All real ministry is love, the spontaneous outpouring of oneself in deepest concern for the other person without thought of reward other than seeing that person relieved of his burden. The result is the reward, but so also is the action even where there is no obvious outcome that could in any way be seen as favourable. Since God is love, we start to love by being open to that love in awareness of the present moment, the instant when the divine compassion touches our hearts and brings us to full consciousness of the pain around us. It follows therefore that two prerequisites of knowing and showing love are awareness and sensitivity. In turn it comes about that we have first to be aware of ourselves as living creatures and sensitive to the turgid stream of emotions continually coursing through us as the events of the moment make their presence felt. It is no wonder that the golden rule expounded in one form or another in all the world's manifold spiritual traditions is, "Always treat others as you would like them to treat you". This injunction from Matthew 7:12 adds that the whole teaching of the Law and the Prophets points to this ultimate state of loving relationship. Elsewhere St Paul reminds us that love cannot wrong a neighbour, therefore the whole Law is summed up in love (Romans 13:10).
Love frequently begins as a scarcely rational emotional attraction to another person: it demands recognition and will never stay content until it has achieved its end. When indeed this end has been achieved, it may be found less attractive than was envisaged: we, as it were, fell in love with an illusion magnified out of all proportion by the need of our own condition. The proof of love is to continue the caring even when disillusion has stripped the glamour from the object of our devotion. It requires strict honesty - the refusal to evade the facts of our own reactions however negative they may be - and yet to proceed in faith, seeing by the grace of God something lovable even in our moments of deepest doubt when we feel that nothing profitable can come out of the situation. As we persist in faith, so the scales of illusion drop off our own inner eyes, and we begin to see the person in his true light - a brother striving as oneself for a place in the light of God's presence. When we have attained this understanding, which is an amalgam of divine grace and personal commitment, we have somehow come to terms with our own deepest problems and can relax with relieved humour in our own situation. In fact, we are now fully open to the love of God which pours with gathering strength onto the beloved, and also onto an increasing range of people in our vicinity. Love that is real, in other words, cannot be restricted to individuals in isolation, but finds its level in a universal outgiving that excludes no one from its concern. When we know this love in that fullness, we are experiencing healing, and are able to be a focus of healing for a body of people of diverse beliefs and lifestyles, whose one burning desire is to stay alive and work according to their abilities.
In an aspiring life, one that is climbing the perilous ledges of the spiritual mountain - something of the Mount Carmel that St John of the Gross described - a few special people stand out clearly as kindred souls on the path of proficiency. Such has been Freda in my own life. I met her originally at Mary Macaulay's Centre where she acted as an unpaid assistant - indeed; money was so sparse apart from a meagre - soon to be withdrawn - grant from the London County Council of those days, that all of us acted purely out of concern for the vision of the founder without thought for our own resources. In fact, the gain was out of all proportion to any pecuniary reward: it produced friendships of an order deeper than any I have ever since encountered. Freda was thirty years older than I, but at once a harmony was struck between us that had the character of a preordained relationship. We both had an inner stillness that could unite more strongly than any exchange of words, even if we might disagree about a particular matter on a superficial intellectual level. A dedicated meditation group, set up by Freda, soon flourished among a core of us. There were no esoteric teachings or specialized techniques, only the hush of a silence of deep caring fellowship in which we were all open to the divine spark within us, a spark that is of the same nature as the Holy Spirit himself. The aim of the group was to assist the work of the Centre by inner prayer, since Mary Macaulay herself was an activist rather than a contemplative by disposition, but soon our intercessions were more widely based and indeed bore an amazing fruit of healings at a distance for people none of us had ever met.
