Invisible God: The challenge of the Ascension

In the first chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus and his disciples go to Peter’s house, where they find Peter’s mother-in-law prostrated by a fever. Jesus takes her by the hand, banishing the fever, and so complete is the cure that the woman rises from her sickbed and takes up her household duties, offering hospitality to the visitors.  News of the cure quickly spreads, and before long “the whole city was gathered before the door.” Jesus wades into the crowd, and heals many of physical ailments and bedevilments.

In his paraphrase of Mark’s Gospel, Erasmus reflects on the story, commenting that while Christ, the Light of the World, was alive, the fellowship of the church was not numerous, “but after his death, a great multitude of people began to flow towards it from all quarters of the earth,” flocking to his community because of the evidence of Christ’s works — the most miraculous of which is the transformation of sinners. (After all, which is easier— to say truthfully “Your sins are discharged,” or “Rise up and walk”?).  Yet there is something that needs to be added to Erasmus’s comment (something I think he and George Fox would both approve).

The Jesus movement was profoundly shaken when Jesus was taken from their midst — first by his captivity and trial, then by his death, and then at the Ascension, when his human visage and presence were forever withdrawn, except in the memory of his friends and eyewitnesses. It is noteworthy that when the apostles met to find a replacement for Judas among the 12, they felt it was essential that one be chosen who had been with the movement from the beginning, and was a witness to the whole story of Jesus’ mission, death, and resurrection.

Now when they received the Holy Spirit (whether at the Pentecost event, or in the upper room directly from the risen Jesus, as in John’s gospel), these witnesses were fully confident that the Spirit that they experienced was the same Christ that they had know in and through Jesus.

Indeed, the two “versions” of the giving of the Spirit reinforce each other:  The small coterie of associates experienced the gift of the Comforter in intimate conversation with a Jesus whom they knew in three dimensions, so to speak (though his awesome transformation revealed other dimensions they had hardly guessed before, except at the Transfiguration).  When the Spirit descended some days later as if tongues of fire, they recognized it as a renewal and perhaps intensification of what they had experienced with Jesus already. Now, it was not only consolation, but also prophetic commission, and so began the flood of people towards the church.

But this was also a point of great vulnerability for the movement.  It reminds me of the time in the book of Judges (Ch. 2) when Joshua comes to the end of his life, and all his generation, and a new generation arose that had not witnessed the Exodus, the giving of the Law at Sinai, and the vivid presence of their God both in direct action, and through the words and works of his servants Moses and Joshua. Then this generation began to do evil in the sight of God, as the story tells, worshipping other gods, and following practices not sanctioned by the Law.

It is interesting to imagine yourself as a member of this new generation.  Your people have been settled in a fertile land*, and are learning its rhythms and natural characteristics.  No longer a wanderer, you can build a home, a farm and flock, and accumulate enough substance and stability that you can start a family.  You are surrounded by co-inhabiting peoples who know the land well, and whose rising generation are also interested in commerce, farming, and the arts of home-making. To love the land  is to feel its life, to feel its spiritual power, and the personifications of the forces alive in the land would have been cheering and perhaps compelling psychologically.   The intensity of daily work, of learning the land and its language, of finding a partner and starting a family — these good, homely, everyday matters must inevitably have been much more absorbing than a rigorous attention to the Covenant developed, forged, in fire and exile, danger and deliverance — but for you only known at second-hand.  In small steps or large, the Convenant memories were forgotten or rationalized into something that fit better with their reality.  New occasions, after all, teach new duties, right? **

Well, so: When Jesus was ascended, the embodiment of the Christ was the church, made up of living stones, each full of personality, and none as clear as Jesus, except when fully centered in His Spirit. When someone who walked with Jesus was discerning the guidance of a spirit they felt moving in them, they had a great reservoir of first-hand knowledge (tacit or explicit) with which to decide “That’s not the Holy Spirit of Jesus”  or “That’s Jesus!”   But there arose a new generation that did not have that experiential foundation to draw upon.   How easy to reinterpret the message that you had not yourself lived, but learned from the witnesses!  The invisible Christ, who for most people is not as vividly, insistently present as one’s parents, neighbors, companions, rulers, is for that very reason likely to be reinterpreted (re-remembered) in ways that make him/it less threatening or inconvenient.

For like any good teacher, Jesus could be very inconvenient.  As the physically present teacher, Jesus could exert personal influence both by physical acts (healing, praying, walking, eating, suffering), and by Truth-revealing dialectic.  He could ask questions, raise challenges, present thought-experiments, in ways that could open the door to new life.  His teaching and debating could be done gently or harshly, depending on the interlocutor before him.

He could say to Peter, “Get thee behind me, Satan!” because they were in a relationship of master-disciple, and the rebuke could shake Peter (for a while) out of complacency. So also when Jesus foretold Peter’s triple denial and his flight in fear from the power of the state; so also when he teased (or challenged) Peter and the others about their preparedness to drink the cup that Jesus was tasting fully, the potion of testing and suffering.  He exerted force to break through protective shells that cramped or prevented growth in the Light.

Yet with others he could be much gentler, though still relentless, as in his conversation with the woman at the well (John 4). Within the embrace of traditional religion, she had yet found plenty of freedom for her own independence from convention.  Jesus confronted her settled opinions, but gradually, and he let her reflect and draw her own conclusions about her condition. And his proclamation to her was not about promiscuity or willfulness, or irresponsibility in relationships (or whatever her multiple partners implied, about which Jesus made no diagnosis).  He spoke instead about worship and abundant life.

He asserted to her the real possibility (nay, the necessity) of a religion based on a living encounter with the Spirit of God, of which he was a witness and mediator. It is in that truth that authentic worship exists, in which the most acceptable offering is a broken and contrite heart (Ps. 51). Drinking from that fountain of life, the acts and beauties of tradition can be renewed, as you yourself are renewed.

