We are now a fifth of the way through the 21st
Century. And our world is changing. The certainties, hopes, and blunders of the
20th Century have been replaced by a new set of uncertainties,
different longings, and our own unfolding mistakes. All of this leaves me
wondering how to live as we go forward in this new decade.
I grew up in Hong Kong at the tail end of British colonialism.
The empire may have gone, but we still knew, with an unshakable certainty that
Britain was great, and that we, with beneficence, could grant to others the
benefits of that greatness. It was an era of optimism and hope and I, in my
privileged ex-pat bubble, was mostly unaware of the tensions and fractures that
rocked much of the world. I caught glimpses of it through the waves of
Vietnamese refugees flooding into our little colony, the poverty of many living
in the crowded housing estates and shanty towns of the growing city, and the
horrors of triad gangs, drugs and prostitution in Kowloon’s walled city.
The 80s and 90s ushered in the era of post-colonial aid and
development. Going to university and studying, then practicing, medicine, I was
all too aware that the world was not all as it should be. But we were on a wave
– an awakening to the potential to change all that. Live Aid, Make Poverty
History, Fair Trade, and our own missionary endeavours in South East Asia all
held out the promise that we really could make a difference; that the famine,
disease, child mortality and extreme poverty gripping so much of our world
truly could be eradicated.
And yet…
As we moved into the new millennium it became clear that aid
and development wasn’t eradicating poverty and the world’s problems. In spite
of really exciting improvements in child mortality, literacy, and other key
indicators, some of the cracks were showing. Too much aid and development money
was tied; too much seemed to leak out of the system into the pockets of the
wealthy and corrupt; and it was all too firmly under the control of the rich
and powerful.
In an insightful essay in the latest edition of New Internationalist, Wolfgang Sachs writes an obituary for the age of development. And it was that which got me thinking and inspired me to write this blog.
Sachs (to whom I must also attribute the inspiration for the
opening lines of the blog) points out that development, being based, still, on
a capitalist view of the economy, is not sustainable. With the move to the UN
sustainable development goals and the growing awareness of the climate
emergency, it is clear that the situation has become one of survival for most
of the world, and continued extravagance for the wealthy and middle class.
With the new millennium, we moved into an age of
globalisation, with improved communications and information flow, a mushrooming
global middle class (defined, incidentally, as those with an income of more
than $10 per day), a greater appreciation of diversity, and a greater awareness
of human rights. All of which I have embraced. And yet, with this has come
increasing inequalities (both within and between countries), a greater
awareness of the large numbers in our global society whose human rights are not
respected, growing threats from international terrorism, and a slowly dawning
realisation that as a global society we are not living within the resources of
our planet. It is now clear that the golden egg of constantly-increasing GDP is
simply not attainable.
So on that background, we seem to have now moved into an era
of increasing nationalism, xenophobia and populism, in which looking after
myself has become the dominant paradigm. Unrest in so many parts of the world,
the cracks in Western democracy (highlighted so strongly in both the US and UK
elections and referenda), the sinister threat of hidden surveillance by both
nation states and global multi-nationals, our ongoing damage to the planet, and
our unsustainable western lifestyles show that we haven’t come up with a
meaningful solution to the problems of wealth, coercion and deceit.
And yet…
We do live in a world of plenty. A world in which there is
beauty, truth and goodness. As Mahatma Gandhi pointed out,
‘The earth has enough for everyone’s need, but not for everyone’s greed.’
So, as we move into the 2020s, what can I do to make a
difference?
I can’t change the fact that I am wealthy, privileged and
powerful. As a white, educated, professional male, living in a Western,
industrialised, supposedly democratic society, I am about as wealthy,
privileged and powerful as it is possible to be.
I guess what I come round to is that I have to somehow live
with that in solidarity with those who don’t have such wealth, privilege or
power.
And that means, first, that I have to adjust my lifestyle to
live more simply and sustainably; perhaps even to forego my ‘right’ to use my
wealth and privilege as I see fit. And, second, to use my power and privilege,
as a member of the electorate and as a professional with a voice, to speak out
for justice and compassion.
I may not always get it right, but I do want to keep trying.
