A Traveller's Tale

My Dearly Beloved has commenced a series of posts on her blog recalling past travelling experiences.

The first is about Italy, with some lovely photos to boot! Well worth the browse...

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: Travel is only glamorous in retrospect. (Paul Theroux)

The First Hurdle

Last week, my Dearly Beloved and I were interviewed by our local church council as the first part of the process of offering ourselves to the Uniting Church as candidates for ministry. This is part of the process prescribed by the church for all those wanting to offer themselves as candidates: in addition to the required paperwork, three levels of meetings: 1) the local congregation; 2) the relevant presbytery (region); and 3) by the relevant Synod (state).

Concerning the paperwork, there's certainly plenty of it! I've jokingly told a few people that I had to fill in less paperwork when I applied for my mortgage! But we figured that would be part of the gig, so we weren't too concerned. But as for being interviewed...

Well, it's not like we were scared exactly,but it's never easy talking about yourself to other people, especially about something as personal as your faith journey - and especially not to people you know. That's one of the odd things about being honest: it's not a problem with strangers, because they're people you're not likely to see again. But people who know you also have a certain picture of you; that is, they know you through a paradigm that consists of a combination of their own impressions of you as well as your direct interactions with them. So sharing something as intimate as faith experience is always a risk, because doing so might change their paradigmatic understanding of you as a person, and thereby alter the nature of your relationship.

However, I am delighted to report that, for both my Dearly Beloved and myself, the experience of being interviewed by our local congregational council has been wonderfully affirming. The council members listened with interest and generosity as we told our respective stories, and then proceeded to ask questions that demonstrated both that they had been paying careful attention, and were genuinely desirous of knowing more about us. It was an intense, but powerful and exciting, experience.

The upshot is that both my Dearly Beloved and I have the wholehearted support of the congregational council to offer ourselves as candidates to the ministry. It is impossible to express how humbling, gratifying, and quite simply joyful it is to know that we have been accepted so completely by the council; without their interest and support, and without the encouragement and wisdom of our congregational minister, we could not even have come this far.

So it is hope and anticipation that we look forward to the next stage: the presbytery.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: Meetings are rather like cocktail parties: you don't want to go, but you're rather cross not to be invited. (Jilly Cooper)

The Patron Saint of Deadlines

I stumbled across this little item somewhere in the wilds of webland, and I thought it was so apt right now, what, with assignment deadlines due and such, that I'd post it for your edification.


SAINT EXPEDITUS
Also known as Elpidius

MEMORIAL
19th April

PROFILE
Possibly legendary. Unclear whether his name led to his association with expeditious matters, or the other way around. This association led to his becoming the patron of people who had to deliver things on time.

CANONIZED
Pre-congregation

PATRONAGE
against procrastination, for expeditious solutions, of merchants and navigators (and maybe also harried university students?)

REPRESENTATION
young Roman soldier holding aloft a cross; young Roman soldier holding aloft a banner with the word "hodie"

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: The discipline of colleges and universities is in general contrived, not for the benefit of the students, but for the interest, or more properly speaking, for the ease of the masters. (Adam Smith)

At Four 'O' Clock In The Morning...

There has been much discussion recently among my Dearly Beloved's and my circle of friends and acquaintances at our local Uniting Church congregation about a recent article in Crosslight, in which biblical scholar Marcus Borg talked about the need not to get lost in debates about whether or not the Resurrection "actually" happened, and instead to focus upon what this means for where the living Christ meets us in our lives.

I'm not going to enter into that debate right now, but I must say that Christ meeting us in our lives has been a theme much on my mind lately, heightened by the recent occurrence of Holy Week. And I guess that must have been playing on my subconscious a bit, because I've just woken up and scribbled the following lines:

The Living Christ Meets Us Here

In spirit -
in the small, secret space
where knowledge ends
and faith begins -
my Lord comes to me
clothed in death:
triumphant
living.

In flesh -
the fragile, breathing clay
where shadows sing
and darkness speaks -
my Lord comes to me
clothed in grief:
triumphant
healing.

In death -
the narrow, barren vale
where all hope ends
and prayers fail -
my Lord comes to me
clothed in regret:
triumphant
gloried.

In life -
the crowded, riven plain
where fear and fortune fight
and comfort bleeds -
my Lord comes to me
clothed in strife:
triumphant
peace.

In silence -
the open, boundless place
where mind and matter meet
and joy prevails -
my Lord comes to me
clothed in sound:
triumphant
singing.