Now, when Jesus has been translated upon his Ascension, and leaves his followers to live the truth he showed/taught them, guided in (along the path of) Truth by his spirit in their hearts and in their koinōnia, it becomes a lot easier for those followers to “recall” Christ in a way that tames him, that removes some of the prophetic edge, retires him to a figure of the past, encased in narrative and liturgy and muted — no. longer the insistent dialogue partner and teacher.  Of course, you can choose, or be drawn, to seek his more complete presence, urgent and mysterious, but if you don’t, absorbed by the vivid matters of daily life and imagination, you can drift unchallenged into compromise and lukewarmness, and it is only by grace or prophetic encounter that you can see how far you’ve drifted. In a cocoon of comfort and accommodation, what spirit do you allow yourself to hear?  What gods do you appeal to and rely upon in the course of daily life?

So while the Crucifixion was a great test for Jesus’ followers, and the Resurrection another, the Ascension is in some ways the long challenge, the one that we face through all our days, when God, , once so vividly present in Jesus’ life, words, and works, truly seems absconditus, hidden or withdrawn.

The calling is to find our way back to the true and living Spirit we have met with sometimes, not resting until we find the One that is as quick and challenging as Jesus-in-person, as brisk and shocking and alive as the streams now exuberantly bounding down the hills with the coming of spring.  The path is only to be found again, if it’s grown cold, by minding where warmth stirs in the heart — and in minding it, welcome the times when it brings you discomfort with yourself, whose truthfulness is sealed by the love that accompanies the nudge.

Then that Spirit which is recognizably that of the Logos, the disconcerting Wisdom of God, that Jesus manifested (and so have some of his friends then and since), will unfold the fulness of the gospel as it is being preached in and for  our lives and times.   You are ready, your hands are open to receive, and to become part of the invitation to wholeness that God extends to all folk.

*justified by a narrative that reminds one of the Doctrine of Discovery by means of which Europeans arrogated to themselves the lands and resources of the Western Hemisphere — a doctrine which I must say rests upon a false interpretation of God’s will, even though I am a beneficiary of that false teaching.

** just as there arose in Egypt a generation that knew not Joseph, and whose reinterpretation of the Hebrew presence there transformed hospitality into captivity.

Case study #10: John Griffith reflects on the dangers of premature encouragement

We (mostly) welcome the emergence of new gifts for service and leadership in our meetings. One does hear, from time to time, of meetings that are too “top-heavy” with older people in roles of responsibility, leaving no apparent way in for new voices. But mostly, I think, our meetings are eager to add younger (or at least newer) Friends to committees and other roles within the meeting. It is naturally the case that new gifts will first be glimpsed in ministry in the meeting for worship, because of its freedom.
An encouraging word (“Thee was favored” is the classic model) can be comforting and strengthening to a person who feels that their rising to speak was a risk and maybe presumptuous. To know that the offering was gratefully received by at least one other Friend helps the newcomer to grow in their sense that they have found a spiritual home. But the situation is a little more complex if the young person suspects that they may have a calling to the ministry in (something like) the traditional sense. Encouragement can then seem like affirmation of that calling and gift, when there has not been time for clarity. Moreover, it is not often understood at the early stage that the service of the ministry is not an individual. matter, not a personal adornment or accompishment, but rather is a service which emerges from prayer, and from the corporate matrix of worship. The gift is best employed when the minister has done the work of separating affirmation of faithfulness from the pleasing (or reassuring) of the ego.
John Griffith speaks from his own experience about how encouragement can stimulate overconfidence and a too-rapid growth in a person in whom a gift of ministry is emerging.

I have found my mind engaged to be somewhat particular concerning the manner of my entering into the work of the ministry, to stand by way of caution and proper encouragement to others, who may peruse the same; having in the course of my observation had cause to fear proceeded very far, to their own great wounding, and the hurt of others, in bringing forth untimely fruit, which is exceedingly dangerous, and carefully to be avoided.

You will note the language of fear and danger that is woven into his narrative — this will be the subject of a future essay.
He notes that as he came to accept the possibility that service in public ministry might be a callling for him, he was encouraged inwardly according to his faithfulness. In addition, it helped him begin to find a place within the community life of the meeting.
As I was enabled to wait on my ministry, I experienced a considerable growth and enlargement ; and, in a faithful discharge of duty therein, great peace and heavenly consolation, like a pleasant stream, flowed into my soul. I also found, that it was a means of engaging the minds of friends, in a sweet and comfortable nearness of unity with me, which I had never before so largely and livingly felt.

This, I think, was in some measure my own experience. Even though (like many others) I felt that I had “come home” when I found Friends, I was not “at home” in the sense of being at ease: shy and introverted, I made my way in communnity life with some difficulty. Yet when the urge to speak in worship brought me to my feet, fear and diffidence mostly fell away, and I could speak, often authentically, out of some place of inward growth. With a sense that my contributions were often helpful, I, too, experienced some increase in capacity. (One elder Friend said to me with a smile over coffee one morning, “You have grown, you know. You used to just blurt, but now you do better.” )
As I was reading in the journals, however, I began to realize that I might be experiencing what Friends once saw as a calling to the ministry, a sustained gift and task. Thisi made me vulnerable to a longing for confirmation of that suspicion, and therefore every time I rose to my feet, the stakes were higher, and affirmation had two levels of meaing — ̉the first, and most important was that instance, that morning, I had been faithful, but the second was some verification of my calling, my self-coception. This blending of self with gift takes some time to disentangle, and until it is done, the needs of one’s ego for affirmation can be intrusive and distracting. But, except for the old journals, it was long before I found anyone to guide me (or take me in hand) except some other young people, just learning about their own gifts. This was a blessing I have always been grateful for, but mutual support was not the same as guidance from a more experienced Friend.  One can stumble about for a long time in such a situation.

John Griffith notes at this point that
Many young well-minded people, and some others of little experience, seemed to admire my gift, and would sometimes speak highly of it, which they did not always forbear in my hearing. But oh how dangerous this is, if delighted in by ministers! It may be justly compared to poison, which will soon destroy the pure innocent life. My judgment was against it; yet I found something in me, that seemed to have no aversion thereunto, but rather inclined to hearken to it, yet not with full approbation. The same thing in me would want to know, what such and such, who were in most esteem for experience and wisdom, thought of me. I sometimes-imagined such looked shy upon me, which would much cast me down; all which, being from a root or fibre of self, I found was for judgment, and must die upon the cross, before I was fit to be trusted with any great store of gospel treasure.
I begun also to take rather too much delight myself in the gift; which had not divine goodness in mercy, by a deep and distressing baptism kindly prevented, might have opened a door for spiritual pride (which is the worst of pride) to have entered in, to my ruin.

