A SACRAMENT IS defined as an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace, and as such it is generally confined, in Christian usage, to a few liturgical acts, notably Baptism and the Holy Communion. But life itself is a sacrament; to him who is spiritually aware nothing ever happens that does not speak directly to him, revealing God's ever-present grace.
Through full participation in life's vicissitudes, we gain essential knowledge. Indeed, the quest for knowledge is a veritable obsession in contemporary society. People will travel large distances to hear alleged experts speak on spiritual matters. Yet the real source of wisdom is not to be found in the words of teachers, be they ever so enlightened, but in the apparently fortuitous events of our daily lives and in our response to them. The way of service that I have considered previously has at its end the discovery of the Holy Spirit active in all conditions of life. If we look for outer reward for service, we misunderstand the purpose of our work. But if we are prepared to give of ourselves unstintingly without seeking recompense or even personal recognition, we will be given an insight into the reality that underlies all work and sustains it at its core. At the same time, in dedicating ourself to the task at hand, we will lose our isolation in it to the glory of God, and will emerge, at least to some extent, as resurrected personalities in touch with eternal values.
Every action that is performed in full awareness, and suffused with joy and thanksgiving that we are the privileged ones to execute it, transcends its own temporal significance and partakes of something of the nature of eternity. It is raised from the evanescence of mortal things, here today and gone tomorrow, to take its place as an eternal witness to the presence of God in the form of human dedication and striving.
While God is assuredly not far from any of His creatures, be they living or inanimate, it is man's responsibility and privilege to evoke the divine quality in all the things of this world, and set in action the work of transfiguration. This collaboration between God and man in the world of form is the inner way in which all actions consecrated to the highest we know are sacramental.
The Eucharistic Sacrament
It would be presumptuous indeed to embark upon a theological discussion of the meaning and significance of the central sacrament of the Christian faith. We are here confronted by a mystery defying rational explanation, but one which is supernaturally illuminated by personal participation in the act of meditation and receiving the consecrated elements. It is indeed an "image" of Christ's death and passion, which too is so vast in conception and significance as to defy rational analysis and definition.
But one aspect at least is clear to me: the elements of our earth, bread and wine, when they are consecrated by one whose life is dedicated to the priestly office - itself a mystical state that lies outside both the purely human and the purely divine, yet acting as the mediator between the two - undergo a change in their spiritual nature. While never ceasing to be themselves as created things - bread and wine - they are no longer merely bread and wine, but are now exalted to their real function as a part of the body of Christ. Whatever is consecrated to God is no longer merely corruptible matter; it is matter redeemed and sanctified. Christ's body is the whole created universe dedicated to God in the selfless service of sacrifice. And the priest - who in the final phase will be Everyman - is not only the celebrant; he is also the victim who must be prepared to follow his Saviour even to death on the world's cross. Consecrated bread is the very body of Christ and the wine His blood, just as we who partake of them are His living body in the world. "The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ? For we being many are one bread, and one body: for we are all partakers of that one bread" (1 Corinthians 10:16-17).
As I have already said, whatever is consecrated to God's service in the love of Christ is redeemed, and it becomes holy. Yet it never ceases to be itself. There is no merging, or incorporation, of the creature into the Creator; there is rather a union, a union shown to the disciples during the mystery of the Transfiguration when Jesus was no longer a mere man but was revealed in the form of universal God - and yet never ceased to be fully Himself. God dwells in the depths, or core, of all His creatures - how could they exist without Him? But such a statement without qualification could tend towards a dangerous pantheism which simply identified God with the created, or natural order - and thereby obliterated the very being of God as Creator and redeemer.
Another potential error is that of monism which sees God in all things, and nothing apart from God. Such an attitude, which is a hazard of emotionally based mystical experience, denies the unique identity of the creature or the obvious hierarchy of values that dominate the world of form. One of the greatest of the psalms, Psalm 139, sees God in hell as well as in heaven (verse 8), and in the darkness as well as the light (verse 12). Indeed, it is fortunate that He who is light and in whom there is no darkness at all (1 John 1:5), is the Master even of the dark things of the world. Otherwise there would be no hope for the world. However, for the divinity that is inherent in all things to be made manifest, the act of redemption, of consecration, by a dedicated humanity is mandatory. The relation between creature and creator is one of identity-in-difference. We are neither the same (the error of monism, kindly but confused) nor completely different (the error of dualism, which in its extreme gnostic forms sees the world of matter as the creation of the Devil and the "spiritual" world as the creation of God). The magnificent passage in St. Paul's letter to the Romans (8:21) about the deliverance of the creature from the bondage of mortality into the glorious liberty of the children of God, which I have more than once quoted, finds its promise in the act of self- dedication of man and his further consecration of all the world's creatures to God's service. This sacred duty finds it presage in the consecration of the elements of bread and wine in the Eucharist, which is indeed an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. And in this service man himself grows a little into his divine nature, still, alas, hidden from most of us.