As a nation, we may no longer live under the delusion that
we are the answer to all the world’s problems. I love Britain, but I certainly
don’t think we can claim to be great anymore, and the divisions caused by Brexit
suggest that we are no longer the united kingdom we once were.
Perhaps, in his famous prayer, Jesus wasn’t so much envisioning our flawed Western models of development or democracy as the way to heaven coming on earth. Perhaps he had in mind a much more inclusive, participatory and transformational vision – one that starts with individuals like us learning to live in solidarity with others, with justice and compassion?
Jesus called a little child to him, and placed the child among them.And he said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. (Matt 18:3)
This is surely one of the most challenging and puzzling statements made by Jesus.
So it was an inspiring challenge to talk on this at a Christian Medical Fellowship breakfast at the Royal College of Paediatrics and Child Health annual scientific meeting in Liverpool. Here’s a little synopsis of some of the key points we discussed together.
If becoming like a little child is an absolute prerequisite to entering the kingdom of heaven, what does it mean to change and become like little children?
Although there were a lot of qualities identified (fun, innocence, trust, wonder, creativity, exploration, dependency…) I chose to focus on three essential qualities of little children:
Vulnerability
Belovedness
Transformation
Vulnerability
Children are vulnerable: dependent on their parents/carers; not independent.
They are themselves, they haven’t put up masks.
They need nurture, protection, care
That, perhaps is our starting point if we are to ‘enter the kingdom of heaven’: we may end up in a state of vulnerability/humility because of our circumstances: bereavement, illness, burn-out… Or we may choose to embrace such vulnerability/humility. Perhaps that is what Jesus meant by saying ‘take up your cross’. We can choose to open ourselves up to the pains of our hurting world.
Whichever route we take, it will be painful. We have to acknowledge that we are dependent, that we can’t solve everything – either for ourselves or for others
For me, two important parts of my journey have been my time in Cambodia in the early 1990s: coming face to face with suffering, poverty, exploitation and injustice in a way that was truly heart-breaking and with which I was forced to acknowledge that I was powerless to change; and then the very personal vulnerability I experienced in 2011-12 when I experienced a mini-stroke and then, six months’ later, the sudden and unexpected death of my first wife, Helen.
Belovedness
However, both those periods, and particularly the latter were also times when I experienced an overwhelming awareness of my own belovedness: recognising that I am a beloved child of God, and that, even through all the pain and turmoil, I could know the security of being loved.
And that is the second key child-like quality that I think is an essential prerequisite of being a part of God’s kingdom: unless something is seriously wrong with their parents, all children are beloved. Every new parent believes their baby is beautiful. I see that time and time again when I spend time with families, even with families who are going through really challenging circumstances: almost without exception it is abundantly clear that they love their children, and in those rare cases where that isn’t present, it is very clear that something is seriously wrong.
Transformation
The third essential quality of a child is that they are always changing: growing and developing; they do not stay still. Children develop: physically, mentally, socially, spiritually. And that can happen safely when they are loved, and out of a starting point of vulnerability. So we, too, if we are to be a part of God’s kingdom can’t stagnate and think that we’ve made it. We need to change, to be transformed.
And we, who with unveiled faces, all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. (2 Cor 3:18)
Spiritual Bottom-shufflers?
So where does the bottom shuffling come in? This excerpt from Growing up to be a child sums it up:
As a paediatrician, I am often referred young children who are delayed in their development, including those who are slow in learning to walk. Sometimes there is a genuine underlying medical disorder preventing them from acquiring those skills. These children typically fall into one of two broad groups: those with low muscle tone (hypotonia) and those with high muscle tone (hypertonia).
Children with hypotonia have weak, floppy muscles which are unable to support their weight effectively. We find this, for example, in children with Down syndrome. Those with hypertonia, such as children with some forms of cerebral palsy, have stiff, inflexible muscles. They find it equally difficult to walk, but for different reasons: their muscles, though stiff, are still weak, and they cannot easily achieve the coordination and balance to stand upright.
When I am assessing a young child’s ability to stand and walk, I need to provide him with support and a stable base so he feels secure. In order to do this, I typically sit or kneel on the floor, with the child sitting between my legs, his back to me. When the child is sitting like that, he feels secure and safe. Those with high muscle tone often relax, enabling me to move their legs and assess the muscle strength.
