January 25 NOTES FOR REFLECTION
Texts: Jonah 3:1-5, 10; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20*
[*Note: we have to make a choice this Sunday, as it falls on the day of The Conversion of St Paul, for which the set readings are Jeremiah 1:4-10 or Acts 9:1-22; Acts 9:1-22 or Galatians 1:11-16a; and Matthew 19:27-30. By the narrowest of margins I'm opting for the other set of readings, but on the understanding that the Conversion of St Paul is itself a "call story" and a fruitful "combined approach" may well be helpful, comparing and contrasting his experience with that of the four fishermen.]
Theme: Continuing with some of the same reflections on freedom from last week, I'm leaning towards something like "Full and Informed Consent?"; or even "Volunteers or Conscripts?" For those who prefer a calmer start to proceedings perhaps something more neutral like "The Gift of Freedom" might suffice.
Introduction: A brief glance at this week's readings should be enough to suggest that the whole idea of freedom, at least for those of us whose primary interest is our faith rather than our political views, is far more complex than much of the commentary on the Charlie Hebdo tragedy would have us believe. We begin with an extract from one of the greatest of all the biblical stories, the tragi-comedic tale of Jonah, the archetypical anti-hero. Was he free to say "No" to God: we he a volunteer or a conscript? We follow with a mercifully short reading from St Paul: I hope I don't need to protest my status as a devotee of St Paul, but really! Where does this reading getting anyone? Perhaps this is the point on which we segue to the Conversion of St Paul briefly, before turning to the gospel. As usual, St Mark is refreshingly clear and uncluttered in his account of the calling of the fishermen of Lake Galilee.
Background. Very early on in my ministry a parishioner queried some platitudinous remark I had made about God's gift to us of free will. In those days I usually faithfully adhered to the party line on all things. In this case I had probably said something like, God never imposes his will on us – God always respects our freedom to say yes or no. Any other approach would be inconsistent with love, because love must always grant freedom to the beloved. I knew the drill, and I assumed that the parishioners did, too. But this woman, a young widow, who had already suffered more than most of us had – she had, as she put it, "seen the dark side of God" on more than one occasion – was in no mood for such carefully rehearsed (a polite word for regurgitated) claptrap. Her question was along these lines: "How can you say that we are free to say yes or no to God when the Bible makes it clear that if we say yes we go to heaven and if we say no we're off to a burning lake of sulphur?"
The imagery reflected the fact that my predecessor in the parish had been a somewhat extreme charismatic evangelical; but the question was still a good one. I can't remember what answer I gave but I very much doubt that it convinced her or me: it was probably the sort of incoherent flow of words that comes to lawyers when all else fails. Twenty or so years later, I'm not much further on in coming up with a coherent or convincing argument. Of course, there is a strictly logical answer that goes something like this. We are free to choose our response to God, but like every other choice we make this one has consequences. Because God wants us to be fully informed before we make our choice the consequences are revealed to us ahead of time. Possibly that meets some sort of minimal coherency test, but is it convincing? Yes, perhaps, if we assume that the relationship between God and humanity is strictly governed by rules of jurisprudence, principles of contributory negligence, and so on. But in an age when we obsessively avoid saying or doing anything that could be construed as blaming the victim, will this wash? [When was the last time someone said publicly that overweight people deserve to die prematurely and we should quit spending money on them because THEY HAVE BEEN WARNED OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF OVER-EATING?]
So what can we say about free will in terms of our faith? What is freedom in the context of Christ's teaching? The more I have pondered this question over the last little while the more I have come to suspect that freedom is not just an essential element of love – it is a virtual synonym of it. We love because God first loves us can also be expressed as we give freedom to others because God first gives freedom to us. It's all there in the wonderful words of the Absolution on page 408: "Through the cross of Christ, God have mercy on you, pardon you and set you free. Know that you are forgiven and be at peace. God strengthen you in all goodness and keep you in life eternal." At the root of freedom is divine forgiveness – which means that the source of all human freedom is the cross. Of all the great paradoxes of our faith none is more staggering than the sight of a man nailed to a cross granting freedom (forgiveness) to those who are killing him. Freedom, like love, and like all other gifts of God, is to be given away to others.
(One of the most perfect illustrations of this is surely the sacrificial death of Fr Maximilian Kolbe in Auschwitz when he freely chose to swap places with a condemned man. Put that alongside the cries from Paris last week insisting that Freedom must include the "right" to ridicule one another and we might wonder why anyone would want to claim "Je suis Charlie!")
So what of our friend Jonah? Was he not the victim of divine coercion? In the end, did he have any real option? Was he truly free to say no to God? I'm still struggling with this one; but I have moved along way from my original answer which was a blunt "Hell, no!" Perhaps I could never give a definitive answer without knowing what happened next: what answer did Jonah give to God's closing question? We could ask a similar question about St Paul's experience on the road to Damascus: being knocked off his feet and temporarily blinded is not how a lover would usually go about wooing his beloved. But in both cases we know the outcome for "the others" who received their freedom through the messages proclaimed by Jonah and St Paul. Perhaps that's what these stories are really about – freedom, like love, is only real when it is given away. Or, to put is another way (with apologies to St Paul), in Christ slavery is the new freedom!
