Soul Survivors

‘…Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Let me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee’

This poem, Ash Wednesday 1930, follows Eliot’s conversion to the Christian faith. (Prior to his conversion, Eliot had written The Wasteland, in profound, broken despair.)

Introduction

The English phrase, ‘care of souls’, has its origins in the Latin cura animarum. While cura is most commonly translated as care, it actually contains the idea of both care and cure.

The meaning of nephesh in the Old Testament is very rich indeed…ranging from life, the inner person (particularly thoughts, feelings, and passions), to the whole person, including the body. The soul is understood as that which distinguishes humans from animals and living from dead. It is also the source of emotions, the will, and moral actions.

Similarly, in the New Testament, psyche carries such meaning as the totality of a person, physical life, mind, and heart. Here, soul is also presented as the religious center of life and as the seat of desire, emotions, and identity.

Many biblical scholars suggest that the best single word for both nepesh and psyche is either person or self. Both words carry the connotation of wholeness.

“As a working definition, let us understand soul as referring to the whole person, including the body, but with particular focus on the inner world of thinking, feeling, and willing. Care of souls can thus be understood as the care of persons in their totality, with particular attention to their inner lives.”[1]

“Soul care is the support and restoration of the well-being of persons in their depth and in their totality, with particular concern for their inner life. The goal of such care can be described as fostering the psycho-spiritual growth and health of the inner person.”[2]

1. Being There for Others

Story about a pastor visiting an elderly parishioner, Fred, who was terminally ill in hospital. Fred, became agitated, and began fidgeting with his oxygen mask. He motioned for the pastor to give him pen and paper. As Fred was writing a note, he gasped and died.

Four days later, the pastor was conducting Fred’s funeral service. In the middle of proceedings, he remembered that Fred had written a note, and that he, the pastor, in the panic of getting appropriate help for the dying patient, he had put it in his suit coat pocket. By coincidence, that was the suit he was now wearing. He took the note from his pocket.

So he said, “As I was visiting Fred in hospital last Friday, he wrote a final message just before he died. Let me read his last words to you now. ‘Pastor. You are standing on my oxygen tube!’”

The theology of 'giving' lies behind the strong motivation for Christian service to and alongside others. 'Giving' is of the very nature of God. "Every good and perfect gift comes from God"; God is "the Lord and Giver of life" (Nicene Creed); and in Paul's emotional farewell to the elders in the church of Ephesus, he says, "In all things I have shown that by toiling one must help the weak, remembering the words of the Lord Jesus, 'it is more blessed to give than receive"', (Acts 20:35).

Thus, the image of the servant Christ is vividly etched in terms of sacrifice, the Cross in daily living.

Louis Marteau, in Words of Counsel[3], tells the story of Veronica. According to tradition, when Christ was staggering under the weight of the cross up the slope of Golgotha, a woman called Veronica, moved with pity, went up to him and wiped his face with a towel. The imprint of his face was left on her towel. At that point, says Marteau, “Veronica could not see how she could alter the prevailing social structures to gain release for this innocent man; she could not see how she could remove his burden; she could only offer what little help she could in presenting him with a towel with which to wipe his face".[4]

So it is in much pastoral ministry: just as Christ was able to wipe his face on that towel so that he could see and move on towards his eternal destiny, so we hope that the offering of our towel may enable others to be able to see, and so continue on their journey. But the towel we use is ourselves, and the image of their suffering becomes implanted on (us), and we accept the pain, even though it leaves its mark.

We have to say with Ivan Karamazov that nothing can make up for a single tear from a single child, and yet we are (called) to accept all tears and all the nameless horrors which are beyond tears.[5]

There is a story told by Johannes Tauler (Dominican, mystic, C14th, of Germany): a Dominican sister, in her early childhood, repeatedly asked Christ to reveal himself to her. In the midst of her devotions, Christ did appear to her, but wrapped in thorns so she could not embrace Him without clasping the thorns as well. Thus, says Tauler, anyone who wishes to take the Christ Child must submit to suffering. [6]

Images of sacrificial leadership litter the scriptures and church tradition;

and all this is compounded by the very personality types that are typical of us who are people-helpers.

Hugh Eadie in a study of Church of Scotland parish Minis¬ters in the late sixties, describes 'the helping personality' ("principally motivated by altruistic ideals and the wish to be helpful and concerned"). This applies, says Eadie, to about 2/3 of any clergy group.

This, based on ideals of being loved and lovable, is the springboard for the "helping personality". The person sees him/herself as being essentially loving and is motivated by the wish to be helpful, loving and considerate, compassionate and affectionate. This is the ideal which the person tries to attain. Sometimes the helping person will impose these expectations and ideals upon him/herself: "I ought to be patient, generous to others, compassionate etc."

Essentially, the helping person sees him/herself as a 'mover towards others'. "People helpers" are most vulnerable to anxiety provoked by experiences associated with isolation or aggression. Such anxiety can be reduced so long as she/he effectively pursues the ideal of being a loving person. But if she/he is frustrated in fulfilling this idealised expectation at any point, then his/her anxiety is likely to be re-stimulated. When this happens, the refuelled anxiety will probably trigger a new effort to attain the ideal! So failure to attain the ideal intensifies reinforcement of it!