On one occasion a psychic member of the group claimed contact with a deceased soul, but this rather jarred with our work and was not encouraged. Indeed, the silence itself brings a conviction of the soul's immortality, but the experience is one of pure grace. We in turn have to be ready to receive it, hence the urgency for meditation groups like ours, provided the spur is loving service rather than selfish indulgence. We started with a spiritual reading, usually biblical, or a piece of music, and then the radiant silence poured down on us like a benediction from on high. The silence of God has a love about it that distinguishes it from all mere meditation exercises; it is warm and welcoming, reminding us of Jesus' invitation, "Come to me, all whose work is hard, whose load is heavy; and I will give you relief" (Matthew 11:28). This seems to be the heart of Christian contemplation, even if some of the members of the group may profess an agnosticism that precludes religious commitment.
Freda's background was a deeply tragic one: her beloved daughter had died of asthma while still a child, and her husband, a weak, emotionally unbalanced man who needed constant adulation, had ultimately committed suicide in the face of mounting charges of embezzlement of funds. She sustained severe internal injuries during the Second World War, which necessitated major abdominal surgery and the removal of most of her stomach. As a result of this her digestion was impaired, and the nourishment necessary for her survival was provided mostly by meat - in fact, I have already alluded to her need in connexion with diet, health and spirituality. As a result of her digestive problems she was painfully thin: largely a covering of skin with underlying bones, but with a spirit so vibrant that no one in her company could fail to be renewed and restored to hope. Though diet remained an overriding concern, she had never lost her sparkle or sense of humour for any length of time.
Eventually Freda left Mary Macaulay's Centre to help in a new healing home in the country. The proprietress, a woman of independent means with a considerable gift of contact healing, wanted her home to be a place of instruction as well as healing (as if the two can ever be separated!), and Freda arranged for speakers to come for weekend conferences. She also led a group for meditation. I visited the place quite often, and it was then that Freda first told me that she could not see properly; there seemed to be a film over her eyes. At first I did not take much notice of the matter, but the visual deterioration rapidly became serious. She consulted specialists in a world-famous London eye hospital and was given the verdict: she was suffering from a progressive degeneration of the retina (the layer of cells at the back of the eye which is sensitive to light, and relays the information via the optic nerve to the brain, which in turn interprets the message into form and colour), and could look forward to only six months' more useful sight. The cause of the retinal degeneration was undecided, but malnutrition could have played a role in it. She was given large doses of vitamin pills that she could not digest; injections were more easily assimilated, but soon those too became an intolerable burden.
I did what I could with the laying-on of hands (both to the head and around the eyes) and constant prayer, but with an inner assurance that, despite the terrible prognosis, all would be well - or at least as well as could be reasonably hoped. This assurance was certainly not medical, nor was it a pious religious faith; it was a voice within telling me to get on with the work in complete trust, neither looking for results nor trying to prove the efficacy of spiritual healing so as to assert God's overall providence. The heat that I had felt radiating from Constance Peters' hands about four years previously, when I received the amazing amelioration from the effects of hay fever that I described at the beginning of this book, now radiated from my own hands as I ministered to Freda. Both she and I were aware of the heat in the area of the head. Though beneficial results in other people had followed my ministrations before this work began, I had never previously received a subjective confirmation that something was happening.
Since then the phenomenon has been very frequent; on the other hand, I am exquisitely aware of rejection when a person does not want my service. This seems paradoxical, that a person should seek healing in order simply to reject it, but the solution lies in unconscious (and often conscious) pride which sets itself up to refuse help. The situation was shown in Nazareth, Jesus' hometown, when the inhabitants so cut off his spiritual flow by their tacit hostility that he could do virtually nothing there apart from a few minor healings. This particular episode, recorded in Matthew 13:53-58 and Mark 6:1-6, has always been, in my judgement, the proof of Jesus' healing work. Had it been one long story of success, I would have been distinctly sceptical of the accounts of his work and even the reliability of the gospel writers. Failure is so close to everyday experience that, until it is acknowledged, we cannot pass beyond it to success; then at last we can do the work for its sake alone while we get out of the way. The ego is an essential servant but a demonic master. It is for this reason that I flinch from those who give impressive accounts of their healing prowess but sweep the more mundane unsuccessful side under the carpet. True healing is a slow, unobtrusive process which taxes the faith of minister and patient alike. We all have our dramatic cures, but these are not the heart of the matter.
