Don't pull too hard or something will snap

The Desert Fathers and Mothers lived near Scete, on the banks of the Nile, in Egypt, in the 4^th and 5^th centuries. Around the time that Christianity was gaining prominence as an official religion in the Roman Empire, people were heading out into the desert, to live in caves, and practice solitude. There is a collection of wisdom and stories from that time called “The Sayings of the Desert Fathers” even though history is clear that women were also attracted to the developing monastic life.

One of the “Desert Fathers” who spoke about silence, a man called Abba Antony said, “The person who abides in solitude and is quiet, is delivered from fighting three battles- those of hearing, speech, and sight. Then they will have but one battle to fight- the battle of the heart.”

There are lots of sayings by Antony, and also stories about him. One day he was out in a field with some of the younger monks in training. They were telling him about their dreams, and asking for help in understanding them. The conversation was quite lively.  In the midst of all of this, a hunter came out of the nearby brush, and showed his displeasure- he seemed to feel like the monks should be acting more holy, and having less fun.  He may have thought they should be silent all the time.

Antony responded to the hunter’s displeasure by asking him to take up his bow, and place an arrow in it, and draw it. The hunter did so. Antony said, ”Draw it further:” and he drew it. He said again, “Draw it yet further:” and he drew it. The hunter said to him, “If I draw it too far, the bow will snap.”

Abba Antony answered: “So it is with God’s work. If we go to excess the brothers quickly become exhausted. It is sometimes best not to be rigid.”

The hunter was penitent when he heard this, and profited much from it. And the brothers, thus strengthened, went home.

Surprised by surprise

The parables of Jesus are invitations to view our reality, and to relate to the world we live in, in a new way. I should not be surprised that I end up being surprised when I spend time with these holy and subversive stories. They are dangerous because they undermine conventional thinking, and inspire dis-ease- a lessened sense of ease with the way things are.

A week ago I preached on the Parable of the Good Samaritan. What I took away from my prayer and study around that story is that "who is my neighbour?" is actually the wrong question. (At least when  asked in a legalistic, help me define the limits of my responsibility for others, kind of way.) Questions more faithful to the way of Jesus might be, " How do I be a real neighbour? " "How can I live with compassion?"

This past week I worked with the Parable of the Prodigal. I began with the idea that I would use the story of the younger son to talk about what classical Christian spirituality called the Threefold Path. In our journey towards God, there are three aspects: Purgation, Illumination, and Union.

Purgation is overcoming the distractions and compulsions of the world, by becoming aware of their hold on us, and developing a disciplined life so that we are not bound by them. (The Prodigal Son spends his inheritance on riotous living, and is left with nothing to show for it. He ends up doing hard labour on a pig farm, and longing for the comforts of his family home.)

Illumination is the beginning of our consciousness that there is more to life than we once thought. It is as if we are waking up to the spiritual depth and meaning present in everything. (The Parable says the younger son "came to his senses". He decided to seek his father's forgiveness, saying that he had sinned against his father, and against heaven.)

Union, also called contemplation, or mystical prayer, is the gift of God's presence with us. (The father rushes out to meet his prodigal son on the road, and the parable describes the joy of a great celebration.)

My difficulty with re-telling the parable in terms of Purgation, Illumination, and Union was that when I read the story, it did not seem to me that the younger son had done enough in the Purgation phase, to warrant his Union, or Re-Union, with the God-figure in the story, his father.

I took my sermon in another direction, about the father's loving acceptance and grace towards both of the sons, because I recognized within myself that like the older brother, I still wanted to judge the prodigal. He didn't deserve (at least, not yet!) the forgiveness, love, and acceptance of the father.

That was the surprise for me this week. The whole point of the parable is that grace, love, forgiveness, when given freely, purely, by God, are absolutely unearned. And God offers them anyway.