In the Place which is no place

A bit more writing for you. Something a little bit weird today, stemming from some thoughts I had about the way we often tend to think about the afterlife. I'm not even sure what it is. Poetry? Theology? Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it.

In the Place which is no place

I died, and left my body behind me.

I didn’t walk along a corridor,

For I had no body, and no feet.

I didn’t push open the great doors,

That I found before me,

For I had no hands, and no arms,

And I didn’t cross that great, wide floor.

I didn’t squint against the brightness of the light,

For I had no eyes to see, and in that Place,

There was neither light nor darkness.

I didn’t shrink from the loudness of the song and the silence,

For I had no ears to hear,

and in that Place there was neither sound nor stillness.

I didn’t at last stand before the Throne,

For I had no legs, and there was no throne.

They didn’t gaze down at me, for They had no eyes,

And I didn’t tremble at the depth and the weight

Of the Love that shone out of Them.

They did not speak, for They had no mouth,

“Well, My precious child?”

I knew what They asked,

but did not know how to answer.

How, in that Place and in that Presence,

Where all the lies I had ever told to myself,

Burnt away like grass in the fire,

Could I look at Them with the eyes I no longer had,

And explain what I had done, and what I hadn’t?

So many things, done and undone.

Said and unsaid.

Thought and unthought.

I had no lungs, no throat, no lips, no tongue,

No eyes to close, no tears to fall.

I had no answers, in the Presence of the Answer.

And I needed none, for They knew already.

They asked not because They did not know,

But because I needed to.

I didn’t bow my head down low,

For I had no head, and there was no down.

I did not kneel, for I had no knees.

I did not wait, for there was no time.

And though They were the only Judge,

They did not pass sentence,

For the hands and feet They no longer had still bled,

and the price that could never be paid,

Had been paid in full.

 There was no door to open.

I did not stand and pass through it.

And beyond it everything that was not light was music.

The heart that I no longer had burst with Joy.

The lips I didn’t have overflowed with song.

The tiny spark within me fanned by the presence of the Flame.

I left the memory of my body behind me,

and at last I truly lived.

Copyright Thomas Jones 2023

My Migration

It’s been a while since I last posted. Now that I’ve finished complaining about my adventures through the bowels of the NHS, I find that I have little to say that I’ve not already said. I’ve also had other things going on in my life that have left little time or energy for pontificating on the internet.

Unfortunately for you, however, there is now something I want to say.

I’ve spoken before on the subject of immigration, but I’d like to touch on it again. It’s still very much a subject in the news and the public consciousness, whether it be with regards to Brexit and the EU, or Donald Trump’s rhetoric, the ‘caravan of migrants’ heading through Central America or the tear-gassing of women and children at the US border.

Last time I discussed this, I mentioned that some people use their Christianity to justify the exclusion or rejection of immigrants. This is something that I think bears further examination, since it strikes me as so very wrong-headed.

“It is not my intention that this become a political blog”. I’ve said it so often now that I think we must assume that the lady doth protest too much. It is intended to be a blog of theology and writing, but any theology that doesn’t impinge on one’s political beliefs is not worthy of the name. If you think a person should keep their religion out of their politics, I would suggest that you understand neither. Immigration is, or has become, a political subject, and where you stand on it dictates and is dictated by your political affiliations.

I’d also like to touch on the distinction made between asylum seekers and economic migrants. It’s a legal distinction, but it’s also a label people use to determine whether a person deserves to be allowed into a country. There’s very much a sense that we’ll help asylum seekers because it’s the right thing to do (although often we seem to do so only very reluctantly), but economic migrants are just free-loaders coming to take advantage of our economy and culture, rather than staying at home and trying to make something of their own country. Even in the case of asylum seekers, you sometimes see comments to the effect that they should stay in their own lands and fight against whatever horrors they’re fleeing, rather than turn tail and head for safety. I think in this latter case at least, we can dismiss it as the unrealistic and inhumane nonsense that it usually is.

