30 August 2024 A Candle in the Window Peter Millar
Words to encourage us in these times.
There is a lot of darkness, yet even the smallest candle gives us hope.
Bishop Komarica, born 1946, a prelate of Bosnia-Herzegovinia
In his book Disturbing the Universe, the distinguished theoretical physicist and mathematician, Freeman Dyson (1923-2020) maintains that all coincidences, macroscopic and microscopic, known to science point to design. He wrote –
“The universe knew we were coming. It is build so as to be particular hospitable to the kind of creatures we are. I don’t know whether that’s quite the same thing as evidence of a designer, but it shows signs of having a mind of its own”. *If you would like to read more about Freeman Dyson’s work there is a lot about his work and global vision on the Web.
Father Richard Rohr describes what he considers to be an essential quality of a true mentor:
I would name the first characteristic of mentors as “magnanimity of soul.” Mentors have a generous acceptance of variety, difference, and the secret, unique character of each person and where they are on their journey. Without that inner generosity, we invariably try to fit every person inside of our own box. We expect them to think, behave, and become exactly like us, because we’re the reference point. We want them to be Catholic or educated or capitalists like we are. Without a magnanimity of soul we cannot affirm, validate, or mirror the souls and journeys of others.
Even if we aren’t in a formal mentoring relationship with others, if we keep maturing, if we use all we have experienced for our own soul work, then I think we’re already giving something to the next generation. We become a generative human being, and life will flow out from us, just by being who we are. That’s precisely what they said of Jesus: “power came out from him” (Luke 6:19). He had inner authority, and when we have inner authority, we also, by our being and our bearing, offer self-confidence, grounding, and validation to those around us.
Across the earth so many of us, believers and non-believers, are daily striving to be a leaven of trust between peoples. Seeking healing for the divisions in our world they stand out as signs of what we hardly dared hope for. The late brother Roger of Taize.
Sharing our stories is so important:
I am a woman and my blood cries out. We are millions and strong together. You better hear us or you may be doomed.
Gabrielle Dietrich, theologian and companion of the marginalised.
Rigobertu Menchu, the Nobel Peace Prize winner, once made this observation: ‘What hurts our rural Guatemalan people most is that our costumes are considered beautiful but it’s as the person wearing it didn’t exist.’ The amazingly rich life stories of these Guatemalan villagers had not been heard; what mattered to the visitor was the brilliance and variety of their clothes.
It is not only the rural families in far-off Guatemala who feel that their personal stories are of little consequence. Many people in highly technological societies, such as our own, feel the same way. ‘Who is interested in what I’ve done with my life?’ is a common refrain. And do I even have a story to tell? We all have these powerful tapes in our heads telling us that we have really not done anything special with our lives. We have nothing to report: we are ‘ordinary’. In the end of the day, there is basically nothing to say. It’s almost as if we did not exist. And this despite our endless smart phone conversations.
Contemporary culture is marked by myriad therapies which provide for many people a path to finding their voice. However, millions of us remain ‘spectators’, watching every movement in the unfolding dramas held within the lives of the famous and the totally corrupt. They sure have stories: we don’t. Across the world many make these stories of others their own stories, forgetting that within their deep humanity is carried an amazing narrative of love and loss, laughter and agony.
In his meetings with people, Jesus saw beyond their outward presentation, touching into their inner lives. He listened, and responded to their deepest longings. Intertwined with the sharing of our own stories is the many-layered issue of vulnerability. Many of us remain closed to our brokenness, carefully disguising and sealing off our wounds. Yet it is precisely where we have suffered and known pain, as well as laughter, that we can be instruments of nourishment and hope to others. Personally I know this to be true, especially in the last nine years when I have companioned bone-marrow cancer.
It only takes the sharing of a few personal stories to open the floodgates of joy and anguish in others. For we all yearn to share at least some of our joys and sorrows with others. In other words, we all need a whiff of our own transformation, our own wholeness. The privatisation of the individual is a marker of our age, perhaps especially in the richer nations. Yet this privatisation, powerful as it is, is not the only story. There is a growing longing among many individuals to reach out to the other, near or far. It is a sign of real hope that more of us are sharing our stories and listening to others. Peter