In order to achieve his/her idealised self, the person becomes ambitious, striving, hardworking, over-conscientious, and engages in compulsive over-work. People in caring professions tend to become perfectionists, at least in selected areas of their work, choosing to become exemplary models of responsibility, dedication and loving concern. They will then try to engage in perpetual activity and excessive working hours, being 'on-call' 24 hours a day, and by appearing to be available and concerned at all times. Otherwise he/she will fail to live to the idealised self-image. These compulsive-obsessive behaviours will always be rewarded by those whom we serve, but not by the family and/or the intimate friends of the people-helper. Those who are served by a compulsive-obsessive carer will cheer him/her all the way to a nervous breakdown, a cardiac arrest and/or the divorce court.

An additional complicating factor for the carer who embraces the role of 'giver' too passionately, is the possibility that his/her ego becomes identified with his/her role. (Archibald Hart) The ego is confused with the self-giving, loving, lovable, overworked image of 'carer'. This is why we ask each other, "How are you? Busy?” And this is why some carers face retirement with deep fear: "If you take away my role, what will then be left of me?"

‘TEACH US TO CARE, (…AND NOT TO CARE)’, T.S. ELIOT
ASH WEDNESDAY 1930[7]

All too often, our caring is based on the assumption that it takes place in a wasteland, rather than in a garden.

Eugene Petersen points out that much of our caring is simply collaboration in sinfulness, in selfishness.[8] It is to collude with care-eliciting behaviour which is motivated by other than wholesome agenda. Such ‘care’ has nothing to do with ‘cure’. It can be exhausting but hardly therapeutic.

The late Fritz Kunkel practiced psychiatry in Los Angeles for many years. He used to talk about the ego-centric person as manifesting a particular range of behaviours. One of these behaviours is described by Kunkel with the image ‘Turtle’. The ‘turtle’ is the person who hides under her or his shell, out of the way, plaintively calling out, “I’m alright! Don’t worry about me! I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble at all. You don’t need to be concerned for me! I’m doing OK here in my shell!” In making a show of claiming to be alright, and constantly calling others to his or her plight, the ‘Turtle’ dominates her/his world.

The Burden of Running a Church

Eugene Peterson tells of driving to a petrol station with a senior pastor who Eugene had looked up to as a mentor. The attendant asked the senior pastor what he did for a living. He answered: “I run a church!” Peterson’s view of that pastor underwent a radical transformation!

Some people, people who lack self-esteem and who are hurting and insecure, can take up a great deal of space in the world of relationships. And clergy may be sucked in to the vacuum.

Many who need care are beautiful people…generous hearted, lovers of God and of neighbour;

And we, as clergy carers, are called to help clergy to listen to God, receive all of God’s gifts, and to recognise and love the God who is the ultimate One with whom they have to deal. We are called, if you like, to be carers of the soul, of those we are called to be with, as hospitable companions.

And for us at this conference, we face the pain as well as the delight of such a ministry of caring in the lives of clergy sisters and brothers.

And here, perhaps, is the miracle of it all! To listen, to pay attention to, a person needing special care is to open oneself to the possibility of absorbing into one’s own heart something of the wisdom and the love, the nobility, the dignity, of that person!

It is the love of my lover, my brothers or my child that sees God in me, makes God credible to myself in me. And it is my love for my lover, my child, my brother that enables me to show God to him or her in himself or herself.[10]

In being there for others, we are called to a demanding ministry of both giving and, simultaneously, it seems, of receiving. In companioning others, we are ourselves companioned.

Henri Nouwen tells the story of ‘Bill’[11] (Bill Van Buren, Daybreak L'Arche community) “..... Writing these reflections was one thing presenting them in Washington, D.C., quite another. When Bill and I arrived at the Washington airport we were taken to the Clarendon Hotel in Crystal City, a collection of modern, seemingly all-glass high-rise buildings on the same side of the Potomac River as the airport. Both Bill and I were quite impressed by the glittering atmosphere of the hotel. We were both given spacious rooms with double beds, bathrooms with many towels, and cable TV. On the table in Bill's room there was a basket with fruit and a bottle of wine. Bill loved it. Being a veteran TV-watcher, he settled comfortably on his queen-size bed and checked out all the channels with his remote-control box.

“But the time for us to bring our good news together came quickly. After a delicious buffet dinner in one of the ballrooms decorated with golden statues and little fountains, Vincent Dwyer introduced me to the audience. At that moment I still did not know what "doing it together" with Bill would mean.

