There is a lot of interest today in the notion of spiritual energy. It is not a theoretical interest, a desire to understand the nature of this energy and how it relates to other kinds of power. Rather it is a practical interest, a hunger to get in touch with a spiritual life-energy, to experience it, to be moved by it. This concern is a symptom of a deep spiritual hunger which is typical of our time.

There is a tendency for social analysts, commentators, and theologians to play down this spiritual hunger. One reason is that it seems rather out of place in our increasingly technological and secularised world. A second reason is that no adequate language has as yet been developed to articulate this spiritual need. On the one hand, much of the older religious terminology seems out-of-date, over-pious, escapist, and dualistic. On the other hand, the more recent vocabulary in which people speak about spiritual energy remains the 'in' language of a minority, who are often dismissed as spiritual 'freaks'. This language-difficulty strengthens the sense of a spiritual vacuum in the lives of many people of our time.

Very recently the need for spiritual values has come to be recognized more clearly by those who are committed to social development and to the construction of a more humane and peaceful world.{1} This recognition provides a context in which dialogue between the different religious traditions of the world can flourish. But more importantly, it opens up the possibility of a deeper dialogue between the mainstream inhabitants of our modern secularised world and those who still find nourishment of spirit in the ancient religious traditions.

Over the past hundred years there has, of course, been a rich dialogue of word and of life between Christians and humanists of various kinds. Some of the fruits of this dialogue are a greatly enriched understanding of democracy, freedom of conscience, respect for human rights, pluralism, social justice, liberation, and participation. But this dialogue between Christians and humanists has focused mainly on ethical and political issues. There is need now for a further dialogue on overtly religious or spiritual matters. Christians will find their main partners in this new dialogue among the people whom we may call the 'searchers', that is, those who have recognized their spiritual hunger and have consciously adopted or worked out some spirituality which offers them spiritual nourishment.

The purpose of this book is to contribute to this spiritual dialogue. I have written elsewhere about social justice, liberation, and democracy. But in this book my focus is on spiritual energy, which I shall try to show is ultimately divine energy, a share in God's own life. I believe that this divine energy has been flowing in creation from the beginning, since God's Spirit and God's Word were sent into our world to shape it and give it life, to be present with us, bringing us liberation, new hope, and the fulfillment of our destiny.

In exploring the notion of divine energy I am really speaking about the ways in which we encounter God. The heart of the Christian faith might be called the 'Emmanuel experience', that is, an awareness that 'God is with us', present and involved in every aspect of our lives. The whole Christian message is simply an attempt to express-for ourselves and for others-what is involved in this experience. This articulation in words is very important since it helps us to enrich the faith experience, to safeguard its purity and to communicate it to others.

There are three central aspects to this 'Emmanuel event'. First, the God who is 'beyond', that is, the transcendent God, who is disclosed to us in a variety of ways as the God who awaits us with the compassion of a mother in infinite degree{2} and with the boundless love of a Prodigal Father; second, the God 'within', that is, the God who as immanent Spirit moves secretly within each of us and in our world; and third, the God 'among' us, that is, Jesus who came as the living human Word of God to share our lives and play a crucial role in our history.{3} This book is an exploration of these different aspects of the presence of God with us.

The first chapter explores some of the many ways in which people find the transcendent God, the God 'beyond' us, the One who awaits us. Some people find God in nature, others in the experience of being healed or of falling in love. For some, the gift of a child opens a door to God, while for others God becomes present through the struggle for human liberation.

The next chapter goes on to look at 'the God within'. It is concerned with the divine Spirit who touches the deepest part of the human spirit, bringing inspiration and commitment as well as hope, joy, peace and life energy. The first part of the chapter is devoted to a study of how the divine Spirit touched the prophets of the Bible. This leads on to a reflection on prophets in our secular history and in the world today. The final part of the chapter looks at how prophetic movements can take root in our world-and how difficult it is for them to retain their prophetic edge.

The third chapter develops the topic of 'the God within' by examining various 'channels' which the Holy Spirit may use to touch our lives. For instance, the Spirit of God may be at work in the unconscious processes which find expression in our dreams-and sometimes, too, in inspirations which break through suddenly into consciousness. The Spirit may also be present in the deep symbols of our culture, or in the energies which flow into our spirits through close contact with nature. The chapter concludes with a reflection on other sources or channels of spiritual energy which are available to us and which are often ignored in our secularised world.

In the fourth chapter I move on to the topic 'God among us'. I have entitled the chapter 'Jesus the Human One' because it deals mainly with the human character of the historical Jesus. I suggest that the key to understanding him lies in the Gospel phrase which is commonly translated as 'the Son of Man' and which it is better to translate as 'the Human One'. Jesus is the one who unveils what it means to be authentically human. This involves challenging all forms of domination both at the personal level and in the structures of society. Jesus also shows that the power of healing is part of our human birthright. In exploring and revealing the full extent of what it means to be fully human, Jesus at the same time reveals God. In fact he is the living image of God, the Word of God come to live among us.

In the fifth chapter we look at a second major aspect of the life and work of Jesus, namely, the salvation and redemption which he accomplished. I suggest that a good starting-point for an understanding of redemption is the notion of Jesus as scapegoat. I go on to consider the Cross as a transformation of energy by Jesus. By comparing his achievement with that of other great humans such as Joan of Arc and Nelson Mandela, I suggest a way in which we can express the reality of redemption and resurrection in the language and thought categories of our time.

Chapter six looks at the revival of interest in the life of the spirit and in the whole notion of spiritual energy which has been taking place in the midst of our secularised world. This leads to an examination of various aspects of that amorphous spiritual movement called 'the New Age'. I then go on to engage in a 'dialogue of life' with this movement, starting from an examination of some of the various practices and interests of New Age people.

The seventh chapter begins with a comparison between our world and the situation in very early Christian times: in each case there is a deep spiritual hunger which the Christian faith is uniquely qualified to meet. This is followed by an examination of the notion of spiritual energy and an account of how our understanding of it can be enriched by an analysis of the words and actions of Jesus. The question of whether spiritual energy can be called divine energy is then considered. This leads on to a discussion of coincidence and providence-and the role of prayer as an instrument of providence.

The concluding chapter is an attempt to gather its various threads together in the form of a proclamation of faith, making use of the kind of language which is found meaningful by spiritual people today.

In writing this book I have tried to be as simple as possible while referring occasionally in the notes to some of the more complex theological issues which arise. I have tried to liven the book by giving examples from my own experience. I am very aware that the mysteries I am writing about cannot be adequately described in this way, since they have baffled even the greatest mystics and theologians. But my hope is that this personal style of writing will find occasional echoes in the hearts and the experience of some of those who today who are deeply engaged in a spiritual journey of search for new meaning and purpose in their lives.

There is today a widespread hunger for God or for some kind of spiritual energy or life, however it may be named.{4} Many people find that their spiritual need is not being met. They find conventional theology too heavy and abstract. On the other hand, they find that many of the books of popular devotion are too pious and superficial. Increasingly, they are turning to non-Christian sources to meet their hunger for a spirituality which is both deep and alive. My prayer is that this book may touch a chord in some of these searchers. I shall be very happy if it helps even a small proportion of those who search for a deeper meaning in life, and for a movement of divine energy within them, to be more in touch with the God who awaits them, the God who is within them, and the God who shares our human life.

I take this opportunity to express my thanks above all to my sister Ben Kimmerling for her painstaking and creative critique of successive versions of the text. I am also grateful to my friends Michael Murphy, Imelda Smyth, and Noel Bradley for their helpful suggestions and to Mary Inglis and Judy Buhler of Findhorn for inspiration. I am very much indebted to the Executive of the Irish Missionary Union under whose sponsorship this book was written, to its staff, and particularly to Tom Kiggins its Executive Secretary for unwavering encouragement and support. My thanks also go to Michael Gill of Gill and Macmillan for his patience and encouragement, and to St Patrick's Missionaries, especially my colleagues and friends, Richard Burke, Victor Dunne and Joe Flynn, in Kiltegan House, Maynooth, for their warmth and humour which lightened the work of writing this book.

Many Christians feel an urge, or at least a duty, to share their knowledge and love of God with others-perhaps with their children or neighbours, or perhaps with people living halfway round the globe. But it is important to be aware that God is already at work among the people to whom we reach out with our Good News. So, if we wish to touch others by letting them in on our experience of God, our first task is one of entering into their lives and getting sufficiently close to them to discover some of the many ways in which God is already present in them. When people feel that we are truly in solidarity with them some will talk to us about the ways in which they experience God. In other cases their rituals, symbols or behaviour will show more clearly than their words the situations in which they feel in touch with God. It may also happen that the presence of God in people's lives is so intangible or so taken for granted that they scarcely advert to it. In such cases the most important service we can do may well be to help them to recognize and name the God whose presence is real but not yet clearly acknowledged.

