Fr. Chrysostom MacDonnell

Social and political commentators in the media will often refer to the various non-Christian faiths as ‘not just religion but a whole way of life’. They are using these terms, of course, in reference to the English experience of religion - perhaps with the established church in mind and especially in the post-modern political world where religion must be marginalized and kept firmly in its place. Yet, in as much as the English experience of religion might appear to have little effect on daily life, this is only the illusion of familiarity: other people’s religion will always appear strangely demanding. These observations from commentators are, of course, only made on the understanding that ‘all religions are the same in the end, aren’t they’ and that none can claim superiority over the others. To think that religion might dare to affect the way you live is profoundly shocking to the secular mind. There is, of course a delicious irony here when one considers how doctrinally illiberal post-modern secularism has become within the confines of its own political rectitude! In its desperate efforts not to cause offence, (a laudable aim under normal circumstances, given the sad history of religious bigotry) the whole multicultural experiment has cut its fingers on a double-edged sword – by giving offence to none it has marginalized everyone and, at the same time, it has managed to utterly disparage the Christianity, the very foundation of the host culture.

The point is, all religions are ways of life and ways of seeing the world. Those, for example, who presume that the established religion in this country is now so ill-defined and undemanding, forget how, historically speaking, the English character in particular has been profoundly affected by the Anglican ethos. After four hundred years of the Authorised Version of the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer, the outlook and ways of most of the indigenous population of these islands had been deeply moulded into a particular way of seeing life. It is only lately, within the last couple of generations that this is fading as a culturally shared experience.

No religion is a clearer example of a way of life than Hinduism, one of the oldest continuous traditions in the world with roots going back over five thousand years. No one can doubt that Hinduism has stamped its mark on the subcontinent and it is surely the pressures coming from outside – not least, the incursions of globalisation, that have helped spark the recent rise of Hindu nationalism as a way of protecting the Hindu identity.

Classical Hinduism and its way of life, (now under serious threat within a globalised world,) sees life as a series of stages that we might call the Student, the Householder, the Retired and the Recluse. The retirement stage allows one more time for worship in the mandir (temple) and through spiritual practice, to burn off bad Karma in preparation for ones next incarnation on the journey towards God (Brahman). Indeed, it is common practice for the older Hindus to attend the Mandir regularly. Younger Hindus obviously go, especially at the festivals but there is a clear sense that, as one grows older, one has more time for Puja (worship) in the temple. The home still remains a place of worship but few, as might be expected, take the final stage of the lone ascetic.

Within the context of the Hindu world-view, this makes sense. Caught up in the wheel of change (Samsara), final salvation through union with the divine (Moska) is a long process in the cycle of time itself. It is predicated upon the twin concepts of reincarnation and the law of Karma.

Karma, in Hindu thinking, is the effect of action on the soul (Atman). Clinging to the soul it, literally, weighs it down, spiritually. Karma is therefore carried across into the next reincarnation. A surfeit of bad deeds will therefore lead to the rebirth of the Atman within a lower class of being, whether remaining human or becoming an animal. The Atman, itself, of course, is neither human nor male nor female – it is an emanation from Brahman (God) and its purpose is to find its way back. from whence it came. Good deeds on the other hand can burn off bad Karma and make the soul ‘lighter’, offering the prospect of a higher existence in its next incarnation. The aim, overall, however, is to avoid reincarnation, to escape the cycle of rebirth through union with Brahman. It is ironic that this is misunderstood in the West where, uninformed of its real context, much ‘New Age’ thinking fondly imagines that reincarnation is something much to be desired.

From our Christian perspective, however, this will not do. Our beliefs, our doctrines are different; religions are not ‘all the same’. We do not believe that we have the luxury of thousands of years, through the cycle of Samara, for the working out our own salvation. In our understanding, time is linear not cyclical and is part of the created order. This is why the Book of Genesis presents its first version of the creation story as an ordering of time itself within the seven-day framework, ending with the Sabbath (Saturday) for rest. (Gen 1-2:3). Time will not go rolling on forever and we are present in this fallen, physical world only once. We believe in resurrection, not reincarnation, which is why we bury (plant) our dead in the earth, looking to fruition in the life of the world to come; we do not cremate them, as in Hinduism, to release the Atman (soul) from its current body.

In other words, this gives to our faith a sense of urgency. Though at certain times this character might have been lost sight of, Christianity has always been an eschatological religion – one concerned with a Theology of the ‘last things’, of when time has run its course. Unlike Judaism and Islam, which similarly perceive an ending to this world (but are both, ultimately concerned with the way things are ordered in this world,) Christianity insists on an urgency in its message. Judaism is focussed on the blessings of this life. Islam is in reality a polity, a religious form of fascism. Christianity, however, proclaiming a kingdom not of this world, has an ambiguous relationship to this life. Indeed, from the secular point of view, it is of no ‘use’ at all though, clearly, it has, historically, often been used for all sorts of political and social purposes. This urgency and the eschatological nature of Christianity is clearly to be seen in the life of Our Lord himself as recorded in the gospels:

for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’. [Matt.4:17]

The early Christians martyrs were profoundly aware of this element in their faith, which was why they could be so courageously spendthrift with their hold on this life. Baptism into the Christian faith implied that one had finished with the ancient way of life handed down from the past, whether pagan or Jewish. Indeed, initiation into a faith so at variance with the common way of things must clearly have seemed like an experience of death and rebirth, though the old Adam of the fallen, physical body, was still very much in evidence. It is precisely this physicality, this old mortality, that constitutes our own battleground in the spiritual warfare against sin.

With the ending of the persecutions and the establishing of Christianity within the old Roman Empire under St. Constantine the Great, this radical and apocalyptic view of life past on from the martyrdom of blood to that of profound asceticism and the monastic life. For monasticism is precisely that: a way of life but serving, at the same time, as a sign of contradiction – one appearing ridiculously useless to the secular, post-modern western world but when have we let that bother us? [Matt.5:11-12] The truth is, the life of the early desert dwellers was controversial even in its own time: large numbers seeking God apart from civilisation meant fewer men for the army and fewer people paying imperial taxes. Young men turning their backs on their inheritance and young women rejecting lucrative marriages arranged by their parents, necessarily caused consternation. No wonder the hagiographies are full of accounts of those choosing martyrdom over marriage or a monastic cell over rich estates. From what must seem like a restricted life to those on the outside, the early fathers and mothers of the desert were in fact truly liberated. One might easily see why marriage in late antiquity would possibly hold few attractions for the spiritually minded woman with its enclosed and limited social milieu and the possibility of early death in child-birth. For many then, as indeed today, there is a paradoxical freedom in monasticism.

Whatever our calling, making as we do this journey through our time-bound life, we are, simultaneously, accompanied by the cycle of liturgical time, the constant bearer and reminder of the gospel message. Moving along the straight line of our life from birth to death, at our side there spins the regular wheel of liturgical time, a symbol of the eternity towards which we journey. Even so now, we approach, once again in this life, the season of Great Lent, a time of grace and one intended actually to affect our way of life. It is rooted in that gospel message to be read, there, at the very beginning of St. Mark’s account:

‘Repent and believe in the gospel.’ [Mk.1:14-15]

Given, therefore, this sense of urgency about our salvation, we need to understand what is meant by repentance. This is, after all, the doorway to the kingdom of God. We need to be very sure what we mean by it if we are not to lead ourselves astray.