The Dark Night

I recently read Gerald May’s “The Dark Night of the Soul: A Psychiatrist Explores the Connection Between Darkness and Spiritual Growth”, a helpful and thoughtful read in which May reflects on some of the things with which we struggle. As he says at the beginning: “The bad news is that bad things happen to everyone, and they have nothing to do with whether you are a good or bad person, how effectively you’ve taken charge of your life, or how carefully you have planned for the future. The good news, or at least part of it, is that good things happen to everyone too.” May draws on the thinking and writing of St John of the Cross and St Teresa of Avila, demonstrating the contemporary relevance of their perspectives. In particular, he makes the point that a so called dark night is not a one-off, but something that recurs. Things will neither be constantly good, nor constantly bad. As May puts it: “I have repeatedly suggested that, contrary to popular assumptions, the dark night is not a single event in one’s life that one undergoes and then somehow moves beyond. Instead, I have characterized the night as the ongoing spiritual process of our lives. We have periodic conscious experiences of it, but it continues at all times, hidden within us. We are aware of only the experiences that come to our consciousness. Thus what someone else might call “going through the dark night” I would call “having an experience of the dark night.” That’s worth remembering when things are not going well, but probably also when life is great!

A Cry for Mercy

I recently read Henri Nouwen’s “A Cry for Mercy”, one of the few of Nouwen’s books that I had not previously read, and quite different from others of his writings in that it largely consists of a collection of written prayers. The book is the fruit of one of his periods living with the Trappist Monks of the Abbey of the Genesee in upstate New York. This period of retreat took place in 1979, following on from an earlier such period in 1974. It clearly meant a great deal to Nouwen and the prayers reflect a lively, if at times challenging, engagement with God. He introduces each section, or theme, for prayer with a brief reflection. For example, he reflects: “I wonder if fear is not our main obstacle to prayer. When we enter into the presence of God and start to sense that huge reservoir of fear in us, we want to run away into the many distractions which our bust world offers us so abundantly. But we should not be afraid of our fears.” Another point of challenge is expressed as he prays: “Lord, I will not bind you with my own limited and limiting ideas and feelings. You can do so many things with me, things that might seem totally impossible to me. I want at least to remain open to the free movement of your Spirit in my life. Why do I keep saying to myself: “I will never be a saint. I will never be able to overcome my impulses and desires.” If I keep saying that, I might prevent you from healing and touching me deeply.”

I Julian

I recently read Claire Gilbert’s “I Julian”. It is a fictional autobiography of Julian of Norwich – if there can be such a thing! But the book demonstrated for me that there can – as Claire Gilbert’s skilful retelling of the imagined story of Julian of Norwich as from Julian’s own perspective offered plenty of food for thought and inspiration. It was well worth the read, offering a moving account of the very likely life and thoughts of Julian of Norwich. It certainly provokes the reader to reflect on the immensity of God’s love – “the failures are what make me, forge me, teach me, that if God loves me so much in my failures and my trying then I must love that child, that young woman, that weakling of a hermit that I am. Jesu thanks me, not for my success, but for my failure and my trying.”

Lydia

I recently read Paula Gooder’s “Lydia”, a fascinating and creative look at the possible context of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, focussing on the person of Lydia. Paula imagines what might have been the life and experiences of Lydia and how that might have fitted the life of the Philippian church. Though certainly identified as imagined, there is careful history and theology behind the account. It might well have been like this. The book is separated into two sections. In the first part she gives her account of what Lydia’s story might have been while, in the second, she offers a lot of history and theology with helpful notes on various people, situations and things of the time that are mentioned in the story. I found it a great read, especially enjoying the first part, and found it to offer valuable insights into the life and times of the apostle Paul. Notably, the focus on Lydia offers a useful reminder of the valued role of women in the early church.

Valuing the Dark

I have just finished reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s “Learning to Walk in the Dark”, a fascinating and challenging exploration of the value of darkness. Taylor points out the things that are missed in our tendency to emphasise the overwhelming value of the light and to avoid the dark. We tend to want to get rid of the dark, but Taylor reminds us of its value, pointing out: “I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things have saved my life over and over again, so that there is really only one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.” We do need the light, but we also need the dark and trying to avoid that impoverishes our experience. But, as Taylor recognises, that is often how it is. She comments: “I realise that in a whole lifetime spent with seekers of enlightenment, I have never once heard anyone speak in hushed tones about the value of 'endarkenment'. The great mystics of the Christian tradition all describe it as part of the journey into God, but it has been a long time since ‘The Cloud of Unknowing’ was on anyone's bestseller list. Today’s seekers seem more interested in getting God to turn the lights on than in allowing God to turn them off.” The point is that the dark has a value that is not found in the light, and that is different from the light, but just as valuable in providing us with a whole experience of God. Reflecting on the contribution of St. John of the Cross to such ideas, Taylor stresses how valuing the dark keeps us on track with God. She says: “God puts out our lights to keep us safe, John says, because we are never more in danger of stumbling than when we think we know where we are going. When we can no longer see the path we are on, when we can no longer read the maps were brought with us or sense anything in the dark that might tell us where we are, then and only then are we vulnerable to God's protection. This remains true even when we cannot discern God's presence. The only thing the dark night requires of us is to remain conscious. If we can stay with the moment in which God seems most absent. The night will do the rest.”

Some Truth About Church

I have just finished reading Samuel Wells' "Speaking the Truth". It's sub-titled "Preaching in a Diverse Culture" and includes a multitude of fascinating insights about both preaching and culture, and indeed a whole bunch of other stuff. It's a great book of modelling for preachers, but also with a lot to say to all sorts of other people and, of course, that is just what the sermons which Wells quotes in the book originally did. There was lots that interested me, but particularly a few comments about church. Wells is highly realistic about church, but importantly recognises that church is how Jesus' way is expressed. For instance, he says: "Jesus didn't give us perfection, he gave us church. And church means facing up every day to the way we've failed God, failed one another and failed ourselves. Church means entering every day into the cycle of repentance and confession and forgiveness and reconciliation and healing." Of course, church is not perfect, but it's where we are called to be; it's what we are called to do. As Wells says elsewhere in the book: "Church isn't a place where we identify and lambast Pharisees while searching out and applauding tax collectors: it's a community where we meet one another, learn the complexity and texture of one another's stories, wonder at the grace and mercy by which our paths have crossed, realise with gratitude that our salvation lies in one another, and turn together in humility to recognise, like never before, our need of God."

Empire

I have recently read two books, both of which have contributed a great deal to my thinking around empire and the contemporary challenges posed by the UK's colonial past. I usually approach any such thinking from a Biblical and/or theological perspective, but these two have offered another view which helps to consider the issues. One is Sathnam Sanghera's 'Empireland' and the other is 'Africa Is Not A Country' by Dipo Faloyin. The latter is sub-titled 'Breaking Stereotypes of Modern Africa' and is a telling reminder of the wonderful diversity of that immense continent, but also of the damage done in times past when so many of its 'treasures' ewere 'taken' and brought to other places. In 'Empireland' Sanghera challenges us to look our history in the eye and recognise the impact that we havr had, and what that has done to others. Both offer lots to think about.