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Henry writes: When I was a young man beginning to study The Bible, the story of The Annunciation [Luke 1:26-38] always left me cold and mystified. I was very doubtful about the existence of angels, and the idea that one might ‘appear’ to Mary to announce her forthcoming pregnancy sounded ridiculous. The story made no sense.  But all that changed when I saw a print of Fra Angelico’s painting of it.

We see an angel bowing before a seated figure in an otherwise empty enclosed space


It was the silence and stillness of his image that spoke to me. I could understand that anyone, in this case a young woman, might suddenly and inexplicably know something, be changed by the experience and realise that her understanding came somehow from outside her, and thence from God. Indeed I’d had an experience or two like that myself.

I re-read the story, and it now began to make sense, as it tells how Mary is deeply troubled by the experience, frightened even, doubts and questions, before finally graciously accepting it. Yes, I can recognise that pattern too, and suspect that for Mary, that was a sequence she probably went through many times over: fear, doubt, questioning, before quiet acceptance.

The story as Luke tells it is made up almost entirely of the dialogue between Mary and the angel, which presents an artist with a problem as he/she has no visual clues to go on. A painting relies almost entirely on their imagination. That in itself is intriguing, that a Biblical text only came alive for me through the imaginative skill of an artist, the text by itself being insufficient.

The story now, from being one of no significance for me, became one of overwhelming significance.

Partly because it made me aware that God often speaks to me, and presumably to others, through art as through words, or indeed anything else, using our imaginations. There is seemingly, nothing through which God cannot speak.

Partly because the word ‘angel’ simply means ‘messenger’, and thus can be used to describe any person or thing through which God speaks.

Partly because it encourages me to take my own experience of God speaking to me seriously as Mary did. That is a risky business of course, for some people have done terrible things on the basis of thinking themselves to have been spoken to by God, on the other hand it’s also risky not to heed my experience. I need to have some means of discerning what really is of God and what is not.

And partly because Mary has now, not surprisingly, become a much more important person for me. I discovered that some writers talk of her as ‘the first’ of Jesus’ disciples, because she was the first person to put her trust/faith in Him and I am happy to go with that.

Some years ago I had a sabbatical and, in the months before I drafted a list of things but I might do on it, but as it drew near all of those things had either fallen off the list or ceased to engage me. One day I was wondering around the National Gallery in London when I saw a painting by Bernardo Daddi entitled ‘The Coronation of the Virgin’, it took me by surprise and spoke to me.

We see Mary kneeling before Jesus Who is placing a crown on her head - see below

If Mary is the first disciple of Jesus then what happens to her is what happens to all other of His disciples. If she is enthroned will we not be also when we return to the God from whom we came at our births?  ‘The Coronation of the Virgin’ is important as it expresses a hope for all.

Over the years I have come to think of Mary not only as the first disciple of Jesus, but also as the feminine face of God. There have been times in my life when it has felt easier and more appropriate to pray to a feminine face of God rather than a masculine one and to assume that the God who prays for me and holds me in love has a feminine as well as a masculine face.

On the sabbatical, I mentioned earlier, my wife and I spent some time in Assisi in Italy and one day made a trip to San Sepulchro to see Piero della Francesco’s painting of Jesus‘s Resurrection. I also saw a print of Piero’s painting ‘The Madonna of Mercy’ which is part of a large altarpiece.

We see a huge figure of Mary wearing a cloak that protects a group of men and women kneeling before her. See below.

The central figure of Mary stands with her cloak open protecting a group of men and women who were part of a fraternity who cared for those in need in their town. There would’ve been several such fraternities in the town exercising what we would think of social services. The image suggests that Mary cares for these men and women as they exercise care for those in need in their community. I found it a strange but very moving image and now often look at it and learn from it.

Thus has my understanding and appreciation of Mary been transformed in the course of my life. And there has been more. On that same sabbatical, on our return from Assisi, one night I had a dream and in it an older female figure whom I took to be my ‘anima’ spoke wise words to me that I heeded and continue to heed. From time to time, I continue to sense the presence of my ‘anima’ and hear her loving and wise words. I assume that she and Mary are one and the same, or perhaps different aspects of the feminine face of God.