During the apprenticeship in the minstry, such distracting concerns with one’s self-worth can interfer with one of the challenges for discernment that any Friend will recognize: Is this compelling image or thought to be shared, or not? It is perhaps hardest when early in the ministry to recall Joseph Hoag’s advice that  the minister must learn as well as teach.

I have given some hints how it was with me, by way of preparative for the great and important work of the ministry, and the danger of my being misled ; even at sometimes when I had right openings, and felt the sweet efficacious virtue of the love of God, through Jesus Christ, to mankind : which, doubtless, is the sensible experience and enjoyment, at times, of every faithful follower of Christ, who never was called to the work of the ministry.
I was in those days apprehensive of some danger of being led out at that door ; but I have since more fully and perfectly seen the danger of this and other by-paths, which would have led me to give that away to others, which I was to live upon myself; and out of the humble dependant state, in which only there is safety, to have a will and way of my own, that I might be furnished and enriched with much treasure.
But sincerity of heart, and my endeavours to preserve the single eye, through the watchful care of immediately fitted and supplied, every time Divine Providence over me, brought the day of the Lord upon it all: so that I eame clearly to see, and experimentally to know, my sufficiency was of God; that there must be a steady dependance on the Lord, to be was to engage in this solemn service.

The meeting, especially those who (officially or otherwise) act as elders in guiding and encouraging ministers, especially “infant ministers,” has difficulties of discernment, too. It is one thing to welcome new gifts with joy; but that is not the same as helping (under guidance from the Teacher of teachers) to form and nurture the emerging gifts, so that the new minister finds her way towards maturity in the service. It is important not to rush to praise or censure!

The meeting I then belonged to was large, and a valuable weighty body of Friends therein ; who, as far as I could observe by their carriage, did own and approve of my weak and low appearance in this service : yet they used Christian prudence, not to lay hands suddenly, but gave me full opportunity to make proof of my ministry, and to feel my feet therein.

But remember that John was inwardly struggling with the tension that arose from his growth in the service, and the temptations to take it personally, so to speak, and to grow not only in confidence, but in self-confidence, in which a dependence on the Spirit’s guidance is the root and touchstone of a growth and service in integrity. Some discerning Friends could see the situation:
I have reason to think, that solid friends, by observing my large growth in the top, with spreading branches, were in fear of my downfall, in case of a storm.

Here, in my experience, is a situation when a more experienced minister is very able to offer a word in season, to sympathetically help the young minister recognize what’s going on, and see what the necessary inward work is that they should be attending to:
... sincerity of heart, and my endeavours to preserve the single eye, through the watchful care of immediately fitted and supplied, every time Divine Providence over me, brought the day of the Lord upon it all: so that I eame clearly to see, and experimentally to know, my sufficiency was of God; that there must be a steady dependance on the Lord, to be was to engage in this solemn service.

I ardently desire, that all who have the least apprehension of being called into the work of the ministry, may dwell in an holy dread of the divine presence, and know their own wills wholly subjected to the divine will, waiting for a distinct and clear certainty of the Lord’s requirings, not only in entering upon it at first, but also at all other times. And as self comes to be laid in the dust for ever, they will receive undeniable evidence, in their own minds, of the certainty of their mission; and they will not be without a testimony thereof, from the witness for God in the consciences of mankind, amongst whom they are sent to minister. They will be a savour of life to the living in the truth, and of death to those who are in a state of death.

Let it ever be remembered, that nothing of, or belonging to, man, can possibly add any lustre or dignity to so divine a gift. Neither will the best and most curiously adapted words or doc trine, ever so truly and consistently delivered, be any more than as founding brass, or as a tinkling cymbal, without the power, light, and demonstration of the spirit of Christ.

The importance of case studies for the formation of Friends ministers

In the previous post, Case Study #9, we saw John Griffith’s account of his see-saw experience, first towards a more settled (“concerned”) life as a Friend, and then along the way the first hints of future service in them ministry, and then his hesitant response to the calling. He was very alive to the seriousness of this prospect, because it meant that, while he himself was yet being formed as a consistent Friend, and struggling with habits and characteristics that seemed to hinder that formation, he was contemplating the possibility that he would be taking on a share in the work of formation and instruction of others. How presumptuous this must have seemed!

It might be good to pause here and note something about what “being a minister” meant to Friends in those days. Anyone might offer ministry on a particular occasion, and this freedom in the Spirit was precious (as it is now), and rested not on any democratic principle, but on the assumption that it is Christ that teaches his people, and for that teaching he will both work inwardly in the heart, and also use whatever human agency is best. As the London Yearly Meeting Faith and Practice says “Let no one assume that ministry is never to be their part.”

Nevertheless, Friends observed that the ordering of the Holy Spirit included the raising up and qualifying of men and women for whom the work of teaching, encouraging, and counseling was a continuing responsibility, one that entailed additional formation and apprenticeship.

The following passage from Barclay’s Apology is often quoted, but I quote it again, because it is helpful as a summary of Friends’ position from the beginning:

We do believe and affirm that some are more particularly called to the work of the ministry and therefore are fitted of the Lord for that purpose, whose work is more constantly and particularly to instruct, admonish, oversee, and watch over their brethren. 

Now, if the ministry is in the hands of Christ’s directing spirit, as head of the church, the preparation for such service cannot be a matter of human arrangement. Study, even Bible-study, is not sufficient, nor is the learning of rhetorical forms and the skills of composition in the writing of edifying speeches. Whatever “arts or parts” that you have, God will use as needed; but it is an inward clarification and (trans)formation into a knowledge of and conformity with the Fountain of gpspel life that is essential.