Not great poetry, I agree, but perhaps indicative of my deeper thoughts on the subject of where, and how, and the sometimes paradoxical paradigms in which Christ comes to us in our lives.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote of the Day: We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. (Romans 6:9 - NRSV)

Breaking Up (Is A Religious Thing to Do)

I stumbled across the following at this website and thought they were good enough to share:

Atheist: The burden of proof is on you to establish the existence of this so-called "god" but I believe that if there was any such divine entity "it" would not want us to continue dating.

Intelligent Design Theorist: Our relationship bears the marks of irreducible complexity making it too difficult to explain by way of natural causes. Therefore, there the most reasonable conclusion is that we were designed to break up since things have gotten so complicated.

Calvinist: We were predestined before the creation of the world to break up according to God's good pleasure. I am, on my own power, unable to break up with you apart from the irresistible draw of God's sovereign grace which leads me to end this relationship. Those that truly break up will not get back together in the end.

Arminian: While you love me and have a wonderful plan for my life, I have the power to resist your will. If I did not, love would not be possible. For our relationship to be loving it needs to include the possibility of breaking up--something I am doing right now.

New Perspective on Paul Scholar: Rather than earning God's blessing, it is established on the basis of our covenant courtship (I asked your dad to date you didn't I?) which requires the proper response of an intentional and deliberate pursuit of marriage. Yet there is no such pursuit, therefore God's blessing on or relationship is no longer maintained.

Open Theist: I am not really sure if we are supposed to be together, because neither is God.

The Young Earth Creationist: No, I do not believe we have been going out for that long. Our relationship is only six days old and the on the seventh God rested. I think we need a rest too.

Emergent: The question if whether we are in relationship or not is mired in Modernity's obsession with propositional truth. A better a way to look at this is to enter into God's story about how he lead us together and is now leading us apart.

Catholic: Honey, I think the Virgin Mary is leading us in different directions. I think it is her will that we break up.

Lutheran: I want our relationship to continue, but first there are a few things about you that God wants to change. Here is a list of 95 that I made. What? OK, then, I guess we're done.

Episcopalian: Ummm... I'm gay.

Fundamentalist: You have tarnished the pure nature of our love by incorporating such heathen elements as "dating" and "fun." I am afraid I can no longer court you--yea, even speak to you--until you repent of this apostasy.

Mennonite: At that holiest barn raising two weeks prior to this conversational exchange, I realized as I drove you home at sunset in my best carriage, that there are other falsettos in the choir; some that art willing, with all fervent spirit, to trimmest my beard and even my eyebrows on such special occasion, and would, though it hurts me to spake this, make a more holy match.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: Relationships are things we get into just to get out of the ones we're not brave enough to say are over. (Julia Phillips)

Wedding Pics

For those who may be interested, my Dearly Beloved has posted some pics from our wedding on her blog.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: A wedding is the day in a man's life when he realises that he can't face another date with a legal secretary who wants to be a night club commedienne. (Henry Youngman)

Plaster Saint

Given that constantly being original can be a tiresome burden, I have once again pinched a quiz that appeared on my buddy Caro's blog. The following represents my result:

You’re St. Jerome! You’re a passionate Christian, fiercely devoted to Jesus Christ and his Church. You are willing to labor long hours in the Lord’s vineyard, and you have little patience with those who are less willing or able to work as you do. Your passions often carry you into temptation zones of wrath, lust, and pride. http://www.fathersofthechurch.com/quiz/">Find out which Church Father you are at The Way of the Fathers!

I have to say I was somewhat surprised - and perhaps even a little disappointed - by this result, as I certainly don't see myself as this dogmatic (and where did the guff about working hard come from??).

My Dearly Beloved, true to her usual supportive form, suggested that this quiz was in fact very like me as I am both grumpy and a bad translator from the Greek!

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: A saint is a dead sinner, revised and edited. (Ambrose Bierce)

The Sound of Grace Happening

Given the season (both in terms of the calendar - Autumn, my favourite time of year - and Easter, the most profound and joyous occasion in the Christian year) I thought I'd provide a "top ten" of my favourite examples of sacred music.