“I opened by saying that I had not come alone but was very happy that Bill had come with me. Then I took my handwritten text and began my address. At that moment I saw that Bill had left his seat, walked up to podium, and planted himself right behind me. It was clear that he had a much more concrete idea about the meaning of "doing it together" than I. Each time I finished reading a page, he took it away and put it upside down on a small table close by. I felt much at ease with this and started to feel Bill's presence as a support. But Bill had more in mind. When I began to speak about the temptation to turn stones into bread as a temptation to be relevant, he interrupted me and said loudly for everyone to hear, "I have heard that before!" He had indeed, and he wanted the priests and ministers who were listening to know that he knew me well and was familiar with my ideas.

“For me, however, it felt like a gentle loving reminder that my thoughts were not as new as I wanted my audience to believe. Bill's intervention created a new atmosphere in the ballroom: lighter, easier, and more playful.

“Somehow Bill had taken away the seriousness of the occasion and had brought to it some homespun normality. As I continued my presentation I felt more and more that we were indeed doing it together. And it felt good.

“When I came to the second part and was reading the words, "the question most asked by the handicapped people with whom I live was, 'Are you home tonight?' " Bill interrupted me again and said, "That's right, that is what John Smeltzer always asks." Again there was something disarming about his remark. Bill knew John Smeltzer very well after living with him in the same house for quite some years. He simply wanted people; to know about his friend. It was as if he drew the audience toward us, inviting them into the intimacy of our common life.

“After I had finished reading my text and people had shown their appreciation, Bill said to me, "Henri, can I say something now?" My first reaction was, "Oh, how am I going to handle this? He might start rambling and create an embarrassing situation," but then I caught myself in my presumption that he had nothing of importance to say and said to the audience, "Will you please sit down. Bill would like to say a few words to you." Bill took the microphone and said, with all the difficulties he has in speaking,

"’Last time, when Henri went to Boston, he took John Smeltzer with him. This time he wanted me to come with him to Washington, and I am very glad to be here with you. Thank you very much.’

“As we walked away from the podium, Bill said to me, ‘Henri, how did you like my speech?’ ‘Very much,’ I answered, ‘everyone was really happy with what you said.’

“Bill was delighted. As people gathered for drinks, he felt freer than ever. He went from person to person, introduced himself and asked how they liked the evening and told them all sorts of stories about his life in Daybreak. I did not see him for more than an hour. He was too busy getting to know everybody.

“The next morning at breakfast before we left, Bill walked from table to table with his cup of coffee in his hands and said good-bye.

“The next morning at Breakfast before we left, Bill walked from table to table and said goodbye to all those he knew from the evening before.

“It was clear to me that he had made many friends and felt very much at home in these, for him, so unusual surroundings.

“As we flew back together to Toronto, Bill looked up from the word-puzzle book that he takes with him wherever he goes and said, ‘Henri, did you like our trip?’ ‘Oh yes,’ I answered, ‘it was a wonderful trip, and I am so glad you came with me.’ Bill looked at me attentively and then said, ‘And we did it together, didn't we?’

“Then I realised the full truth of Jesus' words, ‘Where two or meet in my Name, I am among them’ (Matthew 18:19). In the past, I had always given lectures, sermons, addresses, and speeches by myself. Often I had wondered how much of what I had said would be remembered. Now it dawned on me that most likely much of what I said would not be long remembered, but that Bill and I doing it together would not easily be forgotten. I hoped and prayed that Jesus who had sent us out together and had been with us all during the journey would have become really present to those who had gathered in the Clarendon Hotel in Crystal City.

“As we landed, I said to Bill, "Bill, thanks much for coming with me. It was a wonderful trip and what we did, we did together in Jesus' name."

2. Being There for Self

(‘TEACH US TO CARE,)….AND NOT TO CARE’, T.S. ELIOT, ASH WEDNESDAY 1930 [7]

More and more clergy, lay church leaders and other people-helpers are realising the importance of this dimension in the welfare of people carers. The expression ‘Soul survivors’ encapsulates the pain and the potential of caring for one’s own soul: so much depends upon the survival of the soul of the leader (both his or her own soul, and that of many others.)

We can note further to Hugh Eadie's understanding of the 'helping personality', that in thinking again about the idealised self-image being one of being loving and lovable, the carer may adopt a negative attitude to his/her own personal needs: "I should not be concerned with myself, self-centered, irritable, impatient. Intolerant, angry, frustrated, hostile, hurting, demanding or dependent on others".

He/she is influenced by the need to appear loving and lovable above everything else, and so personifies the ideals of self-effacement and self-denial. The carer is most likely to deny his/her self-care needs. He/she is often resistant to receiving from others. Stress, internal conflicts, depression, and anxiety and apparently mild psychosomatic complaints tend to be ignored or concealed, in order to maintain the 'helping image'.

“In Herman Melville's Moby Dick, there is a turbulent scene in which a whaleboat scuds across a frothing ocean in pursuit of the great, white whale, Moby Dick. The sailors are labouring fiercely, every muscle taut, all attention and energy concentrated on the task. The cosmic conflict between good and evil is joined; chaotic sea and demonic sea monster versus the morally outraged man, Captain Ahab. In this boat, however, there is one man who does nothing. He doesn't hold an oar, he doesn't perspire; he doesn’t shout. He is languid in the crash and the cursing. This man is the harpooner, quiet and poised, waiting. And then this sentence: "To insure the greatest efficiency in the dart, the harpooners of this world must start to their feet out of idleness, and not out of toil."

