According to Leviticus 25 every fifty years there is to be a jubilee. There is sadly no evidence that the Israelites ever kept the law of jubilee and if you look at what it would mean you can see why. In the year of jubilee there is to be a massive redistribution of wealth, all property is to be returned to its original owner [Lev 25:28], slaves are to be set free [Lev 25:40], and no work is to be done for the whole year [Lev 25:11]. Imagine this as a political manifesto in an election year! In the light of this Scripture alone we can see why Archbishop Desmond Tutu could write, “For the Church in any country to retreat from politics is nothing short of heresy. Christianity is political or it is not Christianity.” [The Observer 1994] Tutu, of course, says nothing about these politics being populist. Indeed the politics of jubilee have never been practised and are never likely to win elections. Voters prefer their own advantage and prosperity and there are few votes in a programme to abolish child poverty, offer genuine care for the elderly, provide sanctuary for the mentally ill or educational and rehabilitation programmes in prisons. A couple of pence off the rate of tax will nearly always seem more attractive than schools for the disabled; those who have got rich will be reluctant to relinquish their wealth, and who cares about exploited workers or the unemployed? Even a year of idleness is unlikely to attract many voters.
Far from the turbulent world of politics countless people find at Launde, and at hundreds of similar houses, a place of retreat, somewhere to get away from the hurly-burly of daily life, politics and the rest. Here we may allow our frazzled souls to find peace and time for quiet reflection and here we may draw closer to God Himself, or rather allow God to draw closer to us. We may perhaps draw comfort from Mrs Thatcher’s words that “Christianity is about spiritual redemption not about social change.” [Address to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, 1988] In this spiritual environment we may, so we imagine, forget the world and its troubles and, as Mrs Thatcher would like, concentrate on the salvation of our souls. When I was Spirituality Adviser to the Diocese of Guildford I soon discovered that in the midst of a frantic, driven and goal-orientated society there was a flourishing “spirituality industry” in Surrey. At its worst this “industry” encouraged its clients to jump from one spiritual “experience” to another in a continual orgy of navel-gazing which became an engaging hobby for those with the time to spare and the money to burn. It is disturbing, to say the least, to consider that, for Archbishop Tutu, this is heresy.
As a retreat leader and spiritual director myself I know the incomparable value of making regular retreats, even if we can only manage a snatched quiet day now and again; and I know that taking time to pray and reflect is a deeply subversive and indeed radical act, which undermines the culture of achievement and success so apparent in today’s society. And, as a radical and subversive act, I welcome it. But I also know that, like a successful general and his army, we may retreat only in order to advance. A few years ago I had the immense privilege of taking part in the Three Month course at St Beuno’s. I felt no guilt at taking a sabbatical in order to withdraw to a course which is centred around the “Spiritual Exercises” of Ignatius Loyola made in a thirty-day retreat. So far, so good; but the six weeks which follow the “Exercises” are all about how we can use the experience of the retreat to be more effective ministers in the world. There were modules on social justice, collaborative ministry, and the application of the Ignatian dynamic in the world. This is a natural follow-up to the “Spiritual Exercises” as Ignatius intended them to help us make a decision, a deeper commitment to Christ and His mission. As with any retreat, we withdraw for a season, to draw close to God who then sends us out, equipped for service and mission in the world. This was Jesus’ pattern. He was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, and when He returned, equipped and ready for action, He identified His mission: “to preach good news to the poor ... proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed,” and, as an echo of jubilee, “to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.” [Luke 4:18f]
There is, therefore an integral bond between the radical act of withdrawing for prayer and the equally radical act of re-engaging for Kingdom action. Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest in New Mexico, leads an outfit called the Center for Contemplation and Action (CAC). [Their web site, www.cacradicalgrace.org is well worth a visit] Rohr likes to say that the most important word in the title is not “contemplation”, nor “action”, but “and”. Rohr himself lives out the vision by spending six months of each year in solitude, and the other six months in social action; both are radical indeed. In the workaholic culture of the United States who dares take half of each year to contemplate? But then I met a young woman who had been an intern at CAC in New Mexico, who had been alarmed to find that in their first week the interns had been expected to cross into Mexico and live with, and as, the poor in a deprived border town.
So let us hold on to the “and” of our Christian lives. Let us avoid the obvious perils associated with a life of contemplation or a life of action. Contemplation without action, and I acknowledge that this action can be committed and sacrificial intercession for the world, quickly becomes self-indulgent and then stagnates horribly. Action without contemplation is devoid of vital spiritual support and thus quickly becomes impotent.
The Church of England can be justifiably proud that we have grown enormously in genuine spirituality; more and more Anglicans are finding a deeper and more satisfying relationship with God; those responsible for finding spiritual directors are, in many areas, overwhelmed; the take up of retreats, quiet days, prayer workshops and the popularity of books on spirituality are increasing rapidly; all of which give us hope for the future of the Church in our land. Prayer and contemplation are very much more on the agenda than they once were. This a radical development in a Church which was traditionally expected to avoid anything too obviously spiritual.
We may also be proud that we are continuing a long tradition of courageously standing up for the poor and disadvantaged in society, often when politicians seem to have sided entirely with “Middle England” or perhaps with the rich. The report “Faith in the City” was a milestone in radical political engagement which laid down a marker that the national Church was committed to the poor and not about to abandon the most needy in society; that we intend to follow Jesus’ own radical manifesto rather than the compromised agenda of one or other political party. To Mrs Thatcher’s fury we refuse to be corralled into a spiritual ghetto in which the Kingdom of God is emasculated and impotent; and it is not just Mrs Thatcher who finds Kingdom values frustrating; genuine Christian action upsets politicians of left, right and centre.
The two strands of contemplation and action have not, though, always been wholly integrated. We seem to want to identify with Mary or with Martha, but seldom with both. What the retreat movement can offer is the “better way” [Luke 10:42] of Mary; but following her way we find we are driven out to follow the practical way of Martha; just as Jesus was driven into the desert, [Mark 1:12 and parallels] and then emerged to engage in the practical mission of healing the sick, driving out the demons and proclaiming the Kingdom of God. [Luke 9:1f and parallels] There is no divide between these two strands of faith. In this, Launde’s year of jubilee, we are called to go and do likewise.