by Catrin Harland-Davies.
“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19)
These words, written around two and a half millennia ago to a nation in forced exile in a foreign land, have been echoing round my head over the last couple of months.
Perhaps this is because September and October are always a time of newness for me, and this year more than most. It is the start of the connexional year, bringing new colleagues and, on occasion, a new appointment for me. Much of my ministry has been in a Higher Education setting, as a university chaplain and now as a theological educator, and so the new academic year brings with it new faces. And this year, as well as the usual entirely new cohort of students, we have new colleagues making up half the Ministerial Formation team (both Anglican and Methodist) here at Queen’s – including a move into a new role for me.
Such a high proportion of new people within a team is a joy and a challenge. It challenges us to reexamine old habits and practices, and to confront new ideas. It invites us to answer difficult questions about why we do certain things in certain ways – and sometimes to realise that we don’t know the answer! And it forces us to recognise that we are all changed by changes around us. It should, of course, be the case that even one new member does all these things, but too often we can just expect one person to assimilate and accept the culture of the place as it is. But when as many in the team are new as are established, we don’t have that luxury. We have to face the challenge of becoming a new community. And this challenge is, if we allow it to be, a joy. It is an opportunity to let go of habits that have become a burden, and to embark on an adventure of discovery. And no – I didn’t say that was easy! But it can be joyous.
The words I quoted at the start of this article were written by the prophet known as ‘Second Isaiah’, and they are written to give comfort to a community living in captivity, a long way from home, deported there by a hostile, occupying power. They are words of comfort to forced migrants, whose homes and lives have been destroyed. And they continue to bring comfort to those facing difficult endings. They are cherished – and sometimes feared – by those facing the end of a relationship or a way of life, those losing their employment, those facing death, those forced from their homes. They are cherished for the possibility they bring of life, love and future. And they are feared for the fact that a ‘new thing’ involves the loss of the old.
That is, of course, a very different situation from Queen’s earlier in the summer. The change and newness of this September wasn’t a message of rebirth to a community suffering. But we had just gone through a season of goodbyes, which is often hard. So a season of welcomes and of new opportunities does bring a sense of refreshment. We, too, mourning the fact that valued colleagues had moved on and that familiar ways had come to an end, can find joy and hope in the fact that God is in the new beginnings, the new ways, the new opportunities – even if it does also bring its challenges. When we want to hold onto what is past, God says to us, “I am about to do a new thing, and it may bring new hope, new life, new life.”
But some things feel desperately in need of change which doesn’t come. In our world, and sometimes in our own lives, we cry out for change. We see seemingly endless wars and conflict. We see no end to poverty and inequality. We see prejudice and injustice, which seems to increase rather than die away. And even when the news brings ceasefire, the release of captives, joyous reunions, the return from exile, it is hard to shake off the suspicion that it can’t last – that this is just the latest pause in the endless rounds of hostility. In our individual lives, we may feel the relentless path of poverty, pain, despair, loneliness, fear, and see no possibility of a better tomorrow.
Then, more than ever, God’s words need to be heard. “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” So often, the answer is, “No, God. No, I don’t perceive it. I can’t see it, I can’t hear it, and I can’t believe in it.” But that’s also, perhaps, partly why God created us in community. When I can see no hope or future in my life, when I can’t begin to perceive even the possibility of a new thing – that’s when my family, friends and community of faith can hold that light of hope for me. The famous tale of the footprints in the sand speak of seeing only one set of prints when times were tough, because that’s when Christ carried us. But maybe there are many sets of footprints in those times, for all those walking with us, and maybe helping Christ to carry us – or at least helping us to carry some of our burdens.
Wherever you are right now – whether you are embarking on exciting new beginnings, mourning the passing of the old, or longing for change that seems never to come – may God’s new thing in your life be a blessing, a challenge and a joy.
Theology Everywhere 