First we offer an outline of a variety of situations, both personal and communal, in which people often have a sense of being touched by a mysterious power which lifts them beyond their immediate concerns. This transcendent power may be experienced as a mystery of wonder, peace and joy, or a source of boundless life and creativity, or a power which brings healing, forgiveness, hope and triumph over evil. Experiences of this kind can be found both in the lives of individuals and in the history or present experience of whole peoples. In societies or cultures which are overtly religious these may be named as experiences of the presence of God. In more secular societies people may be more reserved or hesitant in attributing such experiences to God, but it is not uncommon for people to recognize their religious or spiritual character.

The Skies

From time immemorial people have looked up to the heavens and felt their hearts drawn to praise God as creator of its wonder and beauty. This sense of the power and majesty of God is well expressed by the psalmist:

Praise God sun and moon
Praise God all you shining stars!
(Ps 148:3)

The heavens reveal the glory of God!
The skies proclaim God's handiwork!
(Ps 19:1)

When I look at the heavens you have made,
at the moon and the stars which you set in their places
-what are we that you should think of us,
mere humans that you should care for us?
(Ps 8:3-4)

The Sun

In ancient times, people living in Northern climates were keenly aware of their total dependence on the sun for food and life. So it is not surprising that they worshipped the sun as a manifestation of God. Even today, anybody who stands in the midst of the ancient stone shrines of Celtic peoples can share something of their religious experience. One who is privileged to watch the rising sun of the mid-Winter solstice light up the inner heart of the rock sanctuary of Newgrange may begin to have some sense of the religious awe of the ancients who year after year experienced the triumph of light and life over darkness and death.

The Mountains

Many mountains in Africa are revered and feared by the local people. They are seen as sacred places, the abode of God or the spirits. The Celts, too, saw the mountains as holy places. Practically every mountain in Ireland has a sacred mound on its summit where the sun-God was worshipped. Right up to the present time thousands of people go on pilgrimage to the tops of the mountains (Croagh Patrick, M� M�in, Slemish, etc). Alone or with others, enduring extremes of wind, hail and rain, or (more rarely) lifted out of ourselves by balmy sunshine, we worship the God who is manifested in the power and beauty of nature.

The Waters

Many peoples find God in the life-giving energy of the waters-in the majesty and power of the ocean, or the sparkling beauty of flowing streams or the bubbling new life of a spring.

The ocean depths raise their voice, O God,
They raise their voice and roar ...
Greater than the roar of mighty waters,
more powerful than the waves of the sea
Is our God who rules on high. (Ps 93:4)

Along the West African coast, worshippers gather at the sea-shore to worship; through the surge of the waves and the ebb and flow of the tides they come in touch with the life-giving energy of God. Nowadays, this worship usually takes a Christian form; but behind this is a much longer history of traditional worship. This sense of the ocean as a place of religious inspiration was brought by African people to Brazil when they were carried there as slaves; and it still forms an important aspect of Afro-Brazilian cults. The Celts, too, had a deep sense of the religious value of water. Long before the coming of Christianity, every townland in Ireland had its holy well. The holy well was a source of life and energy for the healthy and of healing for the sick. St Patrick and the other missionaries who spread the Christian faith in Ireland wisely incorporated this traditional worship into the new religion.

Over the past century many leading philosophers and theologians tended to see the God of Nature and the Cosmos as a 'primitive' or 'undifferentiated' understanding of the divine. They held that among 'advanced' peoples it took second place to a more historical concept of God such as that which is common to Judaism, Christianity and Islam. These historical religions are no longer confined to the recurrent cycles of nature. They are linked to a linear concept of history-a history in which God intervenes actively through such events as the Exodus, the call of prophets, or the life and death of Jesus.

The central event of the history of the Jewish people was their rescue from slavery in Egypt. This saving historical event was the guarantee that they were God's chosen people. In times of trouble they looked back to the Exodus as the proof that God would save them. They also looked forward. Peering into the future of their own nation and of the wider world, they fashioned an ideal of the future Reign of God on the basis of their experience of the saving God of the Exodus. So the awareness of history brought an enormous enrichment to the Jewish people's experience of God. There are indications that the very notion of human history was itself the result of the revelation of God.{1} It sprang from a new kind of religious experience�that of God as the origin and the goal of a people's journey.

When the religion of a people takes a historical form it opens up the individual members of that people to experience God not merely in their collective history but also in their own personal story. Contemplation of the call of Isaiah, or Jesus, or Mohammed may awaken in each of us an awareness of the ways in which God has intervened in my life to call me, to lead me, to challenge me, or to rescue me.

In recent years many religious people have begun to question the supposed superiority of a God who is seen primarily as 'The Lord of History'. For there is a good deal of disillusionment both with Western technology and with the 'historical' religions which are often seen as irremediably patriarchal and militant. In their search for spiritual nourishment, more and more people are turning again to nature-to the mountains, the waters, the wilderness places. For this reason the God of nature has made a certain 'come-back'�this time in the form of what may be called 'the ecological God'.

Some of the proponents of 'deep ecology' seem to favour an abandonment both of technology and of the religious values of the Judeo-Christian tradition in order to return to the nature religions of the past. But history and technology, having escaped from the Genie's bottle, can scarcely be pushed back into the bottle again. To seek to return to the religious consciousness of tribal peoples is futile. Those who attempt to do so are constructing a religious world which has about it a certain air of make-believe.

As religious believers today we do not have to limit ourselves in this way. We can develop and promote a religious consciousness which combines a vivid sense of the presence of the divine in nature with a conviction that God calls us to play our part in shaping human history. We can nourish our religious sensibility by preserving and recovering ancient nature symbols and rituals; for these carry deep meanings and put us in touch with spiritual energies which we need more than ever today. At the same time we can develop our sense of God's personal involvement in our own lives and hear the call to promote the Reign of God. Over the past generation we have come to see more clearly than before that God's call is an invitation to be on the side of the poor and to engage wholeheartedly in the struggle for justice in the world. But more recently still we have learned that this call is also an invitation to care for the Earth and to help create a lifestyle and culture which respects life and the integrity of creation

For the Jewish people the God of history was one with the God of nature. Their years wandering in the desert were obviously a time when they confronted the extremities of nature and existed at the mercy of God who sent them food from day to day. They looked back on that period as the time when they came to know the living God and were forged into 'the people of God'. Stripped of material comforts and of the social and political supports normally required to make life livable, they came to a clear realization of their dependence on God. They became keenly aware of Yahweh as the one who called them into being as a people and the one who provided a goal for their history.

This discovery of God in the desert was not unique to the Jews. Other peoples also believe that the wilderness is a privileged location for finding God or finding the meaning of one's life. In Christianity-and likewise in the other world religions-there is a long tradition of people retiring into the desert or the mountains as hermits in order to discover God. Such practices can also be found among those who belong to the traditional primal religions. For instance, the Aboriginal people of Australia expect their youths to go on 'walkabout'�a lonely period of survival in a very inhospitable environment. The purpose is not merely to test and toughen them but, above all, to help them find a direction or purpose for their lives.

In the more secularised Western world it is becoming common for those who are searching for a deeper meaning in life to take time out from the world tamed by technology. Leaving modern comforts aside, these 'searchers' often choose to live close to nature where life is stripped down to its essentials.

Those who have already devoted their lives to things of the spirit usually go 'on retreat' for a period each year; and it is no coincidence that we often speak of such retreats as 'a time in the desert'. Sometimes, however, those who live in Northern climates have the romantic idea that the burning desert of the tropics is the best place to find God. They fail to realize that God awaits them equally in their own wilderness places-the hillsides and moorlands of their own cold lands. The Irish hermit St Kevin who retreated to an almost inaccessible cave over the Upper Lake of Glendalough made a choice that was just as valid as that of St Anthony who went into the desert of Egypt.{2}

Pilgrimages were enormously popular in the Middle Ages. They involved long spartan journeys by foot to distant holy places. Modern air travel tends to turn pilgrimages into packaged holidays, thus emptying them of much of their hardship and some of their religious character. But nowadays there are some interesting attempts to recover the original meaning and experience of pilgrimage. One way of doing this is to incorporate into the pilgrimage a journey through a wilderness place where the human body is tested and the spirit becomes more open to God.

It is interesting to compare the experience of the Israelites in the desert with that of the Spanish and Portuguese conquistadors in America. Both groups took the risk of following the call into uncharted territory. In the unknown land the Jews found Yahweh, the true God of justice and reconciliation, the God of the outcasts and the refugees. On the other hand, the adventurers and conquering armies of the European imperial powers found and worshipped a false god. They went to the New World in search of the inexhaustible riches of El Dorado. Gold became their god-a blood-thirsty idol to which they sacrificed the lives of millions of innocent people. This reminds us that when we go beyond the frontier and into the wilderness we must be careful that the god we seek there is the true God. Those who abandon the security of the ordered familiar world are in danger of following an illusory dream of their own. If they yield to the temptation they may find themselves serving an idol which quickly leads them into fanatical and oppressive behaviour.

People living a traditional life in the past were more in touch than we are with the mysteries of life and death; and for them these mysteries were a special occasion for being in touch with the divine power which shaped their lives. The great mystery was the recurrent miracle of life, found in the fertility of the earth and in the mating of the flocks.