Jonah 3:1-5, 10. This is a great morality tale about what the Germans call Schadenfreude, to which we are all rather prone from time to time. Jonah does have some justification, perhaps, when we remember that Nineveh was a city in Babylonia, a longstanding enemy of Israel. (How many wars in our history have ended in repentance and forgiveness?) Of all the people who have attempted to hide or run away from God, Jonah has one of the most interesting reasons for doing so: he does not want to warn the residents of Nineveh to repent because he is afraid they will, and then God will turn soft on them and forgive them. (This is a more exciting and colourful version of the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant – and just as challenging.)
Taking It Personally.
[*Note: we have to make a choice this Sunday, as it falls on the day of The Conversion of St Paul, for which the set readings are Jeremiah 1:4-10 or Acts 9:1-22; Acts 9:1-22 or Galatians 1:11-16a; and Matthew 19:27-30. By the narrowest of margins I'm opting for the other set of readings, but on the understanding that the Conversion of St Paul is itself a "call story" and a fruitful "combined approach" may well be helpful, comparing and contrasting his experience with that of the four fishermen.]
Theme: Continuing with some of the same reflections on freedom from last week, I'm leaning towards something like "Full and Informed Consent?"; or even "Volunteers or Conscripts?" For those who prefer a calmer start to proceedings perhaps something more neutral like "The Gift of Freedom" might suffice.
Introduction: A brief glance at this week's readings should be enough to suggest that the whole idea of freedom, at least for those of us whose primary interest is our faith rather than our political views, is far more complex than much of the commentary on the Charlie Hebdo tragedy would have us believe. We begin with an extract from one of the greatest of all the biblical stories, the tragi-comedic tale of Jonah, the archetypical anti-hero. Was he free to say "No" to God: we he a volunteer or a conscript? We follow with a mercifully short reading from St Paul: I hope I don't need to protest my status as a devotee of St Paul, but really! Where does this reading getting anyone? Perhaps this is the point on which we segue to the Conversion of St Paul briefly, before turning to the gospel. As usual, St Mark is refreshingly clear and uncluttered in his account of the calling of the fishermen of Lake Galilee.
Background. Very early on in my ministry a parishioner queried some platitudinous remark I had made about God's gift to us of free will. In those days I usually faithfully adhered to the party line on all things. In this case I had probably said something like, God never imposes his will on us – God always respects our freedom to say yes or no. Any other approach would be inconsistent with love, because love must always grant freedom to the beloved. I knew the drill, and I assumed that the parishioners did, too. But this woman, a young widow, who had already suffered more than most of us had – she had, as she put it, "seen the dark side of God" on more than one occasion – was in no mood for such carefully rehearsed (a polite word for regurgitated) claptrap. Her question was along these lines: "How can you say that we are free to say yes or no to God when the Bible makes it clear that if we say yes we go to heaven and if we say no we're off to a burning lake of sulphur?"
The imagery reflected the fact that my predecessor in the parish had been a somewhat extreme charismatic evangelical; but the question was still a good one. I can't remember what answer I gave but I very much doubt that it convinced her or me: it was probably the sort of incoherent flow of words that comes to lawyers when all else fails. Twenty or so years later, I'm not much further on in coming up with a coherent or convincing argument. Of course, there is a strictly logical answer that goes something like this. We are free to choose our response to God, but like every other choice we make this one has consequences. Because God wants us to be fully informed before we make our choice the consequences are revealed to us ahead of time. Possibly that meets some sort of minimal coherency test, but is it convincing? Yes, perhaps, if we assume that the relationship between God and humanity is strictly governed by rules of jurisprudence, principles of contributory negligence, and so on. But in an age when we obsessively avoid saying or doing anything that could be construed as blaming the victim, will this wash? [When was the last time someone said publicly that overweight people deserve to die prematurely and we should quit spending money on them because THEY HAVE BEEN WARNED OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF OVER-EATING?]
So what can we say about free will in terms of our faith? What is freedom in the context of Christ's teaching? The more I have pondered this question over the last little while the more I have come to suspect that freedom is not just an essential element of love – it is a virtual synonym of it. We love because God first loves us can also be expressed as we give freedom to others because God first gives freedom to us. It's all there in the wonderful words of the Absolution on page 408: "Through the cross of Christ, God have mercy on you, pardon you and set you free. Know that you are forgiven and be at peace. God strengthen you in all goodness and keep you in life eternal." At the root of freedom is divine forgiveness – which means that the source of all human freedom is the cross. Of all the great paradoxes of our faith none is more staggering than the sight of a man nailed to a cross granting freedom (forgiveness) to those who are killing him. Freedom, like love, and like all other gifts of God, is to be given away to others.