My healing ministry to Freda has continued for twenty-two years: unceasing prayer and regular periods of the laying-on of hands. Her sight outdistanced the dismal forecasts of the specialists, and despite her defective vision, she has been able to lead an independent existence for all this time. A few years after the trouble began, cataracts were removed from both eyes (at that time the modern, remarkably effective lens implantation technique was in its early stage and not generally available in hospital practice). The operations were not without their complications, but she recovered well and was able to use contact lenses for some years, until she found it impossible to insert them properly and was therefore obliged to dispense with them. Nevertheless, useful vision has been retained, and she can still read books of larger print (and of more modest print also, with the aid of a magnifying glass). I would not for one moment claim that my ministrations have been responsible for this wonderful retention of visual acuity - I am well aware through my own training that the prognostications of even the most eminent specialists are only approximate, especially in obscure degeneration's affecting the sense organs - but the manner in which Freda's sight has survived the inevitable enfeeblement of the ageing process is most impressive.
Even more important than this amelioration of failing sight has been the close relationship that has developed between us. There are no topics of conversation that we cannot approach without the experience of a deep love, even when disagreeing profoundly about a special issue. Freda's survival into her ninety-third year is remarkable enough, considering her parlous physical condition. It is quite possible that her long-standing emaciation has worked against her early death, since the heart has a lesser burden to bear in very thin individuals. It is well established that overweight people have a diminished life expectancy as well as being particularly prone to osteoarthritis of the weight-bearing joints such as the hips and knees. Old age is often considered to be more a burden than a special blessing of God, despite the encouraging view of longevity we find in the Psalms and the wisdom books of the Old Testament. Freda's longevity has been a blessing to innumerable people even though her inevitable enfeeblement has been a great trial to her. At this stage of her life she would dearly like to make the great transition we call death, but to her chagrin the periods of illness pass by, and she finds herself once more in her dogged, indefatigable, if debilitated, body. It would appear that she still has some work to do among her fellow-residents in the pleasant home for the elderly where she now lives.
And so a healing I was privileged to initiate has borne fruit out of all proportion to what was given. Two new people have emerged - she and I - and with her constant tacit support I have explored without ceasing the ground, the very foundation, of the healing process as I enter into the depths of the spiritual core of all creation. She in her turn, fiercely opposed to all violence, has had to work within the confines of a body in constant revolt and a community so unconcerned with her insights as to be innately hostile to them. As we both move towards our final period of enlightenment (she apparently more imminently than I, thirty years younger but by no means out of range of the violence ahead of us all), we can both thank God for his introduction and our deep witness together. The work is indeed one, for we both function from the level of the soul. No one who touches Freda is quite the same afterwards; for something of life's eternity impinges on that person also. This does not imply that she (or I) does not experience periods of despondency and obscuration of vision, when all spiritual statements seem to be pure wishful thinking if not psychopathological delusions. In this world the dense fog of agnostic scientific thought, naked emotional violence, and corruption in the highest places of society - and sometimes of the universal Church as well - almost completely occludes the rays of divine grace that sustain us all, good and bad alike, in our daily work. To continue in the darkness is the proof of our faith, to persist without bitterness is the measure of our love. In contact with a person of love a cure may not occur, but the wayfarer is strangely strengthened for whatever work lies ahead. He knows where his human supports are to be found, and through them he can proceed beyond their guidance into the light of God.
