shadows, you’ll see Jesus,

and you’ll know him by the nail prints in his hands’

Joy to the world

‘Joy is distinct not only from pleasure in general but even from aesthetic pleasure. It must have the stab, the pang, the inconsolable longing.’

‘All Joy reminds. It is never a possession, always a desire for something longer ago or further away or still “about to be.”’

 –C.S. Lewis

There is something in the way C S Lewis describes ‘joy’ that resonates with me. I have never been entirely sure that I would call that which he describes ‘joy’. But I most certainly identify with that sense of longing, the pang of which he speaks, ‘a desire for something longer ago or further away or still about to be’. Oh yes, I know that.

I felt it yesterday as I drove through an area of frost covered trees, their delicate branches stiff and glistening in the low winter sun. As I gazed on the scene I felt that pang...almost like something vaguely remembered, or just out of reach, or deeply desired.

I suspect that most people feel that way at times. I think it is part of what all these Christmas TV adverts are attempting to evoke, whether by stirring up some nostalgic longing, or presenting an idealised picture of celebrations or family, or inviting us to enter into some imagined ‘perfect’ future.

These advertisers know what they are doing. They are connecting with that deep longing and yearning in us all for something almost remembered or hopefully reached for. And if I understand the point that C S Lewis was trying to make about he called ‘joy’, this universal pang of yearning within us, points towards something bigger and ‘other’ which is the true object of our yearning.

The season of Advent connects with this sense within us all. 

We recall the generations of waiting and watching, yearning and praying by God’s people for the Day of the Lord to come. It is of this that the prophets wrote. And we enter into that yearning and longing for the fullness of God’s rule to be established, when justice and peace and healing will finally prevail.

And in the midst of the personal difficulties and uncertainties with which we as a family have been wrestling these last few months, that yearning has ‘ached’ within me. Of course, it has had a very specific and personal focus with regard to comfort, resolution, direction, provision etc all related to our particular circumstances. But I sense also that there has been more; that this personal and specific yearning has connected with a deep and more persistent yearning within for the fullness of God, for God’s rule to be established, for the healing of the nations, for the final redemption of the world, for... well, for what? In the words of C S Lewis ‘for something longer ago or further away or still “about to be”’.

Of all human desires would this alone remain without the possibility of fulfilment? May not the very existence of this longing confirm to us that our hope is in something greater, deeper and yet to be?

Days of Future Passed (Past)

‘Days of Future Passed’ (sic) is the name of the 1967 concept album by the Moody Blues. I suspect that it should have been ‘Days of Future Past’... but who knows?

Either way it is an intriguing title and somehow I feel it relates to Advent with the focus of this season on preparation for the celebration of the coming of Christ as Babe of Bethlehem (past) and preparation to greet his coming as Lord of all (future).

How do we prepare for the remembrance of that past day and the coming of that future day?

A less personal reflection today.

But I will be returning to some of the themes already touched upon, not least the silence of God and the absence of God.

In my first Advent blog post I mentioned the concept of ‘inaugurated eschatology’. In spite of my saying that I tended towards this view, namely that there are both "already" and "not yet" aspects to the Kingdom of God, it does not fully or adequately represent all I believe on this matter. And (you will no doubt be relieved to hear) I don’t think a blog post is the best place to explore what I do believe! (well, not in detail at least).

But in these weeks of Advent preparation and anticipation, as we look towards both the celebration of  Christ’s coming in flesh as the Babe of Bethlehem and the eventual greeting of the One who is coming again in glory (however, we understand this awaited day) we are living in the ‘in-between’ times.

Something of that makes sense, for me, of the experience we have of answered prayer, and yet so many unanswered prayers; of the experience of comfort, and yet so much ongoing suffering; of evidence of healing, yet so many unhealed; of the committed struggle and prayer and work for justice and peace in our world, and yet the reality of continued injustice, violence, inequality and oppression... and so on.

If you are really interested in all of this the there are some good books... and you could also check out the internet, of course!

But my point is that in Advent we look back to the past, when God came amongst us in the flesh of a little baby, we look forward to the future when (in whatever way we understand it) history is finally brought to its conclusion and there will be a new heaven and a new earth, and meanwhile we live in these ‘in-between’ times, with all their confusion, frustration and challenge, and yet also with all the hope.

For the God who came, and who will come is also the one who comes in the present, who breaks into our world and our lives and our experience by the Spirit who blows where she wills like the wind in the trees.

The God who came, and who will come is also the one who comes in the present who breaks into our world and our lives and our experience in Word, Sacrament and Community.

The God who came, and who will come is also the one who comes in the present who breaks into our world and our lives and our experience in the prayers, the witness and the love of God’s people.

So, in good and bad, in light and dark, let us not give up being alert to and open to the breath of God’s Spirit, nor give up joining with God’s people in listening for the Word and sharing the Sacrament as we gather as God’s Community, nor give up praying and sharing and caring in Christ’s name that God’s Kingdom may come on earth as in heaven.

In these recent days I have faced the temptation to become so focussed on my own (and my family’s) struggles that I neglect these things I have mentioned.

