Endings, beginnings, ongoings: “Amen”, “Come with me”, “Let’s go Lord”
Part 4a (I feel part 4 is too long, so I’ve split it into two) : A peculiar problem
The above is what I wanted to say on this matter, but there is one final point to add, though this might be a peculiarity just to me, or perhaps to just a few people, but it is a problem that I have struggled with throughout my life – and may only be in the process of resolving currently.
It is the balance between resting in God and moving on with God – and not being caught between the two. Perhaps you can see how my thoughts above have been prompted by this issue, and how they may express a resolution of it. It is the same issue as the tension between reflection and action, between awareness and engagement.
When we are focussed on doing something, there is active engagement to achieve some goal. When we step back to reflect and become aware of “where we are in life” and what we have achieved, there is a deeper, holistic experience of “what it all means”. My experience is that you can’t do both at once – and this has bothered me – but I think I am at last ready to accept that I have been troubled by thinking it might be possible to do something that is, actually, impossible. If it is impossible, then I am not missing out on anything. Sometimes you hear a claim suggesting that it might be possible. Perhaps the saying, “All life is prayer” is an attempt to express this. However, I have to conclude that, either some people have acquired a spiritual depth that is simply beyond me, or that they are simply using words that sound good, but have no real content. For me, I have concluded that “All life is prayer” has no meaning for me – it’s an enticing label, but there is no meaningful content attached to it. Whatever the truth on this point, I have decided that I like – and, in fact, I prefer – the model that sometimes we are busy doing things and sometimes we step back to reflect on what we’ve been doing. It simply isn’t possible to do both things at once because they are entirely different things.
I wonder if an illustration will help.
I really enjoyed my job as a school teacher. In moments of reflection, I experience an overwhelming depth of richness as I contemplate my time at the school. I hold in my mind and heart layers of richness that create a glittering golden experience. However, there is no experience of glittering gold that I ever encountered in my school, but, somehow, the ongoing life as a teacher in that school laid down layer upon layer of experience. As I say, there was no gold! The experiences were of endless registrations of students, pacing the corridors en route to my next lesson, constantly stretching the sinews of my mind to respond to students’ questions, the constant surveillance of the attentiveness of students in the class, the mind-numbing grind of large chunks of marking, the regular dash to just meet a deadline for getting reports done on time. As you can see, none of these experiences are golden – though very often in the mix are lovely, uplifting discussions with students. But each of these experiences are like layers laid down in the soul, and they build up an unbearable weight – not unbearable in the sense of, “I can’t stand it!” but unspeakably, ineffably, utterly beyond my ability to hold. And the unbearable weight of these layers compresses all the mundane (good or otherwise) experiences listed above, and in some process of spiritual alchemy, the mundane becomes pure gold.
So now, when I look within, and reflect on my time in school, although I can do the analysis and list what the day to day experiences as a teacher involved, what I experience in my moments of reflection is an experience of pure gold.
I think this might express what I am trying to explain about the impossibility of resting in reflection and engaging in action at the same time. We cannot have one without the other, but we cannot have both at the same time.
From an early age, I have been entranced at the wonder of life, and this has led me to want to stop and become aware of it. And this awareness is my most precious experience – or what I have thought to be most precious. But if we are forever stopped in awareness we are not busy doing the actions that create the wonder. It is still a mystery to me. However, I am collecting helpful “tips”. “Bow wave” is one of them. I love to see the bow wave being thrown up in front of the big ferries coming in to dock in Portsmouth harbour, and, of course, the wave only exists because of the movement. You cannot halt a bow wave to study it or experience it more closely. You can take a snapshot photo of it but if you try to halt the movement in order to grasp hold of the wave, you no longer have a wave.
“Grasping” of the wonder of life isn’t possible. To shift images from a ferry to a rowing boat, you can dip your fingers in the river and enjoy the sensation of the water trickling through your fingers, but you can’t take hold of that sensation, for the sensation depends on the movement.
So, I think it is most precious to have moments of self-awareness of the wonder of life, but we mustn’t be fooled into thinking that this is somehow different or better to the “mundane” day to day events of living in the world. They are, in fact, the same thing simply expressed in different ways. The individual actions are the “ingredients” and in our reflective awareness we transform them into wonder as we enfold or concertina multiple experiences into one “view”, and “seeing it all at once” we are transfixed at how precious our lives are – that preciousness built up layer upon layer.
Spiritual Devotion 