We have one life

 

The Lord is close to the broken-hearted;

those whose spirit is crushed he will save.

The Lord ransoms the souls of his servants.

Those who hide in him shall not be condemned.

Psalm 34:18, 21

I am a fan of the Matthew Shardlake, 16^th century-based ‘detective’ series by CJ Sansom. What is striking in his stories is the consciousness of class. Not ‘class’ as in fancy or looking good, no, the distinction made about individuals by virtue of their birth. Australians are egalitarian by nature, although we can all tolerate a snob or two! The English were once very class conscious, India is renowned for its caste system, inherited chieftainships, fiefdoms, kingdoms and empires have encouraged royal and noble classes. As democracy has stretched its arms across the globe, class has become less important. In Australia a train driver can be prime minister, and a real estate agent can be a princess.

Putting oneself above others, having “airs” or pretensions has replaced class. And anyone can do this, poor or wealthy.

Luke tells a parable (18:9 – 14) ‘to some people who prided themselves on being virtuous and despised everyone else’. It’s the story of the Pharisee and tax collector who went to the Temple to pray. The Pharisee prays to himself, I thank you, God, that I am not grasping, unjust, adulterous like the rest of mankind, and particularly that I am not like this tax collector here. The tax collector, who dared not look heavenwards, prayed: God, be merciful to me a sinner.

In Psalm 37 we hear Blessed are the anawim (the poor who seek God’s deliverance) for they shall inherit the earth. Jesus, as we know, was unambiguous in his preference for the poor. The writer of Ecclesiasticus (35:12) reminds us that The Lord is a judge who is no respecter of personages. He shows no respect of personages to the detriment of the poor man. Class and wealth have no meaning to God. We know of Jesus’ pity for the rich young man who could not choose between his wealth and eternal life (Mark 10:17 – 23).

If we take off all the extraneous layers of our lives, the cars, holidays, shacks, 50” smart TVs, 40 square houses and the designer jeans, we would still live well. If we take away some of the internal layers of pride, selfishness, possessiveness, self-righteousness, I suspect our lives would be all the richer. In the end we have one life. We have to make the most of living, of being alive. And it’s not lording it over others. Jesus tells us it’s about service, fidelity, love.

The character of Matthew Shardlake is a hunchback lawyer who is constantly been drawn into the intrigues of Henry VIII’s court and the likes of Cromwell and Cramner. Through the series he maintains his integrity to the bitter end, no matter the cost to himself. He knows his physical appearance brings prejudice and persecution and there is a sense of real justice in that despite his station in life, he not only overcomes the odds, he stands for good, for trustworthiness, for friendship.

Peter Douglas

GOD’S GREAT GOOD HUMOUR

Fr Kevin Bates SM

I’m sure we’ve all bumped into people when the conversation or the dissertation becomes a litany of how busy the other person has been, the places they’ve travelled, the people they’ve served, the targets they’ve had to reach and how very tired, brave or famous they’ve become!

Along the same lines we run into someone and we get their latest litany of health issues, perhaps in more detail than we needed to hear and with suitable dramatic embellishments!

Perhaps we hear of the latest disappointment to befall the other person or the recent funeral that was the saddest ever and how much it took out of one to be part of it all. Similarly, an obsession with an issue in society, the church or one’s family can so absorb a person as to become a central all-pervading preoccupation.

It’s probable that we’ve all been able to produce such or similar dramas for other people from time to time. We’d know from this experience that this kind of performance is exhausting not only for our hearers but for ourselves.

Our hearers daren’t offer an alternative experience in response to any of these as the conversation can degenerate into a kind of competitive Grief Olympics!

Such encounters accomplish very little other than giving the one doing the transmitting yet another victim who is supposed to admire, sympathise and respond with awe and wonder at how another person could endure such experiences so heroically.

On another part of the planet, there are people who work just as hard, achieve just as nobly, suffer just as bravely and ache for social change just as deeply, and we never hear boo from them about their achievements or their troubles.

Their focus is somewhere other than their own need to be appreciated or their own plight. They seem happy inside their own skin and have a zest for life that transcends issues of busy-ness or the enticing world of ill-health and grief. Achievements, health and grief are part of their story no doubt, but seem not to be so central as to distract from life’s greater purposes.

Something else is calling them forward, something like thankfulness, a love for life and a sense of humour that recognises where life’s true treasures are to be found. Here, hope takes the place of anxiety and life’s burdensome causes no longer occupy pride-of-place.

Here, conversations liberate rather than imprison, enliven rather than exhaust, delight rather than burden.

Jesus’ promise that he came that we might have life to the full comes to mind here.

While ever we are consumed by life’s urgent exertions, griefs and causes, a full life seems a bridge too far. When we allow these concerns to have their place in a heart that is anchored in Jesus’ great promise, other priorities come into play.

Here we come to realise that everything we are comes to rest in God, the God who can’t help loving us every second of our lives. Here at the end of the day, we are in the arms of love.

We take energy from this loving encounter and in turn spend our days loving our world into life rather than bemoaning our fate and that of those around us.

We can develop a certain joy and sense of humour that laughs with rather than at the struggles we all have as we try and make sense of our lives. We come to know that as St Paul says, our sufferings are short-lived when compared to the joy God has promised us.

This humour does not trivialise, demean or deny human suffering and effort. However, it does place them at the service of love and in so doing reveals something of God’s great good humour in which everything can be caught up and transformed.

Life to the full, a promise that requires trust and good humour to embrace. It sounds a bit like resurrection!

Use with permission (c) Kevin Bates 2019