Life is a pilgrimage of learning,
a voyage of discovery,
in which our
mistaken views are corrected,
our distorted notions adjusted,
our
shallow opinions deepened
and some of our vast ignorances diminished.
John Stott, Mission in the Modern World.
H W Longfellow
( The photo taken on Tuesday morning around noon – the forecast was for sunshine!)
Whom God loves He loves to the end;
and not only to their own end, to
their death, but to his end;
and His end is, that He might love them
still.
John Donne.
Before all greatness,
be silent—
in art,
in music,
in religion:
………..silence.”
Baron Friedrich Von Hugel, Letters to a Niece.
“Sometimes I need
only to stand
wherever I am
to be blessed.”
Mary Oliver, Evidence. Poems
I did this once before.
To try to say each day, in one sentence, something worth saying, reading, hearing.
This time with something worth looking at as well.
The photo was taken 3 miles from our house, looking over Loch Skene. on a sunny day – yes we do get them, now and again…..
"Love does not consist of gazing at each other,
but in looking outward together in the same direction."
(Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince).
Confessing our Small-Mindedness
We
confess to you our Father,
our small-mindedness and limited appreciation of
your greatness.
We
confess that we scarcely consider
your mighty movements at the beginning of
time,
creating the heavens and the earth;
nor do we even barely notice
the potential purposefulness of ordinary moments.
Lord we have sinned:
Forgive us and enlarge our
understanding.
We
confess to you Lord of Life,
that the life and death and resurrection of the Word made flesh,
do
not expand our thinking as they should:
we are hemmed in by transitory
interests and temporal pursuits,
and afraid oir unaware of the essential and eternal.
Lord
we have sinned:
Forgive us, and deepen our
love,
We
confess to you Spirit of God,
that we do not value
and seldom welcome
the gift of your Holy
Spirit
to liberate our tongues to praise you
and energise our lives to serve you.
Lord
we have sinned:
Father forgive us for our
failures and our sins,
Through the love of our Lord
Jesus:
And help us by the power of
your Holy Spirit, Amen
((c) Jim Gordon: Please feel free to use for yourself or in worship services)
One of the more expansive minds in my poetry canon is Denise Levertov. In her poem Candlemas, economy of words contrasts with the enlarging images of open arms, light, new life, deep faith and illumination. But the theological jolt of the poem is the final turning of Simeon, who held in his arms the Light of the World, towards that deeper darkness where the ineffability of God remains eternally secure from human prying.
A recovery of apophatic humility is now an essential dimension of a spirituality capable of withstanding the ephemeral, endlessly articulated imprecision of the noise and chatter of information, connectivity, immediacy of communication, transience of contact and superfluity of trivia. In other words, perhaps God is calling for a recovery of depth in our feeling, attentiveness in our hearing, reverence encouraging reticence in our speaking, and a reacquaintance with silence as the sign of a soul that, before God, knows its place.
Candlemas
By Denise Levertov
With certitude,
Simeon opened
ancient arms
to infant light.
Decades
before the cross, the tomb
and the new life,
he knew
new life.
What depth
of faith he drew on,
turning illumined
towards deep night.
Luke 4.1-13 - ‘If
you are the Son of God…..’
The word if is
a destabilising word.
It corrodes trust, it undermines confidence, it slackens
our hold on our certainties.
If.
‘If you
really cared about me…..’
If you were
really serious about…..
If it had
been me I would have…..
If.
A word that, used with precision and cunning,
calls
our integrity,
our identity,
our intentions,
our motives,
our core values,
our
moral priorities into question.
If you are the Son of God……
Three times, ‘If
you are…’.
Three times an interrogation of the soul,
a sifting of the heart,
a
politely framed enquiry,
disguising the fear and panic of self-promoting evil
encountering the obedient self-giving of the Servant and Son of God.
If you are
– prove it!
If you are – live it!
If you are – test it!
And throughout Jesus
ministry his response to the If you are
question will be
I AM….
So why
test a certainty?
Why prejudice implicit trust?
Why prove in time, what is eternally true?
And that
drama in the desert, the drama of If.
It
becomes also the drama of Christian obedience.
If you are
a child of God……
If God is
to be trusted….
If what you
say you believe, you really believe, then……..
If, has
consequences.
In the end our obedience is rooted in the obedience of Christ.
Our
faithfulness in small things is made possible by his faithfulness unto death.
Our
victories are won, only through the final triumph of Christus Victor.
Three final
‘If’ statements, which with disciplined grace, and obedient faithfulness provide
the tension points of Christian existence:
I am the vine, you are the
branches…
if you remain in me
and I in you, you will bear much fruit….
You are my friends
If you do what I command you….