The Sacrament of Everyday Life
It would be wrong indeed to confine the sacramental way simply to liturgical practices. Rather are these religious sacraments to be regarded as guidelines to effective living in the world. Does not the communicant pray at the end of the Eucharist to be sent out into the world as a living sacrifice to God? If religious observance does not find its end in a transformed character and a new regard for the world, it is vain and merely deludes the religionist. Indeed, if the paraphernalia of religion has any justification at all, it is to put the person into closer communion with the unseen world of eternity. True religion is a way of approach to divine reality, whereas false religion usurps that reality and occludes the vision of God. This is the criterion of any new (or established) form of religion. Its claims may be enormous, but the acid test is always the same: do its members grow into the fullness of being shown to the world once and for all in the person of Jesus Christ? The religion that has grown up in the name of Christ is no more exempt from this judgment than those which do not recognise His supremacy. "Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven" (Matthew 7:21).
As we grow into the fullness of our personality, so we begin to divine the significance of every moment of our lives. The body and all the functions that appertain to it are no longer taken for granted and ignored; they are a source of blessing to us. We can say with the Psalmist, "I will praise thee: for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well" (Psalm 139:14). The functions of eating and excretion are now glorious in their own right, and the fact of health, whether bodily or mental, assumes its rightful place as a blessing from God.
Our work is no longer a burden, nor are we obsessed with considerations of its recompense or its importance in the scheme of things. It becomes instead an offering from ourselves to God the Creator, and its degree of perfection is a measure of our self-giving to Him. The works of our hands are in one respect evanescent: they are created with much effort but are destined to fall into oblivion as the sands of time cover up all mortal things. "As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower in the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone: and the place thereof shall know it no more" (Psalm 103:15-16). There is no earthly thing that is assured an eternal abode, "for here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come" (Hebrews 13:14). On the level of earthly sight man works in vain; the arguments in the Books of Job and Ecclesiastes confront this truth with stark realism.
But that which has been done well continues to exist both in the world of matter and in the reality of eternal life even after its external form has perished. A noble work, whether of art, science, or simple human compassion, raises the elements of the world from corruption to transfiguration. It reveals the divinity, the holiness, inherent in matter. It is, in fact, a secular counterpart of the consecration that is performed in the sacred office of the Eucharist. The world is never quite the same again after even the lowliest of its subjects performs even the simplest task in love and dedication. There is a subtle transformation in the elements of the earth which in turn finds its response in an altered psychic atmosphere around both the place of the work and the person of the labourer. Those coming into physical contact with the work, and also with the environment even after the outer form of the work has disappeared beneath the shifting sands of time, are renewed with hope and dedication. Holy places are easily discernible to those with psychic sensitivity, and their emanation infuses the weary heart with life and renews the disillusioned mind with hope and purpose.
We change the physical atmosphere of the world and the psychic environment of mankind by our works and the attitudes we evince in relation to the works. Life that is lived sacramentally - by which I mean in conscious awareness of the holiness of each event - transforms both the person and the world. It is our first presage of the resurrection of matter from the corruption of decay to the spiritual life of eternity. We cease to fear the future, instead accepting each challenge as a milestone in our own development. This acceptance is the outer sign of an inner trust in God's providence. Every new relationship, every change in the world's disposition, now becomes the material by which we grow more fully into the measure of a mature person. Far from trying to penetrate into the future by occult means and then changing it to suit ourselves, we advance joyfully into whatever is in store for us, trusting in the powers that God has given us and in His eternal presence with us. We make our future by our present actions; a full dedication of the person to the matter at hand - which is all he can control and be aware of - influences both the future and his attitude to it.
As a person becomes more aware of the sacramental quality of every action and occurrence in his life, so he may tend to be less devoted to overtly religious sacraments. The mature Quaker sees this sacramental quality particularly clearly and can dispense with all established religious sacraments, save, of course, the sacrament of silence which is the heart of Quaker worship. But there is no need for him to reject the Churches' other sacraments on this account; on the contrary, they can become even more sacred to a person whose religion is universal in scope and not restricted to any one form. On the other hand, there are some immature people who summarily reject the Churches' sacraments because they too affirm the sacramental nature of all life, but in their case this affirmation is clearly superficial and merely intellectual. In fact, their lives do not confirm their awareness of God in their daily affairs. The truth of God's presence in all things and all events is not intellectually deduced so much as inwardly experienced through the pain and suffering no less than the joy and exultation of a life dedicated to loving service.
