Author: CCW

“Go thy way, thy son liveth”

But is God’s word alive in us? Here is the Gospel story of someone who having heard, believed, and having heard again, believed yet again, and all without seeing. And its effects extend to define a community of faith, “himself believed, and his whole house”. “Faith cometh by hearing” has its illustration in this touching scene. But does his Word have its resonance in us?

We meet in the Octave of All Saints, that marvelous festival of spiritual life that reminds us of our homeland, the homeland of heaven in the Communion of Saints, and recalls to us as well the common reality of human mortality in the Solemnity of All Souls. The thread of Christ’s glory runs through the grave of our deaths. Such reflections speak profoundly to the worries and anxieties of our world and day, of our church and world.

They remind us of what so much of our culture and church is often in flight from, namely, the spiritual realities that, properly speaking, define our humanity and shape our souls, our communities, and, of course, our churches. Forget or ignore such things, then there is only the empty barrenness of a world and a church that has despaired of all that makes life worth living, a world and a church that can only experience its own emptiness, what one theologian has called “metaphysical boredom”.

This is the modern disease of secular society which has denied the deepest questions of meaning. But banishing such questions leaves a God-shaped hole in our hearts and our culture into which run a whole plethora of false gods. George Steiner, in a largely forgotten Massey Lecture, called attention to this modern phenomenon as “Nostalgia for the Absolute”, noting that in the place of religion, the ideologies of secular atheism rushed in with such things as Darwinism, Marxism, Freudianism and the social anthropology of Lévi-Strauss, all ideologies which have come and gone. They have left in their wake “the incredulity of meta-narratives”, as François Lyotard puts it, a defining feature of what is sometimes called post-modernism.

Yet in the barren emptiness of November we are reminded of those greater spiritual realities, the metaphysical realities, if you will, without which our lives are radically incomplete. In a way, these remembrances are altogether about the resonance of God’s word in human lives. Without them our churches, like our souls, are but “bare ruin’d choirs where late the sweet birds sang”, in Shakespeare’s poignant words.

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“And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying, Blessed are … ye”

It is, as Shakespeare suggests, “that time of year … when yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang upon those boughs which shake against the cold, bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.” His sonnet (# 73) always reminds me of November and of All Saints. In the barren greyness of the dying of nature’s year, there is a gathering into the fullness of life. We are ultimately to “love that well which thou must leave ere long” but more importantly, perhaps, to have a greater hold of what “makes thy love more strong.” And what is that? Simply the Communion of Saints: our lives as embraced in God’s holy love. It is about our wholeness, our holiness, as found in God.

A vision of our redeemed humanity, All Saints speaks to the world of scattered souls and celebrates instead the gathering into wholeness and blessedness of our fractured and fragmented selves. It speaks to the wholeness of ourselves as found in communion with God and with one another. It is in that sense profoundly counter-culture, a counter precisely to our fractured and fragmented selves in our fractured and fragmented world, the “Unreal City” of T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, written one hundred years ago.

Our churches, it seems, are “bare ruin’d choirs” but this is to forget the grace of God who alone makes something out of the empty nothingness of human souls which is the cause of our “bare ruin’d choirs”. Shakespeare, perhaps, had in mind the dissolution of the monasteries in the sixteenth century in England and the accompanying sense of a loss of devotion and love. Yet the imagery of the passing away of nature’s year as an analogy to human mortality actually serves to awaken us to that which abides; in short, to the redemption of our humanity and to its abiding in the love of God.

All Saints offers a profound critique to our fragmented world and to our fragmented selves caught in the vortices of the subjective and radically limited categories of indeterminacy about personal identity. We live in a world in which we have turned ourselves into objects. George Bernanos observed that “between those who think that civilization is a victory of man in the struggle against the determinism of things and those who want to make of man a thing among things, there is no possible scheme of reconciliation.” And then, there is Wendell Berry’s remark that “it is easy for me to imagine that the next great division of the world will be between people who wish to live as creatures and people who wish to live as machines.” To be a machine is to be a thing, where even our bodies have become objects, things, to ourselves, as the French philosopher, Michel Henry noted, things that we can manipulate and destroy as we see fit according to the technological means at our whim and fancy.

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“All things are ready”

“All things are ready”, but are we? And for what? What does it mean to be ready for the banquet, for the wedding feast? The readings in the latter part of the Trinity season all have an apocalyptic quality to them. They point us to the end-times, to the idea of judgment, accountability, and responsibility that belong to the nature of our life in Christ. “Walk[ing] circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise,” Paul bids us, “redeeming the time, because the days are evil.” No kidding, we might say. Yet it is really all about “understanding what the will of the Lord is” in the face of the evil of our days.

But what, indeed, is the “wedding-garment” without which, it seems, we are not ready; without which, it seems, we are out even when we think we are in; without which, it seems, we shall be “cast into outer darkness” where “there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth”? A rather frightening and sobering spectacle.

The times are never so bad that a good man cannot live in them, though, no doubt, that raises the larger question about the struggle for the good in our lives. But the point is that the times in which we live cannot be the measure of virtue and character. I have often told students that they are not the victims of Covid. And neither are you. Rather that is simply part of the setting and circumstance in which virtue is shown and character is proved. The question for Christians “at all times and in all places” is whether we will be defined by circumstance or defined by grace. By grace, we mean the highest perfection of human virtue which is God’s work in us, come what may in the world around us. “Wherefore”, St. Paul bids us, “be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is.”

In Jesus Christ, the Providence of God is written out for us to read most clearly and most dramatically. He is, we might say, the Mind of Providence, the Word and Son of the Father who “came unto his own and his own received him not.” The parable in today’s gospel is really a parable of the whole Gospel itself. Jesus shows us a picture of our indifference, and even more, our evil to his love, to his good for us. Why? To awaken us to spiritual seriousness. To shake us out of our complacency and our evil and into readiness and preparation: preparation for the eternal banquet of the blessed in communion with God and preparation for the foretaste and participation in that feast now in the banquet of the faithful, the Holy Eucharist.

Here, in this service, we see the outpouring of God’s love for us. What, then, is the wedding-garment? It is nothing less than the charity of God in the sacrifice of Christ. The wedding-garment is Christ Jesus. “Put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ,” we will hear on the First Sunday of Advent. Yet, even now in these late days of the Trinity season, we are being called to pay serious attention to our life in Christ: being “wise” (Trinity 20), “taking the shield of faith” (Trinity 21), being “partakers of grace” (Trinity 22), knowing that “our citizenship is in heaven” (Trinity 23); these all the point to our end in Christ, that “ye might be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding: that ye might walk worthy of the Lord”, being made “meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light,” (Trinity 24). In other words we are being recalled to our vocation as Saints, wonderfully illustrated for us in the Feast of All Saints in the vision of the Communion of Saints and in the Beatitudes which define our spiritual lives.

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