GHOST

 

 

He is the oddity in the Trinity: like Winnie the Pooh’s East Pole, people don’t seem to like to talk about him. Well, Anglicans and Catholics, annyway. He is an ancient embarrassment: it was he, after all, who was at the origin of the notorious filioque clause, on account of which rival groups of medieval monks came to blows. Does he, did he, “proceed from” the Father, or from the Father filioque “and the Son”? The author of the Book of the Acts of the Apostles (Luke?), on the other hand, is quite at home with him: Pentecost/Whitsun is his feast. Genesis says that he was there at the beginning: like a vast and formless fowl he “brooded over the waters” of the tohu-wa-bohu, the primeval chaos. “By him, all things were made;” yet at the same time he “bloweth where he listeth” and none can tell whence he comes and whither he goes. 

            St Ephrem of Syria was called his harp. Perhaps his wind-harp, sounding as he passed. And there is always in meditations on him a sense of air moving. He is ruach in Hebrew, pneuma in Greek, spiritus in Latin: in each case words of three meanings, “breath”, “wind or breeze” and “spirit”. (Our, or rather Cranmer’s, “ghost” comes from the Old English gast, linked to German geist, always a spirit.) In John 20:22 the resurrected Yeshua gives him to the disciples: “and then he breathed on them and said, Receive ye the Holy Ghost”.

            Theologians tell us that he is the love between the Father and the Son. This ties him closely to both, and reminds us that love is the language, the essence, of the Deity; but in no way does it enable, or even encourage, us to regard him as a person. This is a bother in prayer. Do we pray to him? We can pray to the Father; we can pray to the Son; but can we pray to (someone who is) a relation(ship)?

            Strangely, I think we can. It does, of course, seem presumptuous; but no more so that praying to the Creator of everything the Webb telescope sees as if he were our dad, and no more so than calling upon the Resurrected King of Peace and informing him that I, a breadcrumb on the skirt of the universe, have sinned today. If we can forget scale, and address him firmly but humbly, experience has convinced me that he listens. If we ask him for such things as he is not only able but willing to give, we shall usually receive them: guidance, for instance; direction; love where we lack it; discernment; and courage. 

            And as this happens, and goes on happening, in our nighs and quiet moments, we do gradually get a sense of a person on the other end of the line. A person who rarely speaks in words, but who sometimes forms a perfectly clear idea or response to the eye of our mind. One surprising example: one night, I asked him to help me, a former Protestant, better to understand the cult of the Blessed Virgin Mary. There was silence, both aural and visual; then, suddenly and briefly, a clear vision of a deep well in time, at the bottom of which I saw a clearly prehistoric, clearly female, hand reach out and make fire, and light some kind of primitive candle or oil-lamp. That was all; but it was a clear response, and equally clearly it was up to me to make sense of it. I should be hard put to it to explain it; but my feeling of having understood was, and is, entire. 

            When I need him, I call upon him; and if his answers are never simple, he has never let me down. 

            Accende lumen sensibus:                    unto our senses strike the light
            Infunde amorem cordibus:                 abundant love pour in our hearts
            Infirma nostri corporis                        shore up our bodies’ weakness now
            Virtute firmans perpeti.                      with virtue that will bend nor end. 

 

(from Hrabanus Maurus’s glorious 9^th-century hymn Veni creator Spiritus)

 

WHEN SHUTTERS CREAK AND WINDOWS STICK

                                            

The theme of this week, in both Anglican and Roman Catholic churches, seems to be openness to the loving approach of God. I find this particularly opportune, as it has been cropping up in my own meditation for some time now. An analogy occurs to me which, like all analogies, is fallible but still apt and instructive. Even as a child, I always found wonderful the fact that we are surrounded by invisible radio waves and that we have but to turn on a radio for all these programmes to become real, audible and (usually) intelligible. Perhaps the Holy Spirit is like this. Perhaps we are surrounded by Him at all times and have but to turn on (it's instructive that in French the word for "to turn on" is "to open") something in our heart to receive Him: His programme, His teaching, His support, His love. Completely different from "seeking God".

Spiritus Sanctus has always been my instinctive favourite person of the Trinity. But it is curious to see how He is spoken of in the New Testament. In both the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles, the Holy Spirit is somewhere between a He and an It, not quite a person, rather a force: very specific, circumscribed, almost concrete. Yeshua or one of the Apostles breathes on you and you receive the spiritus -- which, after all, is pneuma, ruach: breath, wind, or spirit. And receiving that spirit, that force, enables you to do things impossible before: preach the Word to hostile and sometimes lethal audiences, tread on serpents and drink poison without coming to harm. May the Force be with you -- in you, indeed.

