When I was young and Gnostic

There has been an odd blend for me this weekend. I attended a discussion group for which the topic was Benedict VXI's "Eschatology," about which I've been rambling so much recently. I then put on one of my tie dye shirts and attended a street fair. One of the entertainments offered was an 'oldies' rock band - indeed a very good one - to my delight, even if the young going by were commenting "but they're old." However much the rest of the lyrics may not fit my situation, I found myself joining in as the band sang, "But I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."

Quite. Were I to lapse into the astrology and such which we all referenced when I was a young woman, I would remind others that I, as a double Capricorn, was born old and am living backwards. But I shall refrain, considering that I have since learnt that New Age (as it would be called today) dabbling is quite a serious distraction in the spiritual life. It tends to lean towards wanting to acquire special knowledge, or to have control over this earth to a degree that one cannot. Neither tends to lead one to true adoration.

I should like to preface my comments to follow with a 'disclaimer.' If, as Thomas says, the gift comes according to the manner of the recipient, I am not about to criticise the manner in which any Christian prays. Pentecostal glossalia may well be helpful to many - and the New Testament would make it appear that such always was the case. However, for me (and I'm sure for many others), the excesses of the charismatic movement during the years when I first loved tie dye shirts left much spiritual confusion to be undone.

With the virtue of hindsight, I can see several deficiencies which were quite common. There was no theology of discernment (if, indeed, there was much attention to theology at all, back in those days when most of us thought we had an individual, direct line to the Holy Spirit.) Emotion was mistaken for inspiration. Many of us did not hesitate to speak whatever thoughts came into our minds - thinking we were speaking in prophecy. Those who decided to engage in instant exegesis (...I was far too shy for anything such as that - I only tried to cure the sick) based the interpretation of scripture on impressions and emotional reactions.

It was rather thrilling to hear all of the 'testimonies.' Seldom did a week pass when there were not reports of physical or mental healing, relationships mended, God's having led someone who just knew he had a mission to the very people or places that made this possible. I would say that was what I found most appealing.

I was devout from childhood, and did not deny any doctrine - indeed, I said the Office and attended the Eucharist nearly every day. Yet I was sick to death of the image of a God who offers us only suffering in this life. (Yes, I have theological deficiencies here, but if Augustine can talk about his pears, I can talk about my ephemeris and so forth. I never could deal with evil and suffering, either.) I had a vague view, which at least seemed in accord with what I'd heard in sermons and classes, that God, for example, wanted Bernadette only to be happy in the next world, and wanted the poor little children in Fatima to have horrid sufferings (little Jacinta begging not to die all alone still makes me shudder.) He could do all things - perform any miracle - but was only inclined to do so (as far as temporal pains or needs are concerned - I'd grant he did give us grace to repent, even if, at that age, I was not aware I had to repent of anything) if he was on earth and trying to prove his divinity or in heaven and wanting to confirm who should be raised to the altars.

As far as I know, none of us young charismaniacs denied the Incarnation or thought that creation was the work of a Demiurge. Yet indeed we did tend towards gnosticism. We believed that we were superior to other Christians - that we had a knowledge and insight that had been infused and ways of defeating illness, pain, whatever. It was very comforting to me.

I have read and heard many excellent works about how, in Christ, death was defeated - the fear of death erased. Yet I was not, and still am not, afraid of being dead. If my religious beliefs are true, I shall be closer to God - if they are not, I'll be gone, and the sufferings of this life ended. (I do hope there is no reincarnation...) My fear is of suffering here, which I know God does not alleviate. My generation, even those of us who were working class, did not have the hardships our parents had known, but we were born after such occurrences as Auschwitz and Hiroshima. (I used to have nightmares of being in concentration camps.) For all the wonderful benefits of technology, mankind also had gained an unparalleled capacity for destruction. As well, for all that medical advances meant that life could be improved or lengthened in some cases, it terrified me (then as now) to know that one's agony could be prolonged.

Without going into detail, I shall add that my health was not the best. God had not yet healed me, but I knew he would once I asked in the right way, brushed up on my healing abilities, or showed him enough faith. (I was by no means the worst. I knew a few people, including one priest, who tried to raise the dead... even when they already were embalmed.)

Today, I am grateful to God that a combination of grace-filled situations during my middle age cleared up the remnants of the faulty theology and practise. (I have the same fears I had then - and still wish that I could find a way to have control over pain - but the gnosticism passed.) Laughing at myself for a moment, in a way I miss the romantic flavour.

Earlier this week, I promised you a story, so I shall deliver one now. There is an Italian legend that, when Peter and Paul were arriving in Rome, the god Pan sounded his horn, signalling to the old gods that they were to fade into the background - the new God was now going to reign. (I understand that a similar event caused the wee folk to become small, perhaps around the time that Joseph of Arimathea planted trees in Glastonbury.) The old gods (I remember an exquisite passage in Morris West, where he speaks of young lovers telling each other the old secrets of the dryads and fauns) are still there, though they accepted that their reign, as it were, had ended.

Well, this is not a part of the legend, but how very often we do worship the old gods (unaware, of course)! They were mankind at its worst with gruesome powers. They needed to be placated. They wanted all sorts of sacrifices.

We can see that this is not true of God. Yet it is very hard to believe that one who is omnipotent cannot (or will not) help us in temporal needs. And that, I am sure, is a pain that every believer, especially those who have persevered in prayer, faces eventually.

Middle age can mean finally admitting that there are no answers. Not much, perhaps - but I suppose an improvement over thinking I had them all, by direct inspiration of the Holy Spirit.