In Africa and other tropical regions the fertility of the soil depends entirely on the coming of the rains. No wonder, then, that in Botswana the word 'pula' has a threefold meaning. It means both 'blessing' and 'rain'�the implication being that the primary way in which God blesses the people is by giving them the gift of rain. And since the gift of rain is the source of the blessing of prosperity, when the country gained its independence the government adopted the word 'pula' (rather than, say, the word 'dollar') as the name for the basic unit of the local currency.

Many traditional peoples depend for their livelihood on raising flocks of animals. For them the fertility of the cattle, goats, sheep or camels is the most vivid sign of God's life-giving power at work in their world. In the Old Testament the Jews acknowledged that God was the source of this new life by offering back to God the firstborn males of the flock (Ex 13:2; 22:29).

In every continent, traditional peoples have had similar rites of offering or sacrifice. For instance, in ancient Greece there was a tradition that the king should be sacrificed to ensure the fertility of the soil. At their lowest, sacrifices can be seen as superstitious or magical rites-attempts to manipulate the mysterious powers of the natural order. At best they represent an earnest prayer of gratitude and petition to God. In practice, no doubt, animal sacrifices represent a combination of superstition and genuine prayer in varying degrees.

Human fertility is seen by most traditional peoples as the greatest gift of all and the clearest sign of God's benevolent love. As the psalmist says: 'Children are a gift from God; they are a real blessing.' (Ps 127:3). The story of Abraham and Sarah is a classic instance. The gift of Isaac, coming when all human hope had failed, was the sign that God had chosen Abraham for special love and care; this child sealed the covenant between God and himself. Anybody who has come close to any of the peoples of Africa, Asia or Latin America will be able to tell stories which mirror the experience of Abraham and Sarah.

Even in our largely secularised world the gift of a longed-for child touches a deep religious chord in parents who may never have given much thought to God or the spiritual world. Groping for words to express the mystery of pregnancy and giving birth, women often describe it as a profoundly religious experience. And many fathers who witness the miracle of birth discover within themselves a spiritual depth and religious sensitivity of which they were previously unaware.

In the time of St Francis of Assisi the religious fervour of the Western world had grown cold. To restore its lost sense of the loving care of God, Francis could find no better symbol than the new-born Child of Bethlehem. His symbol of the Child in the Crib has retained its freshness over the past eight hundred years. Even the present-day gross commercialization of Christmas has not destroyed the power of the Child to put us in touch with the gracious love of God embodied in Jesus.

Many Western people live in a world where God scarcely enters their consciousness from one end of the day to the other. The German theologian-poet, Dorothee S�lle remarks that, in such a world, falling in love is the nearest many people get to having a religious experience.

When one falls in love, life becomes suffused with new colour, new life, new energy and new hope. All this is experienced as an unexpected and unmerited gift. Some are content to revel in the gift, aware now that life is far richer and deeper than they had realized. Others experience the Giver in the gift; they sense that what they have been given is a share in a divine love which can permeate and renew this broken world.

God can be found in the experience of sickness. It involves learning to acknowledge that one is no longer powerful and in control but weak and quite helpless; and then discovering the spiritual riches that become available to those who turn to God in their weakness. But this is not an easy lesson to learn; those who find God in their sickness have already travelled a long way on the road of spiritual development. However, a much more common and elementary way in which sickness becomes a way to God is that those who are struck down by illness often beg God to heal them.

Many traditional peoples believe that God gives the gift of healing to certain individuals or categories of people-for instance, to the seventh son of a seventh son, or to those with certain unusual physical characteristics. The crucial feature of these beliefs is the awareness that healing is not merely a science and an art but also a mysterious power given freely by God to some privileged people as an unmerited gift. This gift is for the service of the community; those who receive it are expected not to use it for personal gain. At times the gift proves burdensome, for healers are called on at the most awkward hours. So they find that their lives are not their own. But this too is a reminder that healing is the work of God.

The concept of 'the wounded healer' may form part of the traditional belief-system. In parts of Africa and among the native peoples of North America it is accepted that the healer/diviner may behave in a distinctly odd or even bizarre manner. Similarly, the 'Travelling People' in Ireland often recognize the healing gift in an alcoholic or a person who has some other defect or weakness. So they travel a long distance to bring a sick child to somebody whom we 'settled people' would judge to be quite unsuitable to be a healer. This indicates once again that healing is perceived not as a purely personal skill but as a gracious gift of God.

God said to me, 'Mortal one, prophecy to the breath, and say to the breath, "Thus says the Sovereign God: O breath, come from the four winds, and breathe into these dead bodies that they may live again."' (Ezek 37:9)

This powerful passage from the prophet Ezekiel indicates that the Jews of long ago-like many other traditional peoples-believed that the breath of life comes directly from God. The wind was seen as God's life-breath, God's Spirit; our breath, our spirit, was a share in the life, the breath of God. Therefore, to struggle for breath was to be aware in some degree of God who gives the breath of life-and who withholds it when one's time has come to die. To breathe deeply could then be a religious act, putting one in touch with God the source of life.

Breathing has a deeply religious significance in the Indian religious traditions. For many Buddhists and Hindus, to meditate is to breathe; and to breathe in this meditative manner is to let go of one's petty concerns and to allow oneself to be drawn back into oneness with the divine. The 'Jesus prayer' which has been widely used in Eastern Christianity is also linked to this kind of meditative breathing. In recent years many religious 'searchers' in the West have rediscovered the value of meditative breathing as a way of coming in touch with God.

Desperate people, when they have nowhere else to go, often turn to God. It is easy to dismiss this as an unauthentic kind of religion-to label it as 'escapism' or even as a sign of a neurotic inability to face up to anxiety and fear. But such an easy dismissal of a very widespread human practice may well be another kind of escapism-an unwillingness to acknowledge that many people find themselves in desperate situations from time to time and that, for some, the whole of life is a desperate struggle to survive. It is an illusion to think that everybody should be able to cope with whatever life brings, and that those who do not find life tolerable are somehow a failure or are to blame for their inability to cope. The reality is that deep depression or anxiety makes life almost unbearable for a lot of people, that some people have to carry the burden of constant nagging pain, that the situation of millions of famine victims and refugees is so desperate that most of us refuse to let it in. Worse still is the plight of the thousands who are subjected day after day to a torture which is specifically designed to dehumanize them utterly. In fact, then, for many, desperation is a normal part of the human condition.

In desperation many turn to God. And why not? I am entitled to be scandalized if God allows me to stay in a situation which is destroying my humanity. If I believe in a God who cares for me why should I not cry out in protest or outrage when I feel God has abandoned me? So, those who call out in desperation to God may not yet be praying for rescue; their cry may, first of all, be one of outrage and a kind of disbelief. Nevertheless it is a genuine prayer. For it is a profound mistake to think that I can make contact with

God only when I am filled with gratitude, awe, praise or some other 'good' sentiment. God awaits me equally (or even more) when my situation has become utterly intolerable and the friends who should help have abandoned me. Jesus himself, hanging in torture on the Cross, cried out to God in the words of the psalmist: 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' (Mk�15:34; Ps 22:1).

Such a cry of outrage may be the first step in a dialogue of desperation with God. Implicit in this protest is a proclamation of faith in the God who has promised to be faithful. So, as in the psalm prayed by Jesus on the Cross, the outrage may be assuaged by memories of God's help in previous times of desperation: 'Our ancestors put their trust in you; ... they called to you ... and were not disappointed' (Ps 22:4-5). This in turn may lead on to a desperate prayer for help in the present crisis: 'Come quickly to my rescue ... save my life from these dogs' (Ps�22:19-20).

To call out to God in desperation is one thing, but to have a sense of finding God is rather different. Such a sense of God's presence comes mainly in the experience of moving towards freedom of spirit. The shift from desperation towards inner freedom gives the person a sense of the power of God at work. The torture may cease, the famine may end, the depression may lift; and so one has the sense of being rescued by God; the prayer of desperation has been answered. On the other hand, the prayer may not be answered in such a direct way; the causes of desperation may still remain; but the desperate person finds that the prayer has been answered in another way-through the gift of new strength and new determination bringing some freedom of spirit and the power to endure.

One sign of such inner freedom is the ability to take a broader view and to think of the welfare of others. In John's Gospel we have the account of Jesus on the cross committing Mary and the beloved disciple to each other's care (Jn 19:26-7); in Luke's Gospel Jesus is concerned for the women of Jerusalem (Lk 23:28-31); he prays for forgiveness for his torturers (Lk�23:34); and his presence brings an inner freedom to the 'good thief' (Lk 23:40-3).