For the true understanding of the Holy Ghost as a person we have Athanasius and the Cappdocian Fathers -- Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory of Nazianze -- to thank. I used to think that the Athanasian Creed, as printed in the Book of Common Prayer, was a rebarbative and most unattractive text; later I discovered how much serious and magnificent thought and devotion it contains. And the three Cappadocians richly repay far more attention that we are wont to give them. Here is a typically gorgeous passage from Gregory of Nazianzus:

Look at these facts: Christ is born, the Holy Spirit is His Forerunner. Christ is baptized, the Spirit bears witness to this ... Christ works miracles, the Spirit accompanies them. Christ ascends, the Spirit takes His place. What great things are there in the idea of God which are not in His power? What titles appertaining to God do not apply also to Him, except for Unbegotten and Begotten? I tremble when I think of such an abundance of titles, and how many Names they blaspheme, those who revolt against the Spirit!

I have always found it difficult -- and have written so here before -- to assimilate the currently-common idea that the Spirit is the love between the Father and the Son. It is a tempting thought in some ways, but a love that is a relationship cannot, surely, be a Person? The idea stems, I imagine, from the Filioque clause, which holds that "the Spirit proceedeth from the Father and the Son" and not, as in Orthodox Christianity, from the Father alone. The Orthodox consider that as a result Western Christianity underestimates the Spirit; and I wonder if they may not be right. 

If it is the Holy Spirit that surrounds us and seeks us, we should do well to ask Him to open our shutters, our windows and our doors so that we may receive Him -- a paradox, but such opening is not something we can do by ourselves. And there is no contradiction there with, say, Holman Hunt's painting of Jesus standing at the door and knocking, for the Spirit and the Son, and the Father, are one God, and when one knocks, the Trinity knocks. Let us open: a little chink will do. Give the Spirit an inch, He will take a mile. Maranatha!

ET IN SPIRITUS SANCTUS

Lately I've been pondering the subject of the Holy Spirit, Le saint Esprit, der heilige Geist, the Holy Ghost, the Third Person of the Trinity. On one Catholic forum I saw that someone had written, 'We Catholics tend to forget about the Holy Spirit: we have the Father, the Son and the Blessed Mother.' In slightly more sophisticated theological discussions, I have been seeing the Spirit referred to as the dynamic of love between the Father and the Son into which we can be drawn through prayer. In the New Testament, the Spirit is given in curiously specific ways at curiously specific moments, just as 'peace' becomes something very specific: leave your peace in the house you visit, but if it does not receive you well, take your peace back again. Jesus breathes on the apostles and they receive the Holy Spirit. 

It's all very confusing. How can the Spirit be both a spiritus -- a pneuma, a ruach -- a cloud, a wisp, a breeze, present but intangible like a gas or an odour, and a person? Is the Spirit a He or an It? One place this leads us, of course, is to the Creed, which tells us that the Spirit 'proceeds from the Father and the Son'. It did not always do so: the gestation of that phrase in the Creed was a long and horribly difficult one, as the Wikipedia article on the subject shows. 

So I thought I'd look up a Church Father or two -- in our busy lives we tend to ignore them, which is foolish of us. If Christians read the past scholars and thinkers of their faith as carefully and assiduously as devout Jews do those of theirs, our religious life would be less simplistic and infinitely richer. St Basil did not answer my question but he did write something very fine which, through a metaphor, answered another of my constant questions: how can God, creator of the Whole, be present to little me, a speck on a speck, a breadcrumb on the skirt of the universe? Here is Basil:

Simple in himself, the Spirit is manifold in his mighty works. The whole of his being is present to each individual; the whole of his being is present everywhere. Though shared in by many, he remains unchanged; his self-giving is no loss to himself. Like the sunshine, which permeates all the atmosphere, spreading over land and sea, and yet is enjoyed by each person as though it were for him alone, so the Spirit pours forth his grace in full measure, sufficient for all, and yet is present as though exclusively to everyone who can receive him. To all creatures that share in him he gives a delight limited only by their own nature, not by his ability to give.  . . . .

As clear, transparent substances become very bright when sunlight falls on them and shine with a new radiance, so also souls in whom the Spirit dwells, and who are enlightened by the Spirit, become spiritual themselves and a source of grace for others.

From the Spirit comes foreknowledge of the future, understanding of the mysteries of faith, insight into the hidden meaning of Scripture, and other special gifts. Through the Spirit we become citizens of heaven, we are admitted to the company of the angels, we enter into eternal happiness and abide in God. 

The question of the Spirit's Personhood remains; one keeps looking, and thinking. But meanwhile, we know that He is accessible to us, that He is our Comforter and Advocate, that whenever we pray, it is He that prays in and through us and makes it possible for us to pray at all. Perhaps we have trouble seeing Him clearly not because He is far away but because He is so close. Veni, creator Spiritus.