The McDonalds were a friendly couple whom I had known for about ten years. They had long ridden loosely to their inherited Anglican faith, having been deterred by a sequence of unsympathetic priests in the various parishes where circumstances had placed them. They were now pleasantly elderly, age often toning down extreme opinions whether social, political or religious, so that a previously inflammatory temperament now quietly relaxes in the shade as the soul reviews its previous earthly life and prepares unobtrusively for what is to follow. He was a retired accountant, while she had been kept busy with him and their four children. She was a fine amateur painter. These pleasant people had come on one of my retreats through enthusiastic recommendation by a friend, but they feared the silence that I required. At the end of the midweek retreat they emerged even more radiant than usual. They had discovered how a well-directed silence can draw a person to the very heart of their being, bringing many forgotten issues to the surface of consciousness, where they could be quietly confronted and dealt with, aided if necessary by the counselling skill of the conductor. I have already touched on the value of communicative silence. Nowhere is this shown to better advantage than in a retreat interview. In the friendly quietness many unattended issues can be discussed without tension. Not only did the McDonalds come to many other retreats, but they also flowed out to me in caring friendship, hoping in this way to repay me for the help I had been to them in retreat. Later they were to become fairly regular attenders at my church although they lived some distance out of London, forming part of the "eclectic congregation" so typical of many central London churches.
When I visited their home I was introduced to their twin sons, Stephen and Roger (the other two children lived some distance away so that I rarely met them, but I learned that both, a son and a daughter, were happily married with two children each). Stephen and Roger were non-identical, a fact confirmed in their appearance and even more so in temperament; Stephen was a punctiliously correct, young solicitor with a delightful family of three small boys and a capable, compliant wife. Roger, by contrast, was always casually turned out, and unconventional in his way of life. He looked every inch the artist, and was in fact a talented painter, apparently inheriting some of the gift from his mother. He had a steady girl-friend whom he chose not to marry, and there was a lovely little daughter from their union. Stephen had been converted to a full Christian faith while at university; he was typically "born again", contemptuous of the past faith that he had been taught, and imagining how best he could sacrifice himself for the benefit of his newly found faith. He found Roger's undisciplined style of living distasteful; that his niece had been born out of wedlock was a scandal and an insult to him. Roger for his part proclaimed a total atheism, and was never slow at tilting against the contradictions of organized religion with its unsavoury record of violence and repression of the human spirit. It was their mutual dogmatism that brought the two brothers closest together, even if the source of their assurance differed: religious enthusiasm in Stephen and a deliberately free life-style far removed from the norms of religious observance in Roger.
From all this one might have assumed that Stephen and I would have had much in common, while Roger would have been in continual conflict with me, but in fact the reverse was the case. Stephen found my broad spiritual sympathies, which extended to the great treasury of all the world faiths, extremely threatening, while Roger found in me a truly unusual Christian minister with whom he could discuss a variety of matters with complete openness. He enjoyed bantering me about the religious situation in Northern Ireland, where Christian groups were involved in terrible internecine strife. He also challenged me about the nature of a God who allowed various natural tragedies to torture the face of a planet he had allegedly made, one actually described as good in the opening chapter of the Book of Genesis. Much experience of the suffering inherent in life as well as my medical background allowed me to keep quiet and smile. I suggested that living in ardent dedication to the world reveals secrets of peculiar significance to the brave investigator. The pain of sensitive individuals causes them to enter into a scheme of purpose that leaves the purely scientific worker out in the cold. This was not a clean, convincing answer, but it at least left the way open for a further encounter in the struggle for meaning that is the basis of the human quest: suffering, destruction and final triumph as new life emerges from the ruins of the old. I doubt whether Roger grasped anything that I was saying, so satisfied was he with his painting and his little family.
