If theology matters at all, it matters as a way of exploring the things that matter most in the world, and in our lives. These past weeks sadness has been an unasked but persistent companion. Is there a theology of sadness? I've taught theology, and amongst other descriptions I've spoken of theology as thinking about and looking at the world with God on the horizons.
But what if the horizons are obscured, and landmarks have shifted? Sadness is a complex and elusive experience. It can be longing for what seems now beyond reach; the ache of an emptiness that cannot now be filled; an inner de-motivation of mind and heart when important things suffer a recession of value and significance; a loneliness traceable to great loss, and which cannot be satisfied because that loss is final; and therefore sadness is a felt deficit at the deep core of who we are. Something, or someone is missing, and missed.
A theology of sadness must bring that deep crisis of loss into conversation with an understanding of God which neither minimises that loss, nor dismisses its accompanying sadness as lack of faith.
As I work away at Aileen's tapestry, weaving colours and stranding threads, I also try to strand thought and prayer from within this strange climate of loss and longing. And I listen to music which not only speaks to me, but speaks for me, becoming a true articulation of life as presently experienced. Tonight Gabriel's Oboe became a prayer pouring out loss, sadness, longing, and hope. Our daughter Aileen loved this piece.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WJhax7Jmxs&fbclid=IwAR0HNgJjn7imzaOWQcmu5CCrd-ZBnT5HXoHbyatkwyfqUvHXIjcp-LZmt-Q
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