Humour is another indication of freedom of spirit. During the dark days of South Africa's liberation struggle I was given a vivid account of the torture by the so-called security forces of a well-known Church worker. Day after day the torture went on until he had reached breaking-point. In desperation he cried out to God, saying that he could not endure any more. Next day the torture continued. That night he prayed to God: 'You remember I told you yesterday that I could not go on? Well, my computer screen is locked on to that prayer; nothing else will come up.' A pretty weak joke. But it represented a slight movement from desperation to inner freedom. It distanced him a fraction from being locked into his distress. Next day he was tortured again and found the strength to endure. The torture went on; each day he was desperate; but each day he endured. Eventually the torture came to an end. Looking back, he could see that the ability to smile at his plight (though the smile was thin and grim) was God's answer t his prayer. It was a means used by God to give him back his inner freedom and a sign of that freedom of spirit.

When friends, colleagues, lovers or marriage partners quarrel they often hurt each other so seriously that the wound is almost impossible to heal. Both parties feel that they have been oppressed and victimised. Even when they set out to forgive and forget they often find that they have not really let get of the pain; the sense of grievance is quickly triggered again and the feud grows more bitter than ever.

However, despite the pain and bitterness, it sometimes happens that a genuine reconciliation takes place. It is experienced as a spiritual gift which heals and transforms the heart and the relationship at a very deep level. Quite frequently the reconciled person feels that the initiative has come first of all from God. Forgiveness has come not by an effort of will but as an unexpected grace. It may not even be dependent on the repentance of the other.

No wonder then that reconciliation is a privileged occasion for an experience of God. For the healing which has taken place seems to go beyond what mere humans could achieve. Furthermore, when people have been reconciled after a bitter struggle their relationship is not simply restored to what it was before; it is usually much deeper, marked by a keener appreciation of the love and respect that are being shared and by a sense of tenderness and fragility. The gratuity and creative richness of the gift give those who are involved a sense that this is God's work.

The story of the Prodigal Son as told originally and traditionally has brought home to people the unlimited compassion of God. In our time, however, experiences of such unconditional forgiveness can be seen as pointers to the very existence of God. This is conveyed with remarkable sensitivity in the powerful and poignant conclusion of Sebastian Barry's play, The Steward of Christendom. Knowing that his father will 'put down' the family dog who has killed a sheep, the little boy stays out all night with the dog. He returns at dawn to meet his father:

It was as if I had never seen him before, never looked in his entirety, from head to toe. And I knew then that the dog and me were for slaughter. My feet carried me on to where he stood, immortal you would say in the door. And he put his right hand on the back of my head, and pulled me to him so that my cheek rested against the buckle of his belt. And he raised his own face to the brightening sky and praised someone, in a crushed voice, God maybe, for my safety, and stroked my hair. And the dog's crime was never spoken of, but that he lived till he died. And I would call that the mercy of fathers, when the love that lies in them deeply like the glittering face of a well is betrayed by an emergency, and the child sees at last that he is loved, loved and needed and not to be lived without, and greatly.{3}

Of all the heresies that have distorted Christianity over the centuries perhaps the most damaging of all is what may be called the heresy of privatization. It sprang from a series of dualisms which had crept into Western Christianity over many centuries: a split between the spiritual and the temporal; a split between this life and the next life; and, above all, a split between the public sphere and the private or domestic sphere. When I speak of the heresy of privatization I mean the assumption that the Christian faith is concerned above all with the behaviour of people in their private and domestic lives-and that it has little to do with political and economic affairs.

It never occurred to the Jewish people of old to imagine that obedience to God was mainly a private or domestic affair. It was an utterly taken-for-granted part of their religious mentality to believe that God was concerned in their political and economic liberation. They saw God as directly responsible for their escape from slavery in Egypt and their emergence as a nation with their own land and their own leaders. The whole prophetic tradition in Israel presupposed that God was passionately concerned that they would be a nation characterized by justice and by particular concern for those who are economically poor or socially and politically on the margins of society.

Within the past generation large numbers of Western Christians have begun to recover the sense that God is intimately involved in their struggle for liberation; they have recognized the pervasive debilitating influence of the heresy of privatization and have rejected it decisively. This constitutes the most significant development in Christian spirituality since the time of the Reformation. Furthermore, it has had a spill-over effect on the other world religions, leading to the development of a spirituality of liberation within Islam and in the Buddhist and Hindu traditions.

There are two major strands in this emergent spirituality of liberation. One is the feminist strand: many women-and an increasing number of men-have realized that God is intimately involved in the struggle to resist and overcome the sexism and patriarchy which for thousands of years have left women as second-class citizens. The other strand is the liberation theology which has blossomed in recent years first in Latin America and then in other parts of the so-called Third World and among a minority of Western theologians. These two strands have converged as the economic and political aspects of the gender issue have come to the fore.

What is distinctly new in this spirituality is not simply the sense that God has special care for those who are oppressed, poor, or discriminated against; for that belief was never lost. What had become lost was the sense that God was present in the struggle against oppression. Now it is possible once again for millions of people-especially women and those who are poor-to find God in their outrage and anger about the way they are treated. Once again the 'angry' psalms are owned and prayed with authenticity, instead of being given a figurative 'spiritual' meaning or explained away as relics of the past. People sense that God shares their anger about injustice and that God is on their side as they challenge and resist it. They feel the inspiration of the Spirit at work in their efforts to organize themselves to struggle against oppressive forces. And, when they celebrate a victory in the struggle, gratitude and praise of God wells up spontaneously in their hearts as they did in the hearts of Moses and God's people long ago:

I will sing to Yahweh, whose triumph is glorious;

Horse and rider have been thrown into the sea.

Yahweh is my strength and my song;

Yahweh is my salvation. (Ex 15:1-2)

The most convincing experience which many people have of the presence and power of God is when they find in their lives a mysterious providence which draws good out of evil. For Christians, the primary instance of healing and hope coming in this way out of injustice and evil is the power of God at work in raising Jesus to new life after he had been unjustly condemned, cruelly tortured and put to death (Acts 13:27-30; Eph 1:19-20). John's Gospel invites us to see Jesus as the grain of wheat thrown into the ground which had to die in order to bear fruit (Jn 12:24). Indeed the vindication of Jesus by God is so striking and powerful that believers speak of 'the power of the Cross' and see it as the very heart of the Christian faith.

Many Christians assume that this instance of God's presence and power is so unique that it stands alone in a category of its own. In fact, however, the resurrection of Jesus as the other side of his

Cross is not an isolated instance of the power of God to draw good out of evil. Rather it throws a new light on our everyday living. It encourages us to find in our daily lives, and in our history, similar instances of a creative and reconciling transcendent power drawing new and deeper life out of failure, suffering and evil. I shall return to this point at much greater length in Chapter 5, where I shall be looking at what it means to say that we are redeemed by Jesus.

It is not just Christians who have such an experience of the presence and power of God in overcoming evil. All who are spiritually awakened, whether they be Christian or non-Christian, can at times find some mysterious and benevolent power at work in the midst of the worst evils that are inflicted on them-a superhuman power which draws a much greater good out of even the most terrible evil. Indeed, such happenings are often a more effective 'proof' of the existence of God than any purely rational argument. Not only do they put us in touch with God but they teach us the real meaning of the word 'God'.

In this chapter I have outlined many different situations of disclosure-circumstances in which God may become evident in people's lives. A primary task of those who feel called to share in the life and work of Jesus is to help people be more aware of, and in touch with, what is going on in such situations. In this way they can, like Jesus, become open to God's presence and free to respond to the grace of the moment.

Individual Christians are not alone in carrying out this task. They have the encouragement of knowing that it is a key part of the mission of the Christian community as a whole; and they have the practical support of other committed Christian believers. More importantly, God is also actively involved in this process of disclosure and revelation. For God is present to our world in different ways. In addition to being the transcendent God-the God from 'beyond'�who becomes present to people in the variety of ways noted in this chapter, God is also the immanent Spirit who touches people's lives from within, who inspires them with hope, energy and life, who unveils to them the life-giving truth and calls them to share this truth and life with others. The work of this divine Spirit is the subject of the next two chapters. Furthermore, God is also the incarnate One, God made visible in the life and death of Jesus. Chapters 4 and 5 are concerned with different aspects of this special presence of God in our world.

Throughout human history, in people of every race and culture, there have been individuals who believed that God touched them, moved them to action, or spoke to them. Traditional peoples usually have shamans or 'diviners' who specialize in receiving or interpreting messages from 'the beyond'. In the Old Testament, the prophets played a role rather similar to that of the seers of the other religions. They believed they were chosen by God and inspired by the divine spirit to play a special role in society.

The New Testament makes it clear that the first Christians saw themselves as successors to the prophets of the earlier era and moved by the same Spirit. It was the outpouring of the Spirit which inspired them to reach out and share their experience of God with others (Acts 2:14-41). At first this outreach was to their Jewish compatriots. But before long the early Christians found themselves led by the Spirit to reach out further and bring the Good News of Jesus to the gentile world around them (e.g. Acts 13:2: 'The Holy Spirit said: "Set Barnabas and Saul apart for me to do the work to which I have called them"'; cf. Acts 13:4-8).