Once I have the child properly relaxed, I will gently lift him to a more upright position, his trunk still supported against me, my arms around him, keeping him from falling. In that position, the child can feel secure and is able to take some weight on his legs, perhaps even taking some preliminary, supported steps.
I often think of God being like that with me. In my spiritual development, I may feel weak and hypotonic, unable to stand up in the face of difficult challenges. Or I may try too hard, my hypertonic spiritual muscles getting in the way of my attempts to go forward. I may feel insecure and afraid of falling or getting things wrong, or I may have already been hurt by life’s events and be feeling a bit bruised and battered. In all those situations, I picture God as a heavenly paediatrician, holding me securely in his embrace, giving me the strength and courage to take those first, tentative steps.
That is the picture conveyed by Hosea’s passionate words of God’s love for the people of Israel: ‘It was I who taught Ephraim to walk, taking them by the arms’.[1] God is someone we can trust, who will not let us fall. Secure in God’s loving embrace, we can step out, even into the hardest of situations.
Bottom shufflers
But we need to take those steps. Often, with children I assess for developmental delay, there is no underlying medical problem. It is simply that they are taking longer than other children to get there.
One of the commonest reasons for this delay is children who, instead of learning to walk, are quite happy shuffling about on their bottoms. These ‘bottom-shufflers’ can sometimes get about at incredible speeds. They are quite content being able to explore their world from the secure base of their bottoms. Why bother to stand up and risk getting hurt if you can get about satisfactorily on your bottom?
We, in our spiritual lives, may be similar. We are content to stay on our bottoms, accepting a gentle and non-threatening spirituality. But God doesn’t want us to stay there. He wants us to stand, to walk, to run. We need to take the risk. We need to step out and accept the falls and bumps that brings, secure in the knowledge of God’s overarching love for us.
And, like a young toddler learning to walk, when we do fall over, we don’t need to stay there. God gives us both the ability and the motivation to get up and walk again.
The Transfiguration Saint Elias Orthodox Church Austin, Texas
The transfiguration must be one of the most puzzling events in the gospels: Jesus, appearing to three of his disciples, in glory, together with two Old Testament characters, Moses and Elijah. It is a popular subject for iconographers: showing the terror of the three disciples, the stature of Moses and Elijah, and in the centre, the transcendent glory of Jesus.
So what is the transfiguration all about? What does it have to do with Walking with Jesus? And what does it have to do with our other reading today, of Moses and the veil?
It is worth looking at the two characters who were with Jesus:
Moses – representative of the law, tradition, rules and regulations;
Elijah – representative of the prophets, vision, justice
Both represent something very good. The law and tradition give us something solid to build on: the past, our history. The prophets give us a vision of and hope for the future. We need both.
‘Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.’(Deuteronomy 4:9)
‘Where there is no vision, the people perish’ (Proverbs 29:18)
Jesus himself affirmed the law and the prophets:
‘Don’t suppose that I came to destroy the law or the prophets. I didn’t come to destroy them; I came to fulfil them.’ (Matt 5:17)
So, both are good, but neither of them are ultimately able to transform us completely.
It is as though there is a veil over the reality that we are seeking. So 2 Corinthians talks about the veil that Moses wore after meeting with God (this is described in Exodus 34: 29-35), and how, even then in the first century AD, a veil is worn when the scripture is read. Paul goes on to describe how a similar veil covers our minds, so that we cannot fully understand what we read in scripture: ‘Indeed, to this very day whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over their minds’ (2 Cor 3:15). In Paul’s earlier letter to the Corinthians, says, ‘As for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part.’ (1 Cor 13: 8,9)
Moses and Elijah both encountered God (Exodus 33: 18-23; 1 Kings 19:9-13). Neither, however, was permitted to see God’s face:
‘Moses said, “Show me your glory, I pray.” And [the Lord] said, “I will make all my goodness pass before you… But, you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live.”’ (Exodus 33: 18-20)
Removing the veil
I think that one of the key points of the transfiguration is that now, in Jesus, that veil is removed, and we are able, through Jesus, to know God for who God is; as it were, to ‘see God’s face’.
