To what 'heresy' emotions can bring one...

I've been privileged to know a number of creative, very artistic people in my day - and know I'm not alone in that the same sensitivity, passion, and imagination which is our gift has its troublesome side. I know I'm stating this crudely, but the same intensity and vision which are behind the aesthetic or intellectual depth give one a huge awareness of the darkness. As a simple example, though everyone is conscious of the evil in this world, and equally knows that for every heinous sort there are undoubtedly thousands who are decent or even laudable, I've found I am not the only artist who cannot watch a news broadcast without feeling ill.

I was re-reading the frank, troubled post I composed yesterday. There is no chance that I'll delete or edit its contents, since it was utterly honest. Yet it was later on that I saw how the matters I mentioned could be counter-balanced by the very content of the liturgical texts from the same Sunday! (I'm not suggesting this cancels any of the 'darkness' - heaven knows that John, my favourite gospel, for all its stress on the Logos, love, and glory, makes both light and dark vivid realities.)

I believe that most of us who are devout have times when our emotions, which bring forth powerful feelings that can be a huge contrast to what we actually believe, temporarily make us confused heretics. :) Centuries before Jesus walked this earth, Israel stood alone amongst her neighbours in seeing creation as good, rather than a regrettable accident brought forth by the hands of a demi-urge. The manner of expression in the Hebrew scriptures is difficult for us to comprehend (and Lord knows I've learnt the scope of commentaries it is best to consult - almost as many as Christians need, since we are the odd hybrid of Israelite theology and Greek philosophy), but there hardly was some vengeful, wicked god of the OT who (we hope...) mellowed once His son was crucified by His decree. (Please - if you do not understand irony, read no further!) That does not erase that, in one form or another, most Christians of the west have millennia of images of (in a nutshell) a devil who might not be equal to God (at least by the time of the parousia), but who is far more powerful on earth.

I gave a thought, last evening, to the liturgical texts and anthems I'd read or hear. Surely, Good Shepherd Sunday does not leave one with an image of a vengeful God - and, in case one wasn't paying attention during that reading, the beautiful post-resurrection experience of Peter ("do you love me?") is a second chance at an image of utter love, healing, and redemption. I'd heard the Te Deum and Jubilate Deo at Matins - hardly canticles to place one in a state of upset. The choir presented a magnificent arrangement of "Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us - therefore let us keep the feast; Not with the old leaven of malice and wickedness, but the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth." The offertory anthem was John Ireland's "Greater love hath no man," which combines several texts. I believe quoting the opening line, "many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it...", then jumping ahead to our being called out of darkness into His marvellous light," can capture the general thrust. The communion anthem was from the Song of Solomon - "set me as a seal upon thine heart.. many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it."

To top it off, I heard a lovely sermon, referring both to Peter's encounter with the Risen Lord and to the beloved disciple, which treated of the constant themes of love (divine, and expressed in our love for each other) in the Johannine writings. (Even if memories of one intriguing commentary, which set forth the fascinating point that this exhortation well might have been directed to Johannine Christians who were not in an especially loving relationship to those who favoured Paul did not deter me. The last sounds on this earth undoubtedly shall be arguments between believers.) Then, just in case I hadn't got the idea by then, the reading from Hebrews at Vespers was a wonderful treatment of Jesus' sacrifice and how he is perfecting those who are being sanctified.

(My lectio divina recently has been from James Alison and Margaret Barker's work - a few examples are below. Anyone who can't be inspired to awe and praise by these probably is due to be pronounced dead.)

I'm not in a mood to explore post-Reformation history today (that's a first, isn't it?), but surely I do understand some of the roots of the idea (which I learnt in childhood) that faith is a battleground - with Satan (or Cromwell) always seeming to take the upper hand. So may I raise a toast to my fellow 'emotional heretics,' who pale with fear at 'false gods', even on days when worship and scripture should have us so saturated with love that such would never enter our minds. (It doesn't really enter our minds now, does it?)