But still we have to remain faithful.

I have to remain faithful.

Let’s keep on keeping on that the ‘days of future past’ may become the reality of our present day.

Instant Gratification?

Above all, trust in the slow work of God
We are quite naturally impatient in everything

to reach the end without delay.

We would like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being

on the way to something unknown,

something new.

And yet it is the law of all progress

that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability-

and that may take a very long time

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

I have been rather overwhelmed by all the responses to yesterday’s post on my blog (the second in the Advent series). Thank you to all who responded in one way or another. And thanks to Maggie for offering the quote from Teilhard (above). Very apt.

In the light of comments and responses I have decided to continue the theme and look a bit more at patience, which is one of the ‘fruit of the Spirit’ described by Paul in his letter to the Galatians. But in contemporary society we seem to be more focussed on instant gratification than on patience and perseverance. Indeed, in spite of patience being traditionally regarded as a holy virtue, amongst people of faith, there can seem to be a lack of patience and a demand that God acts now. However, I do not mean to be over critical, for in the midst of all the ‘stuff’ that has been and is going on for me/us at the moment I/we too have been very aware of the frustration of waiting and of (apparently) unanswered prayer and (as yet) unfulfilled promises. I can recognise too that the darker it is the brighter shine these little lights of hope that we have from time to time experienced. And in spite of the frustration that I have to honestly own up to, I also find that in the long waiting for an answer to prayer, a sign of direction or a clear revelation of God’s presence, there is (when I choose to pause and be silent and open) a sense of peace and presence.

And just maybe I am learning to be a little more patient.

As I have already suggested, waiting is not something we are used to in contemporary society where instant gratification, instant answers, instant access to information, instant entertainment are constantly and continually available to us.

If you pick something up from the supermarket for supper on your way home and pop it in the microwave, in the time it takes you to take off your coat, put on your slippers, set out the cutlery and open the wine, ‘PING’ it is ready. Then you can reach for your remote control, switch on the TV which instantly comes alive and choose a film from Netflix... all in a moment or two. It was not always like that!

Today almost everything seems instant and waiting is less a part of our daily lives than was once the case.

But not quite...

Expectant parents still wait 9 months for the birth of a child... just the same length of time as parents two hundred years ago... or two thousand years ago had to wait.

And whatever the perceptions as we get older, nonetheless the years do not actually pass any more quickly than they did before.

And we have to wait for the results of medical tests or exam results, for health to recover or for wounds to heal, for planted seeds to grow and relationships to develop.

There are many things for which we still have to wait... things for which it is worth waiting.

And it is worth waiting for Christmas. It is worth allowing this season of Advent to be what it is without having Christmas prematurely invade it. It is worth spending this time in anticipation and hope.

For in this waiting time of Advent we have a journey to undertake. As I said in an earlier post, on this journey of waiting we reflect upon the dark realities of our world, we ponder the as yet unfulfilled ancient promises of God’s Kingdom, we look and long and listen for the signs of the coming of this kingdom.

We wait for God’s purposes to prevail and for God’s promises to be fulfilled.

We wait for prayers to be answered and our longings satisfied.

We wait for justice in the earth and for peace between peoples.

We wait for the signs of dawn breaking, for the light of the Day of our redemption to penetrate the darkness.

In the waiting there can be anxiety and anguish, frustration and fear.

As I reflect upon the difficult experiences that have been faced by me and my family over recent months, I am constantly battling with all of this. Why have we had to wait to see a resolution to our difficulties?

Why are we not seeing the answers to prayer for which we long?

Why can we not find the guidance and assurance for which we have asked, and still ask, and go on asking?

I will confess (as I did in response to one friend who commented on yesterday’s post) that alongside all the other things (or because of?) I have been experiencing quite a deep crisis of faith... and yet I still have hope. No, I can’t explain that either. I am simply telling it as it is for me right now.

We wait and go on waiting for the promises to be fulfilled and God’s purpose to prevail... we wait in the midst of much that is distorted and dark in our world and in our lives... we wait knowing that in the waiting times, while there may be healing and growing, there can remain also anguish and pain. But we wait and we wait on... and even if faith is not always strong we can still (paradoxically?) wait with hope.

Advent is all about waiting.

Waiting with hope.

Not a distorted optimism, not superficial determination to always look on the bright side of life, not pretending that everything is alright… for everything (for me at least just now, and in the world around as I see it) is far from all right!

But we wait in hope that God’s purposes will finally prevail and God’s promise will finally be fulfilled.

Prayer, patience and perseverance.

Above all, trust in the slow work of God

Taking the waiting out of wanting?

Wait for the Lord,

his day is near

Wait for the Lord,

be strong take heart

(Taizé)

Those who are old enough will remember when credit cards were just being introduced. You may also recall a TV advert for one of these cards which promised to ‘take the waiting out of wanting’.

That concept always made me feel uncomfortable.

Is there not a place for longing? for patience? for perseverance? (not to mention saving up!)