Life did indeed progress pleasantly for the McDonald family. Stephen was fully occupied with his Christian youth group, to which he expended his weekend attention with unconditional commitment. Once, when his parents invited me to their home for two days, I found a small envelope addressed to me. It contained two texts: "I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father except by me" (John 14.6); "This Jesus is the stone, rejected by you the builders, which has become the corner-stone. There is no salvation through anyone else; in all the world no other name has been granted to mankind by which we can be saved" (Acts 4.11-12). It was signed by Stephen, who had the taste not to add to these texts with any personal comment. The implication was clear enough: I was not preaching the whole Gospel, but merely taking from it what pleased me. Furthermore I was fishing in decidedly murky waters by consorting even in the mind with other religious traditions. It was one thing to be aware of their menace, but quite another to show an affinity with some of their teachings. If Jesus is the Son of God, all other claims to divine knowledge are ipso facto erroneous. To Stephen's legal cast of mind this Aristotelian logic was impregnable. No one can attain salvation except by the Church. My way was wrong since it was syncretistic (forming a revised faith by including precepts from a number of religions) and eclectic (borrowing freely from various sources). I felt sad rather than offended, and I decided to ignore the criticism, not even revealing its contents to his parents, who by this time were fully of my cast of mind. Indeed, it was the freedom that my approach as well as my person offered that drew them close to me in bonds of the deepest affection.
And then tragedy struck with a mighty blow. Stephen noticed vague pains in his abdomen together with changed bowel habits. These he ignored, feeling that they were probably attacks of evil spirits intent on checking his spiritual work. A severe haemorrhage from the anus, however, made it clear even to him something was very amiss. He consulted his doctor who referred him to a surgeon; the diagnosis was clear enough: cancer of the lower part of the colon. This is one of the commonest malignancies in those of European stock, occurring most often in older people, but not always sparing even the young like Stephen, who was only in his early thirties. The tumour was excised expeditiously, but it was evident that it had already spread beyond the bounds of the bowel wall. The outlook was very poor, but he was given full doses of radiotherapy and chemotherapy. At the same time he was ministered to by his local charismatic prayer group, who were able to expel a number of evil spirits from him, including the spirit of cancer and the spirit of fear. Despite all this therapy, both medical and spiritual, the tumour spread rapidly. It was then that poor Stephen was afflicted by a terrible clinical depression, probably the combined effect of the chemotherapy and feelings of guilt that he had failed to respond to the prayers and ministrations of his Christian friends. The depression mercifully responded rapidly to the usual antidepressant therapy.
It was at this stage that Stephen asked desperately to see me. When I visited him, I found him in floods of tears. These were not the outcome of his depression so much as his regret for treating me so discourteously in the past. He had, as it were, suddenly seen the light, for new impressions and considerations had poured into his mind in the course of his own fearful passion, comparable in its way to that of his Master, Jesus Christ. He apologized profusely to me for the bad thoughts he had harboured against me in the past, and wanted to discuss the deepest spiritual matters with me. He had already come round to a much more catholic view of the spiritual life, that the heart is a better measure of sanctity than the beliefs held in the mind, and that sanctity is not related so much to the religious denomination of people as to their inner lives, which in turn are reflected in the loving service rendered to their fellows. I discovered that he knew this in his deepest intuition long before his present trial, but was won over to the born-again position because of the conviction of salvation that it provided. Dogmatic systems of belief, whether centred on the higher religions or the numerous cults that infest the mental climate of our age, gain converts who are inwardly uncertain of God's love. They are liable to respond to the proffered affection of group members ("love-bombing" is the technical term), and so be drawn ever more deeply into a human-made morass until their sense of discernment and free will are dangerously vitiated.
I saw Stephen weekly, first in hospital and later in my own flat, which he appreciated for its tranquillity and inner glow. The zenith of a rapidly mounting climax of spiritual understanding was reached when he wrote quite spontaneously to me: "Now I understand the meaning of those two texts I left with you on that fateful day. The essential I that is the way, the truth, and the life, and without which no one can come to the Father is none other than love. Anyone who knows a love that is prepared to sacrifice itself to the end is inspired by the Spirit of Christ no matter what the person may call themselves in terms of a denomination. There is indeed no salvation except by this love. I know that such love is personified in the being of Jesus, but who am I to deny that it is demonstrated by the holy ones among the Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, and those of other faiths? And even those who refuse to acknowledge the living God while showing his love in the world are also in the halls of salvation. When I think of all the cruelty inflicted by Christians over the centuries both among themselves and on those of other faiths, I cannot believe that their kind either know Christ or follow in his foot-steps. I thank God for my cancer in opening my mind to a truth that was completely hidden from me in the days of my worldly success and complacency." Stephen died a few days after making this confession to me. This experience was a revealing chapter in my life no less than his, for it explained to me the fascination of religious fundamentalism even among highly intelligent people whom one might have thought would know better. The heart may indeed be a more reliable measure of spiritual truth than the mind, but its findings must invariably be tested by the reason lest enthusiasm obfuscates discernment and leads one desperately astray. In the end it is the intuition that is the provider of the finest discernment. One remembers once more the four personality functions of thinking, feeling, sensation and intuition mentioned in Chapter 5.