Melville's sentence is a text to set alongside the psalmist's “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10), and alongside Isaiah's “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength” (Isa. 30:15).

Somehow it always seems more compelling to assume the work of the oarsman, labouring mightily in a moral cause, throwing our energy into a fray we know has immortal consequence. And it always seems more dramatic to take on the outrage of a Captain Ahab, obsessed with a vision of vengeance and retaliation, brooding over the ancient injury done by the Enemy. There is, though, other important work to do. Someone must throw the dart. Some must be harpooners.

The metaphors Jesus used for the life of ministry are frequently images of the single, the small, and the quiet, which have effects far in excess of their appearance: salt, leaven, seed. Our culture publicizes the opposite emphasis: the big, the multitudinous, the noisy It is, then, a strategic necessity that pastors deliberately ally themselves with the quiet, poised harpooners, and not leap, frenzied, to the oars. There is far more need that we develop the skills of the harpooner than the muscles of the oarsman. It is far more biblical to learn quietness and attentiveness before God than to be overtaken by what John Oman named the twin perils of ministry, "flurry and worry." For flurry dissipates energy, and worry constipates it.

Years ago I noticed, as all pastors must, that when a pastor left a neighbouring congregation, the congregational life carried on very well, thank you. A guest preacher was assigned to conduct Sunday worship, and nearby pastors took care of the funerals, weddings, and crisis counselling. A congregation would go for months, sometimes as long as a year or two, without a regular pastor. And I thought, All these things I am so busy doing they aren't being done in that pastor-less congregation, and nobody seems to mind. I asked myself, What if I, without leaving, quit doing them right now? Would anybody mind? I did, and they don't.”[12]

Caring becomes dangerous if it becomes our obsession and our main source of esteem: we come to believe that we only have value if we are there for and with others. But to promiscuously inflict ourselves on others is not really caring. Not to collude with persons who have deep dependency needs does not mean that we choose not to love.

One possible barrier to self-knowledge lies in an inadequate understanding of spiritual gifts. Intended to release in leaders the ability to live the life of a Christian leader fully, there may be an unintended, and severely debilitating consequence: the masking of one’s true self. Some leaders become so good at what they are good at that they do harm to themselves, for it is possible to mask the imprint of our own soul by excelling in areas deemed to be our ‘giftedness’, becoming loess than whole in the process. When a church is looking for a new leader, it looks primarily for a person with specific gifts. The value of the new leader arises from their giftedness. Potential leaders are valued for the ways in which they may prove useful for the group concerned. Persons with less obvious gifts are devalued. We reward the giftedness of leaders because of their usefulness. What kind of gospel living is this! What about people with clear leadership abilities whose abilities are not in the ‘High Distinction’ category? Or who, because of age, illness or accident lose some or all their ‘spiritual gifts’?

What wisdom lies in the saying of the Gospel of Thomas, “If you do not bring forth that which is in you, that which is in you will destroy you…. But if you bring forth that which is in you, that which is in you will save you.” What courage we need to do this work…what patience,…. But what rewards!

There is a great sadness for a leader to discover she or he is valued primarily for their giftedness so that their self-knowledge is warped, masked, and their inner essence of soul is hidden.

There is a common fear of silence, of drawing aside to be alone with oneself. Morton Kelsey tells the story of a clergyman on the ragged edge of breaking down, who once went to see Carl Jung for help. The clergyman had been working fourteen hours a day and was feeling emotionally exhausted.

Jung asked if he wanted to get well. The clergyman, surprised and indignant, replied that of course that was what he desired. Jung then told him to work just eight hours a day, and to sleep eight. The remaining hours, he was to spend in quiet, alone in his study. The clergyman was willing to do as he was asked, and was hopeful that this would help him with his problem.

The next day the clergyman was careful to work only eight hours. At the evening meal, he explained to his wife what Dr Jung had said, and then went to his study and closed the door. He stayed in that room for several hours, playing a few pieces by Chopin, and completing a Hermann Hesse novel. The next day he followed the same routine, except that in his study that evening he read Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain, and played a Mozart Sonata. Soon after he went back to see Jung complaining that he was feeling no better than before.

Jung listened attentively to the clergyman's account of how the previous two days had been spent. 'But you don't understand", Jung told him. I didn't want you with Hermann Hesse or Thomas Mann, or even Mozart or Chopin. I wanted you to be all alone with yourself " At this point, the clergyman was shocked and gasped, "Oh, but couldn't think of any worse company!" Jung then made the reply which has been repeated so often since, "And yet this is the self you inflict on other people fourteen hours a day." [13]

Clearly, requires special openness and courage to heed the call to embrace being so that, affirmed and strengthened, we may be effective in our doing. It is easier to deny the call and to accept less than our Creator's intention for us: the inevitable result is a considerable workload, but poor quality of work and of living.

