"God Loves You, Tom!"

Now I didn't know she was going to be there, did I?  Even had I looked at the visitors' book and seen her name, I wouldn't have recognised it.  After all, I had never met her before. In any event it is certain I would have attended anyway, regardless of her presence.  Yes, I know, I would have been 'being silly to myself ', but one has to take a risk or two.  Where did all this take place?  In a retreat house run by a lovely group of Roman Catholic nuns.  The woman who so freely vocalises in this tale was later described by the Sister in charge as a pain in the backside, that being after the woman had left with a full refund of her fee, having decided to retreat no further.  I say this only so that you will not get the impression that I was alone in my opinion of my fellow retreatee. One thing I did discover about her was that she was very, and I mean very, Welsh Chapel.  No, I have nothing against the Welsh Chapel, so long as the evangelical types stay on their side of Offa's Dyke, and leave me an escape route and a running head start.

The theme of the retreat was St. Mark's Gospel and included some related practical art in whatever medium, or mixed media, we chose.  

Resurrection - Rebirth

The man who led the retreat was a certain Reverend B.  He had retired from the ministry to concentrate on retreats and religious workshops.  He was a free-thinking Christian working within the confines of the Church of England.  In private talks with him later, I discovered he was unorthodox, electrifying and intellectually invigorating.  Yes, I liked him a great deal.  In a sense those conversations gave me permission to explore my own puzzling ideas about matters spiritual and religious.  Needless to say, there was one particular woman in the group who disagreed with him.....about almost everything he said.

There must have been somewhere around fifty or sixty of us perhaps, strung out in a double arc in the large room where the Rev. B was talking to us, about how Jesus was seen from St. Mark the evangelist's point of view.  We needed to imagine ourselves following Jesus as he travelled around the Lake of Galilee. We all settled comfortably and waited expectantly for the Rev. B to take us on the journey.

"God loves you, Tom!"

What the hell! I thought.  It's an odd feeling when someone suddenly says your name out of appropriate context.  My ears took on a new state of awareness, like receiving a mild, aural electric shock.  It was as if the whole of sentient creation had focused its omnipotent attention on this single piece of quivering, bewildered humanity that just happened to have my name attached. And I was certain that everyone in the room was looking at me, as if I were guilty of some heinous sin, but about which I could recollect nothing. Who had said that?  I saw who it was in a jiffy.  The people on either side of her were looking steadfastly away from her, which was an interesting way of focusing right on her. I looked at Rev. B, shrugged my shoulders, and he continued with his talk. He said that in St. Mark's Gospel, one only ever seemed to see Jesus from behind, as he hurried on his way.  In my mind's eye I began to see Him hurrying away from me in the distance.  I could still hear Rev. B talking but my attention was in old Palestine.

"God loves you, Tom!"

Oh lord, not again!  This was getting embarrassing, and Rev. B had paused.  One or two people were looking concerned, others appeared to be uncertain as to whether they should frown, or simply pass  the time with a fit of the giggles.  Some even found things of surpassing interest on the perfectly plain ceiling to study.  Anyway, Jesus was gradually increasing his distance from us, so off we went again.

..........As I chased the elusive figure ahead of me, I found that my progress was constantly hampered by fishing nets hung out to dry. Other nets were in the process of being mended, but laid out in a manner that seemed to be designed to catch my feet.  Gradually Jesus was increasing the distance between me and him.  The more I tried to hurry, the further away he became..........

"God loves you, Tom!"

This was becoming too much.  She was beginning to irritate me beyond measure.  Why had the woman picked on my soul to save?  Perhaps it was just that I have one of those souls that is eminently save-worthy;  I'm sure we could all agree on that, couldn't we?  Well soul saving is important;  my father was into that in a big way. 

Now I was sitting at one end of the arc, and the woman so intent on assuring me of divine feelings-support about halfway along the arc, a position directly in front of the Rev. B.  At the far end of the arc was a group of Church of England ministers.  Now those gentlemen of the cloth, to whom I had taken an instant dislike - which is unusual for me - were very far from being amused, but to my relief they said nothing.  They never appeared to have, or desire, any contact with the rest of the group, but each to his own I suppose.  They simply fixed their gaze on Rev. B.  I also noticed at this stage of the proceedings, that one or two people had begun to develop a particularly nervous kind of cough, or had suddenly found the gardens outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of particular and pressing interest, all of which disappeared as Rev. B, after a eyebrow raised and a wink in my direction, and receiving my almost imperceptible nod of assent, continued with his talk.

..........More nets were being thrown across my path.  The actions had about them a greater sense of intent, as if I had to be slowed and stopped.  The shore of Galilee suddenly threw up a crop of large rocks surrounded by broad layer of very sharp seashells.  That not only slowed me even further, it also made me lose sight momentarily of the man I was chasing.  And the fishing boats being drawn up out of the water by Jesus' disciples didn't help.  Finally, I called out to the now very distant, fleeing Jesus, asking him to stop.  He called back that this was his Way;  it wasn't mine..........

"God loves you, Tom!"

I did, I must freely confess, make a rather indignant (or was that a tart?) reply.  Well what would you have done?  No, I wasn't rude to her, although I doubt that anything I could have said would have penetrated her psychological armour.  But one has one's pride.  Well I did then; but I'm much nicer now. No, I really am! Now, one neither wished to appear to be too abashed, nor to be seen to be goaded into action either.  Above all, I had no desire to belittle myself in front of those rather haughty-looking churchmen facing me across the room.  Anyone would think it was all my fault, for heaven's sake!.  Anyway, as I have said, one has one's pride, one's dignity.  Yes, dignity, that position of last resort on which one sniffily stands when a suitable quip refuses to come to mind.

At this point the Rev. B decided it was a very good time to break for coffee and biscuits, a suggestion with which we all, or nearly all, concurred.  You can guess who did not concur.  She probably saw my soul slipping beyond her reach on its inevitable path down into the spiritual nether regions.  After the break we returned, minus one.  I also noticed that Sister A, who had been listening in at the morning's session, had not returned either.  I never did get another chance to try to catch up with the fast disappearing Jesus, on the shore of Lake Galilee.  I was left to ponder his words to me for many a year thereafter.  Have I at last understood what he was trying to tell me?  I don't know.     

Finally, the other activity of the week was to meditate on St. Mark's Gospel and produce a piece of artwork that reflected our understanding of "Rebirth" or "Resurrection".  My offering appears above. I was to develop that initial piece into a much larger work that was unintentionally a psychological self-portrait in oils. 

Footnote:    It is only now, many years after that retreat and in the light of subsequent work, that I am beginning to see the significance of the chase along the western shore of  Lake Galilee, and why the disciples were so intent on stopping me from reaching their master.  It all has to do with my changing views of Jesus and who he might really have been, and nothing whatsoever to do with how he was portrayed in the New Testament Gospels by his disciples.  However, that is material for future posts.