Positively illuminating and utterly gorgeous in its language. Dr. Williams presents seven essays, each based on a talk given some years ago, about the essential elements of Christian discipleship. This book is short enough and accessible enough for anyone and everyone to read it if they have any interest in deepening their own understanding of what it really means to follow Jesus.
Williams is a deep thinker, and insanely accomplished scholar, but this book comes from his pastoral side, not the scholarly side. My highlighter got a good workout in this book.
Some of my favourite quotes:
"Being where Jesus is means being in the company of the people whose company Jesus seeks and keeps. Jesus chooses the company of the excluded, the disreputable, the wretched, the self-hating, the poor, the diseased; so that is where you are going to find yourself.
"If you are going to be where Jesus is, if your discipleship is not intermittent but a way of being, you will find yourself in the same sort of human company as he is in. It is once again a reminder that our discipleship is not about choosing our company but choosing the company of Jesus—or rather, getting used to the fact of having been chosen for the company of Jesus."
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"This helps us again with what I called at the beginning of this chapter the 'non-intermittent' character of discipleship. The relationship of Jesus to the Father is not episodic. Jesus does not receive an occasional bit of instruction from the Father; his relationship is sustained, eternal and unbroken.
He gazes into the mystery of the Father's love and he enacts it, in heaven and on earth. And so we in our discipleship are summoned to gaze into the mystery of that infinite love and to seek to do that same eternal will: to act' that same action, on earth as it is in heaven, as the Lord's Prayer puts it.
"This suggests the rather ambitious thought (though it is an ambition entirely justified by Scripture) that the heart of discipleship is bound up with the life of the Trinity; as we develop our understanding of the trinitarian life of God, uncovered for us in those wonderful passages of John's Gos-pel, so we develop in our understanding of what provides the root and energy of our being disciples here and now. We see and we do, not just because that is the way discipleship or studentship worked in the ancient world; we see and we do because that is what the Father and the Son are involved in for all eternity."
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To be in Christ's constant company "requires of us a certain degree of inner stillness, a sort of poise: the attentiveness of the birdwatcher; attention and expectancy, an attitude of mind sufficiently free of the preoccupations of the ego to turn itself with openness to what God in Christ is giving.
"At the primary level, that will mean learning and deepening our attentiveness to the Bible, to the sacraments and to the life of the Body of Christ. Second, arising out of that, it means learning a new level of attentiveness to all persons, places and things; looking at everything with the eye of ex-pectancy, waiting for something of God to blossom within it; being in Christ's company, learning attentiveness and practising this kind of still alertness; looking and waiting for the light to break through. Third, it means being attentive to where Christ is going; keeping company with those he is with. Among them we will find the most unexpected and unlikely characters, the kinds of people Jesus seems to spend so much time with in the Gospels and today. Most importantly, we will find him keeping company with the Father, in whose company he eternally is.
"So our attentiveness is not just a kind of aesthetic attitude, an appreciation of beauty. It is also a willingness to bring an active and transfiguring love into this situation of expectancy, to keep company so that an action and a relationship may come into being. Being disciples means being in his company; learning stillness, attentiveness, ex-pectancy; being willing to go where Jesus is going and to be in the company of those he's in company with. And it means letting the action come through, letting the relation be made; letting Christ's action come through us as the Father's act comes through him.
"What seems to be suggested by these reflections upon the biblical identity of the disciple is that our discipleship in the company of Jesus is a trinitarian mode of life, embedded in the relationship of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit: that is, it is a contemplative mode of life. Not in the sense that
we should all become hermits, but we have got to grow into a mature stillness, a poise and an openness to others and the world, so that it can also be a transformative mode of
living in which the act of God can come through, so as to change ourselves, our immediate environment, our world."
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"The distinctive and fresh insight that St John of the Cross offers is that if you put together understanding, memory, and will with faith, hope, and love, you have a perfect picture of where we start and where we fin-ish. In the Christian life, faith (he says) is what happens to our under-standing; hope is what happens to our remembering; and love is what
happens to our wanting. So to grow as a disciple is to take the journey from understanding into faith, from memory into hope and from will into love.
"St John believed that in this process of Christian growing up, one of the most difficult things is the sense we will have that we have lost our bearings on the way. What we thought we understood we discover that we never did; what we thought we remembered is covered with confusion; and what we thought we wanted turns out to be empty. We have to be recreated in faith and hope and love for our under-standing, our memory, and our will to become what God really wants them to be."
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"Our intelligence is not in a very good state, it seems, either in or out of the Church. And we have devised a number of quite successful ways of pretending there isn't a problem.