A painting that sums this is up for me is ‘The Mystical Boat’ by Odilon Redon,
Sister Wendy Beckett has written about it thus:

“At first we hardly see the sailor, still less that there is a companion. Both are lost, hidden, secret within the boat’s blueness, the colour of heaven. The two -because the mystic heart is never alone, an angelic Presence, the hidden God, is always there – do not steer the boat, do not even try to direct it. They sit surrendered, allowing the Spirit to take them where He chooses. The sea …….heaves and is turbulent, but the tossing of the boat is part of the mystic journey. It is the outward stress that makes the surrender of trust vital. The sail alone catches the full brightness of God, and it is that brightness, overhead, not tangible, that dominates the picture. But the brightness blinds the sailor, who cannot see where the Spirit is taking them, and he leans back, at rest, content in His spiritual choice.” 

Quite a spiritual journey from my youthful scepticism, and art, and God speaking to me through art, has played a vital and creative role for which I give thanks.
Henry

Henry writes: Increasingly I feel uncomfortable with the term ‘spiritual direction’, with its implication of a one-sided meeting with an authoritative person. Instead, I prefer to talk of a ‘spiritual conversation’ which implies to me a mutual meeting of friends. Both terms are concerned with a meeting in which God is felt to be present. An obvious Biblical example of such a thing is the meeting of Mary and Elizabeth described in Luke’s Gospel.

Luke provides the back story.  Elizabeth’s husband Zechariah was a priest, but of a group whose role in the worship at the Temple in Jerusalem had been severely curtailed many centuries before. Zechariah’s role was now reduced to an annual trip to the Temple along with many others, to perform a largely ceremonial role of no great importance. Moreover, he had no male heir, so he was the last in his line. He must have cut a sad figure: a man with a great name, but of little current significance and no male heir. His wife Elizabeth is no better off, an elderly barren woman, whose barrenness would have been seen as a punishment from God. 

But one year, on his annual visit to the Temple, Zechariah finds himself chosen to enter the ‘holy of holies’, a rare honour, to offer the incense of prayer: [perhaps an opportunity for a prayer for an heir?], and there an angel tells him that his wife Elizabeth will conceive a son who will bring him joy. He doubts the message and is struck dumb.  Luke doesn’t tell us what happened when he got home, but we learn later that he can write & Elizabeth can read, so maybe with that and some sign language, he was able to share something of what had happened to him in the Temple. Elizabeth was no doubt incredulous until her body gave her food for thought.

In the 6th month of her pregnancy an angel appeared to Mary announcing that she too would conceive a child. Luke tells us that Mary went to see Elizabeth on the angel’s instructions, and a spiritual conversation took place at Elizabeth’s home.  It must have been a momentous occasion for both the elderly Elizabeth and the young Mary. What a coincidence that they were both being unexpectedly blessed by God with a child. They would each have told their stories, sharing their amazement at what was happening to them, and each would have been encouraged.

Luke provides few visual clues, so artists have had to use their imaginations to visualise the encounter and then to articulate it in paint. Others have used the iconography to develop the image of a spiritual conversation between two women.

In el Greco’s ‘Visitation’ we see two women, moving to embrace each other in welcome. Indeed are they about to dance?

They are of a similar build and height. You can glimpse the face of one more than the other. They wear identical shiny blue robes. Why? Are they in some sense one & the same? The one on the right has some red edging to her garment.

They stand on a plinth, and again I wonder why? The figure left is coming out of a decorative doorway. It might even be the entrance of an elaborate tomb. If she is Elizabeth then her womb had been a tomb, and the kicking of her child in response to Mary, might be the first sign of the new life within it.

The picture is divided vertically into three: the tomb on the left, a blank meeting space in the middle, and on the right, a place of resurrection light. 

The meeting has two women supporting each other into new life under God: they are engaging in a spiritual conversation.

