Here is something unusual. A Congress of nearly 3000 people from 65 countries all over the globe. People of all faiths and beliefs coming together to worship Almighty God each day for 12 days.There is harmony, chatter and energy in every corner. There are families, young people, old people, business people, from all backgrounds people.How do so many of such diverse beliefs become one together and work together? And work they do with many large humanitarian projects and smaller enterprises. The key to this is a gift from God which enables us each day to surrender and await whatever grace He wishes to bestow upon us. There is no dogma, no creed, for all follow their own religious beliefs – something we all recognise are deepened by this harmonious experience of God.Subud has been in the world since 1924, officially from the early 1940s and came to the West from Indonesia in 1957. It was adopted wholeheartedly by the former Gurdjieff movement who recognised the surrender of self to God, within Subud, as the very essence of what they had been searching for but had been unable to attain merely through the human will.I have been a member since 1983 and it forms an undercurrent in my life and faith like a clear flowing river.It is not comparable to any other experiential faith and it is easier to say what it is not rather than what it is.I have another week here before I return and am looking forward to making many new connections with brothers and sisters the world over.Constantina Alexander
Tag Archives: trust
The Cathedral is a heart
The Cathedral is a heart.
The tower is a bud.
Have you counted the steps
that lead to the platform?
Every night they become more and more numerous.
The tower turns turns
and turns about itself.
It turns, it grows,
it dances with its saints
and the saints dance with their hearts.
Will it fly away with the angels,
the tower of Strasbourg Cathedral?
Strasbourg Cathedral is a swallow.
believe in the angels amid the clouds.
The swallows don’t believe in ladders
to climb in the air.
They let themselves fall into the air
into the air interwoven
with the blue of infinity.
Strasbourg Cathedral is a swallow.
She lets herself fall into the winged sky
into the air of the angels.
I don’t claim to know what the sculptor Jean Arp meant by this poem; it is a poem that he let fly away once written. I did see an interview where he spoke about the saints on Strasbourg Cathedral. ‘We cannot surpass the work of the old masters’, he said of the cathedral dominating his home town. I read it as a love song.
Mediæval Cathedrals are well-loved. One expression of this is the continuing schedules of works to preserve these treasures, Canterbury always has scaffolding somewhere about its sides. We were not tempted to launch into the air from the roof platform at Strasbourg, but to have built the place so high was an act of faith by the architects, a duc in alto, putting out into the depths of space.
We should imitate Our Lord at his temptations in not taking irresponsible risks to impress the devil in us or in other people, but we should also trust him to hold us safe as we fly, ever in danger of falling, ever seeking the infinite blue of heaven.
So Brother Masseo departed, and according to the bidding of Saint Francis carried his message first unto Saint Clare and then unto Brother Silvester.
Who, when he had heard thereof, forthwith fell on his knees in prayer, and as he prayed received answer from God, and turned to Brother Masseo, and bespake him thus: “Thus saith the Lord: Say unto Brother Francis that God has not called to gain to this estate for himself alone, but to the souls’ end that he may gain fruit of souls, and that many through him may be saved.”
With this reply Brother Masseo returned to Saint Clare to learn what she had received of God, and she answered that God had sent to her and her companions the same reply as He had given to Brother Silvester. Whereat Brother Masseo hied him back again to Saint Francis; and Saint Francis received him with exceeding great love, washing his feet and making ready for him the meal, and after he had eaten, Saint Francis called Brother Masseo into the wood ; and there kneeled down before him and drew back his hood, stretching out his arms in the shape of a cross, and asked him: What has my Lord Jesu Christ commanded that I should do?
Replied Brother Masseo : “As unto Brother Silvester, so likewise unto Sister Clare and her sisters, has Christ made answer and revealed; that it is His will that thou go throughout the world to preach, since He hath chosen thee not for thyself alone, but also for the salvation of others.”
And then Saint Francis, when he had heard this answer and known thereby the will of Jesu Christ, rose up with fervour exceeding great, and said : “ Let us be going in the name of God”; and he took for his companions Brother Masseo and Brother Agnolo, holy men.
Illustration from an old edition of the Little Flowers from which this text is taken.
The story about Abel and the letter box reminded me of watching the two fledgling sparrows that left the nest in next-door-but-one’s roof to flit and flutter down to our back gate, where they could perch, and cheep and flutter their stubby wings in the hope that their parents – or any passing sparrow for that matter – might feed them.
They could see how to get food from the fat ball holder, but hadn’t the co-ordination or confidence to try for themselves.
Here is one of them watching intently as his mother (or is it his aunt?) pecks at the fat balls over the gate. The fact that he was fed a second later did not prevent him starting to call again as soon as he’d finished swallowing.
Although the adults are very tolerant of humans moving about the garden we share with them, young Chico took off as soon as the back door opened. Three metres’ flight to the washing line, where he could not get a grip, and turned base over apex before achieving enough co-ordination to crash into the holly bush.
The two chicks were soon back on the gate, ‘Please Sir (or Madam) I want some more! When the psalmist sang of the sparrows finding a home at God’s altar, did he expect the priest to scatter food for them?
Of course Francis fed the birds, and so should we. And perhaps we should attend to the needs of each other as well. As Abel said, ‘You have to help me.’
Abel was carrying the letter to the post box for his grandad, a job he took very seriously. As we got near, he looked up and said, ‘You have to help me.’
No question of his being unable to reach; it was a statement of fact: ‘You have to help me.’
No giving up because the slot was too high: ‘You have to help me.’