To know of this presence of God in all things, and to make this knowledge real by an outflowing dedication in love to the world is the mark of a very advanced soul. Such a person will never reject any religious sacrament witnessing to the Living God, but will also be far above the restriction of a limited view of life that sees the sacraments only in a liturgical context.
The Sacrament of the Present Moment
In that classic of the spiritual life, Self-Abandonment to Divine Providence by the eighteenth-century French Jesuit Jean-Pierre de Caussade, special emphasis is laid on the sacrament of the present moment. God reveals Himself to the aware, dedicated aspirant in every moment of time. The statement, "Behold, I am making all things new" (Revelation 21:5), is no future promise but a factual account of the perpetual work of God on the open, dedicated personality during each moment of life. Every situation, every relationship brings us closer to the divine grace, if we are ready to receive it.
I have already spoken of the fallacy of trying to develop self-awareness by simply concentrating one's attention on one's own responses. The result of this technique of self-development is a truncation of that spontaneity which is the very essence of the joyous life. How can the Holy Spirit infuse His life-giving power into a self-conscious person intent only on analysis and control of himself and his environment? This selfish way isolates the person, and makes him remote from the world of relationships. Nevertheless, the practice of awareness is of great importance in the spiritual life; however, the awareness I commend is not that of the isolated self-alone but of the moment at hand. This moment is the resultant of the outer flow of life and our response to it; both that which is outside us and our own personality play their part in this sacrament. There could be no present moment without the participation of the person himself, be he merely an observer. In this we see the sacramental nature of relationships. When the moment and all that belongs to it are accepted fully as an equal in love, the power of God reveals itself to me in that moment.
This is the essence of the I-Thou relationship, defined so wonderfully by Martin Buber. He says that all real living is meeting, and also, more challengingly, that by loving our neighbour we come to a unitive knowledge of God also. Indeed, though the divine essence is surely immanent in all creatures, and especially in its most conscious member, the human being, it is only through a self-giving relationship that God's hiddenness is fully manifest in our lives.
When we are able to give of ourselves fully to the moment in hand, the Holy Spirit can rule and direct our hearts; at this stage we can abandon ourselves joyously to divine providence. This does not mean that we become passive agents wafted to glory by the workings of God (the error of quietism). It means that the Holy Spirit marshals our inner resources by acting as the centre of integration in our life; the grace of God infuses our body, mind, and soul, so that all three at last work as they were destined to do: to the fulfilment of a proper person and to the glory of God. This is man's end, presaged in the person of Jesus Christ.
In the ascent to the sacrament of the present moment, all the disciplines I have already extolled - self-awareness, the way of suffering, meditation, prayer, and loving service - must first be given their full due. They are our way of progress from the torpor of apathetic self-delusion to the peak of heavenly vision. When the sacrament of the present moment extends to fill our whole life we have moved indeed from death to life, the unitive life in God.
Life as Sacrament
When life is lived sacramentally, in conscious awareness of the holiness of each moment, many blessings accrue. The great injunctions of the Sermon on the Mount about living fully in the present and not losing ourselves in fruitless speculations about the future become the obvious way to abundance in all things (Matthew 6:19-34). This is no invitation to improvidence, such as the Prodigal Son's selfish folly engendered with its all too predictable results; it is full awareness of and participation in the present, which alone, as I have already pointed out, controls our response to the future. Assuredly no one has a perfect knowledge of what is to be - even Jesus denied absolute knowledge of this type (Mark 13:32) - but if we are calm and self-possessed, we will be able, with God's help, to adapt ourselves remarkably effectively even to the worst calamities that may befall us. We all have, praise be to God, to cast off our physical body in death at some time. The man who lives in the present is never far away from the awareness of death, but this is no morbid preoccupation. It is instead a joyous expectation, and all his actions are directed to leaving behind him as perfect a piece of work and as little disorder as possible before he commences the new round of his existence.
He who fears death also fears life. He who loves life and all the creatures of life has already passed from death to the life of eternity.
When we live sacramentally, we are less concerned about what the future has in store for us, and our actions are not directed primarily towards results. Instead we do the work for its own sake and to its own glory (and the glory of God), and do not become trapped in vain imaginings or dashed hopes. We can begin to see the strength of St. Paul's dictum, "We know that all things work together for good to them that love God" (Romans 8:28). While we naturally hope for success, we are more inclined to leave the means of success and its fruit to God, and make fewer demands ourselves. For what is success and what is failure? What appears to be initially successful may have unforeseen results of a disastrous type; what started as a disaster may be later consummated in triumph. The disaster of Jesus' crucifixion preceded the downflow of the Holy Spirit on His disciples and the birth of the Christian Church.