1. Blogoslovi dusche moya (Bless the Lord, O my Soul), the 2nd movement from the All Night Vigil by Rachmaninov
2. Psalm 23 (The Lord is my Shepherd) by Howard Goodall
3. Agnus Dei by Samuel Barber
4. Kherumivskaya pesn (Cherubic Hymn) from the Divine Liturgy of St John Chrysostom, by Rachmaninov
5. Nyne otpushchayeshi (Lord, Now Let Thou Thy Servant Depart), 5th movement from the All Night Vigil by Rachmaninov
6. Kyrie from the Requiem by Gabriel Faure
7. Credo from the Missa Aedis Christi by Howard Goodall
8. Milost mira (The Eucharistic Prayer) from the Divine Liturgy of St John Chrysostom by Rachmaninov
9. Pie Jesu from the Requiem by Gabriel Faure
10. Salvator Mundi by Thomas Tallis

Near misses and honourable mentions include: Miserere by Allegri; In Paradisum from Faure's Requiem; Svete tikhyi (Gladsom Light) from Rachmaninov's All Night Vigil; and Song for Athene, The Dormition of the Mother of God, and Elizabeth Full of Grace by John Taverner.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; the motions of his spirit are dull as night, and his affections dark as Erebus: let no such man be trusted. (William Shakespeare)

In the Steps of Holy Week

This week, my Dearly Beloved and I have journeyed through a profoundly spiritual series of services associated with Holy Week.

On Wednesday evening, we walked the Labyrinth. This is a sequence of short prayers and meditations structured around Gospel accounts of the Passion, utilising the layout of a labyrinth to take participants on a journey into the significance and meaning of Easter. In particular, the participant is required to reflect on their own place within the event of the Cross, on how the acts and omissions of the various participants in Christ's crucifixion reflect the reality of their own spiritual condition.

The especial power of the Labyrinth resides in the fact that it is an intensely interior space, a time and place in which the individual is required to focus on the state of their own spirituality, and how that relates to the message of the Gospels, to their faith, and to their life as a whole. Through the use of text, space, physical props, and audio accompaniment, the participant experiences a multi-layered exploration of meaning that enables them both to reflect on their being, and look forward to the future.

Inevitably, you always leave the Labyrinth feeling both deeply humble and profoundly refreshed.

Last night, my Dearly Beloved and I lead a tenebrae service to mark Maundy Thursday, assisted and guided by our local minister. Tenebrae is a form of service in which utilises a Jewish menorah, and in which a series of readings trace the events between the Last Supper and Christ being handed over for crucifixion. At the end of each reading, one of the candles on the menorah is extinguished. The church, having began in shadows, is left in darkness.

One of the special aspects of the service was that, at the suggestion of our minister, the reading about the Last Supper was broken into just as Christ had shared the bread and wine with the disciples; at this point, the congregation were invited to live out the story of the Last Supper and participate in communion. This was a profoundly beautiful moment, enabling the congregation to experience the richness of the reading through participation, and not just the narrative of the text. At the end of the service, when the church was in darkness, we processed out in silence, amid an atmosphere replete with reflection, humility, sorrow, and - paradoxically - deep peace.

Finally, this morning, we attended the Good Friday service at our local Uniting Church. It was a rich, textured experience in which readings, performance, and multi-media were successfully employed to deliver a meaningful and moving account of Christ's death on the Cross. Of especial significance was the performance of the text, in which members of the congregation represented various people who had been present at the time of the Crucifixion - Simon of Cyrene, Barabbas, the Roman Centurion, etc - in which they all articulated the various ways in which they had failed Christ in his hour of need; an articulation that spoke to our own failings, and the manifold ways in which Christ's death supersedes these failings.

The second telling moment in the service was the minister's sermon, in which he drew upon the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer who, writing from his prison cell, reminded us that Easter enables us to think beyond the events themselves to the greater issues of being: life, death, faith, existential purpose. It was a sermon that reminded us of the transcendence that lies at the heart of the Easter event: that beyond the suffering of Christ, the failings of the people around him, and our own broken humanity, lies the endless and boundless grace of God, which we can never earn, but which is never withdrawn - and through which we are brought to salvation.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom; lead thou me on. (Cardinal Newman)

Score One More For The Good Guys!

My buddy Caro had the following quiz on her blog site, and I'm delighted to report that, similar to one about cynicism, I've come through with flying colours! Well, if not with flying colours, then at least a pass!

You Are 46% Misanthropic

You're somewhat misanthropic, but you're not willing to write off the human race (yet!).There's a few people you like, and even them you like at a distance.

How Misanthropic Are You?

So shame on all you folks who think that I don't like people just because I don't like you!