In Odilon Redon’s ‘Mystical Conversation’, we see two women meeting, in the centre of the image, slightly offset to the left.

The woman on the left is in a blue dress with a gold overgarment that also covers her head. Her left arm is by her side, but the fore finger of her right arm is pointing at the second woman, as if advising her about something. [Her forefinger reminds me of Michelangelo’s ‘Creation’ painting.

Might she be an angel? Her right foot points forward, as if she is encouraging the other to move forward into the new life and colourful beauty ahead of her.

The woman on the right is dressed in a garment of various light colours, shades of blue & gold. Her head is bowed & she appears to be the younger of the two. Her right arm is almost touching/holding the other woman’s left hand. Her left arm, pointing straight down might be holding something, but it isn’t clear what. She is paying attention to what the other is telling her.
They stand, framed by two pillars, in what looks like the external framework of a building on the right, on a plinth which can just be discerned. On the ground in front of them is an impressionist collection of flowers into which the younger woman is being encouraged to advance. There is blue sky in the background, with white & pinkish clouds.

Could these two women be Elizabeth and Mary? I guess that they could, but they might very well not be.  Luke provides so few visual clues about their meeting, that almost any image of two women talking could be a ‘Visitation’.

In ‘The Two Friends’ by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, we see two women, of similar age, seated on a couch/ settee, reddish brown in colour. The floor is red, the walls a light brown. There is a pink frame on the wall facing us
The woman nearest to us has a warm garment wrapped around her upper body and her arms, as if she is not well. It is light purple in colour.  She has a light blue dress, black stockings, and high heeled shoes. Her reddish-brown hair is brushed back. Her face is looking down and her eyes appear closed. She doesn’t speak & appears immersed in her own inner world.
The woman furthest away from us has her left arm resting on the others right hip. She wears a dress of the same light blue colour and a jumper of the same light purple. She has blonde hair, brushed up. She sits upright and is concerned and caring of her friend. They converse by their close proximity to each other and through touch. I wonder why are they dressed so alike?
Could this be a painting of Elizabeth and Mary? Probably not, but maybe it could be.?

In Elin Danielson-Gambogi’s painting ‘Mother’, we see a young woman sitting on the edge of a double bed, on which there are two sets of double pillows. Each with white pillowcases covering a striped pillow.
The young woman’s hair is tied up. She wears a white blouse, & a dark green skirt. She looks down at the child her left breast is feeding. She is totally focused on her baby. Her left arm holds the child. Her right encourages the connection of her breast with the child’s mouth, who is clothed in white. At her feet is a dark wooden cot, with white material within it.
Behind her on the right is a long window with white gauze curtains. Directly behind her is a wall painted a green lighter than her skirt. Above the bed the green wall merges into yellow. The headboard is of a polished darker wood. Next to it is a wooden table on which is a round tray with a light blue bottle and glass on it.
The room is a safe place for the woman, and her embrace and breast is the best possible safe place for her baby. As the mother looks and the baby sucks is this not also a spiritual conversation, albeit again one without words?
There is much emphasis in the Church these day on spiritual directors needing to have been trained & supervised, being in receipt of DBS clearance and having undergone safeguarding training. I can understand why. But most of the people I look to for a spiritual conversation satisfy none of these requirements, and some of those who would, I steer clear of.  Spiritual conversations, ones where God is present, are taking place all the time mostly between people who wouldn’t name them thus. Such is the gracious activity of the God Who is present in all of creation. The conversations don’t require words to be spoken, and don’t even require another person to be present. I’ve had meaningful spiritual conversations with a dog, a cat, a rabbit, a painting, a piece of music, a poem. I even had one this morning with some trees as I strolled down a leafy path.  Henry

Paul Booth
I recently visited Morocco to visit my daughter who lives in Casablanca. Six years ago she converted to Islam, and has settled amazingly well into her spiritual home. In our family we’ve always known her as Kate - a spirited, not always easy human being to live with! She has changed her name to Maryam Kate, and with that change of name has come an amazing transformation. Maryam means ‘beloved’ - which she is; it also carries a sense of ‘rebellious’ - which she was, and I guess can still be, but in a much nicer and kinder way!

