|
|
EDGES MAGAZINE Issue
26 |
July/Aug
2001 |
| Don't Be Afraid of Your Vulnerability |
|
As I grow older and
think more about the mysteries each of us have to confront or not, I feel a
deep down regret about some things. One of them is that I wish my calling had
been to a more contemplative way of life. Maybe in a monastic setting with the
tranquillity of order. Anyone who knows me will feel how unsuitable I would
have been for such a life.
|
I am a restless and
often over energised human being who prefers the city to the country, and have
spent most of my ministry in tough comprehensive schools and challenging
parishes. I reflected some of these thoughts to a friend of mine recently, and
he said that the peace and tranquillity of a monastic cloister would only be
disturbed by one thing,
'You'.
The constant facing of self with the
never far away feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness, have been constant
companions over the years. It has never surprised me that there are so many
casualties in active ministry - falling in love, if that can be called a
casualty, loneliness that sometimes leads to drinking, the lust for power,
which is more common than the lust for sex, are all part of the risky business
of being a priest in the market place. It seems to me that the only way to
remain safe in the market place, is to be at home in the desert - to reflect
Cardinal Hume's thoughts after being taken from the cloisters to the city.
Constancy in prayer is the only guarantee to safely walking by the sleeping
dragon. The last priestly prayer of the day contains this, 'Be calm but
vigilant because your enemy the devil is prowling round like a roaring lion
looking for someone to eat.'(1 Peter 5, 8-9)
These particular thoughts
came to me in rather unexpected circumstances. Some people in the T.H.O.M.A.S.
community have been talking about going on retreat. I was thinking of going to
a remote Anglican Franciscan house I know, but instead my retreat was imposed
upon me. I ended up in hospital with a dislocated shoulder that needed surgery,
courtesy of one of my sessions at the gym. I spent five days in hospital and
tried to use this time for reflection. Every morning, except the day after
surgery I went to the day room around 6 am and watched the sunrise over a
rather Loweryesque Blackburn. On the first morning I opened the Gideon Bible at
random and my eyes came on the words of Psalm 22, 'I can count all my bones,'
appropriate for an orthopaedic ward and part of what I like to call the cosmic
giggle.
During these five days my thoughts took me all over the place.
Gratitude was there. I was not the young person in the ward with an amputated
leg, or the Asian man only thirty-four who had already had a kidney transplant
and a heart attack this year.
I also reflected on how one's pain can
make one so self-centred and how difficult it was to be humble enough to accept
help in using the toilet, and even help to open a yoghurt carton.
Two
very kind ministers of religion came round. It was more than obvious that most
of the patients, though courteous towards them, didn't want what they were
offering. Even though the choosing of the following days menu seemed quite
important to most patients, bread and wine were not on most people's menu.
My stay made me realise just how small, vulnerable, almost
insignificant one is in the scheme of things. My prayer during these days was
short, and someone elses:
"Teach me to know what to pray for....
....Deliver me from the long drought
of the mind. Let leaves
from
the deciduous Cross
fall on us, washing us clean, turning our autumns
to gold by the affluence of their fortune"
R.S. Thomas - The Prayer.
Eventually I was quite grateful for my retreat and was able to nail a
few more questions onto the untenanted cross.
Fr. John Michael
Hanvey |
|
|
