The sound of sheer silence

He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” 

Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire 

a sound of sheer silence. 

When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. 

(1 Kings: 11 – 13)

Baptism

The original opening line of this post "within the last year" is no longer strictly true as it has taken so long for me to finalise, but the rest of it is as valid today as it was when I decided to try and write something on this subject.

Within the last year I have had the privilege to attend three baptisms: each very different from the other, each attached to a sense of huge privilege to be part of the story, each a window into something of the mystery of faith and grace. I feel I want to in some way try to capture here something of what it meant to be a part of three very different expressions of a community of faith welcoming a new member.

The first was Rasul, an Iranian friend, expressing his new found Christian faith by full immersion baptism, as an adult, into the Vineyard church. I knew before I went that this was going to be somewhat outside my church comfort zone. But there was certainly energy and a deep sense of faith. For Rasul, there was also the very tangible, visible expression of great joy and deep peace: an undoubtedly welcome respite in a troubled life.

The next was the baby son of an Eritrean friend, baptised into the Orthodox tradition at forty days old. I think I am probably relatively well-versed in a wider range of different church traditions than many; but this involved spreading my ecumenical wings a little further than they had stretched before. I had little idea what to expect (and a lot of the time, little idea what was going on). I was the obvious outsider (not a bad thing to experience from time to time), and I was made to feel wonderfully welcome, not just by the family who had invited me, but by a wider community who opened their arms to embrace me. It felt like an immense privilege to have been invited into something I will undoubtedly rarely have the opportunity to experience.

And the third was our niece, and now God-daughter, who, at four years old, was being welcomed into her local church community and into the Church of England. This one was a much more familiar tradition, I knew what to expect, how to participate. I too, after all, was baptised, as a four-year-old into this same denomination, and while I may not remember that day itself, it is a tradition which, while it is no longer all of my now many-faceted Christian identity, has certainly played a significant role in forming it, and which still feels comfortable and familiar.

In many ways, everything about these three occasions was different.

One participated with not just full consent but commitment and great joy; another, too small to have any idea at all what was going on; the third, a generally willing participant. One was modern, lively and loud; one deeply rooted in tradition that has probably hardly changed in many generations; the third embraced a certain informality while still drawing on liturgical structures. There were differences of language, and fusions of cultures, and a thousand other ways in which they differed.

Yet at some deeper level they were, in many ways, all exactly the same. Each was a community of faith and love opening its arms in welcome, expressing a willingness to support someone on their journey, desiring to share something that matters deeply to them with another, full of hope for the gifts of the kingdom, however that may be understood. And tea, they all involved tea.

For all three it was important to be there. Important, and a wonderful privilege. To be there as part of a community, to be there to stand as witness and to open arms in welcome. To be there to express a willingness to share in the journeys, wherever they may lead.

I think the reason this has sat for so long as a "draft" is I probably thought I could use it as a vehicle for some significant theological point, but maybe there is no need to do that. Maybe it's fine just to acknowledge the beauty and privilege of being part of these special days for these three different people.

Answers (5)

The next installment of questions and answers ...

21) Where's one place you'd like to go that you haven't visited?

Writing a long list of places I want to visit probably wouldn't be very difficult, but selecting just one is much harder. However, having recently applied for an Irish passport in response to the Brexit debacle (thanks Grandma!), I feel that the Republic of Ireland (a place I have often thought of visiting but never actually have) probably should top my list ... and should be relatively achievable too!

22) Would you prefer to love or to be loved?

I don't actually believe it is possible to make this choice. I think they are so deeply intertwined it is virtually impossible to have one without the other: it is the experience of being loved which not only makes possible, but inevitably inspires love for others. So for me this is not an either / or situation, but a both / and one.

23) What is your favourite book or film of all time and what does it mean to you?

Please note, the question intentionally asks for 'favourite', not best! I debated long and hard about this one: there are, after all, a plethora of books I love, and quite a number of films, but in the end I came back to the confession of my love for The Chalet School Series by Elinor M Brent-Dyer (It's ok, I checked with the question master and a series rather than an individual volume was allowed!)

I know, objectively, I probably shouldn't like them: they are, generally, quite badly written; they are very much 'of their era' in terms of gender roles and in some cases race relations too; they are about a privileged elite; the list could probably go on. But they remain my favourite books: not because they are great literature, but because they created a world I could escape into: a world very different to my own, and attractive for exactly that reason. As I have mentioned before, I was not a happy teenager: and I regularly escaped into the world of the characters of the half a dozen volumes I had at that point and all of the imaginary stories I created round them. As an adult, ably assisted by the advent of ebay, I gradually collected the whole series. I can judge when I am stressed or tired because instead of turning to some of the great books lined up and waiting to be read on my bookshelves, I revert to reading and rereading them.

I probably know the whole series, all 62 volumes, virtually off by heart. I can certainly open any of them, to any page, and just start reading, like slipping back into a comfortable friendship. For all their failings, I love them, because love is emotional rather than rational.

24) What are your most important values and how do you try to show them in your everyday life?

I actually found defining this, the values by which I aspire to live, harder than I expected but in the end came down to these two as my answer. 

First, that each person, each individual human being, has inherent and equal worth: that our value is not the result of the defining features of our identity, nor any actions, works or achievements, but is simply the reality of being created in the image of God. That nothing makes us worth more or less than the next person and that our interactions with one another should be founded on that principle. 

And second, that there is always, in all situations, the potential for good to exist and to prevail. For frail flowers to push through cracks in the seemingly unconquerable concrete. Our world can seem a very dark place at times, and there are many reasons for pessimism, but something in me still clings to a believe in the power of good over evil, of life over death. One of my core values, then, is faith in the resurrection. In some mysterious way, I believe it is always possible to have hope.

As for how I show them in my everyday life, perhaps it is for others to judge whether / how I live up to my desire to live by those values.

In a break with tradition, I'm going to publish this with only four questions / answers (which may mean the next one has to have six or I'll be forever confused!) Lydia returns to France this week for the summer holidays, so while we have a couple of questions to think about while she's away, we'll be taking a break for the weekly Q&A until September, so I thought it made sense to just post this as it is now rather than wait until the autumn for answer 25.