Moreover, each of us will need a preparation that is paricular to our personality and condition. Since we are all being apprenticed to the same master, it is not surprising that there will be similarities in the stories that ministers tell about their schooling. The variety of stories, however, is valuable since some will feel more helpful or instructive to you than to me, in our various situations. Hence the value of the journals for spiritual formation. As Joseph John Dymond wrote in 1892

How earnestly some of us have scanned the published biographies of ministers who have gone before us in search of such insight as we might there obtain into the way in which they have been led. How deeply interesting to us have been words dropped by living men and women who were treading the same path of service to ourselves— perhaps a little in advance of us—if therein we could find some hints for our own guidance or comfort?

So my purpose in this slowly growing series of case studies is to make available, with a little commentary, some of the many stories that can be found in the writings of our tradition — including some attention to examples of eldering, as well as the way that ministers helped each other along as fellow workers.

Though the journals, letters, and other writings from the 17th and 18th centuries can strike the modern reader as messages from a distant culture, I encourage you to read them sympathetically, listening for what they can offer you for your growth, just as one listens to messages in worship which may not at first appeal or feel relevant.

I can say, also, that the more experience you have with the work of the ministry (whether as a ministering Friend, or as an elder or just a member who wants to encourage the vocal ministry in your meeting), the more value you can extract from these stories.

These cases are for use. I make so bold as to suggest that such stories — including those on this blog — could be very helpful for group reflection and discussion, perhaps especially in meetings for ministry and counsel (or whatever you call it in your meeting).

Finally, if anyone reading this has a story that they think would be useful to share, please contact me at drayton.be@gmail.com. I would be glad to consider a guest post for this series, or to work with you to shape a post using your story.

Case Study #9: John Griffith on his preparation for service

John Griffith (1713-1776) was born in Wales, emigrated to Philadelphia as a young man, and joined Friends there. In middle age, he returned to travel extensively in the ministry for two years, after a return to Pennsylvania he removed to England where he married & dwelt the rest of his life, making one religous visit to America during that time.

Griffith describes how he gradually became aware that he might be called to serve in the ministry, but this was after some time of trial (it is not clear from his Journal how long this period was — some months, at least). This part of his journey was formative for his later life and practice.

The decisive process began when he was about 19 years old. He had been among Friends for some time,and kept consistent with such outward testimonies as the plain speech, and as he writes,

I retained much love and regard for those I thought truly religious; especially weighty substantial ministers of the everlasting gospel; and I believe had a better sense of their spirits and labours, than some of my companions had, and therefore was afraid to despite or speak contemptibly of such, as some of my associates did.

But as we see in other journals, his practice at this point was principally based on this unformed sense of respect, rather than of any more searching encounter with the Spirit of the Lord. He had a feeling that in these meetings, these experienced Friends were showing him something that moved him, but there was no more substantive inward process.

I did.. in a customary way, attend first-day meetings, and most[ly] had the liberty of going on other days of the week, when any ministers from distant parts cam to visit Abington meeting… but alas! It was to littie or no good purpose, as the labour bestowed on me, by ministry or otherwise, was like water spilt upon a stone, that soon runs off again without any entrance, I being indeed for some time like the heath in the desart, not knowing the good when it came; and if at any time the seed of God’s kingdom fell upon my heart, it was soon taken away, and I presently lost the savour thereof.

But then a crisis occurred. One evening, he was one of a merry company of friends who spent their time together in frothy vain conversation, and foolish rude actions… I suppose I was as a ring leader; he mentions elsewere that though he generally kept to the truth, he didn’t see any harm in embellishing a story for fun. That night at home, however, he felt some sharp lashes of conscience.. a thoughtfulness took hold of my mind, that we had not a being in this world for such a purpose. Amidst these meditations, he learned that one of his “jolly companions” from the party was that night taken violently ill. Griffith hurried to stay by his friend’s bedside during the crisis, which all expected to end in death. Although things soon turned out well, Griffith was deeply struck by the realization that life is short and may end at any time — and thus we must prize the time we have.

He then entered into a familiar cycle of advance and regression, seeking to ive more deeply and piously, and often failing. He came to see that one could practice and profess a kind of consistent life, not unlike the life of faithfulness, but that the essential ingredient necessary was a clear sense of God’s spirit present and at work as director and guide. This he encountered fitfully, but it was often inaccessible, in a way that frustrated and discouraged him, until he began to see that coming to an insight, however true and hopeful, was not the same as having the ability to live it.

The times of darkness or bereavement from the life of God were, he came to feel, a sort of growing point, if he could set aside his expectations and his own preferences, and stay in the learner’s mind. He writes that when he
had no distinct knowledge…what to do, that it was my indispensible duty to stand still, and wait for my unerring guide; if at those times, self would arise and be uneasy, it must be brought to the cross, there to be slain. By such experience, I found I was nothing, and that God was all things necessary for soul and body; that if I was brought into a state of perfect reconciliation with him, I must know all things new. This realization served as a foundation for a more consistent, confirmed state of mind and spirit — and, you might say, a refuge to which he might retreat at times

I have recounted this narrative, which is similar to many others to be found in Quaker writings, because it sets the pattern so effectively for the emergence and practice of the gift of ministry that Griffith began to suspect was in prospect, however improbable that might appear — here he was at sea and just learning to navigate, and yet he could imagine being a pilot for others? Yet his narrative makes clear that, in his experience of seeking, losing and finding direction and right confidence as a disciple, he was learning that God was faithful and could work change in the otherwise unpromising John Griffith. His experience of the inward work of Christ in himself — however unfinished! — enabled him to see that it was a path that others can come to, and that “instruments” such as the ministry could provide pointers and encouragement (coaching, if you will) as they sought their way onto the path of the Light.

So here it is good to stop and recall Wiliam Penn’s words (from the Rise and progress):

oh! feel life in your ministry—let life be your commission, your well-spring and treasury on all such occasions; else you well know, there can be no begetting to God, since nothing can quicken or make people alive to God, but the life of God; and it must be a ministry in and from life, that enlivens any people to God. 