Love can, alas be rejected. One of the most painful experiences in my healing work concerns Emily, a woman whom I had supported constantly after the death of her husband Richard, a spiritual colleague of great integrity, as was she also at that time. Richard died at a ripe old age, and his considerably younger widow was virtually friendless apart from the close circle in which her husband had worked, the group where I had first met him. None of the other members of this circle apparently came to Emily's assistance, apart from me - although I must concede with hindsight that they may well have made attempts of caring and been summarily turned away by Emily, who had a tendency to mental instability. I telephoned her regularly, not only to see that she was well but also to establish a firm friendship so that she could call on me in an emergency. And so the relationship continued for about ten years. I often visited her and gave her spiritual healing at the end of a pleasant Sunday afternoon together. She herself had a considerable gift of psychic sensitivity and also of intercessory prayer for the sick. When I moved into my present residence Emily gave me a large amount of her spare furniture and also some very attractive pictures which now adorn the walls of the sitting-room where I do my counselling and healing work. The gift was especially welcome as I had almost exhausted my financial reserves in this hazardous move, done almost as much for the benefit of those who visited me as for my own comfort.
The relationship was easy and relaxed, and we could discuss anything with complete openness. I regarded Emily as one of my really reliable friends whom I would have entrusted with my very life. Her psychic sensitivity was a useful adjunct to my own, and we were able to do some deliverance work together, although at that time this ministry did not figure prominently in my work. In 1982 Emily fell victim to fulminating attacks of asthma which necessitated emergency hospital treatment; breast cancer was also discovered. From that time onwards her friendship with me cooled. She found the healing I gave her to be repellent, and she began to take exception to what I said to her, though in fact my own warm regard for her had not changed, and I telephoned her as frequently as ever. At first I could not believe that anything was seriously wrong, putting her attitude down to the large doses of steroids she had been given for her asthma and the hormone treatment administered for her breast cancer. However, the relationship soon became fraught as she accused me, quite unjustly, of saying something unpleasant to her. I fortunately did not utter a single angry word, since I was dumbfounded by her baseless accusation. Soon afterwards she put the receiver down when I telephoned her, and this rejection, on the Saturday before Palm Sunday in 1983, was the last communication I was destined to have with her. I learned indirectly that she died some three years after our final break, but my prior attempts at a reconciliation by letter received no acknowledgement.
I was shattered by this rejection after so many years of sharing ourselves together, and even today I can come to no entirely rational explanation. The basic mental instability must have been important, as Emily did in the past have occasional delusions of persecution that seemed to fade away in the course of a few months. I could easily attribute her strange behaviour to a combination of mental disturbance, progressive illness and drug therapy. But there may have been deeper psychic invasion, for she was a "sensitive" with no clear religious commitment. Mediumship is a mixed blessing, to be used with impunity only when the person is totally committed to God in a higher religious faith, preferably the Christian one. As St Paul says in a famous passage, "Find your strength in the Lord, in his mighty power. Put on all the armour which God provides so that you may be able to stand firm against the devices of the devil. For our fight is not against human foes, but against cosmic powers, against the authorities and potentates of this dark world, against the superhuman forces of evil in the heavens" (Ephesians 6:11-12). Certainly a ministry of love was shattered by unseen forces, but my concern did not cease. Now that death has united Richard and Emily, I include them both in my prayers each afternoon when I remember an increasing number of friends who have made the great transition. I believe that all is well with Emily and me now, as she has been united with her husband and I have moved on to greater work in the unseen dimensions.
The writer of the Song of Songs knew well when he wrote, "Love is strong as death, passion cruel as the grave; it blazes up like blazing fire, fiercer than any flame. Many waters cannot quench love, no flood can sweep it away; if a man were to offer for love the whole wealth of his house, it would be utterly scorned" (8:6-7). In St Paul's famous rhapsody on love in 1 Corinthians 13, he comes to the heart of the matter at the beginning of the eighth verse, "Love will never come to an end". One may have to cease all tangible communication with the recalcitrant beloved, but the heart does not grow cold with neglect or indifference. Like the father who runs out in hysterical joy to welcome the Prodigal Son, so the heart waits in mute expectation for all the world's outcasts to be finally reinstated in the body of humanity. Only then can love show us the way to the unitive knowledge of God which is once again pure love.