For believers today, as for the first Christians, the outpouring of the Spirit is the culmination of the Christian faith. The Spirit enables us to understand and remember what Jesus taught and what he means for our world (cf. Jn 14:26; 16:13). And it is the Spirit who sends Christians on mission, just as Jesus himself was led by the Spirit (Lk 4:1,14) and as his first followers were sent (Jn 20:22-3; cf. Acts 4: 31: 'They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to proclaim God's message with boldness.')

But those who feel themselves called by the Holy Spirit to bring Good News to others need to be aware that Christianity has no monopoly of that Spirit. For the Spirit can be experienced in two very different modes. On the one hand, the Spirit comes as the full blossoming of the Christian faith. On the other hand, this same Spirit has come to people long before the Church and is at work in a more 'anonymous' form among people and in situations where Christ is considered irrelevant or is quite unknown. In this chapter I propose to look at the presence and work of the Spirit not just in a Christian context but from a much broader point of view.

A good place to begin a study of the action of God's Spirit in our world is with an examination of the notion of prophetic ministry. In the first section of this chapter I shall start with Moses and the Old Testament prophets and go on to look briefly at the prophetic ministry of Jesus and his followers down through the ages. Then I shall widen the focus further to include prophetic figures from the secular world and non-Christian traditions. In the second section I shall look at prophetic movements and the role they are called by the Spirit to play in human society.

When people speak of a prophetic ministry what they usually have in mind is one which involves a strong commitment to human liberation. There is no doubt that social justice was a major concern of the Old Testament prophets and that those who today feel called to be prophetic are deeply engaged in the struggle for the fundamental rights of the poor and oppressed. But this work of liberation and empowerment needs to be situated within a wider understanding of the role of the Spirit.

There are two crucial points to be emphasised:

-Firstly, to exercise a prophetic ministry is to allow oneself to be the instrument of the Holy Spirit.

-Secondly, what the Spirit gives to the community through the prophet is not just a message but life-a share in God's own life. This divine life can come in many forms-as vision, insight or truth, as challenge, as comfort and new hope, as joy or peace, as celebration, or simply as a surge of vibrant energy.

In order to have an adequate notion of what is involved in prophetic ministry, Christians need to have a deep understanding of the life and work of Jesus. But to understand the ministry of Jesus one must have some appreciation of what prophecy meant in the long biblical tradition which went before him-a tradition stretching back to the time of Moses.

The Biblical authors took it for granted that God frequently intervened to direct the affairs of the world and to guide human history. They saw some people as chosen to be God's special conscious agents in this intervention or as interpreters of God's activity or spokespersons on God's behalf. Such chosen instruments were prophets in the biblical sense. They were people moved by God's Spirit. (We must, of course, keep in mind that, in Old Testament times, people did not have a concept of the Trinity and so they saw the Spirit as an aspect of Yahweh, namely, the life breath of God.)

The biblical prophets saw themselves as different from the seers of the other religions. This difference was not solely that the prophets believed themselves to be in touch with the true God rather than a false god. There was also the fact that they were not primarily concerned with messages to individuals or to families. Their's was a call from Yahweh to deliver a message to the community as a whole or to the ruling powers, to pass on to them God's word of challenge or consolation. This responsibility for God's people meant that the prophets saw themselves-and were seen by others-as continuing the ministry of Moses.

The relationship of Moses with God was so close and his contact so regular that the Old Testament does not present him as just one prophet among many. Rather he stands at the origin of the prophetic office-so much so that the prophets who came after him were seen as sharing in the prophetic spirit which was originally given to him. This is shown vividly in the account given in the Book of Numbers about how the Spirit was given to those whom Moses chose to share his work. Moses had become swamped by the burden of caring for his people and adjudicating their disputes. God's solution, as the biblical writer describes it, was not simply to inspire other prophets. Rather, God took some of the prophetic spirit which rested on Moses and passed it over to the seventy elders of the people (Num 11:17, 25, 26).

The later prophets saw themselves as sharing to some degree in the liberating and leadership work of Moses. But their role as leaders was much less comprehensive than that of Moses. By the time of the major Old Testament prophets, the task of leadership of God's people had been divided into three different roles-those of the kings, the priests and the prophets. Consequently, the prophets did not normally act as leaders of public worship; that was the task of the priests. Similarly, they normally left day-to-day political affairs to the kings. This does not at all mean that the prophets were not involved in politics; but their role was not an administrative one. They were concerned rather with such major issues as the survival of the nation, the direction of its foreign policy and the protection of the more vulnerable groups in the country.

The prophet was chosen by God to act as a mouthpiece or representative for God. When the community as a whole or, more commonly, its rulers, judges and powerful classes, were guilty of injustice or were unfaithful to the covenant with God, the prophets, inspired by the Spirit of God, put forward a 'word' of challenge. To those who felt secure in oppressing others it came as a warning or a threat (e.g. Is 3:15: 'What do you mean by crushing my people, by grinding the face of the poor?'). On the other hand, when the people of God were themselves victims of oppression and were broken in spirit, the prophets brought them a 'word' of comfort and relief from God and the hope of a promised new world (e.g. Is 40:1: 'Comfort my people'; Is�41:10: 'I am with you, do not be dismayed; I will strengthen you, I will help you'; Is 65:17: 'Behold I create new heavens and a new earth').

Those who were chosen as prophets were often quite reluctant to take on the task. Jeremiah felt that he was only a child, quite unable to speak God's word-until he was reassured by an unequivocal call from God, with a guarantee that God would be with him (Jer. 1:5-9). In later life, too, he was often a very unwilling prophet- especially when things became tough (e.g. Jer 20:7-15). Isaiah felt quite unworthy to speak God's word until his lips had been purified by a burning coal from the altar (Isaiah 6:5-8). Another reluctant prophet was Amos (Amos 7:14-5). Despite all their hesitations, the prophets felt so moved by the power of God's call that they dared not refuse it.

The prophetic word of the Old Testament prophets had a triple aspect which can be expressed in the three words 'solidarity', 'transcendence' and 'lavishness':

First, the prophets were immersed in the pain, the hope, the struggle and the joy of their own people. It was out of this deep solidarity with the people that the prophetic word welled up within them.

Second, the word came not simply from within the prophet and within the community but also-and primarily-from a God who remained transcendent. Because it came from this God who was beyond the limitations of our world, it was capable of bringing new life, new hope and a new power into the world and into God's people.

Third, God's intervention had about it a quality of lavishness which marked it as entirely gratuitous, a gift of grace. For instance, the Spirit of God was poured out not only on those elders whom Moses had brought together outside the camp, but also on the two elders who had stayed inside and were therefore not expected to receive the gift of prophecy (Num 11:17). Similarly, God sent an extraordinary number of quails as food for the people to show that there was no limit to the divine power (Num 11:23, 32); and, contrary to all expectation, the food offered by Elisha to a hundred of his followers was more than sufficient to satisfy them (II Kgs 4:42-4).

If we were to focus mainly on the books of the major prophets, we might be inclined to put an undue emphasis on prophetic inspiration as giving rise to a message. So it is important to realize that this inspiration finds expression in other ways as well. In Hebrew the term 'dabar' means 'word'; but it also means 'action'.

It is not surprising, then, to find that at times in the Old Testament the 'word' from God was a symbolic action, as when Jeremiah was called to break an earthenware pot as a warning to the people of God's anger with them (Jer 19:10; cf Ezek 24:3-6). Sometimes the inspiration of the Spirit produces powerful deeds such as the victories of Samson, Judith and Esther-not to mention the triumph of Moses over the Pharaoh. At other times the message of God was conveyed through the very life of the prophet-for instance when Hosea was told to take a prostitute as his wife (Hos 3:1-3). The prophets were expected to live by and witness to the word they had received; that word became the central focus and meaning of their lives.

In order to come to a proper understanding of the inspiration of the Spirit it is important to hold on to the earlier, and continuing, notion of the prophetic spirit as a share in the life and energy of God. The most striking instance of this is the well-known account of how the Spirit of God led the prophet Ezekiel to a valley filled with dead bones and inspired him to breathe new life into them-a life that was a share in God's own breath (Ezek 37:1-10). Elijah used his prophetic power to restore life to the child of the woman who had shared her food with him (I Kings 17:19-22). It is well to remember also that divine inspiration finds expression at times in outbursts of noisy 'enthusiasm' (e.g. Num 11:25-6), and at other times in renewed hope for those who have been cowed.

The prophet's sharing in the divine life also brings with it a power of healing. For instance, Elisha was inspired to heal the leprosy of the Syrian general Naaman (II Kings 5:10). Such acts of healing by the prophets provide the background against which the people of Jesus' time could understand that he was engaged in a prophetic ministry when he was healing the sick and delivering those who found themselves oppressed by evil spirits.

Even where the prophet does use words, it may be better not to see this 'message' primarily as a communication of new information or knowledge. More important are the sense of hope and comfort which the message brings. For instance, there are many prophecies in the second part of the book of Isaiah where God is reassuring the people that they will never be forgotten (e.g.