So, in the icon, both Moses and Elijah are able to look at Jesus, in his glory, without any veil. Jesus himself said, ‘Anyone who has seen me has seen the father’ (John 14: 9). John starts his gospel stating that ‘Nobody has ever seen God’ (John 1:18), but that Jesus has made God known:
‘And the Word became flesh, and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth’(John 1: 14).
So Paul, in his letter to the Corinthians which we read today, says that ‘when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed’ (2 Cor 3: 16). It is as though he is saying, if we look at Jesus, and walk with Jesus, we will begin to see what God is truly like.
And, in doing so, we ourselves will be changed, transformed:
‘And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.’ (2 Corinthians 3: 18)
So this is about each one of us being transformed, changed into Christ’s likeness, each of us becoming more of the person God intends us to be: our true selves.
How are we transformed?
This is all about grace – we are being transformed; it is not about us struggling to change.
According to Richard Rohr, only two things in life are truly transformational: great love and great suffering.
Jesus is the essence of this transformation through suffering and love: we see this, for example, in him washing his disciples’ feet, the last supper, his crucifixion.
That is something, too, that I have found in my experience.
Four years ago, many of my friends sat with me in Holy Trinity Church, as we remembered my wife, Helen’s life, and shared our tears over her sudden death.
But Helen, in those two weeks before she died, in a beautiful retreat centre outside Manila, discovered something of what it truly means to be God’s beloved child: standing under a waterfall, making rainbows, and knowing the amazing grace of God’s love washing down over her.
Helen making rainbows in the waterfall at Tanay, Manila, January 2012
And I, too, over the past four years, have experienced something of that same grace. Of knowing that I, too, am God’s beloved child. Through the tears of losing Helen, the stillness of quiet dawns in the months that followed, the peace of silent retreats in Wales, and the new-found joy of marrying Lois, I believe that I, too, am being transformed.
Which brings us to the question of how we are transformed. Both of our passages today suggest that we are transformed by looking at Jesus, contemplating his love, gazing into his face.
Tom Wright puts it like this:
‘And all of us, without any veil on our faces, gaze at the glory of the Lord as in a mirror, and so are being changed into the same image, from glory to glory’ (2 Cor 3:18)
However, we cannot just look into the face of Jesus. He isn’t here, we can’t see him. So it has to mean something more than that.
Perhaps it is more to do with the whole concept of walking with Jesus: spending time with Jesus, getting to know him, finding out who he really is, and listening to what Jesus might be saying to us about who we really are and how we can live life fully.
Sieger Koder: The transfiguration
This painting of the transfiguration by Sieger Koder I think captures the event quite differently from the typical icons. In Koder’s painting, the disciples, rather than falling away in terror, are portrayed in attitudes of prayer or contemplation. The transfiguration occurred in the context of these disciples spending time with Jesus over three years, listening to his teaching, getting to know him, walking with him.
So, for us, being transformed is a consequence of spending time with Jesus, listening to his teaching, getting to know him, walking with him.
As part of that, we, like the disciples, can spend time in contemplation, perhaps using our imaginations to enter into the presence of Jesus and to listen to him: to, as it were, gaze into the face of Jesus.
I want to explore briefly what it means to walk with Jesus and get to know him. I will pose three questions which I would encourage you to go away and spend time with. I will give some pointers, but leave it to you to fill in the substance.
What do we see when we spend time getting to know Jesus?
Not our usual image of success/power/beauty: ‘He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him… like one from whom men hide their faces; a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering’ (Isaiah 53:2-3)
Jesus knew that he was God’s beloved child. There are two accounts in the gospels of God speaking directly about Jesus. Both record God speaking of Jesus as his own, beloved son:
At his Baptism: ‘This is my son, my beloved one, I am delighted with him’ (Matthew 3: 17)
At his Transfiguration: ‘This is my son, my chosen one’ (Luke 9:35) or ‘This is my son, my beloved; with him I am well-pleased’ (Matt 17: 5)
Ideas for contemplation:
Read through one of the gospels. As you read, make a note of what it tells you about Jesus: what was he like as a person? What were his priorities? How did he interact with other people? How did he relate to God?
How do we walk with Jesus?