One of the difficult lessons we have to learn in life is that the quality of our being can be lessened by that doing which is done badly. We have become so convinced of the need to express our faith in action, that we fear that the moment we pause in our doing, we will be diminished as persons. It is as if we have come to believe that the sphere of doing is the most real one in which we can live, and that the sphere of our being is to be embraced only fleetingly, as a momentary luxury which we can indulge ourselves in the most tentative manner, before returning to where real reality exists. And so some of us fear the sphere of being.

As Thomas Merton says, "everything depends on the quality of our acts and experiences. A multitude of badly performed actions and of experiences only half-lived exhausts and depletes our being’.[14]

We suffer in our inner land when we allow our outer land to be the passion of our lives. In wanting to be able to point to our significance in outer land achievements, be they buildings erected, or programs completed, or positions held, or people blessed, we can be impoverished. Outer land achievements have the power of take-away junk food to sustain us for the journey: often attractive, comparatively easy to attain, but destructive over time. The challenge is to find room for myself, my own self, for the care of my own soul.

It is appropriate, of course, to discover and rejoice in the identity that is ours through embracing the role of ‘carer’. Many of us find ourselves through caring. But our shadow possesses barriers to our self-care. To demolish barriers to self care is to change my identity! It is as if we regard carers as experts – there always for others – unlike the others, those who need care!

Some carers may feel more secure and may then be more ready to seek out appropriate forms of care for ourselves. But for some, my plea is that you act with courage to do this hard work before your body starts malfunctioning, forcing you to care for yourself.

‘The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I - I hardly know, sir, just at present - at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'

'I'm afraid I can't put it more c1early,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'

'Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet', said Alice. But when you have to turn into a chrysalis - you will some day, you know - and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'

'Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; 'all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.'

Each of us is called to be who we are, in the fulness and uniqueness of that particular incarnation of the Divine Presence.

“We are the brothers and sisters of the saints. They became holy in their way; we must become holy in ours, not in theirs… Come, come! We must wake up and try to be that which we are reasonably meant to be and not that which other people have been. One does not become holy by copying others but by making good use of what is truly part of oneself…” Abbe de Tourville[16]

a. Emotional life.
The business of denying self-care needs is a tiring one, and can demand quite a frightening expenditure of energy. John Sanford describes this in terms of the individual maintaining his/her 'persona', the front, or mask, which is assumed as a way of coping with the outer world[17]. For example, the energy expended by the carer in not allowing anger to be visible to others, presenting a mask of diplomacy and patience, can be deeply draining, and leaves many in a continual state of low grade depression.

Further, in ‘living the persona’ we are in danger of getting out of touch with our own self. As Sanford points out, no one can be saintly and religious, filled with faith, patience and selflessness all the time. We can strike a pose and seem this way, but if that is not what we genuinely are and feel at the time, we are not real but something of a fake[18].

Clergy tend to fall into two roles in particular: the hero, or the clown (from ‘recovery’ literature on dysfunctional families, quoted by Hands and Fehr[19]). (The other two roles learned in dysfunctional families adopted as survival strategies quoted by Hands and Fehr are scapegoat and the lost child.)

‘Brian’, in a demanding ministry situation, slamming the table at an Elder’s meeting that had got bogged down discussing a simmering issue in the parish regarding acoustics in the church, was reprimanded for not siding with one group or the other. He bellowed “This job is bloody impossible!” The impact on himself was quite remarkable, and sobering. The impact on the elders was miraculous. The way was opened for genuine, mutual caring that was fresh and vitalising.

In some way, it is crucial to name our feelings and face them honestly, as our friends. Otherwise, we survive the first half of life, but face increasing ambivalence and exhaustion as we enter the transition to midlife, when it is imperative that we work at the agenda that Jung speaks of, of the ‘afternoon of our life’.

b. Welcoming our own process of ageing.
About eight years ago I was first asked “Senior’s card?” I was so taken aback that I turned to the lady next to me at the counter of the coffee shop, a complete stranger, and yelled, “No-one has ever asked me that before!”

Jung claimed that we cannot live the second half of life in the same way as we live the first half; that there are issues peculiar to the second half of life that demand our acceptance and our courageous attention. We become vulnerable on more and more fronts. The issues of dealing with the undeveloped agenda from the first half of life cry out for attention. (Peter Newall says that perhaps the greatest asset we have in ministry, the most powerful asset, is our vulnerability).

In facing the questions of our ‘shadow’, it might be helpful to consider the words of the apocryphal gospel of St Thomas: “If you bring forth that which is within you, it will save you; if you do not bring forth that which is within you, it will destroy you.”

c. Intimacy Needs: Our Openness to Genuine Friendship.
Many clergy are deeply lonely. Charles Schultz has a character in Peanuts ask, "Do you know what you are going to be when you grow up?" Charlie Brown's reply - which is echoed in the hearts of many clergy - is "Lonesome!”

It is not a sign of weakness to be hungry and thirsty! It is not a sign of failure to be dependent, or to enjoy a friendship. We are created with these needs! It is a sad form of psychological and spiritual flagellation to pretend that we are superhuman or inhuman. Hunger and thirst for friendship are vital for our health!