To return to young John Griffith: He is careful to distinguish preparation from the order to act. Once your eye towards ministry is opened, you can feel the urge to serve, and materials being gathered and considered for use (see John Conran’s experience recounted in Case Study #8), but that is not the same as learning when and where you are to be of use. Gaining experience in his search, Griffith also gained a clearer understanding of the role and purposes of the gospel ministry in God’s economy (the ordering of the divine community in creation). Like many others, the prospect seemed daunting and his own qualifications inadequate. He had to recall the lesson of spiritual impoverishment, and learn to trust the Lord’s requirings (which are also the source of empowerment to service) before he could get past his reticence.

With this view of the integral relationship between seeking, finding, and proclamation or teaching, I will leave this piece with John’s account of his arrival at the field of service, and his passage through the gate of fear and false modesty. Another case study will explore the next stage in his journey, but in what follows, see how his prior seeking was in some ways recapitulated in his awakening and qualification to accept a calling to gospel ministry:

About this time, I had had a distant view of being called into the work of the ministry; my mind being at times wonderfully overshadowed with the universal love of God, in the glorious gospel of his Son, to mankind, to that degree that I thought I could, in the strength thereof, give up to spend and be spent for the gathering of souls to him, the great Shepherd of Israel; and that I could life up my voice like a trumpet to awaken the inhabitants of the earth. But I found that this was only by way of preparation for this important work, and that I had not yet received a commission to engage therein.

A fear was upon my mind, and care, lest I should presume to enter upon this solemn undertaking without a right Call; it appearing to me exceeding dangerous to speak in the name of the Lord, without a clear evidence in the mind, that  he required it of me; which I then fully believed he would in his own time, which was to wait for.

From this time, until I was really called into the work, I frequently had, but especially in religious meetings,  openings of scripture-passages, with lively operations of the divine power in my mind; and sometimes with so much energy, that I have been almost ready to offer  what I had upon my mind, to others. But  as, through an holy awe which dwelt upon my heart, I endeavoured to try my offering in the unerring balance of the sanctuary,  I found it was too light to be offered, and was thankful to the Lord for his merciful preservation, in that I had been enabled to  avoid offering the sacrifice of fools.

But when the time really came that it was divinely required of me, the evidence was so indisputably clear, that there was not the least room to doubt; yet, through fear  and human frailty, I put it off, and did not give way thereunto. But oh! how was I condemned in myself ! The divine sweetness which had covered my mind in the meeting was withdrawn, and I left in a  very poor diseonsolate state, wherein I was ready to beg forgiveness, and to covenant with the Lord, that if he would be pleased to favour me again in like manner, I would give up to his requiring.

At the next first-day meeting, the Heavenly power overshadowed me in a wonderful manner, in which it was required of me to kneel down in supplication to the Lord in a few words : I gave way thereunto, in the dread of his power, with fear and trembling. After which, oh, how my soul was filled with peace and joy in the Holy Ghost!  I could then sing, and make sweet melody in my heart to the Lord.

from my reading: The one among us whom we do not know

a passage for meditation

From Origen’s Answering Celsus [Contra Celsum] V:12†

God in His goodness is present to humankind, not in any local, spatial, sense, but by means of His providence*.  So the Son of God was not only with his disciples at that particular time,  but is also with them always, fulfilling the promise, “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world.”

And as a branch cannot bear fruit if it is not living connected to the vine, so the disciples of the Logos, spiritual branches of the true vine, the Logos, are not able to produce the fruits of virtue unless they abide in that true vine, the Christ of God, who is with us here upon the earth.

But while he is with those everywhere who cleave to Him,  he is also with those in all places who do not know Him. This is made clear by John the Evangelist when he quotes the words ofJohn the Baptist: “There stands one among you whom you do not know not; he it is who comes after me‡.” [John 1:26]

† modified from H. Chadwick’s translation

* i.e. the structures and provisions of creation, and the divine economy.

‡ to complete with fire and the Holy Spirit what I have begun with water [Matt. 3:11]

Some reflections on “heresy” and charity

Friends, to put it mildly, have never been free of differences of opinion, and even faction. Nor should this be surprising, since factions appear throughout Christianity — and just about every other faith or ideology that one can name. (Indeed ,Rufus Jones once wrote a little. book called The Church’s debt to heretics.)
There are times when difference has resulted in tension or hostility, even schism. Such divisions, and the many little seams and fractures that be seen in Quakerism at whatever scale one looks, from a local group to a Yearly Meeting or larger organization, have always “struck at my life,” to borrow Fox’s phrase. They have seemed a standing reproach, a scandal (literally a cause of stumbling) that discourages those inside the group, and outside the group, in different ways.
Now, I have long understood that unity is not an accomplisment, something to be achieved once and for all.  Rather it is a process, a way of living (including how we think and feel). But I was led recently to reflect on what makes that process possible, and how to feel after unity when diversity threatens my inward peace.  Recently I happened to read two disparate things, which together sparked some reflection. The first thing was a recent announcement from Friends General Conference (FGC), and the second was a passage from Origen’s Contra Celsum.

The announcement from FGC invites us to their January conference on Changing Times.  The topics and leaders seem interesting and useful for individual Friends and meetings.  Though I am not free to attend, I can imagine it will be a good time.

But I have to say that there was some wording in the announcement that put me off. As always this feeling makes me question myself.  It is more and more the custom, at least among liberal Friends, to speak of “Spirit,” as in such harmless phrasing as, “In these changing times, how is Spirit moving among us? Join Friends from across North America in seeking what messages Spirit offers us…”

I am not going to write much about why I have this reaction, but just to be explicit before going on to the main point of this essay:  In present usage, the label “Spirit” can mean anything, and the meaning really is completely idiosyncratic.    I admit readily  that this very inclusive usage, which many people whom I respect and love have adopted, has the virtue of acknowledging that the Divine One is not the same as the names we use for it/her/him. When Moses demanded the name of the Being in the burning bush, the voice answered “I am ‘I am’…Say  ‘I Am’ sent you.”    But “Spirit” is at least vague as “Light,” and liable to some of the same tendency to individualism:  Have you not. heard someone speak of “your light” and “my light” and such like?  When I say “Spirit says to me…”  how can you know that I don’t just mean “This is what I think”?  The word can behave as a shifter (to use a linguistic term) like the pronoun “I,” which means always “the one who happens to be speaking it.”

