Gordon Linney
“We know that God is everywhere; but certainly we feel his presence most when his works are on the grandest scale spread before us; and it is the unclouded night-sky, where his worlds wheel their silent course, that we read clearest his infinitude, his omnipotence, his omniscience.” These words from Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre provide an interesting backdrop to tomorrow’s Old Testament readings. They emphasise the magnitude of the claim we make every time we say “I believe in God . . . maker of heaven and earth”, especially given today’s understanding of the vastness and complexity of the universe.
Making sense of the idea of God as creator can be difficult and that is understandable not because there is no God but because we are constrained by the limitations of our minds and intellects. For example when we think about space we instinctively want to know where it ends and what lies beyond it. There has to be a boundary we feel, an edge of space, because our minds cannot cope with the idea of infinity. To some extent the same is true of our understanding of God; we are bound by the limits of our own spirituality.
Neither Isaiah nor the psalmist ever had sight of a satellite photo of the Earth but what they say in tomorrow’s readings sounds as if they had. In his mind’s eye Isaiah sees God “sitting above the circle of the Earth” where “its inhabitants are like grasshoppers”. Space is “stretched out like a curtain”. The psalmist speaks of a God who binds up the wounds of the broken-hearted and at the same time numbers and names all the stars.
The Gospel reading changes the perspective and brings us down to a “small patch of our spinning Earth”. Jesus is in Galilee supporting people. As one commentator puts it there are no fireworks, just a crowd of sick and troubled people looking for help. He heals Peter’s mother-in-law and later that day “at sunset, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons.”
Isaiah’s reference to grasshoppers reminds us how small and insignificant we appear to be in the scheme of things. On the other hand the activities of Jesus – and these take us to the central message of the Gospel – indicate that we do count, that our needs are recognised and addressed. Of course it is easy to be comforted when we read about such things in church; it is not that easy to be certain as we journey “through all the changing scenes of life, in trouble and in joy”.
A friend recently mentioned that last Saturday, January 31st, was the centenary of the birth of Thomas Merton, the Trappist contemplative. In this prayer Fr Merton is very honest about his uncertainties but emphasises that the uncertainties are within and about himself, not God. For him God is the ultimate reality behind and beyond all our questions and doubts: “My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”