Trust the Process

A few days ago I saw a friend to talk over how I could make best use of the sabbatical.
Amongst other things, he suggested that I needed to trust the process - that is - if you make space for yourself and God something will emerge.
He likened it to the story of Jesus in Luke's Gospel who 'has no place to lay his head,' but when he dies he rests in his Father, 'Into your hand I commit my spirit.' After resting on Holy Saturday he rises through the action and love of God on Easter Day.
So as the Sabbatcial unfolds - and as I begin to allow for the space and emptiness so that I listen and be aware of myself and God - I do so hoping that something will come to light - I just don't know what !

I am a big fan of the work of Simon Parke.
Simon used to be a parish priest - gave it up to atack shelves and write; now he is a freelance writer full time.
I realise that he is a bit like Marmite - he divides opinion - but what i appreciate about him is his original mind, honesty and humour. I don't mind that I may not follow his thinking all the way - I just appreciate the way he kicks my heart and mind into seeing myself and the world in new and helpful ways.
I saw the following on his Blog
www.simonparke.com/bloggers
and it made me smile:

Yesterday, I went to see an osteopath - not to be mistaken for a psychopath, which is a very different craft.
He is, of course, the best osteopath in the world, and revealed that I had torn my abductor muscles and may also have a hernia. I'm hoping that it isn't a hernia; hoping that very much. In the meantime, he's working on the torn muscles.
As he massages my damaged thigh, I ask endless questions:'Would Deep Heat help?''No - it makes no difference at all. It merely irritates the skin giving the impression of heat.''They're making alot of money from something that doesn't help.''They are, yes.''So what about the cold spray, that makes the affected area feel freezing. Surely that helps?''No.''OK. But I always feel better after a hot bath, so presumably that's helping the healing.''No - you just feel more relaxed for about twenty minutes. There's no healing there.'
It may have been at this point that I had to stop talking because the pain was too excruciating. A little earlier I'd said cheerily: 'Well, at least it doesn't hurt as much as last week!' He had stayed ominously quiet at the time, and now I knew why. He knew what was coming.
But I suppose my questions revealed a determination to speed up the healing process. There must be something I can do, something I can buy at the chemist!'Oh, there are lots of things you can buy at the chemist, Simon. But they're all placebos.''If I was a premiership footballer, I'd be in an oxygen tent.'
(My osteopath treats premiership footballers, international rugby players, athletes, the lot. On reflection, my body must be something of a disappointment to him.)
'Maybe,' he says in response. 'But in certain areas, technology can only make a very few percentage points of difference.''So it's really about time?' I say.'It's mainly about time, Simon, yes. The body needs time.'

And the Sabbatical is teaching me that my spirit needs time too.

Love after Love - Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you have ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


I discovered this poem whilst at Glasshampton Monastery today.
I wouldn't say that I am feasting on my life - but I have begun to nibble at the corners.

I think it was Martin Luther who said that if he was told the world would end tomorrow, he would plant a tree. I would go for potatoes - quicker in the growth stakes and edible.
So, today I got on my knees and began planting.

Someone asked what I was going to do with the sabbatical and I began by saying that there was small stuff to be done - like washing my cassock albs, (done today) buying shoes, (hopefully to be done tomorrow.)
They looked shocked and said surely there would be more to it than that.
And there is - I hope to have time to pray, read and look longer at the question of where I am in life's journey (and in ministry).
But the small stuff matters too - I put it on hold so much of the time because people, prayer and preaching (that's 3 words beginning with 'P' - it's so hard not to write and think like a preacher) come first - which is fair enough. But there comes a time when the small stuff needs attention too.
An ancient prayer from the Eastern Church begins, 'Lord, make us truly alive...'
So, on day two, I have started working on some small stuff - for life is truly made up of such details.

In the beginning

Some people have a clear agenda for their sabbatical - a program of study - pilgrimage - a host of new and interesting experiences.
I too considered starting a PhD or an MA.
I looked at Retreats.
In the end I chose nothing.
I did this partly because Linda has started an MEd and two of us studying seriously would send the household into freefall; someone has to wash, cook, chase children etc.
I also know that some things, like rest, creativity, reflection and prayer, need time and space.
So although there are a few things planned - trying my hand at rowing - a bit of decortaing, gardening, a short pilgrimage to North Wales in the footsteps of RS Thomas - and a week in a monastery in New Mexico - there is a still a lot of nothing in the sabbatical.
At this moment I am twitchy about the space that has opened up before me, but I also know that I need to hold my nerve and allow for emptiness.
So, in the beginning, on day one of the sabbatical, there was nothing - it's the best place to start.