Well, ok, enough about that for now. The point here is that this language, intended to be inclusive and irenic, does not appeal to me, and indeed is aversive.   So what is the consequence of this? Well, I feel that on this point, I am in the minority, and out of solidarity with my spiritual community.  It is reflective of the tendency in liberal Quakerism to retreat from any explicit relationship to Christianity.  FAQs about Quakerism often use roundabout statements like “Quakerism has deep Christian roots” with t the implication is that most of us have now moved beyond that.  (During one stint as recording clerk for my yearly meeting, I was once gently rebuked (in private) for using the words “the Spirit” in writing a minute, as opposed to just “Spirit.” Recall the story of “shibboleth” in Judges 12.).

This feels to me like faction, and of course the modern questions that swirl around the old question “Who do you say that I am?” have led to real separations, with much attendant pain and sin, among Friends as well as others.   All this is a source of continued uneasiness and sorrow for me, and the latest FCC announcement stirred this up again.

At the same time that I got the FGC announcement, I was reading slowly through Origen’s great treatise Contra Celsum (Against Celsus), written somewhere around 248 C.E. Celsus was an able Pagan critic of Christianity, who had composed a comprehensive attack on the emerging faith in the second century.  Though it was old news by Origen’s time, the great teacher was asked to answer Celsus point by point, because Celsus’s criticisms were still being used to justify attacks on Christians, who were still experiencing waves of severe persecution (Origen. himself would be severely tortured under Decius a few years later).

At one point, Celsus argues that Christianity is shown to be false because there are so many factions* within the movement.  If they’ve got ahold of a truth, how could there be any disagreement?  Origen answers (remember, read “heresy” as “way of thinking”)

heresies of different kinds have never originated from any matter in which the principle involved was not important and beneficial to human life. For since the science of medicine is useful and necessary to the human race, and many are the points of dispute in it respecting the manner of curing bodies, there are found, for this reason, numerous heresies confessedly prevailing in the science of medicine among the Greeks, and also, I suppose, among those barbarous nations who profess to employ medicine.

And, again, since philosophy makes a profession of the truth, and promises a knowledge of existing things with a view to the regulation of life, and endeavours to teach what is advantageous to our race, and since the investigation of these matters is attended with great differences of opinion, innumerable heresies have consequently sprung up in philosophy, some of which are more celebrated than others.

Even Judaism itself afforded a pretext for the origination of heresies, in the different acceptation accorded to the writings of Moses and those of the prophets.

So, then, seeing Christianity appeared an object of veneration to men, not to the more servile class alone, as Celsus supposes, but to many among the Greeks who were devoted to literary pursuits, there necessarily originated heresies — not at all, however, as the result of faction and strife, but through the earnest desire of many literary men to become acquainted with the doctrines of Christianity. The consequence of which was, that, taking in different acceptations those discourses which were believed by all to be divine, there arose heresies, which received their names from those individuals who admired, indeed, the origin of Christianity, but who were led, in some way or other, by certain plausible reasons, to discordant views.

And yet no one would act rationally in avoiding medicine because of its heresies; nor would he who aimed at that which is seemly entertain a hatred of philosophy, and adduce its many heresies as a pretext for his antipathy. And so neither are the sacred books of Moses and the prophets to be condemned on account of the heresies in Judaism. (Chadwick’s translation, Book III.12)

This brought to mind Paul’s admonition about differences in practice in the letter to the Romans, in which he recognizes differences in practice as to diet, or the necessity of setting aside one day of the week, as opposed to holding all days alike.  “Let everyone live fully according to their own understanding.”  The picture that emerges is of a community whose faith and practice is fluid and experimental on many points, and in which each person is free to seek their own discipline.  In such a community, the ruling constraint is love.  This reflective, open stance is related to the conviction that our individual spiritual health is, in the end, God’s work.  As Paul comments, it will be for each of us to render account to God.  The community life plays its part, as each of us finds our place and work within the body of Christ, and here again, Paul’s letters reflect a community in which each person’s gifts emerge, and are seen and accorded respect — and are used and coordinated with others’ for the health of the whole body, under the direction of the head, which is Christ.

But here, then, is a continued matter of concern: When my brother or sister speaks of “Spirit,” what spirit do they mean?  For Paul trusts that differences in faith and practice are to be accepted in the fellowship because each member adopts their discipline, their way of life, as a way to. be faithful followers of Christ: “The one that eats [with no restrictions] eats for the Lord, because they give thanks to the Lord; the one that refrains from eating [certain foods] refrains for the Lord, giving thanks to the Lord…And whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.”

The goal is more and more to be transformed by the Spirit into conformity with Christ, though each of us will have our own path to follow.   It was in seeking to understand and live the gospel of freedom and renewal that I was led to Friends long ago. The chowder of different spiritualities that must characterize any group of active seekers has been from the beginning a gift and a delight.  It has, however,  been a matter of sorrow, even loneliness, to see Quakerism (in my part of the world) moving into a “post-Christian” norm.   The most important loss is the decreased opportunity to learn from and with others who have the same goal that I do, even if they are coming at it from quite different directions and with different emphases and “heresies” — ways of thinking.

One more thing:  Living in charity, and non-judging, we each taste the fruits that are borne by lives and ways of being, and take our part in the cultivation of our own and others’ growth.   But we need to make sure that our charity towards each other’s experimental, unfolding lives in God is not only a matter of rhetoric, of speaking unity but not doing it, not continuing to learn from each other.  This will require a commitment to dialogue.  It is good to encourage each other to speak each in our own heart language;  it is good to learn to “listen in tongues.”  But often, I think, these are practiced in so casual and uninquisitive a manner that they leave us unchanged, and leave our unity unstrengthened by loving but probing dialogue.

Translation, after all,  is an active and constructive process:  you need to really come to know the other tongue on its own terms, before trying to put it into your language.  The differences often require you to question your own assumptions.  In the process, you become very aware that even though you may have produced version in your own tongue, it is a shadow of the original, and that some of the truths of each language are lost in the process.  The learning is intentional and endless.

So,too, in our meetings, I would hope the learning will be intentional and endless, and the love, as well.

