Author: Peter Sidebotham

In his book, Silence and Honey Cakes, Rowan Williams tells the story of a young brother who sets out to learn from two of the Desert Fathers.  The first, Abba Arsenius, sat with the young man in complete silence.  Not a word was said.  The other, Abba Moses, welcomed the young man warmly, sharing food and drink and talking freely.  The story finishes with two large boats floating on a river.  In one of them sat Abba Arsenius and the Holy Spirit of God in complete silence.  And in the other boat was Abba Moses, with the angels of God: they were all eating honey cakes. 

That picture captures well this time of sabbatical.  It has, indeed, been a time of silence and honey cakes.

I have enjoyed all the unexpected joy of my new relationship with Lois – the wonder of our wedding and our honeymoon at Papamoa; the beauty of the Queen Charlotte walkway; the companionship of friends in Auckland, Dunedin, Wellington, Hamilton; meals and time with Lois’ family.  A drink in the Inch Bar with Kristin and Steve; outdoor-cooked pizzas with Ian and Elaine; barbeques with Servants’ friends in Waikanae and Dunedin; the Ngatiawa Tea Parties, and so much more.

And I have enjoyed the peace and stillness of this place.  The quiet rhythm of daily prayer.  Sitting in the chapel of Tārore and absorbing the ever changing beauty through its many windows; quiet walks along the beach with Lois, enjoying the gentle silence together; or sitting with my feet in the water as the ever-flowing Ngatiawa tumbles past me.

Beauty and laughter, community and solitude.

The monastery itself is an expression of that wondrous juxtaposition.  It is a messy monastery – not here will you find the neatly-tended lawns of St Beuno’s.  A jumble of buildings thrown together like the jumble of trees in the surrounding forests.  Rough edges to the furniture and the people.  An amazing mix of characters, who somehow bumble along together, rubbing each other up at times, but forgiving, accepting, and moving on.  And welcoming me into their mix.

It is a place of fun and laughter, of exuberant games, and haphazard mealtimes.  The various toddlers and young children add to the chaos, disturbing the calm of the morning and midday prayers, but somehow, in doing so, adding to the sense of stillness.

John and Karen; Jacqui; Matt and Megan and baby Jonah; Ray; Ben; Stu and Gemma; Laura; Dave and Angie with Micah and Josiah; Courtney with Hannah; René and Kati.  All different, all unique, all lovabl in their different ways.  And all the various guests, like Lois and me, who come and go, each in turn receiving and contributing something to the community here.

I am so blessed to have been here, to have enjoyed the hospitality of this place and its people, to have learnt from their rhythms of life, to have rested in the stillness and beauty of Ngatiawa’s peace.

And now, as I leave this place and return to a new life back in Coventry, I pray that I might take something of that beauty with me; that my life might become one of silence and honey cakes.

Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. (John 4: 6)

Looking back to my journal entry of 7^th October, I realise just how tired I had become by the end of last year, and, by contrast, how refreshed I am feeling now:

‘I, too, feel tired from the journey Lord.  Tired from my journey of being a parent; tired from my spiritual journey – of seeking to draw closer to you; tired from the journey of grieving; tired from my work journey – all those years of clinical medicine, child protection, academic work, of being a leader, and of seeking to support others; and tired from the journey of singleness – of being on my own, of coping with all my mixed emotions.’

Now after nearly three months’ break, I do feel refreshed.  I so appreciate the opportunity I have had to sit by the well here at Ngatiawa; to receive the hospitality of these strangers who have become my friends; to rest and be refreshed.

And, above all, I am so grateful for the blessing Lois has brought to my life – a companion to share the journey with, someone to lean on when I am tired and weary, and a soul mate for me, in turn, to support and to cherish out of my own weakness and vulnerability.

Am I ready to go back?

Yes, I think I am.  I am looking forward to returning to Coventry, to being with Esther and Joe.  I am looking forward to seeing again my family and friends; to being at home – creating, afresh, a ‘new’ home with Lois; to being a part, once again, of my family at Holy Trinity.

As I wrote that in my journal this morning, I started to write, ‘And I am looking forward, too, to starting back at work.’  And I was brought up short.

Am I?    Am I really ready for that?  What will it mean?  What will it look like?  Where will it lead?

I love my work – I find it inspiring, energising, challenging, rewarding.  I feel privileged to be able to do the work I do and that I so love – to play with children on the floor of my clinic; to receive the smiles and hand holds of disabled young people; to sit with parents in their struggles and grief.  I love the interaction I get with students from all sorts of backgrounds; the mental challenge of writing a paper; the joy of discovery in a new research project; the intensity of working on a child protection legal report.

And yet, I know it has drained me and will do so again.

Am I truly ready?

This evening I will take myself off for 48 hours of solitude in the prayer hut at Ngatiawa.  Perhaps, like my wedding, this will prove to be a highlight of my sabbatical.  Unlike my wedding, I am feeling a degree of trepidation: what will these 48 hours mean?  What am I being called to?

I have been reflecting this week on a small incident recorded in Matthew’s gospel:

When Jesus saw the crowd around him, he gave orders to cross to the other side of the lake.