"Now, what St John of the Cross says to us—and he's not just writing for Carmelite nuns in sixteenth-century Spain—is that out of this sense of a 'brick wall' before our intelligence, this sense of confusion and loss where our understanding is concerned, faith grows in its true mean-ing. It appears not as a system, a comprehensive answer to all our problems. It appears quite simply in the form of dependable relationship. You may not under-stand, or have the words on the tip of your tongue, but you learn somehow to be confident in a presence,
You learn somehow to be confident in a presence, an 'other', who does not change or go away an other, who does not change or go away. You realize that when the signposts and landmarks have been taken away there is a presence that does not let you go. And that is faith, I would say, in a very deeply biblical sense."
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"The loss of understanding, of a clear sense of what we know and how we know, is part of the difficult business of learning to question at every level who we are. But we are somehow set free to face all that and live with it by the conviction that we are not let go of. Faith as dependable relationship is something other than faith as a system of propositions, or faith as confidence in my own capacity to master truth; it's much more a confidence that I can be mastered by truth, that I can be held even when I don't feel I can hold on. If my relation with the living truth is initiated and sustained by God's faithfulness not mine, it is dependable. But recognizing that requires me to step back from confidence in my own resources."
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"Hope, then, is not simply confidence in the future; it is confidence that past, present and future are held in one relationship so that the confusions about memory—Who were we? Who was I? Who am I, and who are we?—become bearable because of the witness in heaven, a witness who does not abandon. This suggests that the Church needs to be marked by profound patience: patience with actual human beings in their confusions and uncertainties; patience in an environment when so much seems to be unclear and in danger of getting lost; patience in the sense that we realize it takes time for each one of us to grow up into Christ.
"And if it takes time for us, then it takes time for the Body, the community, to grow overall. Hope and patience belong together. Only a Church that is learning patience can proclaim hope effectively."
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I absolutely love how Williams describes God as: "The dependable presence that doesn't go away; the presence that remembers and holds in a single gaze what has been true and is true of us; the eternal, unshakeable witness to what we are. That presence is love. We are seen, known and held, but above all we are welcomed. We are the objects of an eternal delight. And if that is sinking into our minds and hearts, then what the Church is fundamentally, and must show itself to be, is a place where time and space are given, where people are allowed the space to experience eternal love, a place where nothing needs to be left at the door and where people are made free to receive in a world that can seem to be demanding of them all the time—that they give, that they trade, that they offer, that they are out there making a difference. Is the Church an environment in which people can learn to open themselves to joy? The joy that can come only by letting ourselves go, and letting go of anxious selfishness and the obsession with constantly choosing."
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"It is a gross distortion of forgiveness that sees it as a sort of claim to power over another—being a patron or a benefactor towards someone less secure. We should rather think of those extraordinary words in the prophecy of Hosea (11:8-9) about the mercy of God: 'How can I give you up, Ephraim? ... for I am God and not a mortal'. To forgive is to share in the helplessness of God, who cannot turn from God's own nature: not to forgive would be for God a wound in the divine life itself. Not power, but the powerlessness of the God whose nature is love is what is shown in the act of forgiving. The disciple rooted in Christ shares that powerlessness, and the deeper the roots go the less possible it is not to forgive."
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"[T]o speak in these terms of bread and forgiveness and the future presses us towards thinking about the act in which Christians clearly set forth these realities as the governing marks of Christian existence: the Lord's Supper, the Eucharist. We celebrate this Supper until Christ comes, invoking the Spirit of the coming age to transform the matter of this world into the sheer gift of Christ to us, and so invoking the promise of a whole world renewed, perceived and received as gift. This is, supremely, tomorrow's bread. But it is so, of course, not as an object fallen from heaven, but precisely as the bread that is actively shared by Christ's disciples; and it is eaten both as an anticipation of the communion of the world to come and as a memorial of the betrayal and death of Jesus. That is to say, it is also a sacrament of forgiveness; it is the risen Jesus returning to his unfaithful disciples to create afresh in them this communion of the new world. The Eucharist is our symbol of what it would mean for the Lord's Prayer to be answered fully: God feeding his people through the death and resurrection of Jesus, which establishes that new community of the Spirit in which forgiveness is the common currency."
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"[T]he way that Jesus talks about holiness at the Last Supper is so transforming. Holiness there is seen as going into the heart of where it's most difficult for human beings to be human. Jesus goes outside the city; he goes to the place where people suffer and are humiliated, the place where people throw stuff out, including other people. 'Outside the camp', in the language of the Old Testament (also Hebrews 13:13). If we take this seriously, the Christian idea of holiness is to do with going where it's most difficult, in the name of Jesus who went where it was most difficult.
He wants us to be holy like that."
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"Holy people, those who are saints rather than saintly, actually make you feel better than you are.