Recently, a minister was sharing with me the dilemma of finding she is constantly being a friend to others in parish ministry, but finding it hard to receive friendship from others. Her father had died two weeks earlier, and she told me of her grief, and of the love of those in her parish for her, expressed in so many ways especially in the previous fortnight. Yet all these signs of love for her seemed to be hedged in with strong feelings of reserve. Then she told of times of deep intimacy she had shared with some of those same people - at times of their joy or pain. "That's it", she cried, "It is there for them! Always for them!"

It is all a question of balance. If we tilt too much towards being givers, we run the risk of becoming worn and jaded. If we tilt too much towards being receivers, we become too dependent, too cloying, too fragile to exercise leadership in any real sense. We need the great wisdom to know how to plan the days and months of our lives so we can enjoy the scintillating sensation of being able to stay on the tightrope, enjoying the thrill and the challenge of such a feat.

3. Being There for God

(‘TEACH US TO CARE,)….TEACH US TO SIT STILL’, T.S. ELIOT, ASH WEDNESDAY 1930 [7]

In Belfast, for over 30 years, leaders of the IRA and the Protestant Unionist have met secretly, hosted by Church leaders, in a long series of meetings striving for peace in that land. They have always met in the same building, and in the same room. At one end of that room is a large mural: it is a depiction of a tree; and each time those leaders have met over the years, each person has attached a leaf to that tree… a cry for the healing of the nations. (James Haire’s father once showed him that mural and explained the meaning of it to James).

Let me offer you an image: the tree growing beside the river of life, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations! Revelation 22:1-4.

One aspect of our openness to the renewal which is our Creator's intention for us lies in the degree of our preparedness to be recipients of grace.

Saint Elizabeth Seton, the first US born saint of the Roman Catholic Church and founder of the Daughters of Charity, was a woman who endured incredible personal and family suffering. She once said: “We must be so careful to meet our grace.”

a. Stillness of heart
The psalmist expresses it simply: 'Be still, pause a while, and know that I am God." (Ps. 46:10).

By such an approach to God, we are able to move beyond prayers of habit and tradition, words which come easily to the lips as the occasion requires (and which often are entirely necessary and appropriate), to prayers of the heart. Such prayers need an environment of mental stillness, an inner privacy and devotional attitude. This is the place of the heart praying in secret, with the door firmly closed against pace, pressure and a watching audience (Matt.6:6). It is here, in this place of quietness, that we are blessed by communion with the Lord. Here, in contemplation, prayer is not something we do. It is rather an experience of being.

Human beings were not created for perpetual motion. We find it difficult to become inwardly still, in the words of John V. Taylor, 'because we are forever whisking through the present moment. We almost never live in it. We are like champion sprinters in the 100 metres race, leaning forward, pushing our center of gravity several metres ahead, so that if we suddenly become still we should fall flat on our faces. So the world around us, the reality of this present moment, is blurred, unclear, empty in fact, because we have already left it behind."[20]

John V. Taylor also tells how he began to learn in his missionary days in Africa of the gift of an experience of total presence. In village life, he recalls how a child or an adult might enter the room where Taylor was, and how the visitor would squat on the floor with no more than an occasional exchange of words after the initial greeting, while Taylor simply continued with whatever he was doing at the time. Then, after half an hour or so of simply being together, the visitor would stand, saying, 'I have seen you', and go.

He says, "I can imagine that people who have not outgrown such simplicity would find it quite natural to sit, silent and attentive, in the presence of God for an half an hour, saying only 'I have seen you' at the end".[21]

b. Willing to be Blessed in Body and Mind.
Remember the first of the three temptations of Christ in the wilderness, to turn a stone into bread? Christ's reply to Satan was "Scripture says, man does not live by bread alone" (Luke 4:4). Perhaps you have had an experience when, in the midst of a time of intensely demanding ministry, others have been caused to comment on what they see in you. They may even have suggested that you have been working too hard, or perhaps with questionable priorities, and that you might be in need of a rest. At such times we need to hear again Christ's subtle reply to the Tempter: not "Man shall not live by bread" but "Man does not live by bread alone".

We are not angels or disembodied, pure spirits. Such things as rest, leisure and appropriate forms of physical, psychological and spiritual refreshment are essential for our health. We must learn to resist the temptation to reply: "I do not need bread".

One form of 'bread' that we need, and some of us need it more than others, is solitariness. In Paul Tillich's words "language has created the word 'loneliness' to express the pain of being alone and the word 'solitude' to express the glory of being alone."

Life is more than 'doing'; it also embraces the magic of 'being'. All ministry is more than 'doing', which can sometimes be a way of distracting ourselves when we should be allowing ourselves to be more comfortable with solitude. How easy it is to try to fill our diaries with every conceivable commitment to such a degree that we shield ourselves from facing our own self in times of aloneness. For such a facing of our own self can be a painful, and 'busy-ness' can be an anaesthetic for the pain that we fear we might experience if we were to allow ourselves to be alone. "Come apart and rest awhile" is one way Jesus describes this drawing away from the busyness of ministry to be better equipped for the demands of ministry.