Anyway, during my stay we set out to visit a local souk, and passed one of Maryam’s neighbourhood mosques just as the muezzin was calling the faithful to midday prayer. “Do you mind if I go and pray, Dad?”  No, of course not. Look, there’s a chair there by the gate; I’ll wait here for you. “Thanks. I’ll just check it’s OK with the caretaker.” A conversation ensues in Dārija, the local form of Arabic spoken in Morocco. Maryam has managed to learn it well enough to understand and be understood most of the time! “He says no, you must come in Dad! Follow him; he’ll look after you. I’ll go to the Sisters’ entrance.” 
 
I duly follow this upright gentleman dressed in grey kaftan and topi. His smile is warm and welcoming. He offers me a bag for my sandals, and shows me where to put them. I assume he will sit me unobtrusively at the back. But no, he beckons me towards a chair at the far edge of the vast hall, picks it up and beckons me forward. He places it at the far end of the front row, invites me to sit on it, and bows slightly and graciously. 
 
As I sit in silent prayer to my God other men come alongside me, either spreading their prayer mat before them, or taking a few tissues from the boxes provided on which to rest their heads when prostrating.  I am aware that I find the rhythm of their prayer calming and helpful: standing, bowing, kneeling, prostrating - with the barely audible murmur of words learnt by heart at madrasa.  
 
I am also aware that I am completely comfortable in that space, where I am drawn close to holiness. I find it an utterly authentic, spiritual experience praying - albeit in a different way - alongside these devoted men. And I find it impossible to believe we are praying to different Gods. 
 
If there is one true God, then there can surely be only one true God. As we Christians say, ‘Hallelujah!’, and as Muslims say, ‘Alhamdullilah!’ 

Hugh Valentine
Readers of this website will know that feral spirituality is being explored mostly as a corrective to the domesticating effects of conventional believing. It is not used to denote ferocity or savagery. The thesis is simple: the practice of religious observance within a corresponding religious ideology can have the unintended effect of an opiate. Click "Read More"

Happy Christmas. I sense gloom and despondency in the air. Partly it’s directed at our government which seems burnt out and out of control, busy making the mess it’s created worse. Partly it’s despair at the situation in Gaza and Israel, where two sides each with a legitimate cause, their ownership of their land, seem intent in trying to destroy each rather than seeking a peaceful compromise.  Partly it’s despair at the continuing situation in the Ukraine. Of course, we feel helpless to do much about any of these, hence the gloom and despondency.  ‘Where is God in all this?  Why doesn’t He do something about it?’ (Click the 'read more' link)

By Keith Griffin
Around twenty years ago, someone in our small, rural Yorkshire parish suggested staging a Christmas Tree Festival. It was a modest success and so it was repeated. Then came the idea of holding a different sort of Christmas event. What if the theme was The Twelve Days of Christmas? Instead of trees, we’ll see what kind of displays and exhibits everyone comes up with! Two decades later and these Christmas exhibitions are still going.....

By Sister Regula
What a wonderful invitation of Jesus to his disciples as they come back to him from an exciting and also tiring mission. They need time to share their experience with one another and with Jesus, and also to take some rest, quiet and reflection away from the hustle and bustle of life.

The Christian story reflected in fiction.

Henry writes
Earlier this summer I read that Alice Oswald had been elected as the next Professor of Poetry at Oxford University. I recognised her name but wasn’t familiar with her poetry, so on a whim I went to BBC Sounds and on entering her name came upon a programme in which she had been interviewed. I listened to it, was attracted to her poetry, but fascinated by what she said about the business of writing poetry.  I think I’m quoting her accurately: she said that “The poem is not necessarily coming from inside you but is already out there and you’ve just got to listen & find it.”  It’s “A voice that is simply there and speaking and that I listen to.”  In order to do this, she has to concentrate very hard. And “When I write a poem, I try not to be aware of what I think, I don’t know if the poem thinks that.” I recognise the process she describes.... (click 'read more')

Henry writes: My friend Pete has been telling me about a project that his local church in Horsforth has helped to facilitate, and with his permission I share excerpts from a report that he wrote about it. In so many ways it reads to me like a fine example of feral spirituality.
 