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: A misanthrope is someone who hates other people as much as they hate themselves. (H L Mencken)

Disconnected

While travelling on public transport, especially on the train, it has always struck me how people use technology to dislocate themselves from their surrounds. On every trip I take, I am sure to see at least one person plugged into their ipod (or, in former years, a discman or walkman), even if they're doing something else, like reading a book. I recently saw a young man on the train both plugged into a walkman and playing a portable computer game.

I have often wondered about this phenomenon, about the apparent unwillingness of people to undertake a journey without somehow removing themselves from their environment. Sure, technology isn't the only way we can do this - immersing yourself in a book or a magazine or newspaper is just as effective a method as any - but there seems to me to be something particularly pervasive about the need for distance through technology. Reading a book can be just a way of passing the time on what might be an otherwise dull journey spent doing nothing more than staring listlessly out the window or over the shoulder of the person sitting opposite you. But there seems to be something about technology that enables us to not only escape our locale, but also ourselves.

This is a phenomenon I've observed in other contexts, as well. People frequently talk about getting bored easily, about needing to do something in order to feel as though their lives are being spent in meaningful activity. People speak of the need to constantly occupy themselves, as though being unoccupied might imply some sort of non-existence, some refutation to the proposition that they actually are. Descartes asserted: I think, therefore I am. But it seems to me that many people would argue: I do, I act, I behave, I experience, therefore I am.

Why should this be? At the very basic level, plugging into the ipod while sitting in a train carriage is just a particular means of getting through a tedious chore. Likewise, there are some people who are simply constitutionally disposed toward activity, whether whittling a stick or building a house. But what about the people who listen to their ipods while reading or playing a computer game? Is this just a portable analogue of listening to some pleasant background music while curled up on the couch with a good book? Or is there some deeper issue?

Take, for example, the man I saw on my recent trip to the wonderful Yarran Dheran sanctuary. There he was, striding along the walking path on a beautiful Autumn morning, surrounded by picturesque scenery - and yet he was plugged into headphones, from which I could hear tinny music blaring. Was this just a means through which he could add an extra dimension to his experience of walking through the bushland - or was he actually incapable of having that experience on its own terms? Did he need some form of technological accompaniment to mediate the sensory input of his surrounds? Or was there something much deeper, more profound at work?

I have become convinced that there is indeed something quite powerful at work in this phenomenon of self-removal. At one level, the need to be pre-occupied arises, I think, from the related fears of death and meaninglessness. The desire to be doing something meaningful - ie: the desire to avoid doing nothing - is a symptom of our inability to come to terms with our mortality. We are conscious that we only have a finite amount of time in which we will exist, and we greatly desire to ensure that it is not "wasted". We don't necessarily want to be famous or to make our mark - although, in our celebrity-driven society, in which fame (or notoriety) are increasingly articulated as the the only measures of worth, this is becoming ever more the case. Rather, we want to know that our life has not been "idle", that we have somehow been "productive" or "useful". Because we don't know what - if anything - lies beyond death, we want others to say of us that we did not "waste" our time.

Which feeds into the issue of meaninglessness. It seems to me that unless someone has "something to show" for their life, be it the conventional markers of "success" such as house, family, career or business, or more abstract indicators such as fame, reputation, status and so forth, we consider them to have lead a largely meaningless life. A person has to "make something of themselves" or "do something" with their life in order to be regarded (by others) as having "made a contribution" to the sum total of human meaningfulness. Not that I'm suggesting that complete and total idleness is a virtue; rather, that what we do is frequently driven by our fears, and these fears shape the criteria by which we assess meaning and value.

But beyond all these, I think there is a very simple malaise at work in the human psyche. The desire to dislocate ourselves from our environment, to use technology to escape from our surrounds, is, in fact, an attempt to escape from ourselves. It seems to me that so often we plug into our ipods and computers and televisions because we can't bear the thought of being alone inside our own minds for even the shortest period of time. Because if we were, we would have to think; and if we started thinking, we might start dwelling on our fears; and if we allow our fears to stir, all the insecurities and anxieties about our lives burst to the forefront of our consciousness. In other words, the desire to disconnect is the desire to avoid the fears by which we are so often driven.

I think the antidote is not necessarily to switch off all the gadgets - although I do think that perhaps less time spent plugged in, and more time spent in the dual processes of contemplation and engagement, would be both more useful and healthier, existentially speaking. More importantly, however, we need to reassess the values by which we create meaning and interpret value. To begin, we need not be afraid of thought, because it is only through thought that we can confront our anxieties. Deep reflection may be frightening, but simply running away from our fears doesn't solve the problem; our fears remain, for all that we may ignore them or pretend they don't exist. But confronting our fears also involves challenging the basis of their existence; do they actually articulate a recurring issue in our lives, or are we just allowing ourselves to be swept up in a tide of neurosis and insecurity? If the former, how do we address that issue; if the latter, how do we create a new, more healthy basis for being?