I was privileged to officiate at Stephen's funeral, which drew an impressive congregation, and then to conduct the brief service in the crematorium which was reserved for his family and very close friends. At the end of this service I was accosted by Roger, who was in a very different mood from that of the usual teasing banter of previous occasions. He was very angry as he asked me, "Why did this bloody God of yours allow Stephen to die like that? Why didn't he choose me instead?" The implication was obvious: why did a decent person like Stephen die while a bounder like Roger was spared? The answer poured out of my mouth without any prior thought: "Because he was worthier than you." Roger simply glared at me in uncomprehending fury, then he turned away and joined his family. I myself was amazed at my answer to his question, for it came directly from the Holy Spirit who inspires my numerous sermons in church and my retreat addresses. I know this because I do not prepare what I am to say, but simply let the words flow from my lips.
After Stephen's death the McDonalds withdrew more and more into themselves, but they continued to come to my church from time to time. Age was beginning to take its toll in the form of osteo-arthritis and eye problems. Eventually they retired to Dorset near one of their other children. I heard that Roger had proceeded with a civil marriage. I suspect this was in honour of Stephen's memory, for he so disapproved of the unstable position of the little girl born of a common-law wife. Roger continued to wrestle with a God who let the side down so often, and he would not join any religious denomination. I have continued to salute Roger's integrity, often feeling closer to his position than that of many bigoted believers. But in the end an atheistic stance is quite impossible for me.
A search for truth is integral to the human condition. The human has investigated the universe from the minutest elementary particle to the furthest galaxies. The mystery of life has been reduced to nucleic acids and genes. Technology has become the basis of communication in our computer age. But the basis of life still eludes us, as does the fate of the individual when the physical body dies. There is compelling evidence of the survival of the inner being, or soul, of the individual, but scientific proof is still not available. Throughout the period of evolution of Homo sapiens from its most primitive human ancestors there is evidence of religious rites among the remains found in caves. With the advent of civilizations religion has developed with the appearance of spiritual geniuses, especially in Asia, stretching from the Middle East to China. And now there are a number of higher religions which are well represented in the world we inhabit. Each in its own way has tackled the enigma of life, suffering, death and purpose. None is completely satisfying to the uncommitted seeker, but each seems to stress some universal truth of the human condition.
There is a difference between spirituality and religion; the first is the pursuit for the vision of God, whereas the second is the detailed path set out for that pursuit. In this respect the word God implies a personal deity, but an alternative term that reveals the absolute being is also acceptable. We are all, I believe, endowed with some awareness of the divine being, and spirituality gives itself to bringing this awareness fully within our reach. Its way is essentially one of self-renunciation, the fruits of which, unimaginable until the quest is begun, are a discovery of a deeper self which is in eternal communion with the divine nature and therefore also with the true selves of all our human peers, and an increasing affinity with creation itself. This is the way of the mystic which we shall consider again in Chapter 14. The path towards this ultimate knowledge may be traversed intuitively by the mystic (and I believe mystical awareness is a property of the human soul, but apparently far better developed in some souls than in others), but for those of us who are more materially based with only a glimpse of a higher realm of existence, a definite path of spiritual progress is necessary. This has been provided by the spiritual geniuses already mentioned, and it forms the basis of a religion.
In itself religion is a fine thing, but the multiplicity of living faiths is bound to provide a stumbling-block for a believer. Which is the true one? The answer is, to my mind, pragmatic; in other words, the claims to authority of any faith are proved by the practical results which are seen in the believer. "You will recognize them by their fruit" (Matthew 7.16). As Portia puts it to her waiting-woman Nerissa in The Merchant of Venice (Act 1, scene 2,11-15), "If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions; I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching." In practice we follow our ancestral faith (or lack of it); in the modern world secular education weans many from it to a convenient agnosticism, but in fact it is the general lack of spirituality among those who profess that faith, including the ordained ministers, whose example of love, honesty and general integrity are crucial in influencing the young, that depresses and eventually repels the society around them. I would imagine that Roger McDonald's adamant atheism was due in no small measure to the examples he encountered in his church school. By contrast Stephen had a better developed awareness of the numinous (a combined feeling of awe and attraction characteristic of the human sense of communion with God), but he had not known the self-eclipsing joy of the mystic. This was to be his fortune only shortly before his death. Thus Stephen's spirituality could keep him in his religious observance despite the unspiritual nature of his school, whereas Roger, in the same ambience, threw the whole "God thing" up as illusory.