'Can a woman forget her baby at the breast ... but even if she should forget, I shall not forget you'�Is 49:15). Their purpose is to reassure a people who are slipping into hopelessness, or are in danger of losing a sense of their identity as God's chosen people. Even the many prophecies which consist of harsh words of condemnation are ultimately intended to bring comfort and hope to the people-especially to the poor; for to condemn those who are engaged in exploitation is to bring solace to those who are their victims.

The Old Testament understanding of the role of the prophet provided a language and frame of thinking in which the people of his own time and his own country could begin to comprehend the role and the person of Jesus. Like the prophets he spoke in the name of God, he challenged abuses, he brought comfort and 'Good News' to those who were despised or outcast and he condemned the hypocrisy of those who imagined that their fine prayers and sacrifices could provide cover for arrogance or exploitation of the poor and the weak. Like some of the prophets, Jesus performed healing 'wonders' which gave credibility to his message. His life-style echoed his message-and in this too he followed the prophetic way. And, like several of the major prophets, he was rejected and condemned by those who held power in society.

The major task of every prophet is one of discernment-not just in personal matters but in relation to crucial public issues in the political, social and cultural-religious life of the wider community or nation. So, as in the case of the earlier prophets, the first task of Jesus was 'to read the signs of the times'. This meant being able to distinguish between different kinds of historical era or epoch and recognizing which particular kind of epoch the people of his time and his nation were going through during his life.{1} For instance: Was this the right time to rebel against the Romans in a struggle for national liberation, or was it a time for passive resistance and endurance? Was it a time for emphasis on the special relationship between God and the 'Chosen People', or a time when pious Jews should recognize the work of God's Spirit in other nations as well as their own and perhaps make common cause with God-fearing gentiles? Should this time be seen as one when a great calamity was facing Israel, or was it rather a time of new hope and new opportunities?

These were crucial issues facing the people of Palestine in the time of Jesus, even though very few people would have articulated them in this way. The key to understanding the particular character of the prophetic ministry of Jesus is the realization that he was offering answers or guidelines to his people on issues like these. His option to focus on bringing 'Good News' to the poor and the outcast shows his own stance, his own reading of 'the signs of the times'.

Albert Nolan (p. 77) makes the important point that there was a major difference between the 'time' of John the Baptist and the 'time' of Jesus, despite the very short interval in chronological time between the two. John's prophetic mission was to warn of the calamity which was looming over the Jewish people-the imminent danger that a rebellion of the Zealots would be ruthlessly crushed by the Romans and could lead to the utter destruction of the Jewish nation. So John was reading the signs of the times quite rightly when he adopted the role of a prophet of doom.

Jesus, on the other hand, came with a message of 'good news'. Though he agreed with John about the threatening catastrophe, his basic message was that it was not inevitable. For Jesus was convinced that in his 'time', God's forgiveness was a present reality: the reign of God was already breaking the power of the Evil One (e.g. Mt 12:28), captives were being set free, the sick were being healed and those who were blind were recovering their sight. (Lk 4:18; Mt 11:4-5). This means that, with the coming of Jesus, the people of Israel were offered a choice. They could allow themselves to continue in the direction in which they were going, and then the calamity would surely come (as in fact it did, within a generation of the death of Jesus). Alternatively, they could change direction and 'be converted'; in practice this meant welcoming this epoch of grace and forgiveness-and cooperating with God in establishing and spreading a realm of compassion, reconciliation and hope.

Though Jesus was in the prophetic tradition, his followers came to realize that he was so much greater than any of those who went before him that the title 'prophet' was quite inadequate to describe him. In Chapters 4 and 5 of this book I shall spell out in some detail what Jesus stood for and what he achieved. In the present chapter it is sufficient to note that one of the ways in which the New Testament writers understood him is as the Servant of God (Mt 12:18), that is as the New Moses.

Jesus, being a new Moses, stands at the beginning of a new prophetic tradition. When Peter set out to explain to the crowd the extraordinary outpouring of the Spirit that marked the first Christian Pentecost (Acts 2:16-8), he presented it as the fulfillment of two Old Testament prophecies. These were, firstly, the wish of Moses that all God's people could become prophets (Num 11:29); and, secondly, the prophecy of Joel that God's Spirit would be poured out on young and old alike (Jl 2:28-9). The letters of St Paul show that it was quite normal for the early Christians to find themselves inspired by the prophetic Spirit; the purpose of such prophecy was to build up the Church and to give encouragement and consolation to the people (I Cor 14:4; cf I Thess 5:20).

It is clear from the New Testament that the inspiration of the Spirit found expression in a great variety of ways-in visions (Acts 7:55; 16:9), guidance (Acts 21:4; Gal 5:18), boldness (Acts 4:31), wonders (Acts 8:13-8; Rom 15:14; I Cor 12:9), predictions of the future (Acts 11:28; 20:23; 21:11), strange tongues (Acts 19:6: I Cor 12:10; 14:2), as well as an outpouring of enthusiasm (Acts 2:4-13) and the gifts of faith (I Cor 12:3, 9), wisdom, understanding and discernment (I Cor 2:12-3; 12:8,10), healing (I Cor 12:9), comfort and strength (Acts 9:31; Eph 3:16), freedom (Rom 8:15), love, peace, gentleness and patience (Gal 5:22-3), fervour (Rom 12:11), joy (Rom 14:17; Gal 5:22: I Thess 1:6), prayer (Rom 8:26; Eph 6:18), a sense of expectancy and hope (Rom 8:23; 15:13) and a conviction that one is the child of God (Rom 8:14; Gal 4:6).

Many followers of Jesus down to the present day have felt themselves called to continue in his prophetic tradition. The call is one of inspiring the community to build or weave a society that is alive, hopeful, vibrant with energy and that embodies the values of justice, reconciliation and special care for the poor. Playing a prophetic role means, firstly, being inspired by the Spirit with new hope, new energy and a new vision, and then proclaiming and witnessing to and living by that inspiration.

Down through the centuries God raised up many prophetic voices to challenge and disturb the Church and the world, to give comfort to those in desperation, and to bring new life, energy, enthusiasm and hope to Christians and non-Christians. The difference between such outstanding prophetic figures and the rest of us is simply one of degree. For Christians believe that all of us have been given a share in the prophetic ministry of Jesus; so we are all called to be prophets.

If we set out to make a list of Christian prophets, the names of two women spring to mind at once, since their challenge to the authorities of Church and State was so obviously prophetic. They are Joan of Arc and Catherine of Siena. Prior to them came Mary the Mother of Jesus whose Magnificat is perhaps the most outstanding prophetic declaration in the Judeao-Christian tradition. A list of Christian prophetic figures should also include the names of Francis of Assisi, Dominic, Julian of Norwich, Thomas � Becket, Hildegard of Bingen, Teresa of Avila, Ignatius Loyola, Martin Luther, Mary Ward, George Fox, Bartolom� de las Casas, Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac. From the nineteenth century many would want to include William Wilberforce, as well as Catherine McAuley, Mary McKinnock and other great founders of religious congregations. Coming to more recent times one thinks of Teilhard de Chardin, Simone Weil, Martin Luther King, Dorothy Day, John XXIII, Thomas Merton, Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Daniel Berigan, Gustavo Gutierrez, Karl Rahner, Helder Camara, Oscar Romero, Samuel Ruiz, Rosemary Reuter, Thomas Berry, Bede Griffiths, Dorothee S�lle, Matthew Fox, Edwina Gateley and Rosemary Haughton.

But why limit the prophets to Church-people and those who speak and act explicitly in the name of Jesus? Christians believe that the Spirit of God also works through secular leaders who may or may not be Christian. Many would see Socrates, Karl Marx, Tagore, Mahatma Gandhi, Julius Nyerere, Paulo Freire, Betty Frieden, Nelson Mandela, Rigoberta Menchu (of Guatamala), Ken Saro-Wiwa and Aung San Suu Kyi (of Burma) not merely as inspiring leaders but as themselves inspired. There are also many groups (especially of women) such as the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo in Argentina-and others whose names and work have been largely forgotten. One could extend almost indefinitely the list of such prophetic figures. Many Irish people, for instance, would think of Daniel O'Connell, Jim Larkin, Patrick Pearse and the Countess Markievicz as prophetic figures; and they would be proud to add the name of President Mary Robinson to their list. People from Britain might think of Robert Bruce, Margaret of Scotland, Thomas More and Florence Nightingale. In the USA, people would think of the 'Founding Fathers' (and 'Mothers'), as well as Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Chief Seattle, Sojourner Truth and Rosa Parks.

If we include great leaders of Church and State among the prophets then we can hardly exclude the prophetic people in the various non-Christian religious traditions. The Buddha was undoubtedly a major prophet. Having grown up within the Hindu tradition he helped to deepen it by his emphasis on meditation and the search for enlightenment; and he purged it of those aspects which gave religious approval to a socially unjust caste system.