The pursuit of goodness can be experienced as if you are taking part in a competitive examination in which some people are scoring very well, others are on the borderline, and some are sinking below the line. But the holy person somehow enlarges your world, makes you feel more your-self, opens you up, affirms you. They are not in competition; they are not saying, I've got something you haven't. They are showing us something that it's wonderful simply to have in the world. ...
"...they make me feel that there is hope for my confused and compromised humanity. God is big enough to deal with and work with actual compromised and imperfect people. Look! Here is a life in which he has come alive. Real holiness somehow brings into my life this sense of opening up opportunity, changing things.
It's not about my being made to feel inadequate[.]"
"[H]oliness...[is] not an extra special kind of goodness, because somehow it's not about competing levels of how good you are. It's about enlarging the world, and about being involved in the world."
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"[The] catch in Christian holiness [is that] it happens when you are not thinking about you, which is why there are no useful self-help books on being holy. There are self-help books on being thin, self-help books on being an effective leader, and on being a good cook, but I have yet to see a convincing self-help book on being a saint, and I would be very suspicious of any claims for one. Becoming holy is being so taken over by the extraordinariness of God that that is what you are really interested in, and that is what radiates from you to reflect on other people.
"There's the catch: if you want to be holy, stop thinking about it. If you want to be holy, look at God. If you want to be holy, enjoy God's world, enter into it as much as you can in love and in service. And who knows, maybe one day someone will say of you, You know, when I met them, the landscape looked different.
"And what goes for individual disciples goes for the Church itself. Every so often people come up with wonderful schemes for making the Church a holier place, which usually means making sure that some people don't get in, or some people who are in get out. We might think that a holy Church must be a Church that is full of people a bit like me at my best. But when the Church tries to become holy in that way it almost always ends up in an appalling mess. Exclusive, anxious and self-conscious. Am I really being conscientious enough, am I really being pure enough? Are they really being pure enough? Surely not! Whereas the truly holy Church is taken over by the excitement of the extraordinariness of God; it wants to talk about the beauty and splendour of God, and to show the self-draining, self-forgetting love of God by being at the heart of humanity, by being where people are most human."
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"For the Christian disciple, human dignity—and therefore any notion of human rights—depends upon the recognition that every person is related to God before they are related to anything or anyone else. God has defined who they are and who they can be by his own eternal purpose, which cannot be altered by any force or circumstance in this world. People may refuse their calling or remain stubbornly unaware of it; but God continues to call them and to offer them what they need to fulfil their calling. And the degree to which that calling is answered or refused has consequences for eternity.
"This means that whenever I face another human being, I face a mystery. ... The reverence I owe to every human person is connected with the reverence I owe to God, who brings them into being and keeps them in being."
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"There are no superfluous people, no spare people in the human world. Everyone is needed for the good of all. Human failure is tragic and terrible because it means that some unique and unrepeatable aspect of God's purpose has been allowed to vanish."
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"Our crisis in sexual morality in the developed world is not just about a failure to keep rules; it is about a loss of the sense of personal mystery and the calling to explore and enjoy someone else's mysteriousness for a lifetime."
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"The extraordinary resurrection story in John 21 when Mary recognizes the risen Jesus as he simply says her name, tells us a great deal about our prayer and our growth into mature discipleship. To sustain life in the Spirit' under pressure, we need to retain the ability to say to God, 'Tell me who I am'. Because I'm not going to settle with what everybody else is telling me—I'm not even going to settle with what I am telling me. I need to hear it from God, the God who tells me. Because then I know that I exist, I live, I flourish, simply because of his speaking. I have called you by name, says God, 'you are mine' (Isaiah 43:1). And on that divine speaking of our name rests our whole being. Something in our prayer is about quarrying down to that level where we can hear that God is creating me and you, now in this minute-breathing our names into the world, making us alive."
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"Silence, it is said, is the sacrament of the age to come—a phrase from one of the great Syrian saints, Isaac of Nineveh. And if, in our prayer and our Christian life generally, we are trying to live the life of the future, the life of the kingdom, stillness is part of that. Silence of word, stillness of body. And silence of word, of course, doesn't just mean not saying anything (although that is always quite a good idea!); it can mean finding ways of saying, ways of speaking, that settle and still you: the small phrase, repeated, that doesn't break the silence. Like waves on the beach on a calm day; just the beat of a heart; small words, small phrases that keep us steady and hold us when everything else is pushing us around. ... Something we can say in order to anchor ourselves where we are."
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"To be opened up in this way is to discover joy: not happiness, not a transient feeling of euphoria, or feeling it's basically all right in a kind of shoulder-shrugging way, but joy-the sense that we are connected with something so real that it will break every boundary or container we try to confine it in, a sense of something overflowing, pushing outwards. 'Out of the believer's heart shall flow rivers of living water, says Jesus in the Gospel of John (7:38), about the person who receives the spirit.
"Overflow, superabundance: that is what this joy is about."