But more than that, to be more and more comfortable in solitude can also release us for what Nouwen calls 'the ministry of absence' (cf. the 'ministry of presence'). That is, we are ministering to our parishioners when we are absent from them, thinking of them, praying for them, gaining new perspectives on their lives from a point somewhat removed from them.

In addition, to plan for, and protect, times of solitude releases us from cloying, unhealthy dependencies upon others. There is an unbalanced kind of adherence to others, whether it be constantly hankering after their physical presence or uncritically devouring their articles or books, or attending conference after conference! Some fill as much of their spare time as possible with others, effectively preventing times of personal solitariness. Take a walk, lie on the lounge room floor, go for a swim, sit under a tree, meditate as you gaze at a lit candle, take the phone off the hook!

c. Willing to be touched in the Deep Places by the Spirit: Disposed to Encounter.
It is so easy, especially given the demand of our work on our time, gradually to lose the fire in the belly, to be reduced to going through the motions. As Carl Braaten expressed it, "You may teach a musician to compose, but that does not put music into his head".[22] No amount of in-service training to improve the skills of caring can substitute for the music! Hear the music!

LATE IN HIS LIFE, Thomas Merton travelled to California to spend time at Redwoods in the hopes of finding a place where he could descend into greater stillness and authentic prayer. He had arrived at a moment in his own life in which he felt the need find a more honest way of living out his monastic vocation. And for him this meant questioning some of the basic truths he had been living with for many years that had become, for all its truth and beauty, too safe, too easy. From his perch along the wild, craggy Northern California coast, he wrote:

This is an utterly personal statement, articulated by a man standing at a crossroads in his life, looking for a more authentic way of living. Yet it also speaks, I think, to a larger and more widely shared hunger for honesty, open heartedness, integrity, peace. Not any peace certainly not a peace born of easy acceptance of conventions or evasion of the hard questions. Rather it is something closer to what the early Christian monks meant by hesychia a deep, abiding peace, born of struggle and relinquishment, issuing from the costly work of facing up to the truth of one's life. The prospect of "break[ing] with [the] accumulation of inertia, waste, wrong, foolishness, rot, junk..." is both daunting and alluring. Few of us can deny the need for this kind of clarification and purification in our life, or the sense of relief that comes from finally giving ourselves to this work. Yet arriving at a place where this deep, cleansing work can begin to happen is itself a mysterious thing. Something in us has to shift. We must become more vulnerable. A space needs to open up within us, even a small space. Here in this stillness, one could begin to dream of entering into "the very centre of the mysteries," into a simple awareness of God at the heart of one's life. One could be reborn.

Silence is an act of worship. I have found, in short times of meditation, as well as a on an extended retreat, that in periods of silence there can be a profound engaging of human spirit with divine Spirit. Sometimes it is at that place beyond words, beyond the reception of sight and sounds, that our spirit (as well as our mind) can interact with the living God. Silence becomes, in Thomas Merton's phrase, 'an act of worship'. Silence is thus 'holy ground', to be preserved and valued for the sense it offers of the 'holy'.

There is a particular wisdom that derives from being comfortable silence. It is a wisdom that can impact upon others:

It is only in tranquility that our spirit can absorb true wisdom. This place of gentle quiet is not readily sought out by most of us. We can abuse even 'silent prayer' so that in our praying we destroy the quiet of expectant waiting on the Spirit. Some of us will do anything except wait!

John Bell, in May 1999, told of Celtic insights into Christian spirituality. He said, “Perhaps we don’t wait because we don’t love!” (“If a salesman, selling something I don’t especially want, phones and says, ‘Can I visit you at 3.00pm tomorrow?’, and I agree, if he hasn’t arrived at 3.00pm, I maybe will wait five minutes for him. But if someone I love deeply phones and says, ‘May I visit you at 3.00pm tomorrow?’; if they haven’t arrived by 3.00pm, then I will wait 24 hours for him/her!)

In one of his prayers, Thomas Merton urges us to endeavour to attain silence and peace:

The images of the world – beauty, success, power, wealth, blitz us by day and by night, and induce inadequacy and guilt. We may buy that fridge, save for that 5-star holiday…but there is always an endless array of yet more enticements which are too many to ever claim in total, too grand, too numerous, ever beyond reach, and so we are left with a perpetual hangover, stunned by our sipping this bitter-sweet wine, envious for what might-have-been.

On the other hand, we have this dream of the tree by the river of life, with its leaves being for the healing of the nations! A source of wisdom and a source of the greatest love…vitality for our polluted, wearisome planet.

In St George and the Dragon and the Quest for the Holy Grail, Edward Hays tells of a wise old dragon who talks with George, the middle-aged, urban, non-hero who is on a spiritual quest...

