I fell in love with a poem called ‘The Other’ I read close to the beginning of this year by RS Thomas. It goes as follows:
The Other
There are nights that are so still
that I can hear the small owl
calling
far off and a fox barking
miles away. It is then that I lie
in the lean hours awake listening
to the swell born somewhere in
the Atlantic
rising and falling, rising and
falling
wave on wave on the long shore
by the village that is without
light
and companionless. And the
thought comes
of that other being who is
awake, too,
letting our prayers break on him,
not like this for a few hours,
but for days, years, for eternity.
What I like about this poem is the way it others God, ‘that other being’. The owl, the fox, the ocean by the village, and God.
God contains multitudes.
I’ve just finished reading ‘In the Shelter’ by Padraig O’Tuama. It’s a spiritual memoir of sorts, in which he recounts working with school groups, leading them in a short times of prayer. He gives them five minutes and the following instructions:
Imagine yourself going for a walk in a time and place of your choosing. On your walk, a stranger approaches, and on closer inspection you realise it is Jesus. You can say what you want to to Jesus. Listen for a response.
The range, form, mundanity, nonchalance, profundity of what follows is very moving. I recommend taking the time to try this for yourself.
God contains multitudes.
Blaise Pascal says, “a religion which does not affirm that God is hidden is not true… and a religion which does not offer a reason [for this hiddenness] is not illuminating”.
Isaiah 45:15 “Truly you are a God who hides himself. Oh God of Israel, the Saviour”
Something I was reading (I wish I remembered what!) talked about how even John the Baptist sends word to Jesus in Matthew 11 to ask, “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?” Was Jesus not even known to John?
My main instinct in response to the “hidden God” (a concept that has a fancy Latin term of Deus absconditus) is anger. I am reminded of the priest in Belgium who many years ago delivered the eulogy at a funeral of two girls who were victims of abuse. Visibly angry, his hands shaking as he held a paper in front of him, he asks “Is the good Lord deaf?”, recalling the many prayers said for the missing girls.
It is said that for everything you can say of God, there is an inverse that also holds truth. The God who is wonderfully present, who makes an approach in the incarnation, is also horrifically absent.
God contains multitudes.
Donald Miller says “God doesn’t make sense. He makes no more sense to me than I make to an ant.”
I’ve thought about this as we’ve gotten used to Luna the cat. I find myself pre-empting her appearance in my peripheral vision, and entering rooms in a new way as I scan for her. I am highly amused by her ability to hear the cellar door being opened, but as much as I feel like I am becoming familiar with her character and habits, her actual being remains a mystery.
(Luna is also marvellously expressive and good for making mini WhatsApp cartoon episodes with as below)
My friend Darren once said something to me along the lines of it being really important to really love the otherness of others, because if you only like the similarities you’ll never really love beyond yourself at all.
I can’t claim to always find the otherness of others and of God easy to contend with, but it’s all so very wonderfully/terribly beyond my understanding anyway.
God contains multitudes.
thejoyofrachel 