Quite often the problem is not that we have to confront our demons, but that doing so requires that we take action in response. All too often, we grow comfortable with our fears; they become like a kind of callous on the soul, familiar in their irritation. Equally as often, we allow others to tell us what we should think, or where the answers to our particular problems lie; a fact that has enabled the hugely destructive self-help industry to generate enormous amounts of money peddling easy answers and simplistic platitudes to the existentially destitute. In the former, we stay locked within the bounds of our despair; in the latter, we substitute one addiction for another.

So it's not easy, nor is it simply a matter of recognising the symptoms and responding. It is a life-long process, an ongoing experience of lived reality. But it is a reality in which we must engage, and upon which we must reflect and meditate. Nor is there a single, hard and fast way; often, the path we have to tread is solitary and difficult. But it seems to me that this is what life truly lived is all about: embracing ambiguity, engaging with uncertainty, and walking in the darkness with openness, humility, generosity and humour. For me, my twin guides are Stoic moral philosophy and Christian faith; for others, the guides will be completely different. What matters is not which particular road we walk, but whether we are prepared to undertake the journey; anything else is simply denial, and ultimately destructive.

Talk to you soon,

BB

All men desire to be elevated; but all men fail to understand that they have within themselves that which is already elevated. (Mencius)

In The Heart of Silence

On Saturday, my Dearly Beloved and I visited Yarran Dheran, a beautifully tranquil reserve of bushland in the heart of the eastern suburbs of Melbourne, located at the edge of the Mullum Mullum Creek. Our visit was the culmination of a four week course in meditative spirituality in which we had been participating, and the purpose of the visit was to spend a "quiet day" of meditation and contemplation.

My first reaction was one of surprise, for I didn't even know this bushland reserve existed. I had walked the trail alongside the Mullum Mullum Creek, but I wasn't aware that it was part of a larger preserved landscape. My second reaction was one of incredulity: it was so quiescent and serene, yet the busy construction site for the eastern link freeway was a literal stone's throw away. What a marvel of serenity and space amid the crowded bustle of suburbia!

After an initial brief session of orientation, the group of which we were a part scattered to all parts of the reserve. In one hand I held a bag with a packed lunch, a Bible, a book, and some writing materials; in the other, a steaming cup of vanilla tea. It was a glorious morning, a quintessentially Autumn day: bright sunshine, blue sky, and crisp air. I wandered along one of the many trails that snake through the reserve, up hill and down dale (as it were), delighting in the scenery and the sheer, unlikely tranquility of my surrounds. Suddenly, I came to a small pool set in a deep, rock-bordered basin, its still surface covered with greenery that looked like a kind of mossy clover. With a contended sigh, I sat down on a hard, flat rock and, sipping the tea, contemplated my chosen locale.

It's hard to articulate the sense of deep fulfilment that welled up within me. Here I was, on an achingly lovely morning, sitting undisturbed in the midst of bush and birdsong. For this precious space of time, my concerns about study and finances and relationships and vocations - all the dragging paraphernalia and baggage of daily life - dissipated into the stillness and peace. Who wouldn't be overjoyed to be afforded such an opportunity for freedom, however temporary?

I opened my Bible to Psalm 23. I know this Psalm is one that is well-known and familiar; so familiar, in fact, that it might almost be considered hackneyed, as though its very lack of anonymity had drained it of meaning or richness. But for me this Psalm has always been something of a talisman, representing my understanding of God and the relation of my humanity to and with the divine. I read the Psalm through, and then re-read specific passages, thinking about them deeply. One of the meditative methods we have been examining in the course is the lectio divina, the practice of deep reading specific passages of Scripture, then re-reading them until a phrase or a word strikes the reader with particular resonance or meaning; the reader then focuses on that word or phrase, using it as the lynch post of their meditation.

Thinking about the specific passages within Psalm 23, I wrote the following:

Psalm 23, v. 1-3

Interesting that verses one and two of this Psalm should talk about the Lord leading the Psalmist beside still waters and into green fields, for here I sit beside the still waters of a pond in a place of beauty and rest. He leads me in right paths for his name's sake, reads verse three; and here I am, though I know not how I came to be here.

