God’s Eye in the Sky

The Pantheon Church in Rome was originally built as a Pagan Temple by Marcus Agrippa, the Son of the Emperor Augustus. It is one of the most fascinating churches in Christendom.
Destroyed by fire in AD 80 it was rebuilt by the Emperor Hadrian. It isn’t an especially beautiful building. Its round and built of bricks made from volcanic ash. It has however a unique feature.

Imagine my surprise whilst standing in the centre of the circular edifice when I was conscious of rain falling on me. I looked up. Above me was a great circular hole or oculus in the dome through which I could see the sky.

It is related that Hadrian wanted the oculus at the top to reveal the sky so that the temple could mirror the human experience of being exposed both to the infinite universe and also sheltered within its embrace.

On thinking about that opening, I discerned a key to the significance of religion. That is to have a courageous, open hearted appreciation of the mystery that surrounds, permeates and lies at the centre of our lives…God or the Spirit for want of a better name.

Nathaniel Hawthorne writing in the mid nineteenth century referred to the oculus as the path-way of heaven’s radiance. Religion grants to mystery an eternal truth that seeks for ways to contemplate it and give it pride of place in our lives. Science will never replace religion.

The “Oculus” of the Pantheon, focusing the divine eye, symbolized by the sky, reflects the space in our hearts and minds that will never be filled by knowledge –scientific or otherwise. I call that space a “God Space.”

Mystery lies at the heart of religion. Too many people to-day want to prove the existence of God or that prayer works. Traditional religious societies don’t need such proof. They pray no matter what because they trust their own spiritual insights. Genuine faith is rooted in a basic “not knowing” about ultimate things and religion assists us to be in relation to that mystery: to God and Eternity. A few years ago I came across a remarkable paragraph in a book by the Tibetan Lama Anagarica Govinda.

“Just as a white summer cloud, in harmony with heaven and earth, freely floats in the blue sky from horizon to horizon, following the breath of the atmosphere – in the same way the pilgrim abandons himself to the breath of the greater life that wells up from the depths of his being and leads him beyond the furthest horizons to an aim which is already present within him though hidden from his sight.” ( The Way of the White Clouds- page xiii in the Forward.)

I found this little gem of an article some years ago some years ago. Possibly it comes from a Buddhist source.

The fear that impermanence awakens in us that nothing is real and nothing lasts, is, we come to discover our greatest friend because it drives us to ask: If everything dies and changes, then what is really true? Is there something behind the appearances? Is there something in fact that we can depend on, that does survive what we call death?

Allowing these questions to occupy us urgently, and reflecting on them, we slowly find ourselves making a profound shift in the way we view everything. We come to uncover in ourselves “something” that we can begin to realize lies behind all the changes and deaths of the world.

As this happens, we catch repeated and glowing glimpses of the vast implications behind the truth of impermanence. We come to uncover a depth of peace, joy, and confidence in ourselves that fills us with wonder, and breeds in us gradually a certainty that there is in us “something” that nothing destroys, that nothing alters, and that cannot die.

I took the photo of the Buddha in Sri Lanka.

Mysterious Cornwall - Land of Stone Circles & Druid Stones.

I live in a county full of pre-historic monuments. The Stone Circles are the most spectacular.

Most of them date from the Bronze Age, 4000BC. Many of these ancient circles are found in West Cornwall and further up the county on Bodmin Moor. They are often difficult of access and can only be reached by walking. Archaelogical interpretation of these sites is in a continual state of flux, because no one knows for certainty what actually happened in these places. We can say that they were ceremonial centres connected with the winter and summer soltices, the seasons as well as with birth and death.

The Standing Stones, also known as Druid Stones may well be associated with the dead. It is possible that our prehistoric ancestors erected a large granite pillar to stop any occult influences that a dead person might have over the community.

We can almost say with certainty that these ancient peoples, in common with their counterparts all over the Near and middle East, believed in life after death. Jewelry, cooking utensils and other artefacts were found in the barrow graves near the stone circles.
Seen at sunset or sunrise these sites are places of great beauty, mystery and imagination. It is almost as if one tunes in to the vibes of peoples and tribes now long dead. I sometimes think that the very ground on which they stand is impregnated with past events. There is a large Druid Stone just behind my bungalow. On occasions I place both hands on it. It generates a strange feeling within me. Maybe its all in the mind, but its a link with past peoples which I value.

The Beach at Hayle in Cornwall.

Spring in Cornwall (Photos)

Franz Schubert, a rare and unique composer.

Franz Schubert who died in 1828 composed some of the world's most beautiful music.

He has never captured the imagination as much as some of his contemporaries, yet his works have a sadness and beauty that in many ways is unparalleled. He died at the age of 31, but he left a rich legacy of songs, symphonies, solo piano compositions as well as several chamber works. These are marked by an intense lyricism (often suggesting a mood of near-pathos), a spontaneous chromatic modulation that is surprising to the ear yet clearly purposeful and often beguilingly expressive, and, not least, an imagination that creates its own formal structures.
Of the great composers associated with Vienna - the others being Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven - Schubert was the only one born in the city, and the only one who failed to achieve international fame in his lifetime. His shyness and lack of instrumental virtuosity contributed to the hardships he endured, but he was responsible for a magnificent body of work that is still appraised and appreciated today

Debussy's La Mer

Many composers have been profoundly influenced by the ocean.

