Monthly Archives: May 2015

Allegorically Speaking

If you go back a couple of centuries in time, before we began to believe that Fact and Truth are the same thing (which they are not) the Church used to approach scripture in various ways. One of these ways was as allegory, another as metaphor. These ways of approaching scripture did not begin with Christians. They are to be found in the Jewish tradition as well, which is, of course, far older. For example, if the Psalmist says that God is a Rock or a Shield, he does not mean that God is literally these things, but metaphorically. The psalmist experiences God as a strong basis for his life and feels protected by him. When Jesus speaks in parables, he is being allegorical. The Sower who goes out to sow does in reality sprinkle his seed all over the place – that is literally true, but the seed, the birds who eat it, the weeds that choke it and the hard ground that prevents the seeds from taking root stand for something else, human reception of God’s word. What is important is to realise that in allegory you have two meanings: the literary meaning and the hidden meaning. They exist side by side and neither undermines the other. On the contrary, the different ways of reading and meditating on the word enrich each other.

Hidden meaning sometimes comes as a personal message. One of the things I am constantly impressed by is how I can know a bible story very well, and then one day, out of the blue, I see something entirely new in it. Usually this happens when I am simply sitting quietly, waiting on God. I had this experience this last week when, to be honest, I was emotionally quite distracted. Suddenly one of my favourite passages in the Old Testament came to me: the story of Elijah after the battle with the prophets of Baal, fleeing to the desert because he knows Queen Jezebel is seeking his life. He is exhausted and demoralised and just wants to lie down and die. Eventually, after some sustaining food and rest he goes to Mount Horeb where he finds God does not speak through fire, wind or earthquake but in a still small voice that comes out of sheer silence (I Kings 19: 12, 13). The NRSV says,

When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.

The first thing that struck me was that earlier in the story Elijah is raging, full of resentment, bitterness and despair. These moods are internal mirrors of the external storm on Horeb illustrated in the fire, wind and earthquake. Elijah cannot hear God whilst he is so caught up in the voices of dismay inside him. Elijah is in a cave. Literally he might be there for protection from the storm. Allegorically, the cave may be the shut in place of Elijah’s darkness and bitterness. The mysterious “sheer” silence of God’s response brings Elijah out of himself, and then, as Matthew Henry’s commentary says,

The wind, and earthquake, and fire, did not make him cover his face, but the still voice did. Gracious souls are more affected by the tender mercies of the Lord, than by his terrors.

The Elijah story can be read simply as history. But on this occasion, as I thought about it, I saw my own disturbed emotions reflected in those of Elijah; the loud voices that got in the way of God’s still small voice as being the clamour of my own disquiet; the cave as my being turned in on myself and the silence out of which came God’s voice, as the quiet I eventually heard. The passage spoke to me. The passage turned me around – and I remembered and realised afresh something very important. God speaks in a quiet voice or as the New International Version of the Bible has it, a whisper. We have to be quiet to hear him.

The Generosity of Strangers

My husband and I have just returned from ten days’ holiday, which is, incidentally, why I did not write a blog last week – many apologies. We travelled with one of those low cost, no frills air lines and were on the whole, very content with the service. One of the things, however, which is in the small print of the contract, is that if there is too much hand luggage coming on board, the airline is at liberty to put some of it in the hold. Going out to our holiday destination there was no problem. Returning, however, probably with all the extra shopping people do as part of their holiday, there was, and as we waited in the queue to board the plane, the air hostesses came along the row and asked us to allow our hand luggage to go in the hold. For some people this was very frustrating as they had purposefully only got hand luggage so that they could avoid the long wait to retrieve their luggage at the other end. For us it was no problem because we already had luggage in the hold – that was until we realised that we had no label on the one piece of hand luggage going into the hold and that this particular suitcase is so common as to be impossible to identify alongside others on a baggage claim carousel. What to do?
We had been talking, as one so often does, to a very nice young woman in front of us in the queue, sharing the highlights of our holiday and getting on very well. Hearing me say to my husband,
“How will we identify our suitcase? It looks identical to many others.”
She answered, “Tie something round the handle. Have you got a ribbon or an elastic band or something?”
I had nothing. Without a moment hesitation she bent down and took a rather smart wired hair band from her bag and offered it to me. It was just the ticket, white with brown polka dots, easy to tie round, it soon adorned my luggage and created a unique piece. I thanked her profusely for her generosity and the queue moved forward.
But here is the point. A few minutes later, just before we gave up our hand luggage, I saw the same lady struggling to tie a screwed up, old plastic carrier bag round the handle of her carry on suitcase, which was also now going in the hold. The hostesses had asked her at the same time as me to allow them to put her hand luggage in the hold but hearing my anxiety she had given me the very item that would have made her life so much easier, and probably made her feel that her bag was safer.
It is a small thing: a little traveller’s tale. But for me the action was one of selfless kindness and generosity, which happens more frequently perhaps than we notice. It made me think of other occasions when complete strangers have gone out of their way to help me, sometimes at great cost to themselves.
I have left that polka dot hairband attached to my suitcase as a reminder. Every time I get that case out in future I will be reminded of my Good Samaritan and the oft surprising generosity of strangers.


