Slow Epiphany

Over Christmas and New Year I enjoyed reading Trollop’s The Warden. A tale of the ‘goings on’ in the early Victorian Cathedral city of Barchester.  A young ‘reformer’ is keen that the allowances made under the provision of Hiram’s Will should be reallocated so that the alms house Warden receives considerably less and the ‘inmates’ considerably more.  The book is full of ecclesiastical intrigue that I find unnervingly familiar!

At one point the rather ardent reformer has a change of heart and tries, unsuccessfully, to convince the editor of a national newspaper that he should no longer support the campaign.  On his way back home the now reluctant reformer passes a bookseller’s window and sees a new, thin book on display, one authored by a renowned and revered national commentator and thinker.  He laments that the really ‘big’ issues of the day were once discussed in big books.  Yet now, with people more impatient and not prepared to read as much, such issues are discussed in much smaller books.

Roll the tape forward and we might say it went as follows: bigger books, smaller books, pamphlets, newspapers articles and, in our own day, ‘soundbites’. I even heard it said on Radio 4 the other day that unless a politician can sum up their message in something no longer than a ten word sentence they might as well shut up shop!  Commentators tell us the recent General Election was won on just three words: Get Brexit done!  Our friend from Barchester would  have been horrified at how our attention spans have shrunk in the last hundred and fifty years.

In terms of faith and belief perhaps the Bible has played its part in promoting moments when an epiphany (revelation) dawns without too much detail or debate.  Moses had such moments at the Burning Bush and on Mount Sinai, as did Paul on the road to Damascus.

Yet such instant Epiphanies don’t seem to be the norm for most of us.  I suspect we, usually, experience much slower ones.

Faith comes with doubts, questions, longings and false starts, yet none of these invalidate the journey, indeed they probably deepen it.

When I say The Creed at Evensong (normally when visiting a Cathedral) I sense it contains a series of ‘soundbites’ stitched together.  Facing East I join with others in affirming a belief in, amongst other things: the Virgin Birth, the Holy Catholic Church and the idea that in between his death and resurrection Jesus descended into hell.  Without pausing we move from one big theme to another, each worthy of a book in Barchester!

I confess I’m tired of the ‘soundbite’.

When it comes to faith I suspect I believe the deepest Epiphanies come not on the road to Damascus, but sitting on a camel, travelling for months, if not years over moor and mountain slowly, yet purposely, following the light of yonder star.

‘Slow Epiphany’ – in my view it’s the best way to travel in faith.