Some of us convert from one denomination to another in our inherited faith and a few move decisively from one faith to another. I think that this movement is often pre-ordained, the individual working in the newly found religion much more happily than in the old one. Another equally spiritually active person may make the reverse movement for the same reasons. We all have to learn the telling lesson that a religion per se will not change our characters, especially if we begin to idolize it to the detriment of other faiths. Mystics, though loyally identifying with a particular faith, know in their heart that all the great religions are alternative ways of reaching the essential vision of God, no matter how this may be apprehended by the theologians of various faiths. We all long for the ultimate truth, something far beyond rational definition. Thus the "rich young man" whom we have mentioned so often asks Jesus what he should do to win eternal life. His mode of life was clearly spotless, but his one weakness was his dependence on material possessions. Would his quest for ultimate truth lead him to sell everything he had, giving the proceeds to the poor, and then follow the simple life of Jesus and his disciples? He could not make that final renunciation, much to his consternation. Jesus then makes the unforgettable comparison of a camel passing through the eye of a needle more easily than a rich man entering the kingdom of God (Mark 10. 17-27). If one considers this telling episode less gloomily, one can see that the rich man had not yet reached that degree of spiritual development that would have allowed him to renounce material possessions. Maybe he would have been able to do so later on, perhaps after some severe tragedy had forcibly removed some of his wealth from him, or else a sad bereavement of a dearly loved one which would have exposed the futility of riches. At the end of this story Jesus reminds us that what is impossible for humans is fully possible for God. In other words, the divine assistance can allow any of us to perform "supernatural" deeds.
This consideration explains my own Christian commitment without in any way looking down on any of the other great traditions. In Christ I see the complete confluence of the human and the divine: two natures in one person. And through him I can see how the corrupt human nature can be changed until it is sanctified, becoming holy in the very image of God. The change is a pure gift of God, the divine grace. All that is required of us is openness to that gift, a virtue that is called faith in the context of complete trust, such as a small child would possess but a sophisticated adult would be unable to comprehend. While we cling to material aids, as did the rich young man, we cannot accommodate the divine grace, and usually we are changed by some outer circumstance that causes our pride to yield. At that moment a new life opens to us as it did to Saul of Tarsus on the road to Damascus, as described in the ninth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. It is this transforming capacity of Christ which I see as the key to the emergence of a new humanity.
But like all other divine revelations, the work is left in human hands. Soon it becomes institutionalized into the form of a religious body, the Church, and then the politics of power supersede the grace of God. The corruption of Christianity by the power of various religious bodies is possibly the supreme tragedy of the world; how so much promise has been betrayed and annulled by those who call themselves Christians, yet seem to be devoid of the Spirit of Christ in their dealings with their fellow humans and indeed the whole creation! But the transforming work continues despite the unworthiness of its protagonists. Certainly the worldwide civilization that is the product of Christian social concern and education cannot be denied; taken in conjunction with its mother religion Judaism, it has indeed turned the world upside-down with the hope of a real paradise when the dark shadow has been finally expunged from human consciousness. Our present century has seen some of this terrifying work in progress, but the outlook is good provided we all lose ourselves in Christian service which is not afraid to give up its very life for the created whole. I cannot with all humility see any of the other world faiths rising to this vision of completeness in the historical order. Jesus told his disciples, "In the world you will have suffering. But take heart! I have conquered the world" (John 16.3 3). This seems to me to be the cosmic truth whose inspiration we are all called on to embrace. Then the Church will be synonymous with humanity at large.
After this intense consideration of spiritual insights and truths, my mind goes back to Stephen in the throes of his death agony which was also an introduction to the new life. Henry Vaughan's poem "Peace" speaks highly to my condition.
My soul there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
All skilful in the wars,
There above noise, and danger
Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles,
And one born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious friend,
And (O my soul awake!)
Did in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake,
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of peace,
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease;
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure,
But one, who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
The winged sentry is the archangel Michael. "Then war broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon" (Revelation 12.7). The dragon and his angels were too weak, and they lost their place in heaven. The dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent who led the whole world astray, whose name is the Devil, or Satan; he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels with him. So continues this account of war in heaven, a useful point of departure for what now follows.