Within the discussions on immigration, the concept of some sort of points system is often mooted, like the one currently in place in Australia. ‘Migration isn’t bad as such,’ the thinking goes, ‘but we only want people who can be of use to us, who can contribute to us and our society’. This makes sense from a purely practical, economic point of view. What it has in pragmatism though, I can’t help but feel it lacks in simple compassion. It also feels rather short-termist. The person who lacks ‘useful’ skills now might very well have them before long, if given the chance to acquire them.

Throughout Christian history and Christian culture, the analogy of travel has been used to describe the individual’s journey through life. “One more step along the world I go”, “A Pilgrim’s Progress” etc.

However, it is not a pointless journey. It is not an aimless wandering in the wilderness. It is a journey with a destination in mind. It is, one might say, a migration. It has a goal, and that goal is a place and a Person. We are, all of us, travelling towards the Kingdom of God. Some more slowly than others, it is true, some unknowingly or unwillingly, but we’re all on the path, and we’re all facing in the same direction, with no ability to turn back.

The questions is; are we asylum seekers or economic migrants? On what basis do we expect to be accepted into our destination?

I cannot truly claim to be an asylum seeker. True the world is dark and full of terrors, bad enough to wish to flee from (although I’m well aware that I have been personally exposed to very few of them indeed). However, asylum implies some legal framework that identifies genuine refugees and imposes an obligation to take them in. I don’t believe that God is under any such obligation.

Why do I wish to enter the Kingdom of God? Why am I travelling there? Do I have any useful skills that the Kingdom lacks? Can I contribute in any meaningful way to God? Is there anything that He needs that I can provide? Of course not. On what basis then, do I expect to be allowed to enter the Kingdom? I am a freeloader, an economic migrant, expecting unearned rewards. I have nothing to give and Everything to gain. Why on Earth (or, rather, in Heaven) should I be given it, instead of being turned back at the border, if not tear-gassed or shot for my temerity?

Despite all this, I am instead taught that I will be granted a place, if I want it. I have not and cannot earn it. I do not deserve it. It is not in exchange for anything I can do or give. Nonetheless I will have it. I am currently stateless, a wanderer, but I have been promised a citizenship that cannot be revoked, only rejected. The way may be narrow, but I believe that Heaven has few walls and many bridges. The toll has already been paid, the entry fee covered. My papers are in order, but the handwriting isn’t mine.

I am a single member of a vast caravan of migrants travelling slowly but surely towards the border, with more joining all the time. Do I dare hope that I’ll be given admittance when I arrive? Barely, but I am told that nonetheless it’s true.

Knowing this then, how can I as a Christian ever consider turning away the traveller to my country? I discussed in that previous post the specific commandments regarding feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, welcoming the stranger, and doing to the least of these. That’s all true and well and good, but even if we had not been given those commands, how can we, knowing what we know and being what we are, turn our backs on the migrants of this world, regardless of their origins or reasons for coming?

Some time ago, I concluded that I was not Charlie. Now, I have to conclude that I am in fact a migrant. These are my people. I am one of them and so, whether you believe it or not, are you.

Misunderstanding Forgiveness

Firstly, a very happy new year to you. As mentioned previously, we moved house in December, and we’ve only very recently managed to get the internet working in in our new place, hence the lack of posts. I hope you had a very pleasant Christmas and New Year.

I also achieved my adjusted target, as per my last post, of writing at least something each and every day during November. I didn’t win NaNo, but I achieved my lesser, personal target.

Right, now that’s out of the way, time for today’s post.

I’ve just got back from the supermarket (and want to write this while it’s fresh in my mind). On the way out, I glanced at the newspaper headlines, and my eye was caught by that of the Daily Star in particular. If you don’t live in the UK, you might be unfamiliar with this publication, but it is amongst the more egregious of our several populist tabloid ‘newspapers’.

The headline that caught my attention was this: EVIL BLACK CAB RAPIST’S SICK CLAIM- WORBOYS: GOD HAS FORGIVEN ME.

