Last month was somewhat
overwhelming. The second grandchild arrived safely, but it is a process which
is not without its worries. The natural caution of the medical people led to
one or too scares, with extra scans, just in case. The process of giving birth
is not without its dangers and, in the past, not all mothers or babies
survived. Perhaps an awareness of such things is a worry too far, but, living
with a hospital chaplain, I am aware of just how many babies' funerals Jane has
taken over the last 25 years. Such knowledge did not lead me to a state of
pessimism, but simply a deep awareness of both the preciousness of life and
it's fragility. The expected birth was time of overwhelming hope, combined with
anxiety that all would be alright for our daughter. The arrival of the
grandchild was a moment of great joy, yet to hold such a tiny new person in
your arms is to marvel once more at the vulnerability of living. In her first
week she was readmitted to hospital, just for a day, and then she survived a
car crash. Yet she thrives and is now growing rapidly.
There is something
beyond any control here. Our family has expanded by one unit and, with that
expansion, love has grown bigger to take in the newcomer. The love for the rest
of the family is undiminished, yet now there is more love than there was
before, simply because there are more people to love. I think that expanding
love in this way expands me as a person. My capacity to love has been
increased. Yet with that my vulnerability also increases. Expanding loves
increases the possibility of being hurt, if and when accidents occur. To love
is to be open to woundedness.
Since the arrival of
the grandchild, life has got frantic. Six funerals have all come in at once and
I have been immersed in grief of others. Love comes to this. To love is to to
open oneself to wounding, but to love is also to live with an enriching
vibrancy which takes us to the heart of what it means to be human. It leads me
reflect on the urgency to live life-giving relationships to the full and to
treasure the present moment of love. It leads me also to reflect on that love
which is eternal. That is the love of God, which holds us in its
transformational power in the NOW of human living and with the assurance that nothing
will ever diminish or defeat it.
All this also leads me
to reflect on what it means to share in the suffering of Christ. If love opens
us up to the inevitability of wounding, as the love of God in Christ led to a
cross, so to live Christ-like lives, in loving others, must open us up to
engaging in the suffering of a broken world. Many of us are blessed by the love
of a close family and, perhaps, many naturally live in a way that contains that
love (as so limits vulnerability) to just that small group. To seek to love all
creation is to accept a vocation in which we allow love to expand to take in
every neighbour we meet. This expands us as people, as we begin to grow into
the stature of Christ. Yet, inevitably, it leads us to places of suffering and
grief, as we enter into the brokenness of those around us. As someone said
recently on the radio, "if you live by Gospel values, there will be a
crucifixion".
I find this challenging
as I consider the plight of those seeking asylum in Europe. Protecting the
comfort of own lives closes our ability to act in love. Loving the stranger in
our midst engages is in our vocation to live as the Body of Christ. Perhaps the
consequences are all too much? And yet, somehow, if we shut ourselves off from
those simply seeking life, is not our own humidity thereby diminished?