In the past I have been accused of being a ‘liturgical fundamentalist’ due to my preference to observe Advent as Advent and not simply as ‘Christmas before Christmas’ as seems to be increasingly what happens. Christmas trees appear in November and carols get sung throughout December, and so on.

But it is not simply a desire to adhere to liturgical correctness that leads me to prefer to reflect on Advent themes and sing Advent hymns during this season while waiting until Christmas itself to celebrate the birth of Jesus and sing the Christmas hymns (and continue to do so for the following 12 days of Christmas!).

As I suggested in my post yesterday, it is also to do with my wanting to spend these four weeks nurturing hope, looking for the dawning of light, anticipating the coming celebrations, but also pondering the important themes of patience, preparation and perseverance. This is (for me) a time to ask the pressing questions we all have regarding suffering, death and darkness; why prayers seem to go unanswered; why sometimes God seems absent or silent; why miracles seem few and far between. And it is a time to watch and wait, and to learn the value of waiting.

Of course, in reality we all have to wait. Christmas will not come any more quickly or early just because we are impatient for its arrival! As we read again the Gospel narratives over these weeks, we will be reminded of how God’s people had to wait for generation after generation for Messiah to come. ‘he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors’ (Luke 1: 72).

As we sing the hymns looking forward to the coming of the Christ in glory, we will be aware that we are reflecting on promises made two thousand years ago... and still we wait!

But waiting time is not wasted time. We are shaped, changed, tested in our waiting... in our waiting and watching.

In the course of these recent months, I have prayed much and asked for much... and (in specific terms at least) I am still waiting for an answer. I have longed for miracles, but experienced none. I have sought clarity with regard to decisions and the way forward, and am still listening for a word from the Lord.

It has been frustrating, difficult and sometimes dispiriting.

But the waiting time has not been wasted time.

I believe that – with God – waiting time need never be wasted time.

Wait for the Lord,

his day is near

Wait for the Lord,

be strong take heart

(Taizé)

O Come, O Come Emmanuel

O come, Thou Dayspring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight

It has been a while since I last posted on my blog. This has not been an easy year – not by a long shot. Both Jane and I have vowed never again to casually apply the description ‘nightmare’ to any lesser times. These last few months have felt like a very horrific nightmare... a time of very deep darkness. There have been many reasons for this including health, family crises and a series of bereavements (some untimely and unexpected). I may allude to some of these in coming posts, but I will not go into detail here.

But the coming season of Incarnation speaks of the Light shining in the darkness, and this time of Advent, in particular, addresses human darkness but also speaks of hope.

And so, I have decided that the dawning of the (liturgical) New Year is a good time to re-engage with my blog. Indeed, during this season of Advent, I plan to post every day if I can.

Now, if you know me at all, or have read some of my previous blog posts, are a Facebook friend or have heard me preach at this time of year, then you will know how much I value the season of Advent.

There are many reasons for this, and to be honest, I suspect that part of it is simply linked to my personality. I am the type of person who gets a great deal of pleasure out of anticipation (and remembrance for that matter); sometimes even more than from the actual thing that is being anticipated (or remembered)!

But as I have also often said, there are theological reasons for my appreciation of Advent. Amongst the many is the fact that the scripture readings set by the Lectionary or traditionally associated with this season and, indeed, the very theme of the season, makes us face up to the fact (and the mystery... even perhaps the frustration!) that we live in the ‘in between’ time in between the First Advent (the Birth of Jesus) and the Second Advent (his Coming again, and please note that I am neither pressing nor suggesting only one possible interpretation of this awaited event!)

I tend towards the view (it is called ‘inaugurated eschatology’ if you are interested!) that there are both ‘already’ and ‘not yet’ aspects to the Kingdom of God. In other words, that in the birth, life, death and resurrection of Jesus the coming and promised Kingdom of God was ‘inaugurated’ and, indeed, continues to break into the here and now through the presence and activity of the Holy Spirit (so I suppose you might call my view ‘Pentecostal eschatology’??) but yet there remains an ‘age to come’ in which the Kingdom of God will be fully established.

For me, this understanding makes sense both of Scripture and of human experience; the fact that, in so many ways, we can see and know God’s action and presence in the here and now, and yet, there are other experienced realities too, including the apparent absence or silence of God; prayers are answered, but not all; we can see God work in marvellous ways, but only sometimes; and so on...

Advent offers us the opportunity for reflection on all of this.

And perhaps in this year I have had more reason to reflect on all of this than in many a year. As I say, it has been (and continues to be) a very dark time. And yet, hope remains. That hope may not always shine brightly, but even if it is but a flickering light, it is still there.

This morning as we attended worship for Advent Sunday I found myself in the very unusual position of sitting in a back pew rather than conducting worship from the chancel as would normally be the case on Advent Sunday. From that distance the first of the candles in the Advent wreath which was lit this morning looked very small, insignificant and vulnerable. Perhaps that is what hope is like. Fragile, tiny yet capable of piercing the darkness.

The Dayspring will yet come to dispel the gloomy clouds of night, and put death’s dark shadows to flight.

‘O come, O come, Emmanuel’!