They have written music to express their feelings. In my mind Debussy stands head and shoulders above them all. His three symphonic sketches "La Mer" were first performed on October 15th 1905. A critic didn't enjoy the work and said so in no uncertain terms to the composer.
"You love and defend traditions," answered Debussy," which, for me, no longer exist." He could have continued that he (Debussy) was inventing new traditions, particularly in the superimposing of themes and harmonies to give that multiplicity of feelings that one has whilst contemplating the ocean.
Waves, surf and the sound of the sea have many layered psycho effects for most of us. Spiritual resonances are evoked within the soul that expand our consciousness.
Claude Debussy captures all this in "La Mer".

St Sophia - Constantinople - Heaven on Earth.

I was unprepared for the magnificent splendour of St Sophia when I visited the Cathedral a few years ago. On entering the Basilica without looking to either left or right I made straight for the centre of the building. It was crowded with sight seers, but on gazing upwards all else was dwarfed into insignificance.
A sea of translucent glory pours forth from high in the roof of the vast rotunda. The giant cupola, which must weigh megatons, is totally without any sense of weight or heaviness. The expansiveness of light and space, perfect proportions and harmony give the worshipper an experience of God's infinity.
When Prince Vladimir of Russia sent messengers to Constantinople as part of his programme of comparing the different religions, they returned full of ecstasy and joy.
They reported of how when they were participating in the Liturgy at St Sophia they no longer knew whether they were on earth or in heaven.
The current building was originally constructed as a church between A.D. 532 and 537 on the orders of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian. It was in fact the third Church of the Holy Wisdom to occupy the site (the previous two had both been destroyed by riots).
The great Church, even in its present devasted and reduced state, still manifests the presence of the Triune God revealed in Jesus Christ.

In 1453, Constantinople was conquored by the Ottoman Turks and Sultan Mehmed II ordered the building to be converted into a mosque. The bells, altar, iconostasis, and sacrificial vessels were removed, and many of the mosaics were eventually plastered over. The Islamic features - such as the mihrab, the minbar , and the four minarets outside - were added over the course of its history under the Ottomans. It remained as a mosque until 1935, when it was converted into a museum by the Republic of Turkey.

Patmos

Patmos is a very spiritual place and it renewed within me the thirst for God that I experienced as a much younger man, not that I had ever abandoned such desire. However it was if time had stood still and I was young again full of faith and love for Christ. It was an overwhelming awareness of God that began the moment I entered the Cave of the Apocalypse. This was where the Beloved Disciple; John, received the Revelation (Apocalypse) of Jesus Christ, that God gave him to show unto his servants of things which must shortly come to pass.

But it was not only the Apocalypse (Book of Revelation) that was significant. The central message of St John’s Gospel hit me with renewed power. Despite all that militates against faith in to-day’s world, it is well nigh impossible to banish the kind of faith that St John speaks of in his Gospel. He speaks about it from the heart, and in all my forty years of priesthood I have come to realize that the most difficult thing in the world is to speak of what is simplest and most essential. This is of course where the Gospels score over intellectual and rational thought.

The liturgy was in full progress as I entered the Cave. The priest had reached the moment when he invokes the Holy Spirit over the gifts of bread and wine that they might become the Body and Blood of Christ. I was tired, hot and sweating after the long climb up to the Cave, yet the moment I entered it, all thoughts of physical discomfort were far from my mind. I was overwhelmed by the sense of the holy. Slowly it dawned on me that I was being acted upon and taken into another dimension that interpenetrated this world yet transcended it with an all knowing wisdom…call it the kingdom of God, impossible to prove, but equally impossible to deny.

Leaving the Cave I continued up the rocky climb up to the Monastery. The Cave is only half way and so there is still a fair way to go up an even steeper gradient. Eventually I reached the Monastery, my clothes soaked with perspiration. I entered the churches associated with the monastery prior to visiting “the Great Treasury Museum.” It is probably the greatest collection of sacred art in the Aegean, and contains ancient icons, manuscripts, vestments, chalices and church plate centuries old. There was one icon above all that caught my eye. Known as the Icon of Christ “led to the Passion” it dates from the 16th century and was purchased in 1770 by a Greek traveler whilst in Venice. The icon was painted by the artist who became known as El Greco. This particular icon has pride of place in the liturgies of Holy Week. During the washing of the feet it is set up to be worshipped by the faithful. The icon is quite large and has to be carried on either side by two priests. It is two metres high and almost as wide.

In Orthodoxy an icon embodies a unique blessing. It connects with the person it represents and enables the worshipper to have communion with him. Interestingly there were three other people in the museum with me and I was able to explain to them the significance of icons as well as many of the Greek manuscripts.