By this everyone will know you
are my disciples,
if you love
one another……
(The photo comes from here – and captures exactly the ambiguities of those disturbing questions that call our Christian identity into question. Thanks to Pastor Kyle Huber).
There are different ways of reviewing a book. There is the speed read filleting that gives the gist of the argument, homes in on a few illustrative quotes, then writes about the general theme of the book with sufficient reference to the text to make it all sound credible. Such a review is a disgrace!
By contrast there is the conscientious reading of the book, with annotated margins / and or notes in notebook or laptop. The review is then presented as an essay that shows the book was given a fair hearing, by someone qualified to appreciate and critique, caution or commend. Such a review is a courtesy of scholarship.
Between these two is the quickly read book, but approached with enough care for the subject and respect for the author that the review is by and large fair, and helpful to those who want to know – is this book worth my money and my time? Such a review is useful.
In reviewing John Swinton's book Dementia, I want to do something different from these. A series of reflections or brief essays in which the overall thesis of the book is explored, and its contribution to a Christian theological understanding of dementia weighed and listened to. Make no mistake – this is a book of Christian theology, a constructive attempt to place the profound human challenge dementia poses for our understanding of our humanity, of God, and of what it means to live in the life and love of God.
This approach inevitably means I will be responding and making comments before the whole story is told, before the thesis is stated, defended and established, before the book is read through. But bear with me. That will enable conversations in which questions asked may encounter their answer later, and before such questions allow a more patient listening.
The Introduction plunges immediately into the depths of human experience by posing questions about the nature of our humanity. Identity, "who am I", is a far from straightforward question. Related to who I am is who loves me and what that love might mean. If I change over the years, or some decisive intervention such as dementia changes the way I am, in what sense can those who loved me be expected still to love a person who is no longer who they were? Swinton insists it is the divine recognition of who we are that is theologically decisive in questions of human identity. This is a crucial move in Swinton's approach. The book is self-consciously theological, and the question it addresses is fundamentally theological. While acknowledging the important role of other disciplines such as philosophy, psychology, psychiatry and neurology in the understanding of dementia, he is offering a different perspective. What does dementia look like, and how is the response to the person with dementia shaped by presuming "a world created by God, broken by sin, and in the process of being redeemed through the saving work of Jesus"?
Central to John Swinton's theology, both here and in other volumes such as Raging with Compassion is this paradigm shifting concept of the redemptive purposes of God. Swinton has professional experience as a psychiatric nurse, a mental health chaplain and as an academic theologian with an overt Christian commitment. That is why he offers not a disclaimer, but a claim that he spends the rest of the book justifying:
"dementia is a thoroughly theological condition. It makes a world of difference to suggest that dementia happens to people who are loved by God, who are made in God's image, and who reside within creation. The task of theology is to remind people of that distinction and to push our perceptions of dementia beyond what is expected, toward the surprising and the unexpected" (page 8)
Reconfiguring the relation between such a theological perspective and the multi-professional perspectives derived from other disciplines will be one of the challenges of the book. Another is the need for Christian theology itself to reconfigure how to articulate the relation between God and each human being. Swinton rightly interrogates a prevalent assumption in theological writing, that the one addressed is an "individuated, experiencing, cognitively able self, perceived as a reasoning, thinking, independent, decision-making entity". A theology of salvation based primarily on such assumptions has such far reaching consequences of exclusion and inclusion that a more viable approach is required when dealing with human beings who may be cognitively impaired. That is the theological challenge for a Christian understanding of dementia.
Who am I when I've forgotten who I am? Who am I when others have forgotten who I am? Into such frightening questions comes the Christian good news that God knows exactly who we are, in the divine recognition there is no forgetting of us, ever.
Christmas has come and gone. The birth of the Prince of peace has been celebrated.
Epiphany and the Magi, representatives of human searching for that which is beyond our knowing and beyond our reach, those wise, thoughtful, perplexed travellers, they too have come – and gone.
And in Syria Assad still murders the innocents.
In Northern Ireland fear and hatred still takes to the streets and hurls destruction.
In Newtown Massachussets the children go back to school, another school, to learn, and pray God to see the world through eyes that will recover a sense of beauty, wonder and goodness.
And in a world like this, "finally comes the poet", those gifted prophets for whom the Word not only describes, but redescribes the world.
Levertov is such a poet.
Denise Levertov (1923–1997)
On the Mystery of the Incarnation
It's when we face for a moment
the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know
the taint in our own selves, that awe
cracks the mind's shell and enters the heart:
not to a flower, not to a dolphin,
to no innocent form
but to this creature vainly sure
it and no other is god-like, God
(out of compassion for our ugly
failure to evolve) entrusts,
as guest, as brother,
the Word.