I think this passage reflects the unbounded love of God, both in terms of its eternal presence, and how the created order is both wonderful and good. I have often said to others that it just makes me feel glad to know that I live in a universe where such wonders exist: the majesty of mountains, the deep expanse of the oceans, trees so old they reach back to the last Ice Age, and the many marvels of the wider cosmos. I have often felt that I will always envy the generations who come after me, because of the things they will see at which I can only marvel: Jupiter rise over the horizon of Ganymede, for example, or the multitude of wonders that exist both within and beyond the Solar System. And yet I am not envious because I know that, of all the species of life on this planet, homo sapiens is the only one who can appreciate the majesty by which they are surrounded. A tree can live for 10,000 years but never appreciate its own beauty; humans, who live for scarcely 80, see all these things and are struck with awe. I know who is getting the better end of that bargain!

v. 4

Verse four talks about the rod and the staff of the Lord protecting the Psalmist from evil, even though they walk through dark valleys and places of shadow. There is an old Egyptian prayer: May God go with you and stand between you and harm in all the empty places where you must walk. I think that life requires that we must walk in the empty places, even if only the empty places of our inner self, in order that we may find our way back into the fullness of our humanity, and into the fullness of our relation with God.

In this respect, the image of the rod and staff are of particular comfort to me, because they remind me of my childhood reading, especially Ursula Le Guin's wonderful novel, A Wizard of Earthsea. A fantasy set in an imaginary world, it features powerful wizards called mages, who carry an oak staff tipped at either end in bronze, symbols of their power. But the power they carry is not over others, but for and on their behalf. The one character in particular who still stands out in my imagination after many years was called Ogion the Silent, for he was calm and self-possessed, full of deep wisdom, who rarely used his power and when he did,only when it was needful. Moreover, the image of this silent, grave, yet gentle mage has always been for me the representation of the perfect person, whose staff - whose symbol of power - was never a threat and always a place of refuge.

I think this is the kind of refuge of which the Psalmist speaks in verse four.

v. 5-6.

I think verses 5 and 6 are emblematic of the boundless grace of God. A feast is prepared for us even though we are unworthy through sin; but the invitation to participate in that feast is never withdrawn, despite the brokenness of our nature. God's mercy and love are ever present in the subtle and majestic beauty of the created order; and no matter how often I despoil myself in sin, God's grace is never withheld. All that is required is that I respond to the invitation; that I work out my own salvation, as Paul wrote, in fear and trembling. God always keeps open the doors to salvation; all that is required is that I make the attempt to respond, so that,through God's grace, I may dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

When I finished thinking and writing, I was surprised to see that nearly two hours had passed. I ate my lunch and finished my by now cold tea, read a few chapters from the book I had brought with me, then just studied my surrounds. After a while, I eased into a deep meditative state, my thoughts focused on a simple prayer that we had been taught during the course: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. This simple confessional prayer is not meant to induce feelings of guilt or shame or self-hatred: it is nothing more than a profound and beautiful offering to God, a means through which we come before God in humble recognition of our brokenness, of our total dependence on God, and of God's loving grace and forgiveness. And as a focal point for meditation, it is wonderfully effective.

I emerged from my meditation after about 40 minutes, feeling refreshed and discharged of all my emotional, spiritual, and existential baggage. I read a little more, then it was time to head back and rejoin the rest of the group. We debriefed and prayed and discussed our experiences: my impression was that the day had been one of powerful and resonating grace for all the participants.

I think one of the tragedies of the modern church is that we have, in many respects, forgotten Christianity's deep and ancient tradition of meditation and contemplation. Technology and special effects, though wonderful in many ways, have all too frequently taken over from content, so that the "worship experience" has come to mean more than either the content or the purpose of worship and faith. The "buzz" too often means more than whether or not we effect and nourish the indwelling of God in our lives.

For myself, one of the disciplines of my being has always revolved around the preservation of the sacred space within myself, of the "divine emptiness" at the core of my life. Even after I had become alienated from the Catholicism of my childhood and youth, and before I became part of the community of the Uniting Church, I had maintained this struggle through the agency of Stoic moral philosophy; indeed, it was Stoicism that first enabled me to meaningfully clear this space within myself. Faith has not filled this space, but given it richness and dimension. And rediscovering the meditative and contemplative tradition of Christianity has only served to make that richness greater still.

Talk to you soon,

BB.

Quote for the Day: Only in silence the word; only in darkness, light; only in dying, life; bright is the hawk's flight on the empty sky. (Ursula Le Guin)