What of Mohammed? Muslims hail him as the Prophet, the culmination of the prophetic line. Christians should have no difficulty in accepting that God inspired and used him to bring millions of people of his time to a deeper sense of the sovereignty and the mercy of God. In today's world, Mohammed is still a prophetic figure: in many non-Western nations he is the only effective antidote to the over-powering cultural imperialism of the West-and to its religious dominance.

Having come to an understanding of what it meant to be a prophet, the Jewish people looked back on their history and gave the title 'prophet' to Abraham their ancestor (Gen 20:7). But what about the hundreds of generations of men and women who lived prior to Abraham? And what of the peoples all over the world who lived for thousands of years-and some of whom still live today-according to a traditional 'primal' pattern of religion? Scholars have tended to make a sharp contrast between such primal religions and what they called 'the prophetic religions'�namely, Judaism, Christianity and Islam. It is true that these latter religions are largely built upon the concept of prophetic revelation. Nevertheless, I think it is a typically Western mistake to limit the word 'prophetic' to these three religions; for it suggests that other religious traditions are not really prophetic.

The three so-called 'prophetic religions' all put a lot of emphasis on a verbal revelation from God. But, as we have seen, prophetic inspiration takes different forms, of which a verbal message is just one. In recent centuries, Western scholars have been inclined to value words so highly that they have undervalued the other ways in which God's Spirit touches and moves people. To limit the term 'prophetic religions' to those traditions which stress verbal revelation is to show cultural blindness or insensitivity. To focus unduly on prophetic inspiration in the verbal sphere is to close oneself off from receiving the enormously valuable gifts which come to those who engage in a deep dialogue with non-Western religious traditions.

It is poor theology to think of 'prophecy' solely in terms of a verbal message, distinguishing it from non-verbal inspirations of the Spirit. Those who limit prophecy to words are guilty of a kind of fundamentalism. Furthermore, it would not be very convincing to distinguish between 'prophecy' and 'inspiration' by saying that prophecy always comes from God for the welfare of the community whereas other inspirations may be more private in character. For personal forms of divine inspiration (the ecstatic prayer of Christian and Hindu mystics or the sense of rootedness of the traditional believer) have social and even political implications.

Nowadays it is particularly important that we in the West be open to the primal religions. If we ask only whether the Spirit has given them some particular message which will supplement the

Christian Scriptures, we may not get a very satisfactory answer; and then we may never learn what they have to teach us. For the Spirit seems to inspire them in a more primordial way than through a verbal revelation. The Spirit brings joy and hope to the hearts of traditional believers. It is the Spirit, working in their spirits, who moves them to celebrate and to dance. From the Spirit they receive the gift of deep peace, springing from a strong sense of rootedness in nature and the Earth. The Spirit also gives them a sense of connectedness with their community and their ancestors. We would be foolish to imagine that such gifts of the Spirit are of a lower order than inspirations which can be expressed in words. In fact these non-verbal gifts are ones which we in the West have almost lost and which we badly need to recover.

Once we recognize our loss and our need we will be more willing to acknowledge that the life-giving Spirit of God is at work in a very special way in the traditional religions; and that this primal presence of the Spirit underpins the more differentiated revelation of the Bible. There is a certain irony in the fact that we, who have become so sophisticated in our use of words and our concepts of truth, now need to get in touch once again with realities and experiences that are taken for granted by peoples whom Westerners have labelled 'primitive'. The particular kind of prophetic ministry of which we in the West stand most in need at present is one which puts us once more in touch with our roots in the community and in the Earth. This is what has been grasped by Thomas Berry, Matthew Fox, Mary Daly and Mary Condron�and by other theologians in the ecological and feminist traditions.

In the light of what I have been saying about the presence of the Spirit in the primal religions we can perhaps imagine the gift of prophecy as a great tree with widely spread branches. The named prophets listed above (plus those on the personal list of each of us) can be seen as leaves or shoots of the tree. These prophets do not stand alone. Each is located within a tradition. For instance, Judith and Isaiah spring from the Mosaic tradition, which can be pictured as one of the main branches of the tree. Francis of Assisi and

Teresa of Avila sprout from the Christian tradition (which, of course, also goes back to Moses). Gandhi can be thought of as a shoot sprouting from the Hindu tradition-though he draws inspiration also from the Christian and Muslim traditions.

The point of this image is to suggest that behind all the named prophets lie great traditions which can be pictured as the major branches of the tree of prophecy: the Middle-Eastern tradition, the Greco-Roman tradition, the Slavic, Nordic, Anglo-Saxon and Celtic traditions, the Indian, Chinese and Japanese traditions, the Aboriginal Australian, the Native American and the Pacific and Maori traditions, and so on. These major branches all spring from one great trunk and draw sustenance from the same roots.

The main trunk is the primal religion which supports and is embodied in all the traditions (and ultimately in all the individual named prophets). It is rooted in the religious capacity and longing which is common to all humankind. This deep underlying religious dimension of the human spirit is the point where we are most fully human. But it is also a matrix where the Spirit of God moves very powerfully. Here is where the Spirit intercedes for us and speaks to our spirits 'with sighs too deep for words' (Rom 8:26; 8:16). We share in God's own life by drawing joy, hope, peace, life-energy and inspiration from the Spirit of God. This is the prophetic element which is present in all religions and is available to all peoples-even to the large number of people in our time who have rejected formal religion.

In this chapter I have been using a much broader conception of prophetic inspiration than that which is commonly used. In doing so I have been trying to provide a corrective for the Western tendency to over-value the rational and the verbal while under-valuing everything that cannot easily be verbalized-especially the emotions and experiences of the body. In line with this approach I want now to draw together various strands of what I have been saying by proposing a way of envisaging divine inspiration.

Inspiration is a share in the 'breath' of God, that is, in God's own life, given to us as a free and unpredictable grace. Because it is truly divine it cannot find any single fully adequate articulation or embodiment in our world. But this ineffable reality comes to partial expression in three main spheres of human living:

* The first is the sphere of ideas and truth; so inspiration often comes in the form of a new insight or vision, or as a vivid conviction of some truth, or a deep understanding and wisdom.

* A second sphere in which the movement of the Spirit finds partial expression is that of action; so it comes in the form of commitment, eagerness, zeal, energy, and the power to overcome laziness, wounds, blocks or addictions.

* The third sphere is that of internal and external body movement. By internal movement I mean a wide variety of deep feelings and sensations such as awe, wonder, sorrow, joy, love, trust, fear, strength, fragility, hope; these are experienced consciously but it is important to remember that they are at the same time movements within the body. By external movement I mean, mainly, dance which at its best springs from a flow of graced energy; so the graceful ritual dances of the peoples of Asia and the exuberant dances of Africans can be truly inspired. Under the heading 'external movement' we might also include the bodily endurance which sometimes comes as a grace to keep one going when ordinary human resources have been exhausted. And we might also think here of the para-normal bodily experiences which are sometimes associated with mystical states.

It is a mistake to give a privileged position to any one of these different expressions or manifestations of the inspiration of the Spirit. All are appropriate for different people in different situations; and none are fully adequate or definitive. The one word which comes closest to expressing the core of divine inspiration is the word 'life'. The Spirit's touch brings us the energy of the creative divine life. So we pray with the psalmist: 'Send forth your Spirit and they shall be created; and you will renew the face of the Earth.' (Ps 104:30)

Having looked at the nature of prophecy I want now to examine how prophetic ministry works in practice in society. In line with the image of a tree which I suggested above, we may visualize the prophetic power as producing a seed of new life, a seed which is planted deep in the heart of a person or community. Given the right conditions this hidden seed brings forth new life. It puts out shoots which find cracks in the rigid and oppressive structures of society. The shoots spring up in a way that not only brings new life but also undermines the old framework.

The prophet is one who has a divinely inspired dream of a new earth (cf. Is 65:17-25), one who channels God's life-giving power and energy into dry bones (Ezek 37). Springing from the creative Spirit of God, this new dream and life-energy are powerful and attractive. Those who are open to the Spirit feel called to gather around the prophet and become disciples or followers, sharing to some degree in the new vision and new life. In this way a new movement comes into being. The prophetic Spirit touches the followers at second-hand through the one whom they revere as a prophet. But the followers are also touched directly by the Spirit who works in the deep places of the spirit of every human person (cf. Rom 8:16). So, in describing the prophet we are describing the prophetic part of ourselves.

In what segment of society do such prophetic seeds first stir into new life? That depends on God's free choice. But the most obvious place to look is in the lower strata of society rather than among the rich and the powerful. This is because of God's special care for the poor and the marginalised and because God chooses as special instruments people of low social standing who are generally considered weak or foolish (I Cor 1:26-8). For instance, Jesus came from a despised village and inherited no religious or political power.

What kind of people are most likely to respond to the vision and the call of the prophet? Firstly, there will be a certain number of the poor and the disenfranchised. These are people driven by a burning sense of outrage about the unjust structures of society which leave them poor and with little power. They are the ones who have continued to hope despite all the evidence that hope is futile.

Longing for a different world, they are touched by the vision and the energy of the prophet. They feel they have little to lose by joining in the prophetic movement.

