We have recently returned from the Greenbelt festival*, a creative fusion of faith, the arts and social
justice, along with people of all ages and weather of all sorts ...
yes, it was wet and muddy ... and great fun!
In amongst
other things, we attended some talks and an art exhibition organised by the
Corrymeela community whose work of peace & reconciliation particularly in
Northern Ireland is inspirational and challenging ... and I have come home wondering
about how their perspectives and insights about welcome and hospitality might inform my own life, particularly our ministry of contemplative welcome as a Quiet Garden ...
There is so
much to explore, to ponder, to reflect upon ... so this is an insy winsy
offering ...
For me, the
Rublev icon depicts the Trinity of God as one of welcome... Father, Son and
Holy Spirit caught up in the mutual gaze of loving attention – a sense of
space at the front welcomes the viewer into the gaze – it draws me in to
be part of the welcome of God ...
That all sounds
very lovely ... and it is ... it is also profoundly challenging, giving rise to the question -
'Can I live it?'
Can I be open to the other - Divine or human – and make space for the other in my attention?
Does my
practice of silence (or any spiritual practice) cut me off from myself and the world? Or does it enable me
to be more open, more able to give my attention with compassion for the other? (I invite you to ask these questions of yourself and your own practice.)
For me, there is an imperative to enable inner silence and stillness as that which gazes, listens and speaks into the muddle and joy of life - and that includes the current crisis in Europe. I have felt
challenged by the news of refugees, especially by the emotive language and images in the press. It seems to me that there is a need to discern what really needs to be heard
and what does not – what is to be welcomed here?
This becomes a question that is taken back into the silence - a place of constancy before God and the drip, drip, drip of loving
attention, to hollow out a place of compassion and loving attention which by its very nature sees what is to be welcomed.
David Wood in his book Dark Prayer: when all words fail, says this,
All the great writers and contemplative people in Christian history say that when you go deep into the silence and solitude of the chasm, yes, you are indeed alone. Yet, paradoxically, you become more intimate with all the peoples of the world, not less: you are not shut off at all. You become more empty so that there is more space in you to be filled. Usually we are so evasive that we fill up our lives with people and notions we want to be of service to - and those we want to be of service to us – and we screen off those whom we do not want. But in becoming ever more silent we discover that this screening process fades. The whole world comes towards us, enters us. And surprise, surprise, we can be greatly encouraged by the sense of solidarity this gives, in both suffering and joy, with all those who arrive at our house, now that we have room for them.
At the heart of you, you are not a blasted heath, windswept, withered with the bitterness of being alone and unlovable, but a meeting place like a good inn where humanity gathers and brings its warmth. And in this way we show something of the glory of God.
Compassion, welcome and hospitality begins here. So wherever you are, in time, place or journey, I invite you to put aside some time each day in which to become aware of your body, to welcome it just as
it is, as thoughts arise to notice them with gentle hospitality, and through it
all to quietly constantly return to your breath, the ebbing and flowing of the
giving and receiving – and may the welcome of God, made known to us in Jesus, be our welcome, to
ourselves, to the Divine and to the other ....
in the peace of Christ
Tessa
*www.Greenbelt.org.uk