“In 1955, mainly parishioners and local volunteers built the Scout and Guides  Headquarters in the grounds of St James’ Parish Church. It flourished,  serving the needs of the groups but as years passed numbers dwindled and essential maintenance was neglected. By 2010, it was no longer suitable for purpose and was in such a poor state of repair that demolition was suggested as the only option.

The vision
In 2019 myself and a colleague (both former Design and Technology teachers) approached the Parish Church to which I belong and who own the building. We asked permission to renovate the building and convert it into a community workshop. The P.C.C. fully supported the idea and not only agreed to allow us to use the building rent free but also provided a gift of £10,000 to enable work to start. They could clearly see the value of this project to serve the needs of the local community.  As work progressed, not only did our team of volunteers grow but so did our vision for how it could serve the local community. We wanted a facility that was accessible to all, that met the standards set for school children, and provided a social space for chatting over a mug of tea. A phrase was coined, “it’s not just about making things, but for making relationships”....
Follow the 'read more' button

Henry writes: The Church has a tendency to make simple things difficult, like prayer and faith, both of which are simple in principle but challenging in practice. Society has a tendency to trivialise important things like miracles and angels. I’ve written about 'Everyday Miracles’, so now I’m going to write 'In defence of Angels'.

Henry writes:
I remember, many years ago reading a poem by David Whyte entitled ‘Faith’:
 
I want to write about faith
About the way the moon rises
Over cold snow, night after night.
 
Faithful even as it fades from fullness
Slowly becoming that last curving and impossible
Sliver of light before the final darkness.
 
But I have no faith myself
I refuse it the smallest entry.
 
Let this then, my small poem
Like a new moon, slender and barely open
Be the first prayer that opens me to faith.
 
I remember it because it links faith with faithfulness such that it makes clear that faith is the same as trust.  It also makes it clear that faith/trust is a gift. Some people seem to be more naturally gifted with it than others. But you can ask God for it, and you can nurture it and encourage it to grow in you.
 
When the Gospel writers talk about faith, and in particular about having faith in Jesus, this is what they mean. It’s about trusting Jesus.  Trusting is often difficult, especially when the object of your faith is no longer tangible, as in Whyte’s poem, but our faith journey is primarily about learning to trust.
 
Too often, people talk about faith as if it’s a statement of belief and having faith as a matter of believing in certain doctrinal statements. This is not the Biblical position. Jesus’ Good News is that God offers us a relationship not a contractual arrangement, and a relationship requires trust if it’s going to flourish. Nowhere in the Gospels does Jesus require a statement of belief from someone before He will help them. It is enough that they have faith in Him, that they simply trust Him.  

Henry

I was in conversation with a friend recently and, in passing, she said of me “You’ve left the church”, and I was taken aback and immediately said to myself “No I haven’t”, but quickly responded “But I can see why she might think that.  I rarely attend worship in church, I’ve returned my ‘Permission to Officiate’ to the Bishop so I am no longer authorised to lead worship in church, and I’ve gone ‘feral’.  But I still don’t think that I’ve “left the church”. So why not?
 
The answer is that my Christian journey has led me into a much bigger vision of what ‘church’ is. Some years ago my friend Roy Gregory and I edited a book entitled ‘The God you already know’ based on the premise that we all have some experience of God. Today I’d entitle it ‘The God whom every created thing knows’.

For on the one hand I have been led to understand that every human comes from God at their birth, is born to incarnate something of the God they already know when they express divine attributes like, love, kindness, compassion, hospitality, creativity etc, and in doing so become whom they are created to be, before returning to God at their death. 

And on the other that God is present in all creation, and every created thing gives worship and glory to God simply by being, worship in which we join when we are whom God has created us to be. 