* The word “heresy” appears in Origen and of course in the passages from Paul I will quote later.  But recall that this meant, in those times, “faction” and in fact is a Greek word that means “a choice, a choosing; a way of thinking.”   It did not necessarily have the implications of false opinion that it carries in later centuries, though some factions were considered harmful or even blasphemous.

Loaves, fishes, and little garden plots: Mark 6: 30-44

The sixth chapter of Mark’s gospel is full of events, one of which is the feeding of the five thousand. This morning, a word in the narrative caught my attention, and the whole passage gave forth a new smell (as G.F might say).  I am going to try to articulate some of the echoes and resonances that I hear.

It’s been another crowd scene. As soon as Jesus & the Twelve moor their boat, people gather around, and the demand for healing and for teaching is so great that there’s no time even to eat. It’s getting late, and the apostles urge Jesus to send the people away, so that they can find food nearby.
Jesus sees that they have a point, but he is moved with compassion for all these folks, because they seem to him like sheep without a shepherd. Now a one part of a shepherd’s job is to find good pasturage for the flock under his (her) care; hence the apostles’ suggestion would be common. sense, and also in line with the shepherd’s duty.
But Jesus recognizes that the people, being unshepherded, untended, and needy, have come to him for spiritual nourishment as well as relief from bodily suffering (“Seek first the Kingdom of Heaven…). To send them away now would mean they have to forage for themselves, each according to their means. There is yet more that Jesus can do to convey the sense of God’s care and abundance, and it’s not just.a matter of catering, of largesse such as a rich man might provide out of compassion.
1. First, he suggests to the apostles that they feed the people themselves. Naturally the apostles, practical people, point out that they couldn’t afford to buy sufficient provisions. Jesus, though, has them consider what resources they have on hand (to those that have, more will be given). They have five loaves (I always imagine flat-bread) and two fish.
2. Jesus’ next action is to have the people sit down for a meal. Now, there are several words in the Greek text that are not well captured by translations. I am going to try to convey something of the flavor of the words.
3. He and the apostles had the people recline. Most translations that I’ve seen say “sit down” or something like that but this passage uses the word that you’d use about people eating at home, en famille or with guests: people reclined on dinner couches (some of which might hold two people). So Jesus has them make themselves at home.
4. They are arranged in groups, but the word for groups is symposia — they are not just organized, but asked to sit in dinner-fellowship together. “Friendly eights” if you will, though the groups are larger; but there are groups within groups.
5. He has them recline at their ease on the green grass. Does this bring to mind some other image of a shepherd, sheep,and green pastures? It can’t be a coincidence, especially given how alive the Psalms were to Jesus and his people. The words in Psalm 23 (it’s #22 in the Septuagint) are not identical — there the Greek says (roughly) “places of fresh growth,” but the image is the same.  Moreover, in the Septuagint Psalm has the Shepherd pitching a tent there;  so Mark’s different wording emphasizes the images of table fellowship, even though it’s a picnic sur l’herbe.
6. The people plop down as invited. The word used means to take your place up on the dining couch, but the root of it is “to fall.”
7. They are arranged in groups — but this time the word for “groups” is different. It is prasia. Now, the phrase used here, prasia prasia, can mean any orderly arrangement in groups (for example, it can be used of soldiers grouped in companies), but the word means “garden plot, a vegetable bed.” They were a crowd who have assembled following their individual needs (for healing, for teaching, or out of curiosity), but the Shepherd has organized them, and gathered them into fellowship:  “He setteth the lonely in families” (as the Psalms have it) and gathers people, in all their diversity, into one body.  The Seed has been sowing the seed, and they are prepared ground.
8. Jesus looks up to heaven, and gives thanks. In Mark, Jesus does not speak of himself as the “Bread from heaven,” but this passage certainly echoes that image (as commentators have noticed before).  But the other thing that’s going on here is that Jesus is giving thanks in effect to the Creator, the source of the food, the fields, and indeed the people.  In this exchange, there is the root of communion, whose keynote is thanksgiving.

9. The people are satisfied — indeed, they ate their fill, and the word is used of animals gorging themselves;  the word is related to the word for the field upon which the people were dining.

10. Moreover, there were bountiful left-overs.  Indeed, abundance is an important theme of the story — abundance discovered right on the spot. “Seek first the Kingdom of heaven, and its righteousness, and all these things will be added.”

11. The apostles are amazed, along with the crowd, but (as the writer comments after the next story), they still don’t understand, haven’t yet learned to see and hear as Jesus has invited them — and us — to do.

__________________________

Mark’s gospel is often thought of as the straightforward, unadorned one.  No wise men or singing angels,  no mystical hymns about the Logos, no long genealogies — but in a passage like this story, one can feel the intensity, the awe, and the mystery that lie beneath the plain words, which turn out to be less plain than first appears.

New wine, new wineskins

Jesus’ statement in Mark 2:22 “New wine in new wineskins!” is often taken to mean that the traditional understanding of faithfulness can’t be simply patched up to contain the new wine of the gospel. But today I am reflecting on what that new wine is; for the traditional commentators imply that the gpspel is a finished product, a known quantity; when in actual fact it is a way of living, and like wine it develops new flavors, nuance, and depth as it continues to live in its containers.
As the year ends, I think of the seeds of anger, confusion, grief, war, and greed that have been sown on our harrowed hearts. It is hard not to be oppressed by the bitter harvest that is in view, the bitter fruits already harvested.
It is upon us to seek for other fruits, fruits worthy of the transformed mind, heart, and faithful action (Matt. 3:8) by which we take up our renewed identity as citizens of God’s kingdom.  From these fruits, sought eagerly, gathered with care (because they are tender) from the Vine through which the divine, common life flows, other wine can be made that builds up, nourishes, and sustains.

To speak plainly: The Gospel is a live thing, and it is on us to live, work, and pray that we can come to understand how it tastes, sounds, means in our times, in our troubles, in our world as it is now, and is becoming.  The Holy Spirit, Jesus taught, would reveal more of what his teachings mean, as we are prepared to perceive them. It is in our times and in our travails that we can know what he would preach to us today, point us to the ways in which God’s message of compassion, reverence, and reconciliation are to be received and given form today, as we seek the healing of the world and of ourselves — which are not two but one.