No getting angry at being set an impossible task: ‘You have to help me.’
There’s a lesson there which I won’t spell out!
(It wasn’t this box, but Abel would have enjoyed it as much as his Grandad did!)
So we have come to the idea of connaturality with divine things in this notion of participated likeness to God’s knowledge. For me, how wonderful and how freeing the knock-on effect of all this is. Faith’s kind of knowing is the direct opposite of the hurt and cramp of mistrust and suspicion, which the wide arena of human affairs almost obliges us to experience in order to survive in a sinful world. Faith in God is not like that. It is like a cooling breeze sweeping in after the misery of the sweltering, humid heat of August.
When I ponder the truths of the faith, I do not have to fear that I might be standing on quick-sand, or on the fault-line of an earthquake, or that I might be placing my deepest trust in someone who is liable to walk out on me. It is nothing like that at all. With faith in what God has revealed, I do not have to be suspicious, or try to ‘suss out’ the true and the false. I only have to absorb the True, and allow this to Truth to create in me a connaturality with God’s knowledge – a ‘participated likeness’ which begins now and continues – forever.
The theological virtue of faith exists in concert with the virtues of hope and charity. These will be explored in future posts.
Thank you again, Sister Johanna. We look forward to the next of your reflections in Agnellus’Mirror.
Jeff Halper at St Paul’s Church, 7:30pm Monday 21st May
Richard Llewellin, former Bishop of Dover, writes:
‘A very remarkable Israeli Jew, called Jeff Halper, is coming to speak in Canterbury during a visit to the UK.
Having watched the demolition of a Palestinian home for what he considered no good reason, he started the Israeli Committee against House Demolitions. This organisation has rebuilt countless numbers of Palestinian homes demolished by the Israeli authorities (some of which have been then demolished for a second, or even a third, time!).
Jeff Halper is larger-than-life, an excellent speaker, and has very good things to say about the future of Israel and Palestine. He is speaking at St Paul’s Church, Canterbury, on Monday, 21 May at 7:30 PM, and you will not be disappointed at his talk if you can manage to come and listen to him.’
I recently read an article by a researcher at the John Rylands Library, Manchester. Fran Horner tells about her work. Do follow the link, especially if you enjoy being surprised poetically, and to follow up the short extract here.
Ms Horner has this to say about a particular mode of telling the truth:
It has been interesting learning about what categories of information are essential for the catalogue, for example: publisher, year published, volume and editor are all extremely important; whether I liked or disliked the poems… not so important. I have also discovered things about the appropriate type of language and structure I must use within the catalogue: the language must be succinct and consistent to ensure its reliability and usefulness as a finding aid. In the future, researchers may be using my catalogue!
Note the duty not to misinform her readers; readers she will almost surely never meet!
Let us never be slapdash with regard to truth: we may feel we are telling the truth, but are our words -and actions – as Ms Horner says, reliable witnesses in other people’s ears and eyes?
The Reader, Zakopane, Poland.
Apologies to Newington, Newport, Nonnington and any other candidates for this spot, but Nowhere came to mind and would not go away.
One person who did go to Nowhere was Noah, taking his little world with him, or being taken by it. How could he steer the Ark with no landmarks and no stars in the sky? John Masefield was a sailor around the turn of the 20th Century; even without GPS, he generally knew where he was and need not be anxious, even when alone at the wheel through the night:
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
There is no record of Noah being anxious on board; but like many a sailor he relaxed and drank himself into oblivion once on shore. A different sort of Nowhere, not one to visit often. But Jesus and his followers were castigated as drunkards; though no doubt their critics’ stories grew in the telling!
Another Nowhere was the starting point for this reflection. I was privileged to arrive at the maternity unit moments after my grandson was born, and was holding him when his father came into the room and called him, ‘Hello, Abel!’
In all the confusion of that strange place, totally beyond the world he knew from his mother’s womb, he knew that voice, and turned to face his father. Nowhere became Somewhere!
From then on Abel has explored the world. It has become a place, a home, with the house he shares with his parents at its centre.
May we listen for Our Father’s voice and be ready to follow his commands as Noah did, trusting, trusting, when we feel lost.
Ark window, Shrewsbury Cathedral, Margaret Rope.
Sea Fever, John Masefield
After yesterday’s story of a blind man finding his way, here is a tale of …
The Fog by W. H. Davies
I saw the fog grow thick,
Which soon made blind my ken;
It made tall men of boys,
And giants of tall men.
It clutched my throat, I coughed;
Nothing was in my head
Except two heavy eyes
Like balls of burning lead.
And when it grew so black
That I could know no place,
I lost all judgement then,
Of distance and of space.
The street lamps, and the lights
Upon the halted cars,
Could either be on earth
Or be the heavenly stars.
A man passed by me close,
I asked my way, he said,
“Come, follow me, my friend”—
I followed where he led.
He rapped the stones in front,
“Trust me,” he said, “and come”;
I followed like a child—
A blind man led me home.
… a blind man leading the way. Jesus may have spoken of the blind leading the blind into the ditch, but that did not happen this time. The sighted man who could not see found his way thanks to a blind man with the simple technology of a white stick, tapping and trailing on the paving stones, coupled with a good memory.
Jesus was talking of spiritual blindness, warning us about following fashionable and presumptuous teachers, in his day the Pharisees: ‘Let them alone: they are blind, and leaders of the blind. And if the blind lead the blind, both will fall into the pit.’ (Matthew 14:15).
(By the way, I saw the blind man of yesterday’s post a few weeks later, confidently making his way along Station Road, unaided.)