In this sense, “God’s Church” is everywhere all the time and includes everything. It isn’t somewhere I can choose to go to or to leave, it's always where I am. Henry

Helen Loder, priest-sister SSM, writes: There seems to be a post-covid panic in the church's hierarchy that as our congregations diminish (except for the offspring of Holy Trinity Brompton of course) so the church is being pushed to one side, regarded as irrelevant, and abandoned to the margins of society.

However, it begs the question: is losing so much power and prestige such a disaster? Was it more of a disaster in the 4th century when Constantine ended official persecution and made Christianity the established religion of the empire? From then on were we in danger of losing clear teaching on issues of greed, powerlessness, non-violence, non-control and simplicity?

Could it be that when we, the church, find ourselves today pushed to the edge of society, on its margins, we might find that all is not lost? For is this, perhaps, the place where Jesus has always stood and where he is calling us today? Didn't he say, "where two or three" (and not two or three hundred) "are gathered in my name, I am there among them." Will this open up a new way of being church, nearer to the Gospels, better able to identify with the marginalised, the oppressed and, dare I say it, the elderly?

Who knows? But I pray it may be so.
Helen Loder SSM

Paul Booth writes: I find myself in hospital, in a 4-bed bay. In the bed opposite is Sardar Ali, an 81-year-old Moslem gentleman from Pakistan. He has few words of English. His son tells me he is in Huddersfield visiting his son and family; he visits them twice a year. His son visits his father in hospital twice a day – on his own at lunchtime, and with his wife and young son Esa in the evening.

On his second visit, Esa plucks up courage to come over to me and press the buttons to make my bed go up and down. He chuckles, and we become firm friends, chatting about colours and toys and friends. When the family leaves, Esa comes across and gives me a big hug and a kiss.

The love between the son and his father is beautiful to see, and indeed between the whole family. Together they bring the light of God into the room. Sardar himself is such a humble, gentle man who exudes the peace and presence of God. He has a wonderful smile, and a gracious, honouring wave of the hand.

Tonight Sardar has been discharged, and his son has taken him home. I will miss him.

Sometimes the presence of God is palpable. This has been so for me these past three days.

Henry Morgan writes: I have never found the idea of Jesus’s death being a sacrifice a meaningful one.  Quite the contrary.  What sort of God needs to sacrifice his child in order to be at peace with what He has created?  That sounds barbaric to me.  I can understand why the first Jewish Christians understood Jesus death in those terms. They knew that His death, and more especially God’s raising Him from the dead, changed everything; they knew that it happened when lambs were being sacrificed in the Temple; they had been taught that God needed to be propitiated regularly for their sins, and that offering sacrifices was the means to do that. It must have been natural to them to think of Jesus’s death as the sacrifice that had changed everything....

Paul Booth
A year or so ago a young woman whom I had known as a child and a teenager re-emerged in my orbit of friends. She had had a traumatic, abusive life and had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She was 45 now. She has been back in touch with a couple of her several estranged sons. She had recently converted to Islam. She was living in a loving, caring  community housed in a number of simple terraced houses in a small street in Bradford. ‘Our TLC’ offers residential care for learning difficulties, mental health and substance abuse. God breathes through the pores of ‘Our TLC’!

Henry Morgan, 1 May 2023
 
One of the benefits of being feral is that I feel freer than before to think creatively about my faith. I’ve done that with my thinking about Jesus’ death, and through Holy Week and Easter this year I’ve found myself wondering about Judas, whom I fancy may have had a raw deal from the Church....

The ‘feralspirituality’ web-site began life last autumn, and this Lent, among other things, I’ve found myself mulling on what its existence has meant for me personally. To my surprise, I realise that it's opened my eyes in a number of ways.
 
Firstly, simply by naming ‘feral spirituality’ publicly, has meant that I now see it everywhere.  That’s a common experience, I think. I remember years ago when I bought a Skoda car. I’d never really noticed Skoda cars, but now driving one I was aware of lots of them on the road. Naming something often allows a greater awareness of the thing named. So it was for me with feral spirituality. (Click on read more...)