The whole article can be found on their website, if you want to read it.

It may not surprise you to discover that this headline frustrated and infuriated me, as it attacks the very heart of my faith. If you are not aware, John Worboys is a convicted serial rapist who assaulted a vast number of women whilst working as a London taxi driver. His crimes have been proven, and admitted. That much is certain. Papers like the Star revel in emotive and emotionally manipulative language, but even the most cautious of commentators would have to admit that his crimes were indeed evil.

What I take issue with is the assertion that his claim that God has forgiven him is ‘sick’. It is, after all, the very essence of Christian belief. To quote the hymn, ‘the vilest offender who truly believes, that moment from Jesus a pardon receives’.

Does Worboys truly believe? Has he truly repented, confessed his crimes before God and thrown himself on God’s mercy and salvation? Is he indeed a changed man who fully repents of his crimes and is now determined to live a better life? Or is it, as the article claims, merely a cynical ploy to accelerate his release from prison? I have no idea, and no way of finding out.

Worboys will, I assume remain on a sex offenders register, and I imagine the terms of his parole will be strict. I will acknowledge that steps need to be taken to ensure that he doesn’t pose a continued threat to others. Sadly we cannot simply take him at his word and hope for the best. That would be utterly negligent. However, beyond that, I would prefer to give him the benefit of the doubt. Past crimes don’t remove the (sadly increasingly eroded) principle of ‘innocent until proven guilty’.

And why is his claim ‘sick’? Because of the nature of his crimes? They were heinous and disgusting, probably deserving of significantly more than the eight years of prison time that he has served. But his claim to God’s forgiveness is the very core of my faith. The idea that even a man like Worboys can, if he truly repents, be forgiven, be remade, be reborn, washed clean, is the absolute fundament and foundation of my faith. It doesn’t matter how many talents he owes, the debt can be forgiven. And that goes for each and every one of us, no matter how great or small our transgressions might be.

From the article; “He thinks he is born again since embracing religion and that he has been forgiven. He says he is a changed man – but how can this be proved?” 

Very simply. Watch him. Watch the life he leads, the actions he takes, the things he says. If he has indeed been remade, it will be obvious. Is he different to the way he was before? Then he has changed. Might he backslide? Perhaps. From the article I understand that there is an effort to have him charged with further crimes that came to light since his imprisonment. If these crimes are proven, then it will only be justice if he serves a further sentence for them.

But don’t label his forgiveness sick. It isn’t. It represents hope. In fact, it represents the only hope any of us have. You may not find it pleasant to be compared to a convicted serial rapist, but we are all in the same boat. We have all fallen short of God, we all owe debts we have no power to repay, and we have all been offered an unlimited forgiveness and eternal redemption. That is the core of Christianity, it is the purpose of the crucifixion, it is the Promise of God. That the Daily Star completely fails to understand this is no great surprise, but it also says far more about them than it does about Worboys, if he is indeed being honest.

I have no way of knowing, but I will assume that he is until he shows otherwise. And if he isn't? If he's lying, and cynically using that hope of God's promise to deceive his way out of serving part of his sentence? Then even now, God's forgiveness is not beyond him. It is never too late, and there is no-one so evil or so far gone that they are beyond God's reach, if only they wish to be helped.

“Oh, perfect redemption, the purchase of blood,
To every believer the promise of God;
The vilest offender who truly believes,
That moment from Jesus a pardon receives.”

Faith,Wilful Ignorance and Mysterious Ways

For this post I’d like to discuss something I touched on when discussing the effects of immigration. I want to talk about having faith in the absence of specific answers, and as an alternative to bickering about things we do not and cannot know.

Faith is a tricky concept, especially when, like myself, you’ve been raised in a culture that prizes rationalism, absolute intellectual knowledge and scientific enquiry. These are all good things. As humans we are curious; we like to find out what things are, what they do, how they work, where they came from, what will happen to them if we do this or that or just leave them be.