I looked at the suffering yet loving face of our Lord depicted by the icon, his eyes turned inwards contemplating his resolve to suffer and die, his hands bound with a rope. I remember Metropolitan Anthony (Bishop Bloom) saying in a sermon – “You ask what in you can respond to the sacrifice of God, but this sacrifice, as you call it, is love. What is the proper response to love? The proper response is to accept it. There is nothing to do. The response to a gift is to accept it. Why would you wish to do anything?”

That love appeared to follow me around, as if in pursuit, for my entire holiday on Patmos.
I was to encounter the icon of “Christ Led to the Passion several times”. A copy of the original was displayed in the window of a religious art shop near my hotel. I passed it two or three times each day. It was too large to fit into my “hold all”. Priced at € 850, it was also too expensive. However I was able to buy a smaller one in an icon store just below the monastery at €110 – not cheap, but within my budget. Small though it is, it has been hand painted in the monastery by a monk with the traditional prayers and blessings. It is an authentic icon – although only a copy of the original, it has the same spiritual power. Obtaining it involved another lengthy and arduous climb without pausing at the cave for a rest. There was only one icon of that particular image of Christ.

Only John’s Gospel mentions that Jesus is bound. We are told that the officers of the Jews arrested him and bound him. This would have involved tying his wrists together so as he could offer no resistance…a kind of first century handcuffing. Caravaggio (1605) in his profound painting “Ecce Homo” also shows Jesus’ wrists bound together as does Ludovico Cardi Il Cigoli. (1607). These two paintings are extraordinarily moving – especially Caravaggio’s.

St John’s Gospel has always been my favourite and I have studied it extensively over the last year or so. It was also the Gospel that my year at university had to translate from the Greek. Up until my holiday in Patmos such studies had mostly been of an academic nature. Textual criticism of the Gospels is far removed from submitting oneself to the Gospel as the Word of God. It was a revelation reading John’s Gospel on Patmos.

Patmos is the place to read the Gospel as was intended by the beloved Disciple, and not merely because he was exiled there. John’s imagery is charged with light. The morning light on Patmos has a special quality. It seems to infuse everything with radiance, giving them an inner luminosity. Certain passages in the Gospel possess that same inner radiance and I found myself filled with a kind of awe that permeated my thoughts. I remember particularly one afternoon whilst sitting outside the Cave of the Apocalypse reading John’s account of our Lord’s meeting with the Samaritan woman at the well. It was a transfiguring experience of inner light and truth.

There is a certain peril for the intellectual and rational mind of reading St John on Patmos. The surroundings, the atmosphere, the light and warmth, and most of all the people might come to convince the reader that the Beloved Disciple speaks the truth. Some western theologians regard the Gospel as the product of an anonymous author who used the name John to give his book authority. Many biblical critics regard it as a poetical and mystical work written for a second century sect. However when reading the Gospel on Patmos, and worshipping with people who haven’t rejected the spiritual dimension of their lives, one is introduced to a radically different understanding of John’s Gospel. It impresses me as an eyewitness account written by the Beloved Disciple towards the end of his life to prove that Jesus really was the Christ of God and that we might have life in his name.

When John’s Gospel is read with the eyes of faith, we meet John’s knowledge of God face to face. He, the maker of all things, loves and wants me. In no other book possessed by our culture can we see a clearer image of that need set forth and satisfied.
In my daily treks around the island, up to the Cave of the Apocalypse, and to secluded coves I frequently turned to passages in St John’s Gospel. Among he most important are the raising of Lazarus, the healing of the man born blind, the meeting with the Samaritan woman by the well, Jesus at the Feast of Tabernacles, the meeting with Nicodemus, and of course, the Passion narratives completed by the Resurrection of the Lord.

To reach any beach or church always involved a steep climb which I enjoyed. I’d pause at intervals and read a verse or two of St John. Nowhere else, not even in the Holy Land, have I known such beatitude.

There is an old saying on Patmos – To kiss an icon, to cross oneself, and say “God willing, however carelessly or unthinkingly, is to strike a blow at the closed universe of the materialist. There were only one or two rare occasions when I was alone in the Cave of the Apocalypse. Invariably other worshippers would wander in, pausing to light candles, make the sign of the cross and kiss the many icons that adorned the church and cave. I soon realized that these people were rejecting the closed world of atheism and scientific rationalism which most of us live in the West to-day – certainly here in Britain.

On the last Saturday of my holiday I attended Mass again in the Church and Cave of the Apocalypse. It was unique, particularly at the close of the liturgy. After the final blessing in the Orthodox Church, the priest blesses two or three loaves of ordinary bread. Everyone then comes up and receives a small piece from him. During the liturgy I didn’t go up and take the Eucharistic elements – the body and blood of Christ, but the small portion of bread the priest gave me became Eucharist. Power just radiated from his hand as he placed the bread in mine. It was as if Christ himself took the bodily form of the priest. And who is to say that he didn’t?

It isn’t necessary to be able to prove God’s existence. We awaken to his existence through becoming aware of his energies. That particular energy manifested as Jesus Christ through the Church’s worship, celebrated in the Eucharist. This is the means by which we are taken into his presence and love.