George is trudging through the night on his pilgrimage into the unknown. He is met by a dragon…

As with Abraham, we are called, sent, into the unknown, the place of mystery. Let us never forget that. The unknown is where God is.

God’s call leads us ever from self, and from an undue appreciation of our strengths and gifts, towards the heart of God.

‘No one ever perished from overwork. We only suffer burnout if we are not fed enough bread along the way.’ (Lynette Glendinning).

~ Attending to the smallest things. Even the most fragile, passing moments of beauty, of wonder; deeds of kindness, the smallest of crumbs, have a sustaining, nourishing power

Compassion is sibling to contemplation. Contemplation is at the core of all caring. Our relatedness to God is at one with our relatedness to others. My neighbour is not a target for my evangelism or my need to form a disciple of my creed or of my anything else, but is the object of my love towards God.

Victor Hugo, in Les Miserables, tells of the criminal Jean Valjean, who spent twenty years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread. Valjean has a life-transforming encounter with God after a chance meeting with a small-town Bishop who accepted and loved him unconditionally. It wasn't any theological words or arguments that won Valjean's hardened heart - it was the Bishop's love. The Bishop is pictured this way:

Consider:
In small groups, share points from this session that are a ‘word from God’ for you, and pray for each other.

[1] David G. Benner, Care of Souls – Revisioning Christian Nurture and Counsel (Paternoster Press, UK, 1998)

[2] Ibid, p.23

[3] Louis Marteau, Words of Counsel (T. Shand, London, 1978 pp. 82,83)

[4]Ibid, p.83

[5]Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace (Bison Books, Lincoln, Nebraska, 1997 p.131)

[6]Johannes Tauler, in Richard Kieckhefer, Convention and Conversion: Patterns in Medieval Piety

[7]T.S.Eliot, Selected Poems (Faber & Faber, London 1967, p.84)

[8]Eugene Peterson, Teach us to Care and Not to Care, Regent College, Vancouver, Canada (Cassette)

[9]Martin Israel, quoted in Neville Ward’s Friday Afternoon

[10]Thomas Merton

[11]Henri J.M. Nouwen, In the Name of Jesus (Darton, Longman and Todd, London, 1997, pp.75-81)

[12]Eugene Peterson, The Contemplative Pastor, W Eerdmans Publishing Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1989, pp24,25

[13]Morton T. Kelsey, The Other Side of Silence (SPCK, London, 1977)

[14]Thomas Merton, from a prayer in The Shining Wilderness, ed. Aileen Taylor (Darton, Longman and Todd, London, 1988)

[15]Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (Puffin Classics, Penguin, London, first published 1865 – this edition 1994)

[16]Abbe de Tourville, Letters of Direction (Mowbray, London and Oxford, 1939, pp.29,30)

[17]John A. Sanford, Ministry Burnout (Paulist Press, New Jersey, USA, 1982, p.11)

[18]Ibid. p.14

[19]Donald R Hands & Wayne L Fehr, Spiritual Wholeness for Clergy, (The Alban Institute, 1993)

[20]John Vincent Taylor, The Christlike God (SCM Press, 1992)

[21]Ibid

[22]Carl Braaten Eschatology and Ethics (1947, p 147)

[23]Thomas Merton, Woods, Shore, Desert: A Notebook, May 1968 (Santa Fe: Museum of New Mexico Press, 1982), p.48. Quoted in Douglas Burton-Christie ‘Hesychia – the Practice of Stillness’, Weavings, Vol XXII, No I, 2007, pp12,13

[24]W.B. Keats, The Celtic Twilight (Cuala Press, Dublin, Ireland)

[25]T.S. Eliot, 'Ash-Wednesday 1930', in Selected Poems (Faber and Faber, London, 1944)

[26]Ross Kingham, Whispers (JBCE, Melbourne, 1994)

[27]Thomas Merton, 'Strange Islands', in "Emblems in a Season of Fury", The Collected Poems of Thomas Merton (New York, 1977)

[28]Thomas Merton, from a prayer in The Shining Wilderness, Aileen Taylor (ed.), (Darton, Longman & Todd, London, 1988)

[29]Edward Hays, St George and the Dragon and the Quest for the Holy Grail (Forest of Peace, Kansas, 1986), p.13

[30]Ibid. p.11

[31]Victor Hugo, Les Miserables (translated by William Walton), Vol 1, Part 1, 1903

'Soul Survivors'

The Pastoral Journey

Introduction

1. Being There for Others

‘TEACH US TO CARE, (…AND NOT TO CARE)’, T.S. ELIOT
ASH WEDNESDAY 1930[7]

The Burden of Running a Church

2. Being There for Self

3. Being There for God

'Soul Survivors'

The Pastoral Journey

Introduction

1. Being There for Others

‘TEACH US TO CARE, (…AND NOT TO CARE)’, T.S. ELIOT ASH WEDNESDAY 1930[7]

The Burden of Running a Church

2. Being There for Self

3. Being There for God

‘TEACH US TO CARE, (…AND NOT TO CARE)’, T.S. ELIOT
ASH WEDNESDAY 1930[7]