Participation in the Life of God

This week, in his daily e-mails from the Center for Action and Contemplation, Fr. Richard Rohr is writing about hope. And on Wednesday, these words jumped out at me: "Hope is a participation in the very life of God. It has nothing to do with circumstances or events going well. It can even thrive in the midst of adversity and trial. True faith, which always includes hope and love, is a predisposition to "yes". I would go so far as to say that a foundational "yes" is the most distinguishing element between an ego- and fear-based agenda, and a Spirit-guided one."

It is commonly during the second half of life that we begin to yearn for something other than earthly goals – a sense of longing can possess our souls, turning us towards the spiritual, towards the divine. This second half of life pilgrimage does not have an end point – we travel on, deeper into the heart of God, letting go of the things which seemed so important in our earlier years – status, belongings, and so on.

I have learned that this second half of life journey towards authenticity and wholeness is about the attempt to become whole, about being the same "me" wherever I am, and whoever I am with, rather than cutting my cloth according to the circumstances. It is also about doing a lot of shadow work, about digging deep to discover the real me, the open and vulnerable person behind the façade I had spent so many years carefully cultivating. Then working out how to integrate that authentic self into the real world out there. It is a tough call, not for the faint-hearted. But so worthwhile.

Part of the journey has been about reclaiming a childlike trust in life. For me, being childlike means being open and vulnerable, trusting and curious, rather than closed down, armoured up, mistrustful and cynical. It is a courageous way to live because it means that we are more vulnerable to being hurt by others. And when we have been hurt in the past, it may be difficult for us to trust others again, to trust that the universe is not (all appearances to the contrary, sometimes) “out to get us.” I found that I wanted to trust that the universe is (on the whole) a benevolent place in which to live. Believing this may be naïve, but it has made me much happier.

I have come to understand that faith and trust are facets of our deepest nature. But as life goes on, and we encounter betrayal in our lives – as we surely will – that faith and trust can be eroded. It can take a lifetime to choose to be sufficiently vulnerable to dare to trust again. These betrayals, which sadly seem to be an inevitable part of life, need not be great ones which bring our whole world crashing down around us.  Any time someone lies to us, even a white lie, or doesn't turn up when they said they would, or is unkind to us, we can feel betrayed. Once we feel that way, it can take a lot of time to build up sufficient faith to make the world seem trustable again. It can even shake our faith in the essential goodness of humankind.

Yet I now realise that if I am to live authentically, with faith, I need to take the bold step of trusting. Otherwise, my soul will shrivel in my body and I will turn into a suspicious, armoured-up person who trusts no-one. I would not be “me” any more.

Part of learning to trust has been often choosing to leap before I look, rather than being sensible and sober and looking before I leap. I have always tended to be impulsive about seizing new opportunities to grow as a person. I’ll see an advert for a new online course (for example) and sign up for it just because it looks interesting. I have always tried to jump in the direction of new opportunities, choosing to say “Yes” to life, rather than “No, I can’t, I’m scared, what if I fail?” (Hence the bungee jump in New Zealand!) I would far rather try something new, something different and not succeed, than rest on my (very few) laurels and not LIVE.

The Word and the Language

Last night, my husband and I watched a fascinating episode of the BBC programme Hidden Treasures of the National Trust. It featured the austere Welsh farmhouse, Tŷ Mawr, where William Morgan, translator of the first Bible into Welsh, lived and worked. We visited it a few years ago, and were captivated by its collection of Bibles in the vernacular. Including, of course, William Morgan's Welsh Bible, which was published in 1588.

Title page of Welsh Bible 1588

(image Wikimedia Commons)

One of the things repeatedly mentioned during the programme was the huge impact the publication of the Bible had on the Welsh language. In a very real sense, it shaped Welsh as we now know it, and preserved it as a living language. As did the King James Bible for English, when that was published in 1611.

Tŷ Mawr now holds a collection of Bibles in many languages, donated by visitors - I think they said over 300. The more obscure of which would undoubtedly have become "dead" languages, with no living speakers, had it not been for the existence of a Bible in their tongue.

I find the link between the Word and the language so interesting. In the case of English, of course, a certain Stratford playwright also had a huge influence on the shape of the language. But between Shakespeare and the Bible, English as we know it was formed, in the late16th / early 17th century. The centuries since then have merely added elaborations. I think it is noteworthy that on the long-running Radio 4 programme Desert Island Discs, each 'castaway' is automatically given the complete works of Shakespeare and the Bible (although these days, it might be another religious or philosophical work of choice) and then allowed to choose a third book. The point being, Roy Plomley, the originator of the programme, saw Shakespeare and the Bible as fundamentals.

Today, we are a proudly multicultural country, speaking a plethora of languages. But I think we should always be grateful for the influences that the language of the Bible has had on them, enriching and preserving them.

Last Message

A while ago, I came across this question: "If you had only one last message to leave to the handful of people who are most important to you, what would it be in twenty-five words or less?"

image PxHere

This is a question in two parts, which requires separate answers. First, who are the people most important to you? Answer: my immediate family, and my best friend. The second, "What would it be in twenty-five words or less?" Which takes rather more thinking about.

On reflection, it would be about love and kindness. Not about ambition, not about getting on. Not even about my hopes and dreams for them. Twenty-five words doesn't allow the space for those kinds of sentiments. Thinking about this made me go deep: to really consider what is the most important thing in the world, to me. It is linked to a supplementary question: "How would you like to be remembered?" And I have realised that I do not want to be remembered for my small achievements, for degrees, my career, not even for the books I have published (although it would be good if they lasted!) I want to be remembered as someone who cared deeply about other people, about other living beings, who wanted to leave the world a better place than she found it.

Perhaps something along the lines of: 

"I love you, just the way you are. 

Be kind to others; love them as I have loved you. 

Leave the world a better place."

Because really, love is all that matters. Love makes the world go round, as the old cliché has it. Without love, we cannot fully live; we merely exist. Being truly loved, for ourselves, just as we are, enables us to accept ourselves. And then to reach out and share that love with other people, other living beings. (Even my cat, who is insisting on sitting on my knee as I write this, and glooping all over the keyboard). There is nothing more vital for the future of our world. Without love, we and our world will spiral down into chaos.