Trinity 12 St. Peter’s 27/8/23
Family Communion John 6:35, 41-51
A few days ago Hilary and I read Psalm 88. Now one of the strengths of the Psalms is how unfettered they are - all human life is there - every mood represented - but having said that there is no denying Psalm 88 is on the gloomy end of the spectrum - even its heading calls it ‘A prayer for help in despondency - it’s a glass at least 3/4 empty kind of psalm
So the psalmist writes : I am overwhelmed with troubles and my life draws near to death. / You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths. / You have taken from me my closest friends and have made me repulsive to them.
Darkness is my closest friend.
At least 3/4 empty. It is gloomy, but for many of us it will ring some bells. It’s part of being human
So however happy we are, however satisfied with our situation simply living means we will have picked up some baggage - the things we remember when we wake in the night, the situations we could have handled better, the words that shouldn’t have been spoken, the friendships that have soured, we’ve dealt shoddily with people we love, we should have offered help but didn’t/ couldn’t, opportunities we’ve missed….
But we also carry things not our fault - the losses we’ve suffered, those times where there was no right thing to do, and the things that were good but not easy, that you wouldn’t want to change but still they have a weight to them
And we carry cares for the people around us, the situations we hoped might have worked out a bit better for friends/family. Life is messy, and there isn’t always an easy way out of our own particular quagmires.
But though despondency is very common it doesn’t have the last word on the human condition.
Two things we can say in the face of it. Both are of grace - the first is a common grace grace we tap into simply because of the way we are created - whatever our faith or lack of it common graces will touch us, whilst the second grace is Christian.
A for instance of the first.
The radio programme Soul Music doesn’t use the word grace but it’s what it majors on. It’s half an hour of people talking about why a particular piece of music matters to them - I often remember somebody who explained how at a time in his life when he was deeply unsettled - for something good - but still unsettling and a chance hearing of Tallis’s Spem in Alium knitted him together - he said it gave him consolation.
Despite all that is wrong, all that is painful, all that has to be carried - whether good or bad - despite all of that - sublime beauty still exists in the world - whatever baggage we are carrying doesn’t leak out and set the world’s mood - and this being put in touch with something larger than us, something which is good restores a sense of proportion
Not just music, not just art, not just poetry, consolation can come in all sorts of ways - through nature - a storm, a starry night, dawn. Through people - an unlooked for kindness, sometimes one can feel carried by the energy and joy of others.
We read something, hear a casual remark and know that this person has trod where we are treading. We are not the only ones.
What is consolation? How does it work? It is surprising we can feel better even though nothing has changed. Consolation in this sense comes not by addressing a problem and solving it - how could it - nothing can make good a loss or call back the words you wish you’d never said, life will continue to be messy. But things don’t have to be relevant to be helpful and consolation often comes at us slant. I am met and I am given proportion. I feel weighed down, but something so touches me - beauty, goodness, love - that I am enabled to take my eyes from my own burden and look beyond it.
The world is not just about me.
The consolation of this common grace restores a sense of proportion in the face of despondency.
The Christian word goes further than proportion and gives us a new perspective. Where Jesus meets us consolation shades into hope.
In the gospel reading a grumbling crowd comes up to Jesus - they are hungry, they want a sign, they want change, they want a king or at least a military leader and He is only a local boy - all that they are carrying spills out.
Just as consolation comes in slant so too Jesus doesn’t address their particular concerns head on, but where consolation says look beyond your burdens, Jesus says look at me. ‘What I am offering you is more than a temporary fix, ‘I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which anyone may eat and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.”.’
When we review our life and burdens in the middle of the night an underlying question is, ‘Is this who I am?’ Jesus responds to that by saying ‘Who you are is not who you are alone, but who you are together with me.’ He doesn’t dismiss what we are carrying, but He doesn’t let it define us. He sees us as human not just the sum of our words, decisions, actions, burdens. Look at Him, go to Him, eat of the bread. He is out true home rather than those things that we continue to carry.
We will never find hope if we just look inwards, hope comes from following Jesus, drawing close to him.
There’s a passage in Kathleen Norris’s Dakota which blurs consolation and holiness - which points to meeting God in the place of consolation.
‘The high Plains, the beginning of the desert West, often acts as a crucible for those who inhabit them. Like Jacob’s angel, the region requires that you wrestle with it before it bestows a blessing. This can mean driving through a snow storm on icy roads, wondering whether you’ll have to pull over and spend the night in your car, only to emerge under tag ends of clouds into a clear sky blazing with stars. Suddenly you know what you are seeing: the earth has turned to face the centre of the galaxy and many more stars are visible than the ones we usually see on our wing of the spiral.
Or a vivid double rainbow marches to the east, following the wild summer storm that nearly blew you off the road. The storm sky is gunmetal grey, but to the west the sky is peach streaked with crimson. The land and the sky of the West often fill what Thoreau termed our ‘need to witness our limits transgressed.’ Nature, in Dakota, can indeed be an experience of the holy.’
Life has rough edges and loose ends and we are bound to pick up baggage along the way. It’s the human condition. But we can know consolation - something good, something beautiful touches us so we can look beyond ourselves. It restores a sense of proportion in the face of despondency.
But the gospel word is that Christ goes further and gives us a new perspective. Where Jesus meets us consolation deepens and firms up until it becomes hope. Hope in Him, in His word and His promise of life and He will not disappoint us.
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