1st Sunday of Advent: A holy longing

The 16thC Spanish mystic St John of the Cross has a particular image in his book titled The Dark Night of the Soul:

Intimacy with God and with each other will only take place, he says, when we reach a certain kindling temperature.

For too much of our lives, he suggests, we lie around as damp, green logs inside the fire of love, waiting to come to flame but never bursting into flame because of our dampness.

At first, the fire acts on the wood by driving out all its moisture. Very slowly, it expels from the wood everything that is inconsistent with fire’s nature. It then starts to burn on the outside until, at last, it transforms the wood into fire.

This process of drying is something that, at first, we resist.

However, we begin to recognize its benefits in producing in us a greater conformity to God. John writes, “the whole of our spiritual life can be seen as a preparation for the soul to receive more deeply the love of God.

And, in the same way that a dry log catches fire more easily than a wet one, so the soul responds more immediately to the impulse of God the more prepared it is by the Holy Spirit.”

St. John suggests that we undergo this transformation through the pain of loneliness, restlessness, disquiet, anxiety, frustration, and unrequited desire. In the torment of incompleteness, our psychic temperature rises so that eventually, we come to a kindling temperature, and there, we finally open ourselves to union in new ways.

It is, I suggest, an image for our Advent time.

Advent is about a “holy longing”, about getting in touch with this longing, about heightening it, about letting it raise our psychic temperatures, about sizzling as damp, green logs inside the fires of intimacy, about intuiting the kingdom of God by seeing, through desire, what the world might look like if a Messiah were to come and, with us, establish justice, peace, and unity on this earth.

Christ the King

There is an idiom, still in use today, known as “a king’s ransom”.

It speaks of a large amount of money used to purchase an object/s.

Today an alternate phrase might well be “megabucks”

The idiom has its origins in the Middle Ages, (approximately from the 5th to the late 15th centuries.)

Nobility captured in battle were often held for ransom. The higher-ranking the nobleman, the larger the ransom demanded. The biggest ransom of all would be demanded for a king, as was done with King Richard I of England. So “a king’s ransom” means a lot of money!

Richard I, known as Richard Cœur de Lion or Richard the Lionheart because of his reputation as a great military leader and warrior, was King of England from 1189 until his death in 1199.

As king, Richard’s chief ambition was to join the Third Crusade, prompted by Saladin’s capture of Jerusalem in 1187. To finance this, he sold sheriffdoms and other offices and in 1190 he departed for the Holy Land.

Although he came close, Jerusalem, the crusade’s main objective, eluded him. Moreover, fierce quarrels among the French, German and English contingents provided further troubles. After a year’s stalemate, Richard made a truce with Saladin and started his journey home.

Bad weather drove him ashore near Venice and he was imprisoned by Duke Leopold of Austria before being handed over to the German emperor Henry VI, who ransomed him for the huge sum of 150,000 marks (equivalent to about 2 billion British pounds).

Today, as Church, we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King.

Of all the titles we could bestow on Jesus that of a ‘king’ would seem to be one of the least appropriate.

When we think of, or imagine, a king we think of a throne, a crown, a palace, great wealth, power, prestige, a retinue of servants, and of course an army!
None of these are visible in the life and ministry of Jesus.

We see him walking the dusty roads of Palestine. He is surrounded by the poor and the sick, by outcasts and sinners.

The very persons officials would shoo away from the presence of today’s king(s) are the very ones Jesus calls near.

And, indeed, He paid a ‘King’s ransom’!

He did not sit on a throne, clothed in regal attire.

Rather he hung naked on a tree, “After they crucified him, they divided up his clothes among them by drawing lots.” (Mtt. 27: 35)

‘Disembodiment is not an option for the Christian.’ This statement by visual artist Edward Knippers is a guiding principle in his work. This is an illustration by Edward, titled “The Crucifixion”.

32nd Sunday of Ordinary Time

As human persons we have the most unusual of metaphors when describing love.

Here are a few that come to mind:

“I’m crazy about you.”

“I’m head over heels for you.”

“You mean the world to me.”

“I adore you.”

“I can’t live without you.”