As a species this curiosity has not only been our greatest asset, it has defined us and our development. Right from ‘If I tie these logs together, could I sit on them and float down the river?’ to ‘I wonder what happens if I mash these two lumps of uranium together?’ Our thirst for knowledge drives us.

As a result, because religion can often only be very vague in terms of certain knowledge, many people grow frustrated or disdainful of it. ‘Prove it’ is the atheist’s constant (and not, on the face of it, unreasonable) refrain. The whole study of theology is based on similar questions. Who is God? What is God? How does He work? Where did He come from? What does He want? Theology suggests various answers to all these questions. Where these answers differ we get schisms, arguments, even conflicts.

Some questions have answers that can be reasoned through, and if we have no physical evidence, we can at least demonstrate a chain of logic. There are some subjects, however, for which we cannot do that. For me, some of the hardest are well-known questions such as ‘Will virtuous non-Christians go to heaven?’, or ‘Do other religions lead to God?’

My natural sense of justice and fair play push me towards saying yes to both. Surely a life lived in accordance with the ideals of love, mercy, forgiveness and grace that Christianity preaches must count for something, even if the person in question has not explicitly accepted the grace of God.

On the other hand, Jesus seems fairly unequivocal. ‘I am the way, the truth and the life. No-one shall come to the Father except through me.’

One can tie oneself in theological and philosophical knots and say that such a person has accepted His grace even if they didn’t realise it. ‘Every good thing is done for me, even if you do not know my name’. Similarly it strikes me as horribly arrogant to state that my religion happens to be the only true and correct one, and everyone else is mistaken or misguided. It seems only fair to concede that all faiths at least point to God, even if some are distorted or only see Him very vaguely. I can perhaps say that I think mine is the clearest image of God whilst still admitting that not only are others at least partially correct but that my image is by no means perfect.

Issues of soteriology cause ructions within the church. How are people saved? How does it work? Theories abound but true knowledge is absent. This doesn’t stop serious arguments, fallings out, accusations of heresy and even persecutions.

Secular modernity disdains blind faith, and I think does so rightly. To me a faith unexamined, unquestioned, and untested is a weak sort of faith, a brittle kind that might snap at the first hint of doubt.

It’s easy (for me at least) to believe in God. It makes logical and rational sense to me. Much of traditional Christian doctrine likewise makes sense, or is at least of a kind that I am happy to believe in until I see definite evidence to the contrary.

Other questions though leave me shrugging and shaking my head, unable to arrive at an answer. The typical atheist response would be to say that these issues can be dismissed until a proper answer presents itself, but this strikes me as a kind of close-mindedness. We can dismiss the importance of the question, muttering something about ‘mysterious ways’, and this can often come across as wilful ignorance or an intellectual cop-out in place of a robust response. When used as such, the ones asking the questions get rightly frustrated.

However, I think that as a response it can be used actively as well as passively. Faith in the existence of God, or the Incarnation of whatever is one thing. There may be no scientific evidence, but I can believe the assertion anyway. Not knowing the answer, but being able to believe that even though it might not make sense to me, God knows what He’s doing, even if I can’t figure it out myself is a different and more difficult kind of faith. It’s much more like trust than belief, and as a result is much harder, especially given the human need to know how things work. I don’t know whether salvation is through election or free-will. I don’t know whether good non-Christians go to Heaven. I know what I think makes sense, but that’s not the same as knowing the answer. All I can do is believe that God is good, loving and just, that He knows what He is doing, and what He’s doing is for our ultimate good.

I don’t see this as blind faith or wilful ignorance per se. It’s not a faith unquestioned so much as a faith that doesn’t know all the answers, and is happy to admit that. A faith that is willing to trust that all will be made clear, even if at the moment I am incapable of understanding, and that I already know as much as I need to. It’s a faith that comes very hard, and can be rather unsatisfying. I’ll just have to try and deal with that, try to trust, and believe that ultimately, all will be made known.