Categories: uncategorized
Date: 28 November 2004 14:44:23
Well, the wedding I went to yesterday was certainly different. It's the first totally secular and non-church wedding I've been to for several years (since my sister and brother-in-law got married, in fact), and it felt really strange not having any mention of God at all. It was still lovely, and after all they've been through to get here it was really moving to see them exchange their vows, very emotional. The readings were from "Captain Corelli's Mandolin" and some poem or other - nice enough, but nevertheless, still strange for me. Don't get me wrong - Captain Corelli is actually one of my all-time favourite novels, and what de Bernieres wrote was absolutely beautiful - it just felt odd not hearing any mention of the wedding at Cana or I Corinthians 13! But then, it's good to have what we're comfortable with challenged, I guess. I left grateful that God is integral to my life and more sure that if I were to ever marry I would want God at the centre of both the ceremony and the marriage - but I also left thankful that God has blessed my friend, even though she and her husband have chosen not to acknowledge that.
Also, thankfully this time I didn't disgrace myself at the reception and managed to stay on my feet. Always a relief :)
At some point reasonably soon I'm going to need to start picking up "How to Get a PhD" as my bedtime reading again. But right now I'm reading Henri Nouwen's "The Return of the Prodigal Son", which is his meditation on both the parable of the prodigal son and Rembrandt's painting of the parable. I must admit that, although I love Nouwen's writings, I've mostly found this one a bit more distant, and I've felt more engaged when he's talking about Rembrandt and the painting rather than when he's been talking about the actual parable. But then last night that changed - up to now I've been reading his musings on the returned younger son, but he's just started to turn his attention to the elder son, and (as I suspected would happen, to be honest), I'm seeing an awful lot of myself in what he's writing. Actually a number of things he wrote reminded me of my questions on Matthew 10 (see entry a few days ago entitled Musings) - and helped me to see that, underneath my genuine questions as to why do some people have a prayer answered and others don't, and why some people have it so much easier, is (if I'm honest) a lot of resentment and pride - I've done so much, tried so hard, blah blah, but you've blessed them not me, and what have they done, it's not fair, moan, whinge... you get the picture. I think I knew that anyway - that underlying my genuine search for answers is a sense of resentment masquerading as injustice. But it became very real as I read yesterday, and I know is something I need to deal with. I'm not saying for a second, by the way, that anyone else with similar questions is a similar seething mass of resentment and pride - not at all. They are still genuine questions, and important ones to ask. I guess at the moment I just feel a bit like Job when God finally speaks to him at the end of the book and doesn't answer his questions but instead says "Who are you? What do you know about the big picture?"
As Nouwen writes: "The obedient and dutiful life of which I am proud or for which I am praised feels, sometimes, like a burden that was laid on my shoulders and continues to oppress me, even when I have accepted it to such a degree that I cannot throw it off. I have no difficulty identifying with the elder son of the parable who complained: "All these years I have slaved for you and never once disobeyed any orders of yours, yet you never offered me so much as a kid for me to celebrate with my friends." In this complaint, obedience and duty have become a burden, and service has become slavery." This may be a little extreme, but I do think there is a lot of truth there - how much of what I do in Christ's name is no longer a joy, but a burden? And how do I go about rediscovering that joy in service? I suspect that is a large part of my Christian journey at the moment - over the years I feel I've become more thoughtful, less black-and-white about life, and I feel that my faith is deeper because of that than it ever was before. But I do also sometimes feel that I've lost the sense of spontaneity and joy of the Christian life - I don't know if that's because I'm a natural cynic, or if it's because I'm just being realistic in a fallen world - but it's something I'd love to rediscover, so that the joy and spontaneity can sit alongside the depth and reality, rather than it being an either/or thing.