January

January Prayer Page by Clare Barrett

Some thoughts on faith, travelling and photocopying

Faith is an interesting word. The Concise Oxford Dictionary (1995 edition – I know, what can I say) has:

1.    complete trust or confidence. 
2.    firm belief esp. without logical proof.

The use of the term “faith” always has that little Kierkegaardian sniff of the “little leap” in it, I think. There’s a space of “we can’t really be sure – there’s a lot about it that seems good – we’re going to trust in it anyway”. And this seems ok when talking about faith in ourselves maybe (who knows what we’re going to do) or the weather, but we use it in relation to faith in God as well and it doesn’t seem so appropriate there.

This is a great time of year – Summer and Christmas and the beginning of a New Year. So much to love, so motivating. In the Christmas story you can only be astounded by the great clarity and courage shown by all. Our Lady’s acceptance of God’s request, St Joseph’s acceptance of the Angel’s message to him, the Holy Family’s hasty and frightening decision to leave and settle in Egypt, the shepherds (near) and three Kings (miles away) journeying with no clear idea of what they were expecting to see, putting themselves out considerably but answering a call they couldn’t/wouldn’t refuse. Such active responses. Not a passive or resigned position, but a driven response; not a watery “meh” response, but from the seat of a fiery furnace.

I don’t feel that what we have with God is the Oxford dictionary definition of “faith”. I don’t think we have trust in him (ie, in spite of the vagaries), I feel we know Him; we know He’s there. Who would travel for miles across dangerous territory into a foreign place to Bethlehem of all hotspots (I am struggling enough to brace myself for a first time car trip over the Remutakas to find Michele Lafferty)? Who would agree to things that are clearly going to be hard and alienate your friends and reputation? How deeply in touch with Him must they all have been – those shepherds, Mary, the Kings and Joseph.  And for that matter, Alfred Delp, Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day, St Paul and so many, many others (people who sing “I am with you on a journey” when they’ve got lost in the world somewhere for instance). He is with us and we have noticed. And the key to doing what he wants (which isn’t always all this huge stuff – Our Lady’s life hopefully settled down to normal life for quite a while) – the key is staying in touch with Him. We know this but our lives drag us away from those we love all the time. 

So my prayer for January 2020 is to stay properly in touch with Him as often as I can throughout the day, every day. That way, if He asks me for something, I will recognise it and do what He wants (hopefully).

Stopping the mind noise is always the problem – for me, I try to listen to the wind and the sea, to recognise it as part of me (in that the earth and the stars and the sea are made of similar substances to myself, chemically speaking). There are the mindful mediation words of Thich Nhat Hahn (the Vietnamese Buddhist monk) – breathing in “I have arrived”; breathing out “I am home”. Normally I just use the word “Close” (as in Away in a Manger “Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay close by me for ever”).
This stops me from fretting about wasting time or nurturing regrets that I never made it to be Prime Minister or worked out Maths or became famous or useful; it brings me before Him. Which brings me to photocopying.

There was an extraordinary young boy who died of Leukaemia at 15 years old and is buried in Assisi, Italy, in accordance with his wishes. His name is Carlo Acutis and he was named “Venerable” by Pope Francis on 5 July 2018. Do look him up! He said “All people are born as originals but many die as photocopies.” The temptation to be a photocopy is constant. Only God can make us stop it.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voice behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life that you could save.

— Mary Oliver