Our Collect this morning orients and educates our
desire, articulating a truth which we have been holding in our
prayers throughout Trinity Season thus far. “Grant, O Lord, we
beseech thee, that the course of this world may be so peaceably
ordered by thy governance, that thy Church may joyfully serve thee
in all godly quietness.” ‘Peace’ and ‘quietness’ are here
understood as the tranquility of being rightly ordered; according as
the soul, and the whole cosmos, journeys back to its true homeland,
towards its final perfection, where it shall find rest in God
alone. Our goal is the heavenly beatitude of eternal life, to
worship and enjoy God forever. This is the final blessing for which
we hope, and toward which we strive, to be sure; but it is also ours
to participate in such eternal blessedness while we are yet pilgrims
in this mortal life. The Church serves its Lord not out of a
begrudging sense of duty, for this, our “bounden duty and service,”
is at the same time, “perfect freedom” (BCP pp. 86, 11).
Thus, as we pray in our Collect, the Bride of Christ expects to
serve its divine head “joyfully.”
Likewise we are exhorted, by St Peter, to live in
the world, and amongst our fellow Christians, according to this
order: in accordance with our hope for heavenly beatitude—“Not
rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing: but
contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye
should inherit a blessing” (I Peter 3:9). To ascend to the
divine life, to abide in charity, cannot mean less than this: the
continual conversion of our love, away from opportunities and
occasions for evil, and rather willing the good of others, in the
grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. As the Psalmist counsels, as quoted
by St Peter: “let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek
peace, and ensue it” (Ps. 34:14; I Peter 3:11).
But such a life we are called to follow, in
following Christ, and ordering our souls in harmony with his divine
governance, is a blessing which the world does not recognise as
such. “And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness
comprehended it not” (John 1:5). Such a pattern of happiness,
in fact, is very much contrary to common notions of the good life in
our age, or any age for that matter. “But and if ye suffer for
righteousness’ sake, happy are ye” (I Peter 3:14). It is not
easy for us to grasp and hold fast the profoundly implicating
relationship of righteous suffering and happiness of which this
passage speaks. Let us, then, briefly consider the nature of this
vocation of happiness in suffering.
Happiness in suffering for righteousness’ sake
springs from the love of God. It is a suffering love whereby we
enter into the suffering love of Christ for all humanity. It is a
kind of joy that does not seek after happiness in the changes and
chances of this fleeting world, in external circumstances or goods
which may be taken away as quickly as they are given. Rather, we
repose upon the eternal changelessness of God’s love: we turn
towards the supreme happiness which springs from the love of God, an
inward happiness which lies within the soul. True blessing has a
promise of true satisfaction, in comparison to which all other fruit
and goods are but shadows of the true good, imperfect blessings
which always and inevitably leave us wanting. And so St Peter
teaches that the outward practice of charity is premised upon a turn
inwards: “Sanctify the Lord God in your hearts” (I Peter
3:15). The fruits of the Holy Spirit are spiritual gifts, which do
not depend on anything we deserve or have earned, which are not the
result of “getting what I want,” and have little or nothing to do
with our experience of pleasure, sentimentality, or the immediate
satisfaction of our every whim and lust—No. The nature of happiness
which consists in suffering for righteousness’ sake is an inward
disposition of the soul, and depends on our abiding in love which
manifests itself in our willing the good of others. We must never
forget that this happiness, as suffering love, is costly. “Blessed
are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you and shall say
all manner of evil against you, for my sake” (Matt. 5:11). It
would only be a superficial happiness, and would not have the power
to convert us, nor to lift us above the frailty and infirmity of our
own human love, if the love of God’s kingdom did not in fact mean
“death to each of us”: the complete dying out of our own selfish
selves—“and not dying out as a flower fades away but dying a cruel
death of the crucifixion” (Anthony Bloom, Living Prayer,
40). This is what stands behind the Church’s vocation to suffering
love, and the bearing of this suffering is the substance of our
happiness, sustained in hope through the contemplation of and
participation in Christ’s body and blood.
To abide in this blessed suffering of divine love
means the banishment of fear and a troubled spirit. When our
suffering leads to a hopeless despair, to a sorrow which would crush
and overwhelm us, it is not a suffering for the sake of the good, or
for the sake of the perfection and reformation of our love. In such
a spirit of dejection, it is we who have wandered away from
ourselves: rather than banishing fear, in our forgetfulness of the
redemption of love, we banish ourselves from our true home, and
become alienated from the true nature of our happiness.
Surely, many of us can identify with the words
of Simon Peter, when Jesus bid him to cast his net again into deep
waters: “Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken
nothing” (Luke 5:5). His expectation of being rewarded for a
hard night’s work was thoroughly disappointed. How often do we have
hopes and plans which we do not see realised? How often are our own
aspirations frustrated? How often do we experience letting down the
net of our desire, and then after long toil, haul it back up only to
find the net empty, and ourselves dejected?
In the story of the miraculous catch of fish,
there are two miracles, two mysteries. Peter, perhaps against
common sense, and in obedience to Christ’s word, let the net down
again, and this time, the fruit which he drew up was not the reward
for any of his own efforts and toil: the haul of fishes was a gift
of divine grace, and was so abundant, it literally burst from the
nets. But perhaps more astounding is the transformation of the
heart, undergone by Peter and the sons of Zebedee. For there are
different kinds of sorrow, with different ends: the Apostle Paul
puts the matter clearly, “The sorrow which is according to God
worketh repentance steadfast unto salvation: but the sorrow of the
world worketh death” (II Cor. 7:10). In the face of the
astounding blessing of the fish, Peter recognises a blessing that
cannot even be compared to any abundance of temporal fruit: in being
brought to his knees, he recognises that he must be dissatisfied
with the most abundant catch of fishes that ever he could imagine.
And this is accompanied by a movement in his soul: from a dejection
at his own unrealised gain: we have toiled all the night and have
taken nothing; to a healthy, redemptive kind of sorrow, the
contrition and confession of his sins: he fell down at Jesus’
knees, saying Depart from me, for I am a sinful man O Lord; and
from experiencing sorrow and suffering for his utter unworthiness of
such abundant grace, there is a movement to satisfaction and
amendment of life: they forsook all, and followed him.
May this pattern of contrition, confession, and
satisfaction, which is the movement of our prayer and worship, be
the movement of our hearts; may we truly sanctify the Lord God in
our hearts, contemplating his grace, in which there is no fear.
Grant, Father, that our minds Thy august
seat may scan,
Grant us the sight of true good’s source,
and grant us light
That we may fix on Thee our mind’s
unblinded eye.
Disperse the clouds of earthly matter’s
cloying weight;
Shine out in all Thy glory; for Thou art
rest and peace
To those who worship Thee; to see Thee is
our end,
Who art our source and maker, lord and
path and goal.
(Boethius,
Consolation of Philosophy, 3.9)