(One of the most perfect illustrations of this is surely the sacrificial death of Fr Maximilian Kolbe in Auschwitz when he freely chose to swap places with a condemned man. Put that alongside the cries from Paris last week insisting that Freedom must include the "right" to ridicule one another and we might wonder why anyone would want to claim "Je suis Charlie!")
So what of our friend Jonah? Was he not the victim of divine coercion? In the end, did he have any real option? Was he truly free to say no to God? I'm still struggling with this one; but I have moved along way from my original answer which was a blunt "Hell, no!" Perhaps I could never give a definitive answer without knowing what happened next: what answer did Jonah give to God's closing question? We could ask a similar question about St Paul's experience on the road to Damascus: being knocked off his feet and temporarily blinded is not how a lover would usually go about wooing his beloved. But in both cases we know the outcome for "the others" who received their freedom through the messages proclaimed by Jonah and St Paul. Perhaps that's what these stories are really about – freedom, like love, is only real when it is given away. Or, to put is another way (with apologies to St Paul), in Christ slavery is the new freedom!
Jonah 3:1-5, 10. This is a great morality tale about what the Germans call Schadenfreude, to which we are all rather prone from time to time. Jonah does have some justification, perhaps, when we remember that Nineveh was a city in Babylonia, a longstanding enemy of Israel. (How many wars in our history have ended in repentance and forgiveness?) Of all the people who have attempted to hide or run away from God, Jonah has one of the most interesting reasons for doing so: he does not want to warn the residents of Nineveh to repent because he is afraid they will, and then God will turn soft on them and forgive them. (This is a more exciting and colourful version of the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant – and just as challenging.)
Taking It Personally.
· Take some time to "get inside" Jonah. Do you warm to him and recognise part of him in you, or is he a hopeless jerk who deserves a divine kick in the bottom?
· Notice that God gives Jonah a second chance, without remonstrating with him about his failure to comply the first time. What does that tell you about the nature of God?
· How does that compare to your own attitude to someone who lets you down? Are you quick to give a second chance, or are you more inclined to criticise that person or give up on him or her?
1 Corinthians 7:29-31. Well, okay, there must be something here for us to ponder, even if it is not immediately apparent to me. I guess it is about priorities, and in that sense it ties in with the gospel passage. In ordinary times, focussing exclusively on the demands of our faith and ignoring our other familial, social, and contractual responsibilities would not be appropriate; but these are no ordinary times. "The appointed time has grown short", so everything necessary to prepare for the end is now urgent. Two thousand years later we might have some difficulty in sharing St Paul's sense of urgency. On the other hand, we can only meet God in the present moment, in the Now as Richard Rohr and others like to put it. To put off "religious stuff" until a more opportune stage of our life is abandon all thought of a spiritual life. Perhaps that is at least part of St Paul's meaning for the present time.
Taking It Personally.
· Are you aware of clashes between your commitment to your spiritual life, and your commitments to your family, friends, employers or others? Where do your priorities usually lie?
· Are you aware of an increasing urgency in your desire to develop your relationship with God as you grow older?
Mark 1:14-20. Mark agrees with Matthew that Jesus' public ministry began after the arrest of John the Baptist, although that is less clear in Luke. It could mean, also, that John's arrest prompted Jesus to move to Galilee The two call scenes are very similar, but the second one seems to be a more developed version of the first. Neither makes it entirely clear that the call is open-ended, although Jesus' rather laboured analogy between fishing for fish and fishing for people does seem to imply a permanent change in vocation rather than a short- term assignment. There is no mention of the effect such a dramatic move might have on others associated with Peter or Andrew. The calling of James and John, on the other hand does bring others in to the picture. Surely something is being said here about the different relationship the two brothers have with Zebedee (he is their father) and that of the other crewmen with Zebedee (they are his hired men). Echoes of John 6:11-13 seem to sound out here, but notice that here it is the hired men who stay at their posts and the sons who take off. It's also tempting to assume that there is some significance intended in recording the different tasks that the men were engaged in at the time of their call. Andrew and Peter were casting their nets, whereas James and John were mending theirs. But just what that significance is, I'm not sure: perhaps in the latter case, something about the care they are taking to mend their nets contrasting with their willingness to abandon their familial networks to follow Jesus? There is an unavoidable inconsistency between this account of the call of Peter and the account given in the Fourth Gospel: John 1:35-42.
Taking It Personally.
· How do you react to these stories? How would you describe your predominant feelings about them? How would you describe the reaction of the fishermen? Wonderfully faithful? Totally irresponsible? Incredible? Scary?
· Were they volunteers or conscripts in your view? What attracted them to drop everything and go for it? Conviction? A desire for adventure? A trust in Jesus? A desire to be part of something greater than themselves?
· Are their echoes here of young men rushing to sign up at the start of the First World War – or going overseas to join the Spanish Civil War – or to fight for or against the Islamic State?
· How would you react if someone you loved announced they were abandoning their career, family and everything else to join a religious order within the Christian tradition? What about a religious sect? Or a Buddhist ashram? Or a Moslem community? Or to go overseas to fight?
· What if they said they had no choice – they were simply obeying God's call?
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