With Jesus, it wasn’t just about the crowds, healing people, dealing with their suffering.  True, that was a part of it – he had just been healing people and casting out demons.  But it wasn’t the whole picture.  Jesus didn’t come to be just a miracle worker, magically fixing all the world’s problems.  A frank look at the ongoing war, violence, abuse and natural disasters we see in today’s news is enough to tell us that.

Nor did he come just as a great teacher, up there with the likes of Aristotle, Plato, Confucius, or the Buddha.  Again, that was a part of it – Matthew had just recorded the Sermon on the Mount – perhaps some of the greatest religious teaching of all time.  Jesus didn’t come to be a great teacher, to show us all how to live better lives so we can solve the world’s problems: again, a look at today’s news, or even at my own life is proof enough that, if that were his mission, he failed.

The uncomfortable reality, as I look at this verse in Matthew, is that Jesus wanted his disciples to go further and deeper – to cross to the other side of the lake.  He wanted disciples who would come away from the crowd, who would spend time with him, getting to know him, drawing closer to him.

He wants followers who will launch out into the unknown with him; who will cross to the other side of the lake.  Is that the place of stillness and silence?  Or the place of uncertainty, of turmoil and storms?

What about me?  Am I prepared to cross to the other side of the lake?  Will I take the risk of launching out into the unknown?  Will I press deeper to get to know Jesus, to spend time with him?  Am I prepared to scratch beneath the surface – to see beyond any popular conceptions of who Jesus is – whether as a teacher or a healer – and find Jesus as the suffering servant, the one who took up our infirmities and bore our diseases?  Am I prepared to join Jesus in the pain and turmoil of life?

Ash Wednesday. The start of Lent.  A time of pilgrimage, prayer, fasting; of sorrow for the sufferings of our broken world and our broken selves.  A time also of anticipation and hope; of challenge – that we, in our brokenness, can become part of the solution.

At our wedding, Justin Duckworth, Bishop of Wellington, blessed us with this Franciscan blessing.  It seems a good one to adopt for this season.

As you travel the journey ahead…

May you hear the whisper of God’s Fatherly voice guiding you to hold on to the spirit of fellowship and the oneness of our family of faith.

 May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths and superficial relationships, so that you will live deeply and from the heart.

May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression and the exploitation of people, so that you will work for justice, freedom and peace.

May God bless you with tears to shed for those that mourn, so that you will reach out your hand to them and turn their mourning into joy.

May God bless you with just enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in the world, so that you will do those things that others say cannot be done.

And May you know the love, joy and freedom that is your inheritance as the children of the Living God.

Amen

A wedding and a honeymoon behind me (both wonderful, inspiring, full of joy and fun), I am heading south again to Ngatiawa for two final weeks of retreat – this time on my own, and perhaps fulfilling something of my original intention for this sabbatical.

Lois has set off for three weeks in India – planned before we decided to get married, and while this may not be a typical start to married life, we seemed to abandon conventionality some time ago.  We have been so blessed to have had nearly eight weeks together to get to know each other, enjoy so much of the beauty of New Zealand, relax with friends across the country, plan a wedding, and start our married life.  It is a privilege, too, to have time – initially together, and now both of us alone, to reflect and be still. 

Psalm 12, which I read yesterday, captures this so well:

Speak to us out of your silence, O God,

our minds  purged of gossip and chatter.

For you are the fountain of all that is true,

a wellspring deep that never fails.

As our train slowly climbs beside the mighty Whakanui river, up to the central volcanic plateau of the North Island, our carriage is buzzing with life: a Kiwi mother and daughter entertaining the whole carriage with clips of songs and raucous laughter as they play an extended game of monopoly; tourists from USA, South Africa, China and elsewhere feasting, like me, on the awesome scenery surrounding us; two ladies across the aisle enjoying a quieter companionship; and a staggered flow of people wandering back and forth to the café car behind, or the open viewing car up front.  I, meanwhile, have enjoyed some quiet solitude, drinking in the countryside as I sip my glass of Brancott Estate Chardonnay.

This sabbatical, too, has been full of life – an incredible mix of chatter, companionship, and silence.  I have enjoyed the warm welcome of Lois’ family – the feelings of acceptance and love; and the joy and laughter of being with friends, old and new – our Servants’ friends up and down New Zealand, the vibrant community at Ngatiawa, and Lois’ many friends – all so pleased about our marriage.

We have just climbed the Rarimu Spiral – an amazing engineering feat the railway to climb the steep gradient up to the central plateau.  Outside our carriage the mighty rimu, totara and kahikatea trees reach skywards above the graceful black and silver tree ferns in the native rain forests that give this land so much of its beauty.  To the east, the majestic peaks of Tongariro, Ngauruhoe and Ruapehu disappear in the clouds.  I have been privileged to see the wonder of all three volcanic peaks several times on our car journeys south and north between Auckland and Ngatiawa.  There is so much beauty in this country, and I feel so privileged to have had this time to savour so much of it.

So now, as I continue my journey south, I shall gaze in renewed wonder on this incredible pinnacle of creation, savour another glass of wine, and look forward in anticipation to the pending reunion with my Ngatiawa friends and time to be at home with the Holy One in this wonderful place of peace.