The mention of malign invasion of the psyche from entities in the outer darkness in relation to Emily's strange behaviour towards me (and to at least one other person whom she knew quite well for many years) invites a consideration of the wide, controversial topic of deliverance in relation to healing. I myself have been under attack on a number of occasions, and so have no doubt about the reality of the danger. But if one is centred on Christ, centred on the sacramental life of one's particular church, and centred on unceasing prayer, one has little to fear. It is those who have a natural psychic sensitivity and prefer to work on their own without reference to the authority of the Church who are especially at risk of attack. The removal of an invading entity is in most cases not difficult provided one commands it to go in the name of the Creator, the Holy Trinity, and with the power of Christ. Unfortunately, as Jesus warned his disciples, the invasion is very likely to be repeated unless there is a radical change of heart, a metanoia, a true conversion to the light of God's countenance, on the part of the oppressed person. There must also be no further dabbling in the occult by such a person. The occult, or hidden, sphere is not necessarily more evil than the overt dimension, but unfortunately its evil side is more easily veiled from rational scrutiny. In all deliverance work, love is the most important quality, a love for the invading entity no less than for its victim. In the end the displaced power has to be directed to its proper situation in the life eternal, primarily the life beyond death, which God has prepared for its reception and ultimate healing. It, too, is a creature of God, no matter how aberrant its behaviour may be or how misplaced its situation. God in his infinite wisdom no doubt has work planned for it also. In the ministry of love the aggressor is in need of help no less than its victim, but a long time may have to elapse for the culprit to be recognized and his release secured.
Love tends to expose harmful psychic presences, which may then seek a new life under the protective power of the Almighty. Quite a number of instances of disturbing psychic phenomena involving property are caused by deceased "spirits" seeking release from their burden of guilt due to misconduct when they were incarnate in that very environment. To seek forgiveness is to attain it, but unless there is a sincere repentance and a commitment to lead a new life of loving service, the problem will recur indefinitely. Thus, as stated above, total release may take a long time, if we dare extrapolate terrestrial time to the psychic dimension with any degree of accuracy. The same principle applies to absolution and forgiveness of sin in our much more restricted earthly sphere: the proof of forgiveness of sin is the lessened tendency to commit the same sin until eventually the life of the penitent is completely blameless - at least with regard to the fault in question, but ultimately of all faults. This final situation is certainly beyond earthly time, and cannot be separated from the collective sin of the world, since we are all parts of the one body of humanity.
Since God is love and therefore cherishes everything he has created, what happens to species of life that have become extinct? This question is clearly outside our knowledge - the rationalist would sneer at the simple-mindedness of any normal person even posing such a question, since extinction is surely synonymous with total annihilation. My own intimation is that although the form is indeed annihilated, the energy, or spirit, within it has now been diverted to a new creation, of greater pertinence to the universal situation than it was in a previous dispensation. Within the last two decades the virus of smallpox has been eliminated from the entire world, so that this terrible scourge is now merely an historical curiosity. A newcomer during this time has been the unrelated virus of AIDS, but perhaps some of the smallpox virus' power has also been diverted into more constructive patterns of activity in the great world of nature around us. The thought is stimulating even if the answer is far beyond our reckoning. Everything that God created is intrinsically good, but its descent into the world of desire, analogous to the Fall described in Genesis 3, brings it into the place of choice, of free will. It is then that the antitheses of good and evil arise. The responsibility of the human species in our little world is frightening, for we control the remainder of creation here. What effect our thoughts and especially our prayers have on the cosmic level, God alone knows. It is certainly a great privilege to know human emotions, but the responsibility for their proper direction is something we all have to learn. We look forward to the day when St Paul's proclamation will be fully actualized: "There is no such thing as Jew or Greek, slave or freeman, male or female; for you are all one person in Christ Jesus" (Galatians 3:28). When one considers the terrible divisions within the Christian Church two thousand years later, one has to acknowledge the slow progress of love in the world community.