Hospitality

I was challenged the other day to consider the word “hospitality” in a much deeper sense. As the Warden of a retreat house you would think that I comprehend what hospitality is all about and strive to produce it here at Launde Abbey. But the conversation invited me to look again and I realised in the looking how narrow my understanding of the word is.
Hospitality should be a Christian virtue, we are told, particularly towards the stranger. One is invited to give hospitality, a meal, a bed for the night. But the other side of hospitality is receiving. Are we taught that it is a Christian virtue to receive hospitality?
The Church Army has come up with the idea of “Reverse Hospitality” (Can Reverse Hospitality be Effective in Christian Ministry Today? By Jeremy M Sorsie). The basic idea being that instead of inviting someone into your home you receive hospitality from them by being a guest in their home, and thereby provide a situation of meeting where mission might take place. We certainly see Jesus using this technique with the Woman at the Well in John 4, staying with Zacchaeus in Luke 19 and in the many meals he has in peoples’ houses, from Pharisees to sinners and tax gatherers.
But thinking about the phrase, “Giving and Receiving Hospitality,” made me consider that this is even bigger: an attitude for all of life, not just about entertaining or being entertained. When we give someone hospitality at Launde Abbey do we also expect to receive from them? After all here is a unique opportunity to meet someone, not in order to convert them or do anything to them, but simply to enjoy the privilege of encountering another human being. What might I receive from the people coming today? How often have I felt as a parish priest on a pastoral visit that I have received much more from a visit to a parishioner than I have given?
Is hospitality in the end one of the most profound attitudes we can offer life? Is it not about trying to have an open heart and mind to everything that comes towards us, from the bird in the air to the tired, short-tempered person on the phone; how do I practice hospitality with the gifts of others; how do I engage with aging; how do I face failure; how do I handle the fact that one day I will die? What do I receive from this new experience and what do I give. And how do I realise in the end that everything is gift?
If our life and our death is in the hands of God, a gift from God, then perhaps we really should be able to look at even the worst things that befall us and say, “How can I be hospitable to this? What can I receive even from this? And what can I give, even within this?” Christ on the cross is a symbol of profound hospitality, opening his arms to the world as if to say, “I give you all God’s love and forgiveness and I receive all your sin and pain. I do it willingly, because my whole life is about God’s hospitality.”


Distraction in prayer

I remember the moment when I realised that most of the ‘noise’ that bothers me, is on the inside, not outside. The occasion was the first time I ever went on an eight day silent retreat. Obedient to the instructions I was given in advance, I had left all that could distract me at home, no novels, no radio. It was hard. Alone with myself and with endless time between meals I realised two things: how dependent I was on a whole scaffold of diversions, which protected me from spending any real time with myself and shielded me from the boredom I experienced when thrown on my own company; and, secondly, how noisy my head was.
It is only when we try to remain quiet, still and centred that we realise just how unquiet we are. Like a video for ever playing in our heads or a radio left on all night, our minds chatter and chatter, pulled swiftly from one thing to the next. We have imaginary conversations with ourselves and others. We go over old scenarios or future fantasies. We are pulled every which way by our emotions as we follow these dramas played out within us. There are even times of deep desolation as our memory takes us to past hurts which we thought we had dealt with long ago, or present grievances. The darkest of emotions are found here – envy, pride, anger, grief, loneliness and resentment. It engages all our attention and energy. It is noisy and exhausting. No wonder we do everything we can to avoid ourselves! BUT ALL THIS STUFF IS NOT REAL and that is the most important lesson we can learn. What is real is what is here and now, the present moment.
That is why so much prayer is about “practicing” being in the present moment. Trying over and over again when the mind wanders and the legion of voices inside our heads start calling to us, to come back and to attend to what is in front of us; what is in this moment. It is here, in the present, when we still the voices for an instant, when we are hushed and quiet, that we feel a presence deeper than the silence; that we know ourselves as part of something much bigger, much deeper, much more profound. This is a place without walls. We cannot define who we are in this place and we do not need to. We are simply here, now, still, at peace and awake to God.
However much we practice we cannot stay in that place. We always have to come down from the Mount of Transfiguration to the chaotic world below – and that is just as it should be. In my experience distraction in prayer is much more common than these times of wakefulness to the present moment. The conversations inside my head are very persistent. But I am learning that with a little bit of discipline I can chose, on occasions, not to engage with them, however tempting they may be. I can turn from them and just listen to the bird singing outside my window or sense my breathing, or know that I am typing at this moment, and I am back in the present. This is where I am alive and despite all distractions, I would rather spend a little more of my time here…now.