“You’re everything to me.”

“You’re the light of my life.”

“I’m falling in love.”

None of them sounds terribly metaphysical! Many, indeed, sound very physical, e.g. ‘head over heels’ and ‘falling in love’.

An intriguing characteristic of the mystics describing their relationship with their God is its sensual quality.

When we dip into the writings of many of these women and men, e.g. Origen, Bernard of Clairvaux, Teresa of Ávila, Catherine of Siena, John of the Cross we are “confronted” with the “erotic” dimension of the spiritual life.

Their writings very much touch on the inner experience of eros: there is desire, yearning, passion, pleasure, excitement, intensity, and ecstasy available in the mystical relationship between human and divine.

Many mystics, even male mystics, envisioned themselves as “brides” of Christ.

Almost from the beginning of the Christian era, mystics and saints and theologians and spiritual teachers have reflected on one of the most beautiful and poetic of the “wisdom writings” in the Bible to explore the mystery of the love of God and how that love seeks intimacy with us, God’s human creatures.

I am referring to the Song of Songs, also known as the Song of Solomon or the Canticle of Canticles.

It is not so much a “book” as a poem or extended lyric; it’s short — only 8 chapters and barely over 100 verses long.

The book never directly mentions God at all.

Instead, on the surface, it is a love poem — and a deeply sensual, subtly erotic love poem at that.

So why, of all the spiritual and philosophical riches in scripture, would this be the book that the mystics and other God-seekers turn to, again and again?

It speaks most directly of union, and that is the experience these women and men have, in turn, experienced with their God!

Which leaves us with two questions, “Have I fallen head over heels in love with my God? and, “Have I allowed my God to fall head over heels in love with me?”

Or, as our Gospel of today (Mk. 12: 28 – 34) says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” (v 29,30)

“I won’t take no for an answer,”
God began to say
to me

when He opened His arms each night
wanting us to
dance.

(Catherine of Siena 1347 – 1380)

31st Sunday of Ordinary Time

I know I am really showing my age when I make mention of the cartoon strip known as Peanuts.

Created by the American cartoonist Charles Schultz, the cartoon strip featured characters like Charlie Brown, Lucy and of course the dog named Snoopy.

One of the regular cartoon characters is a boy called Linus.

A feature of Linus is his persistent carrying of a blanket.

Many failed attempts are made to rid Linus of his blanket.

No one, to my knowledge has suggested introducing Linus to Bartimaeus.
Let’s watch Bartimaeus.

When he heard that Jesus was passing by, he began to shout, “Have pity on me!” People told him to shut up, he was making too much noise.

But he shouted even more.

“Call him,” Jesus said…. “Cheer up!” they told him. “On your feet, he’s calling you.”

Then, the account continues, “throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.”

He came, of course, still in the dark. Did you notice that he threw aside his cloak? It was a strange thing for a blind person to do: would he find it again?

Blind people have great trouble finding things.

Notice how carefully they place things, caressing them almost.

However, sighted people are forever throwing things around.

In throwing his cloak aside Bartimaeus acted like a sighted man.

While all the sighted people held their cloaks and their possession around them with careful fingers, he alone leaped up, threw aside his cloak and ran to meet the Lord.

‘It is a very powerful symbol of the life of faith: Bartimaeus walked in the dark.

He approached Jesus in darkness.

Faith is a kind of knowledge, yes, but it is dark knowledge.

Still, this dark knowledge sets us free, somehow, to move with confidence.

How good it would be to move without timidity, to travel through our life with freedom and joy!

A blind beggar shows us how.

Throw your cloak aside!

Jump to your feet!

Come toward Jesus in darkness!

[For those who are interested there is an occasion when Linus is free of his blanket. During an animated cartoon titled “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, Linus is centre stage responding to Charlie Brown’s urgent request, “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is about?”

Linus recites Luke 2:8 – 14, and at the words “I bring you news of great joy” both his hands are empty, and the blanket sits on the floor.

Ironically, the news of great joy does not last long! As Linus leaves centre stage, he reclaims his blanket – so how long does Christmas joy last for you before you need pick up your blanket?