Thus, our response in our living and thinking to the conditions of today, leavened with His life within us, must be put in vessels that not only contain the new life, but enable it to keep working and gaining in virtue, in active power. These are vessels of thought, of collaboration, of priorities or valuation, of hope and intention, of method and of celebration.  All depends upon the longing, the seeking, in the thickets and hedge-rows of our lives, the margins and tangles, for the fruits in which the new life can be tasted, and gives forth a heart-lifting fragrance. As the hart panteth for the water brooks, so longeth my soul for Thee!  Gather the fruit  at the right time, and press them out, concentrating them and setting them to work, in vessels and with tools that are shaped to hold the wine as a living thing.

The Vine says, Fear not, little flock, it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the Kingdom of Heaven. His friends are to live according to the love which sees everyone as our neighbor and treats the least among us as if they were the Lord himself, in the Spirit in which we can hope “to outlive all wrath and contention, and to weary out all exaltation and cruelty, or whatever is of a nature contrary to itself.”

“The age of disability”

We keep needing new metaphors to help us awaken to our times and to our leadings, to. maintain the sense of urgency and to renew our capacity for service, for compassion, for grief, and for love.

I have been reading Naomi Klein’s remarkable recent book Doppleganger, and through it was introduced to a valuable essay by Sunaura Taylor, “Age of disability” in Orion. Here is the quote that caught my attention:

…for many ecosystems, creatures, and people on this planet, the coming decades of environmental crises will stretch not only toward death or health, but also something else—something impaired, precarious, dependent, filled with loss and struggle, requiring assistance, accommodation, and creative forms of care.

As a disabled person I recognize this as disability. Although past environmental movements in this country often focused on the protection of landscapes understood as pristine, untouched, and wild, today those fighting for the environment work with an understanding that nature has been altered and damaged in profound and serious ways. What we live with in the present and will for decades to come, even under the best-case scenarios, is mass ecological disablement of the more than human world, a disablement that is utterly entangled with the disablement of human beings. Given this, it seems vital to consider what forms of care, treatment, and assistance this age of disability will require.

Find it here.  

Seeking and finding, chicken and egg

Two people stand by the window on a winter afternoon, watching the birds coming to the feeders. Though the same birds are dining and negotiating and squabbling, each person sees something very different.
Observer #1 has in truth spent little time watching birds, though they are glad enough that birds are around; they are pro-bird, but bird-ignorant. Consequently, Observer #1 sees large and small, bright and dark, red and blue and grey and brown; and there is pleasure in seeing the lilvely activity.
Observer #2, by contrast, is a habitual observer of birds. This does not only mean that Obs#2 can recognize and name different species of birds (Oh, look! a Short-necked Wrassler! And a Lesser Spotted Throstle-twit!!). It means that Obs#2 has some idea of what might be out there, in this place, and at this time; knows that there will probably be both males and females each according to its kind, but that social relations are different in winter than in Nesting Time; that there are different individuals that may be discernible with enough attention and that over time, personalities will emerge.
These and other expectations will sharpen the eyes of Obs#2, and enable them to place this time spent watching these birds at this feeder into stories, providing meanings and delights not available to Obs#1.

This scenario came to mind as my morning reading brought an unexpected juxtaposition, which I wanted to share with you.

Since I am mostly retired, I have more time at my command; and since most mornings I can’t sleep past 4 a.m., I have some really free time.. So it’s my current practice to read a chapter in the Hebrew scriptures (“Old Testament,” currently in Numbers), a chapter in the  Greek scriptures (“New Testament,” currently Matthew) and then something else, which varies according to whim, leading, or design. Right now, the Something Else is Origen’s Contra Celsum (Against Celsus).

So I happened to read Matthew 23:39:

For I say to you, you won’t see me henceforth until you can say “Blessed is the one coming in the name of the Lord.”

Reading this, I stopped for a while, feeling that I had come to my morning’s meditatio; but I only got a little way along until I turned to my “something else.”   As it happened,  Origen (C.C. II §§65-67) is arguing with well-informed Pagan critic of Christianity, one Celsus.  Celsus has spoken scornfully about the stories of Jesus’ appearances post-resurrection, arguing that if he’d really wanted to gobsmack his enemies, he should have appeared to Pilate or Herod or Caiaphas, rather than to his lowly and credulous followers.

But Origen all along has been arguing that Celsus just has not understood the nature of Jesus’ messiahship.  He is not coming as a conquering hero, who exacts obedience by overwhelming force (even if only the force of personality or numinosity), and thus by a wave of the hand banishes sin and oppression at once and everywhere.  Christ comes as servant, as transformer of hearts — since otherwise, human freedom means nothing, and “allegiance” or even adoration is meaningless and will not endure the “burden and heat of the day.”  To erase sin in this way is to change what it is that humans are, rejecting the Creator’s design.

Origen then points out that in each of Jesus’ appearances after the resurrection, people do not at first recognize him.  This is even true of Mary Magdalene in the garden on Easter morning — but hearing his voice, she instantly recognizes her friend.  On the other hand, Kleopas and his companion do not recognize Jesus all the way along the road to Emmaus, and it is only until he sups with them and gives thanks for the bread that they recognize him, whom they had expected to stir up a revolution and overthrow the Establishment, but instead had been crucified, died, and was buried.  Still, they knew enough of their teacher that they, too, came to recognize his voice in thanksgiving.

But Origen goes further, and says that the risen Christ would not in any case be visible to the Powers that be, and those who see through their eyes, because all they were able to see was a wandering wonder-worker (or trouble-maker) – fascinating or contemptible or exciting, according to the hopes of your heart.  But they could not see the truth of him, even when he was healing the afflicted and teaching in the Temple  or along the roads.  So what they could see of him — the outward body — had died, and so he was invisible.   Only those who were looking for the truth, and had some inkling of what to look for, were able to see him, to accept his table fellowship, and receive the breath of his Spirit.

 For I say to you, you won’t see me henceforth until you can say “Blessed is the one coming in the name of the Lord.”