Through stillness and silence (but beware, this can be painful)
Read, with fresh eyes, the life and teaching of Jesus (e.g. Beatitudes, Sermon on the Mount)
Encounters with those who are suffering, those who are broken (Matt 25: 31-46)
Embracing our own suffering and brokenness (2 Cor 4: 7-12)
We recognise that we, too, are God’s beloved children
We are transformed to become more like Jesus (our true self) = beatitudes; fruit of the spirit (love-inspired transformation, not 8 Essential Qualities!)
Ideas for contemplation:
Write a letter to yourself, as if from God. What would God want to say to you in a letter?
Spend some time with the following Examen questions:
In what ways have I been transformed to be more like Jesus over the past few months?
In what ways might God be wanting to transform me over the next few months?
‘But remember: that transformed version of you is known and present to God right now. God dwells in eternity, and is already intimately acquainted with this version of you. If you can trust this, then you can reach out and allow God to help you step through the veil between time and eternity. On the other side, in the hidden place where he waits for you, you can be your truest self. That is the self that can be naked and unashamed, that can look, unflinching, straight into the face of God. And when we look into that face and know ourselves beloved, it will be the most natural thing in the world to lay all that we have and all that we are at his feet.’ – Susan Pitchford, The Sacred Gaze, p50
It is by spending time with Jesus: walking with him, gazing into his face, taking his life and teaching seriously, and above all, by knowing that we, like Jesus, are God’s beloved children, that we are transformed.
Sieger Koder: Simon and Jesus
I want to finish with an amazing tale of transformation from two of our friends in Servants, who spent 16 years living in a slum area in Cambodia.
Amongst our neighbours in Chbaa Ampou in Phnom Penh, the person in whom we most saw all this worked out was our friend Om Khuen. A deeply sincere Buddhist, she was the most gracious, caring person we knew in our community. And yet, there was no earthly reason she should have been. Like most Cambodians, she had suffered enormously under Pol Pot’s regime. Moreover, she’d been press-ganged into a forced marriage by the Khmer Rouge, and was trying to make the best of it even though he was a hopeless alcoholic, more often drunk than sober. She worked hard, running a shanty “grocery store” in our slum (really a bamboo bed with a tarp strung over it), but she never made any money – mainly because her clientele were so poor, and out of her big heart she kept extending them credit. She struggled almost single-handedly to keep her family of three girls and a boy together.
And then, during our first year in Cambodia, another horrible tragedy struck her family. Vibol, her son and oldest child at 21, the apple of her eye and as an apprentice gold-smith, part of the family’s hope for a better future, was murdered. Not far from where we lived, he’d been mugged for his motor scooter, and had fought back. He was stabbed multiple times and bled to death.
Life moved on, as it always does. But below the surface, deeper things were putting down roots in Om Khuen’s heart. One day, seven years after that horrible murder, Om Khuen dropped by to see us, her voice quivering with emotion. She told us that after all these years of observing the Christians in the village, seeing how they behaved, and weighing it all up, she had decided she wanted to become a follower of Jesus, too. We were, of course, both thrilled and stunned. But then, a few weeks later, our excitement over Om Khuen’s decision—and our respect for her as a person—grew even greater.
Om Khuen had been eagerly attending the cell group (Bible study) gatherings in our neighbourhood, and one evening Om Kheun dropped in to share with Susan and me something she believed God had spoken to her. She had read in the gospels that Jesus calls us to forgive those who have wronged us (to forgive their debts). With this new insight, she had examined her heart and found that there was
something tainting her relationships in the village. Over the years, she had extended so much credit to other families that it now amounted to hundreds of dollars (a huge amount in a little slum economy). Om Kheun realized that she felt angry and frustrated with those who owed her so much, because she would be so much further ahead in life if they paid their debts. But she also realized that those poor families were deeply ashamed of the debts they would never be able to repay, and they avoided her as much as possible. She neither wanted to feel bitter, nor to be avoided. Inspired by what she read in the gospels, she decided to wipe the slate clean. Taking her record book in hand, she went from family to family, and before their eyes, drew a line through their debt, declaring it ‘forgiven.’ At the stroke of a pen, they were set free—and so was she.