One of the blessings for me of going feral is that it releases me from the obligation of joining in the church’s activities around the major Christian festivals. There is a downside to that of course, but there’s an upside too. Advent for example has come alive for me because I have both the time and the energy to explore it myself in a way that was never possible as a parish priest when I was primarily focused on the needs and expectations of others. With that in mind, I offer some ways in which Lent and Holy Week might be marked by those of a feral disposition.
 
Lent marks the 40 days that Jesus spent in the wilderness reflecting on His sense of God’s call following His baptism. I aim to use Lent similarly, both to reflect on my calling and to nourish it: and by doing so to deepen my relationship with God and God’s Creation. Last year I mulled on what signs I could discern pointing to where God might be calling me in the coming year. This year I’m re-reading the blogs I’ve written over the past ten years, looking for themes and& developments that God has led me to explore during that period, and wondering what has happened to them.
 
I’m also hoping to nourish my relationship with God in a number of ways. The Visual Commentary on Scripture offers a series of Lenten reflections drawn from a range of works of art. They won’t all speak to me, but some already have.  I was overwhelmed by the recent Cézanne exhibition at Tate Modern in London, and I’m spending time each day looking at reproductions of a number of his paintings.  I’m dipping into a collection of poems by Louise Gluck, some of which are just wonderful. And I’m making sure that I listen to music every day.  None of these activities might seem especially Lenten when the focus is more usually on self-denial, but I remember that Jesus spent time opening the eyes of the blind and the ears of the deaf, and the arts do that for me, and thus nourish my soul, which is the God-spark within me.
 
It's traditional to use Holy Week to reflect on Jesus bearing His cross. Jesus called His followers to follow Him and that in part involved taking up their own crosses. Now we need to be careful here. He didn’t call them to find as many crosses as they could and get their backs under them. Neither did He expect them to carry His cross.  Indeed, he didn’t literally carry a cross until the very end of His life, but His response to God’s call led Him to choose some metaphorical crosses, such as leaving home, being homeless and poor etc, and following Him must have led to his followers to choose likewise. Increasingly, I find myself drawn to reflect on the crosses that I’m called to bear, and to draw insight from the way that Jesus bore His cross as to how I might bear mine. I see Holy Week less as a time to ponder on what Jesus’ suffering did for me, rather as a time to reflect on what I can learn from Him in handling mine. That in turn may well sharpen my awareness of those around who are also carrying crosses [i.e. just about everybody] and impel me to support them in whatever ways we can.
 
The other issue that I struggle with at this time, is a fact that I’ve rarely heard preached about.  Namely, that it was the religious authorities of His day that connived at Jesus’ crucifixion, and they did so from a concern for the preservation of the religious structures of which they were a part. ‘Better that one man die than the religious institutions perish.’  Now, religious institutions are a fact of life, and there is much good in them. But they do seem inevitably to end up being more concerned with their own preservation than with the aims and teaching of their founders.  I don’t see how it can be otherwise, and that’s a problem.
 
The danger for me in the services and activities that churches facilitate during Lent and Holy Week is that they tend to focus on the past rather than the present: they tell the story and tend to neglect what the story might be calling us to be and do in the present.  The story of ‘The Man who invented fire’ makes this point [see ‘The risk of religion taming the untamed God’ in our ‘Open Forum’.

Henry

Henry writes: I’ve been blessed with two very good spiritual directors over the years, but I struggled when the last one died. It was probably not a bad idea to have a break for a while, but finding a new one, someone who would encourage, stimulate and challenge me spiritually, proved depressingly difficult....

Henry writes: One of the joys of being feral is the freedom to think and explore. These thoughts have been buzzing round in my head recently. There’s nothing new about them. Others have been articulating them far better than me for centuries. But only now have they fallen into place for me. I find them to be simple but profound. They change everything.  Here they are:

In exploring feral spirituality my intuition is a trusty guide.  It led me to ask for a Christmas gift of Louise Gluck’s Poems 1962-2020, which I duly received....