Interpreting Mark

I decided to re-read some of the books that have been on my shelf a long time. First up on this particular project has been “A Poor Man Called Jesus” by José Cárdenas Pallares, sub-titled “Reflections on the Gospel of Mark.” The book is very much reflections, rather than commentary, but I enjoyed the insights of Pallares’ liberationist perspective. He clearly identifies Jesus’ ‘poverty’ and aligns him with those struggling and marginalised. As he states: “The cause of Jesus is the cause of a God who is inseparably united with all the exploited. The God of Jesus, and Jesus himself, are, before all else, liberation, measureless love, hope, and life.” There is a strong emphasis on poverty - “Jesus was a poor person, and he was committed to the poorest of the poor from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. He spoke the language of the poor. He felt the sorrows and joys of the poor, and he met death in a manner reserved for the poor.” What I really liked about the book was the way in which it challenges us with what I might call real gospel stuff. The church is not in an easy place, but it is God’s church. As Pallares says, referring to Peter and indeed the whole incarnation story - “With Peter’s denial Mark shows us a church of sinners. of cowards and one which is not ashamed to admit it. The church Mark presents to us is a community well aware that it is never safe and secure, not even in its most selfless and disinterested members, and that the only thing it has to rely on is the forgiveness of Jesus Christ. He shows us a church that can switch from denial to repentance thanks only to a Christ crushed and tortured. Christ grants to this church a partial expense of his own pain and sorrow. The risen Christ gathers together cowards, renegades, and traitors to fill them with the indestructible force of his love.”

Maktub

I have been reading Paulo Coelho’s “Maktub”, a collection of sayings, stories, parables, bits of wisdom. There’s a lot that provokes reflection, much of it inspiring and/or challenging. I was particularly struck by one entry: “A novice asked Abbot Nisteros in the Scetis monastery: “What should I do in order to please God?” The abbot responded: “Abraham welcomed strangers, and God was pleased. Elijah disliked strangers, and God was pleased. David was proud of what he did, and God was pleased. The tax collector in the temple felt ashamed of what he did, and God was pleased. John the Baptist went into the wilderness, and God was pleased. Jonah went to the great city of Nineveh, and God was pleased. Ask your soul what it wants to do. When our soul is in agreement with its dreams, that fills God with joy.””

Cancer and the Cross

Chris Kemshell’s “Cancer and the Cross” is a powerful and inspirational read. I found it intensely moving but that is, at least in part, because I have shared some of the journey with Chris and his wife, Lucy. I was the Synod Moderator when Chris was ordained in 2013, and so presided at his ordination, and held that role until the end of 2020 so shared something of the original trauma of the diagnosis and have watched Chris as he has dealt with what this has thrown at him. Of course, Chris has struggled, but I am incredibly impressed with how he has coped, and the book is very reflective of the Chris I know. I am so glad that he can say, as he does relatively near the beginning: “My weakness is almost becoming my strength in that I am becoming increasingly dependent on God due to my diagnosis. In a bizarre way, I am thankful for my situation and can relate completely to Paul’s claim in 2 Corinthians 12:10: “That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”” Chris cites a lot of Scripture as he writes, but that’s no bad thing. What comes through is his trust in God. I was on a long plane journey, but it is still unusual for me to read a book from start to finish without putting it down, but that’s how it grabbed my attention.

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.”