Religion
Nearer to God
Martin Sullivan
When I was young, bishops and headmasters (if they werein holy orders), were sometimes given to use chapel sermons as opportunities to administer disciplinary rebukes. One such moment is burnt in upon my memory. We had been involved in a very mild rebellion against the Head of our Theological College and doubtless had caused him some embarrassment and inconvenience by our conduct. The tension had been building up for some time. The Warden was an irascible and intractable old tyrant who considered that the mildest of requests for reform represented the workings of the Soviet. The founder of our institution, for good reasons which, in my day, no longer applied, had laid down that 'useful industry' should be part of the curriculum. This was interpreted to mean three half-days every week given to compulsory gardening by every student. The work was boring and unproductive and on occasions meant kneeling on a mat, on a gravel path, winkling out weeds with a bent table knife. A suggestion that some unsightly rocks near the entrance gates should be removed and a lawn laid down was peremptorily refused on the grounds that the founder himself had placed them in that poition. A polite bid for an extra telephone in the student quarters, and for late leave (until 11 pm) one night a week was also rejected. Finally on the evening before our annual concert, to which dignitaries, relatives and friends were invited, the Warden sent a spy to the dress rehearsal to report to him on material which might be censored.
The place erupted, the concert' cancelled by the students on the spot and a strong letter of protest, with advice of the abandonment of the entertainment, delivered to the Warden's house. It was the end of term and an ominous silence prevailed during the long vacation. Before we returned, the Warden had resigned, his successor had assumed office and on the opening day of the new term we all assembled in chapel to prepare ourselves for another year. The bishop of the diocese, chairman of the governors, was the preacher, and settling himself, episcopally, into his chair placed on the chancel steps, he literally tossed this text at us: "He gave them their desire, but sent leanness into their souls" (Psalm 106 v.15). It was a very nasty crack. We were likened to the Israelites who kept crying for the flesh pots of Egypt, and were rewarded by God (as the text declared) with such an appalling surfeit that the food, coming out of their ears and nostrils, reduced them to a state of self-loathing. We left the chapel feeling bruised, thinking this was a high price to pay for a few mild kicks against authority. But the battle was won. Gardening regulations were changed, the extra telephone installed, and weekly leave granted.
Why then, forty years on, has this incident remained in my memory and, as I have been able to check, also lingered in the minds of many of my contemporaries? I think we were taught a sharp lesson, not as the bishop in his sermon intended, but as sometimes happens, in moments like these, beyond both his understanding and ours. I frankly attribute it to the Holy Spirit speaking to us. Ever since, I have been very sensitive to desire, whatever form it may take. The pursuit of it, for its own sake (and usually, however much we try to veil our motives, this is what we tend to do), leaves us with lean souls. We possess only what we have snatched or grasped. Ambition also needs regular and determined checks. This word from the Psalmist provides them, and goes on realistically to show what selfishness and ruthlessness achieve. Success in a low unworthy aim falls almost like a punishment, as
• God felt that the successful man was too bad to be cured by failure, so He allows him to go on succeeding. Desire and leanness then go hand in hand. I have taken a journey backwards in time. It is interesting to reflect upon our hopes years ago when we yearned and worked desperately for some prize. If now we possess it, what is our reaction? The answer to that question will reveal the nature of our desire, and allow us a glimpse into our souls.
Martin Sullivan is the Dean of St Paul's.
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