For his distinctive contribution in exploring over 65 years the relationship between art and life, the creative and the spiritual.
James Roose-Evans has made a special contribution to the theatre and the arts, considered as a vehicle for the Spirit. His own autobiographical or semi-autobiographical works (Inner Journey, Outer Journey, Opening Doors and Windows, and Blue Remembered Hills) show something of his spiritual journey – the background to his ordination in mid-life and his work to establish the very remarkable Bleddfa Centre for Spirituality and the Arts in Radnorshire in 1974, making use both of a redundant church and its neighbouring outbuildings and of his experience in spiritual practice. His interest in theatre and ritual has also led to important publications. His writing is vivid and fresh, and he combines an unfussed candour about his own experience (including his sexuality as a gay man who spent many years in a committed relationship) with a hospitable and literate curiosity about the classical sources of Christian spirituality and a clear, practical approach to how they are to be inhabited today. The Bleddfa venture grew out of many years of living part of the year in that remote area of Mid-Wales and ministering there in rural parishes when needed. There is an impressively ‘rooted’ quality to what he writes, and some of his books could stand alongside Kilvert’s diaries as a witness to local life in the area. The combination of his formidable reputation in the professional theatre (where he is a very highly regarded director indeed) with his record as a teacher and communicator of spiritual tradition is unusual if not unique
It is said that when you tell a child the name of a
bird he or she no longer sees the bird but only a sparrow, a thrush, a swan.
Too often we never see beyond the label. And so it is with religion, with the
result that for many the word ‘God’ gets in the way of the reality that lies
behind the word. It comes with too much baggage, especially all the anthropomorphic
images of God as an elderly gentleman with a long beard seated on a throne! As
the great Dominican mystic, Meister Eckhart wrote, ‘God is no thing’.
The world around us, the world of nature is our best
teacher. One has only to sit quietly in a garden in spring, in the early hours,
to become aware of an intricate trajectory of invisible lines criss-crossing
the garden as birds flit and whirr about their tasks, never colliding. We, too,
are birds of passage and yet we are a part of the whole. We move through time,
yet eternity is all about us. St. Bernard of Clairvaux wrote:
I know of the divine sciences and holy scripture, I learnt in the woods and
fields. I have had no other masters than the beeches and the oaks. You will
learn more in the woods than in books. Trees and stones will teach you more
than you can acquire from the mouth of a teacher.
Which also is why, whenever we can, it is good to meditate
out of doors, in a garden or a park, aware of all life around us learning, in
the words of William Blake, to ‘see a world in a grain of sand and eternity in
Time and again I am moved by the sheer goodness of
those who practise no religion yet whose lives are like lanterns illuminating
the surrounding darkness. Perhaps the most vivid example of such goodness is
that of the fire-fighters who raced into the Twin Towers in New York on 9/11,
at risk to their own lives, unconcerned with self, not seeking any fame or
Mathew Parris, writing in The Times, recently commented on how ‘from time to time one meets
people from whom goodness simply leaps. These people have something
extra-ordinary. Could it be God? I ask myself. Is God the explanation of human
goodness?’ The answer strikes him with absolute clarity. ‘There is no need,’ he concludes, ‘to explain
human goodness. It exists. It is a positive fact. It can be seen and not only
in the devout. Goodness is human, not divine.’
That such goodness is endemic in human nature was
acknowledged by Pope John Paul II in his Lenten message for 2003 in which he
said, ‘The inclination to give is rooted in the depths of the human heart:
every person is conscious of a desire to interact with others and everyone
finds fulfilment in a free gift of self to others.’
The word ‘spirituality’ seems to appear with
increasing frequency in the media, as in this article from The Times:
There is a spiritual crisis all over the western world. People hunger for a framework of meaning and purpose that can transcend the individualism and selfishness of the competitive market. They want to be connected to some higher vision of good and find some way for their lives to contribute to that good.
Spirituality refers to that dimension which gives meaning to our lives. It would appear to be part of our make-up as human beings. Our spiritual journey is as one with our emotional and psychological journey. The practice of meditation can play an important role in clearing the ground for the growth of the spiritual, for until we can view objectively our often irrational behaviour it is difficult for the spiritual to grow.
I know that quite a few who have a regular practice of meditation, including myself, are finding it difficult to concentrate in these testing times. It all becomes a struggle. The virus has brought a hidden fear that is bound to affect us and also affect our bodies in one form or another: perhaps an all-over itching, or an increasing difficulty in sleeping. It is not surprising since we are all living in a time of rare global crisis.
And so it may help to practice the open-eyed meditation (which I describe in Finding Silence), to sit with open eyes, focused on whatever lies ahead of us: plants, trees, birds, and simply rest in the knowledge that we are not alone.
We may like to take as our mantra at such a time the words:
Thus declares Prospero in The Tempest, speaking of the
monster Caliban whom earlier he had called ‘a demi-devil’.
The story of St. Francis taming the wild wolf of Gubbio is symbolic of the need we each have to tame our inner wolf, that aspect which Jung refers to as our ‘shadow’. All too easily we project our darker side – meanness, jealousy, lust, anger – onto others and fail to see that it lies within us.
A commonly recurring image in dreams is that of a
house in which unsuspected rooms are discovered, or dry rot is found. In such
dreams, as also in reality, a person may have within them many locked rooms
which have never been entered, where the shutters remain unopened and no light
penetrates. It is not surprising, therefore, that we speak of ‘skeletons in
Until we have learned to open up all our rooms,
whether through meditation or some form of therapy, we cannot expect to grow
spiritually. It is like a garden. Until the ground is cleared of weeds, bright new
shoots cannot break through.
Among some of the most haunting stories in the
Gospels is Jesus’ cry to his sleeping friends, knowing he is about to be arrested,
tortured and executed: ‘Could you not watch with me one hour!’
I am thinking of those who are dying and how few
people know how to respond. Some talk in very loud voices as though the dying
person is deaf. Some talk entirely about themselves, or make mundane remarks.
All that is needed is that we should be totally present to that person, perhaps
holding their hand, silently keeping watch, and responding if the dying person
chooses to talk. Those who practise meditation will know best how to sit
silently for an hour, holding that person closely in love.
It is a sad comment on our deeply divided country that some half a million children arrive at school without breakfast, and so are unable to concentrate because they are undernourished. The gap between rich and poor seems to grow ever deeper and our politicians are not facing up to it. Charities and food banks try to fill the gap. One such is the Magic Breakfast charity which seeks to provide children from disadvantaged backgrounds with at least one solid meal a day.
The sharing of food is one of the most important as well as practical rituals we have, even if it is only inviting someone in to have a cup of tea, or a bowl of soup. It is often over such a simple exchange, that we share also the anxieties and burdens of others, especially in our society today when there is less and less a sense of community. The latest statistics show that loneliness is not only the problem of older people: it is increasing among the younger generation too. Jesus’s command was, ‘Feed my sheep’ and the fact remains that sharing a simple meal with others is one of the most positive things we can do.