ASTONISHING

As a pendant to my recent post on the importance of thought in faith, I thought I would mention a recent experience of quite another kind. I had been thinking about prayer and what it can legitimately request; and as so often, more and more of the things we tend to ask for came in my mind to resemble Huck Finn’s fish-hooks. To me this is still one of the great mysteries of faith. We are encouraged to pray for others; and if we love them or even merely wish them well, we quite naturally pray for their healing if they are sick, for their joy if they are miserable, for their victory if they are in any kind of battle. And yet such results may or may not come to pass, according to what seems either blind chance or materially explicable results. Clearly to any such prayer we must add a te Deo volente, ‘if it please thee, Lord’. 

For what, then, can we pray unconditionally? For ourselves to come, for others to be brought, to the (greater) knowledge and love of God, was my conclusion. For an increase in these may take place in sickness as in health, in unhappiness as in joy, in defeat as in victory. 
And as, in consequence, I made this prayer, feeling (and saying) that such an increase would be a great blessing for me, I had a sudden and vivid sense of the Risen Lord himself at my side, who said, “Oh, and such a blessing for me!” And who then left.

An extraordinary thought, which I suspect others than myself may also find new and inspiring. We know that from the Incarnation to the Passion, his life was a constant gift of love and humility. But how often do we stop to think that our coming (closer) to the knowledge and love of him may be experienced as a blessing by him? It is of course the point of the Parable of the Prodigal Son, and such points we often understand as it were at a distance; but here it was present, personal, and immediate. If you, Aardvark Zygote, in any way increased your openness to his love yesterday, you have given him a day of pure happiness and thanksgiving. Imagine a spontaneous smile of pleasure on his face as he puts another fish on the fire. “Shalom, Aardvark! I was so hoping you’d come! What joy!”


The image is of a crucifix in the castle of  Javier in Northeast Spain, known as 'the smiling Christ'. Probably 15th century.

TIBERIAS

The sails are slack against the morning sun,

Whispering wavelets part to let us through.

The night was long and hard, the dawn shines blue

And gold, the nets are full, the work is done.

We yawn and stretch, and cap each brimming tun

For transport to the town, nailing it true;

Set tillers for the beach. The day is new

But we are old and tired and sere and dun.

Then on the air a smell of charcoal fire

And frying fish caresses us from land:

Who is that waving in the curls of smoke?

The bow grounds on the sand; we pull it higher,

And recognize, and run, as the raised hand

Becomes the Risen, calling laden folk.

INCREDIBLE!

So what about the Resurrection? There can't be many people in our Western culture who haven't heard of it. Most, these days, don't think about it and would say, if pressed, they don't believe a word of it. Those of us who claim to be members of the Christian faith, however, can't get out of it. We have to face up it; and I sometimes wonder how many of us actually really and truly believe it happened -- not as a symbol, not as a myth, not as a legend, not as an archetype, but as a real happening in a world where two astonished, dumbfounded women get to touch, with their own hands, the hands and feet of the Risen One. A world where the fishermen, sad, defeated, but getting on with the job, come back from a night catch and see a little fire on the beach with fish grilling on it and a real, solid Person sitting next to it and saying "Come and have a bite of breakfast!"

How many of us, even as we say the words of the Creed, in our heart of hearts really believe that in that simple, vast, unimaginable way, it happened? And then, the corollary: how many of us, especially those not fundamentalist evangelicals, can genuinely get our minds around the idea that when we come to our last moment on this earth we will not just wink out? And that this is because of what happened during that one real and actual night in the year -- well, 33 or 29 or so?

I grew up in an atmosphere, a culture, where when religion was discussed this sort of question was avoided. Some people were ready to say that they thought there might be "something" after death, but most just didn't want to talk about it much. Later, in Canada, I belonged for a few years to an Anglican Church where the Rector, though a fine and buoyant man, I'm sure did not believe in the Resurrection.

And yet St Paul says, "If Christ did not rise [from the dead], what we preach is worthless and your faith is worthless."(1 Cor. 15:14) That is strong stuff. I'm not sure I know anyone who has no problem with this; if I did, that would be someone I'd worry about.

Today is the day we celebrate the Resurrection -- His, and ours. I think we ought to do it thoroughly. After all, one of the Inklings, C.S. Lewis or Tolkien, once wrote that if you act as if you believe long enough, you're likely to  end up believing. And if the little worm of doubt still raises its deformed snout in us, we can truly say -- as we go on celebrating -- "Lord, I believe: help thou mine unbelief."