All these considerations lead to the right understanding of positive thinking. Its power is correctly stressed by various contemporary schools of metaphysical training, but often its use is directed to selfish ends or to a philosophy totally divorced from reality. We think positively when we are able to confront the future with calm confidence and a sense of adventure, not denying the difficulties and dangers ahead, but fixed in our faith that all will be well, and indeed is well in the realm of eternal life. "The righteous man will live by his faithfulness" (Habakkuk 2:4, re-echoed in Romans 1:17). By constructive thinking, we are not irreparably crushed by the rebuffs of fortune or the unexpected frustration of our dearest hopes. Positive thinking leads to that state of equanimity in which we can take both our failures and successes in their stride without being emotionally disturbed, and simply get on with the task on hand.
This is the "holy indifference" taught by Christian mystics. It is not a condition of apathy; on the contrary, it is one of radiant joy in the participation of life and all it offers one each moment in time.
I might add here in parenthesis how powerful negative thinking can be, especially to those, like myself, of great psychic sensitivity. I have only to be in the company of people who see the worst side of every situation, who cannot imagine any purpose or meaning in life, and who cavil and carp at every constructive thought, to be reduced very rapidly to a state of darkness and creative impotence. Fortunately I have learned to counter this baneful depression by escaping from such people as soon as possible, going into a quiet place, and praying silently to God. His divine grace soon inspires me with a fresh vision of wholeness. I can recommend this spiritual exercise to anyone who is depressed because of some outer disappointment; it is a far more effective therapy than burdening those around one with one's emotional problems. By this I do not suggest that we should not all bear each other's burdens, but there comes a time in one's own travail, which is really a milestone on one's journey to full humanity, when, having confided one's difficulty to those close to oneself, one should be quiet and let their prayers as well as one's own set in action the resources that come to one from God. The constant discussion of one's trouble, especially if it is a physical malady, accentuates its power, and if there is idle chatter about it amongst one's various acquaintances, it can acquire a psychic as well as a physical stranglehold.
The Sacramental Nature of Relationships
We do not live alone; all life is consummated in a relationship with the other. This other is personal, whether its form is human, animal, vegetable, or mineral. In the Buddhist tradition the existence of an independent, or private, centre of consciousness is denied. This doctrine of "anatta" (literally no soul) is superficially absurd, for the discovery of an inner centre of awareness, the personal self, is a part of the way to becoming a full person. But, in fact, it is merely the reflection of the spiritual self in the tarnished mirror of worldly life. And the spiritual self is never private and self-enclosed. As we have previously noted, it is in psychic communion with the totality of the universe, and through its spirit even with God Himself. I am a full person only when I have ceased to be isolated. I am fully myself when I am in relationship with the other. This is the I-Thou relationship I have already mentioned, as defined by Buber. The statement of Jesus that "where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them" (Matthew 18:20) is an inevitable truth. When we are met together in the name (or nature) of Christ, which is love, He cannot but be with us.
It follows from this that every relationship is sacred. This applies especially to the most intimate of all relationships, the sexual one. It is a sacrament, and is defiled to the detriment of all participating in it. It is worth remembering that in the properly consummated sexual act, an act in which both parties have lost themselves in love for each other, each experiences a new reality, one that transcends the narrow isolation of personal gratification. Such an experience is the glimpse of mystical union destined for Everyman - by which I mean the person who does not aspire to great spiritual understanding but lives in a useful mundane way - by God's grace. I believe that this is the primary purpose of sexual union; the other two, growth into a full person and the procreation of the race, are secondary to it. It follows from this that sexual intercourse is a holy action, and should not be contemplated except in a spirit of awe and gratitude. How far man has fallen from this understanding is a measure of his distance from the divine nature implanted in him. I should add at the same time, that those exceptional people called to the state of celibacy in the cause of a greater love for all mankind, may also experience mystical union in their unceasing self-giving to others.
Nor does the sacredness of relationships end at the human level. We cannot abuse an animal, plant, or even the physical part of our environment without diminishing both the world and ourselves. To be sure, we cannot exist in our fleshy form except by preying on the "lower" forms of life and on the earth itself. All that is worldly is mortal. Man himself is not destined to a prolonged existence in the form of a physical body. But whatever we use in the inevitable I-It relationship must be treated with the greatest reverence, so that its integrity, in the form of eternal truth, may be acknowledged even when its physical form is sacrificed to sustain us. Man's unique position lies in being at one and the same time a part of the world's creatures and also separate from them. In the Genesis story God gives man dominion over every living thing that moves upon earth and over every herb (Genesis 1:28-30). The resolution of the paradox of identity and separation lies in the Christhood that is the promise in store for us all. In a supreme relationship we are to give up ourselves for the world, even as Jesus did for mankind. And the result will be that both man and the world will pass from corruption to the eternity of spiritual reality.