We cannot assume that the prophet's call will be heard by all who are poor. Many may be so broken in spirit or so trapped in a 'culture of silence' that they can scarcely imagine any major change in their condition. Others may resist the prophetic call because the insecurity of their situation leads them to cling cautiously to the little they have, rather than risking all by sharing in the prophet's vision.

The second category of people who are likely to follow the prophet come from the middle or upper classes of society. These are idealists who have become disenchanted with the world as it is. They are motivated by their commitment to justice as well as by compassion for the victims of society. Many of them also feel guilty that they have a privileged position in this unjustly divided world�and fear that they may be colluding in this injustice.

Each of these two groups of followers is essential and has a particular contribution to make to the prophetic movement. Without the poor and marginalised the movement will have no solid grounding; it will have little credibility and will carry no weight. The middle-class followers tend to remain 'up in their heads', lost in words and theorizing. Movements composed of middle-class people often become riven by disputes about the meaning of the prophet's message.

On the other hand, history teaches us that prophetic movements which draw support only from the poor are also likely to founder. The leaders are handicapped by their lack of education, of money, of access to the means of communication�and by being unfamiliar with how 'the system' works. They rarely have the time or inclination to work out coherent policies and to put an efficient organization in place. (The Italian philosopher and political scientist Gramsci emphasised the important role of 'organic intellectuals', that is, people who have the education and training needed for policy-making, planning, and organizing but who have relinquished the privileges of their own class so as to be in organic solidarity with the poor and exploited.)

It is clear that people do not just drift into a prophetic movement; they have to make a definite choice, one which the liberation theologians call 'an option for the poor'. What this involves varies somewhat, depending on whether those making the option are themselves poor or whether they belong to a privileged class or group.

Poor or oppressed people go in one of three basic directions:

* The pressures of life leave many with little choice but to settle for the misery of the present rather than risking the little they have; they have never learned to hope that a new world is possible; so their hearts remain dull and they do not feel called to work for change.

* Some of this group see an opportunity to break out of their poverty in an opportunistic or exploitative way; they choose to clamber upwards by 'walking on' their neighbours�perhaps by becoming criminals or drug-pushers.

* Others, however, receive and accept the grace of choosing to work for liberation, in solidarity with other poor people and with all who are willing to make common cause with them. To choose this third direction is, for them, to make 'an option for the poor'. It is primarily an option for hope, for new life, a choice to recover all that is rich in the traditional life of sharing while working to overcome drudgery, a choice to live out of the joy and strength that they find deep within them and that are experienced as gifts of the Spirit.

On the other hand, middle class Christians (including Church leaders) have to choose between three somewhat different options:

They can actively support or collude in oppression, finding in religion or economics a justification for blaming their victims, and for branding as 'subversion' or 'Marxism' any serious challenge to the prevailing unjust system.

They can compromise, by holding on as far as possible to their privileged position, while opting for 'soft' compassion and 'handouts' or for so-called development programmes which ease the suffering of the poor without empowering them or addressing the causes of poverty.

They can choose to be in genuine solidarity with those who are poor and oppressed, working to change the system even when they know this means relinquishing their privileged position in society. (One thinks of those white South Africans who committed themselves to the struggle for liberation; and of the commitment made by the Conference of Latin American Bishops at Medell�n in 1968.) This 'option for the poor' also involves a re-valuing of the rich human gifts-such as hope, celebration and generous sharing-which are often found more among the poor than in the so-called 'privileged' sectors of society.

Prophets may have little interest in establishing an organization or a structured movement. (For instance, it seems clear that Jesus did not set out to found a 'church' in the sense in which we currently understand that word;{2} nor did Francis of Assisi set out to found a religious order.) But invariably some of those who have followed the prophet and shared in the prophetic dream are people who have organizational ability. These play a key role in translating the prophetic call into a powerful movement for change in society.

Other gifts are also needed if a prophetic movement is to be effective and to endure. Artists and writers emerge to nurture and sustain the members by their creative articulation and enlargement of the original inspiration. Intellectuals such as theologians and lawyers take on the task of shaping, promoting and defending the movement. Local organizers and trainers ensure that the movement takes root in the culture. Some go beyond the existing frontiers of the movement to carry out the 'missionary' task of bringing it to new areas and new spheres of society.

Every prophetic movement is essentially creative and life-giving. The prophetic inspiration which is its life-blood can be seen as a primordial divine energy. It brings new hope into daily living. Among traditional peoples this energy often finds expression in the exuberant body energy of the dance. Among peoples of every culture it is a source of new truth and of moral commitment and authenticity.

Prophetic inspiration can become embodied in society in many different forms-not merely in formal religions but also in laws, literature, art, mass media, celebrations and in whole patterns of living which become traditions passed from one generation to the next.

The prophetic movement represents an enduring call to a different and richer life. But the movement itself is embodied in the existing society like leaven in dough (cf. Mt 13:33). It finds expression in the existing thought-patterns, value systems, laws, media, and arts-but is always stretching them beyond their present limits so that they can 'carry' the new vision and new life that is promised and is already present to some degree in the prophetic movement.

Inevitably, such life-giving movements are opposed to�and are opposed by-the forces in society and in the human heart which promote deceit, moral decadence, lethargy and death. A struggle of some kind is more or less inevitable�and there is no guarantee that the struggle will have a successful outcome. The prophetic movement achieves a victory to the extent that it succeeds in replacing the unjust structures of society or at least in establishing some 'spaces' of liberation or resistance which will give witness to the possibility of an alternative society. On the other hand, the prophetic movement is defeated if it becomes infiltrated and subverted and begins to collude in injustice.

The most common outcome of the struggle is a mixture of success and collusion. Most prophetic movements end up being partly prophetic and partly conformist. This applies to Churches, religions, religious congregations, etc; and as time goes on we must expect that it could also happen in the case of relatively recent humanistic movements such as Amnesty International, Greenpeace and various women's movements.

For this reason it is not sufficient to make a careful social analysis mainstream society and its social, political and cultural institutions. We need also to do a social analysis of the Churches, of religious orders and of other movements which offer an alternative vision and way of life. For, even though these began as prophetic movements, over time they may have lost some of their prophetic edge. We must not be satisfied with generalizations about 'religion', 'the Church', 'the media', 'the legal establishment' or 'the women's movement'. Instead, we need to identify which sectors and which individuals in the Churches, in the legal profession, in the media, and in the various movements are truly prophetic and life-giving and, on the other hand, which have begun to collude with the forces of death and oppression. Those who belong to a prophetic movement need to be accurate in identifying the forces which are opposed to them; and they must know clearly who are their allies in the struggle for a new world.

Prophetic inspiration comes from the Spirit and enters our world in many different ways-as a 'word' or message (e.g. Is 6:8-10-the call of Isaiah), as an action (e.g. Jer 19:10-the broken jar) or as a surge of new hope, joy, comfort, energy, and new life. The Holy Spirit is not only transcendent (beyond our world) but also immanent within the world and indwelling within each of us. So, when the divine inspiration comes to us, that does not necessarily involve a bursting directly into our conscious awareness 'from outside'. The movement of the Spirit is mediated through our human faculties or through aspects of the world in which we live. In this way the Spirit shows utter respect for our human situation.

In this chapter I shall look at a variety of different 'channels' through which prophetic inspiration may reach us. In order to ensure that the account does not remain abstract I shall, where possible, give examples from my own experience. The 'channels' are:

-the personal unconscious;
-the group unconscious;
-the unlikely person;
-the ancestors;
-the well-springs of a people's culture;
-the common ground of all humanity;
-the web of life and the cosmos or material universe;
-guardian angels and spiritual powers.

There is a sound biblical basis for believing that our unconscious is the 'normal' channel or route used by God's Spirit to enter into our awareness with an insight, an inspiration, a challenging call, or an experience of comfort, hope or joy. For it is taken for granted all through the Bible that God speaks to humans through dreams; and modern psychology has shown that dreams are the most accessible route from the unconscious into consciousness.

In the Book of Numbers we find God saying to Aaron and Miriam: 'When there are prophets among you, I reveal myself to them in visions and speak to them in dreams' (Num 12:5-6). The Bible tells us that God spoke in dreams to Abimelech (Gen 20:3), Joseph (Gen 41:25-36), Jacob (Gen 31:10-3, 24), the Pharaoh (Gen 41:25), Solomon (I Kings 3:5), Daniel (Dan 2:19), Nebuchadnezzar (Dan 2:28, 45) and in three different dreams to St Joseph (Mt 1:20; 2:13, 19, 22). One of the signs of the outpouring of the Spirit of God at the first Christian Pentecost was the dreaming of dreams (Joel 2:28 and Acts 2:17). And Paul was urged to cross over to Troas through a dream or vision at night (Acts 16:19).

The day is gone when Christians could dismiss as superstition any attempt to find in one's dreams a meaning-or even a call from God. Jung (and other psychologists) have provided a framework which makes the interpretation of dreams scientifically respectable. Jung rehabilitated the ancient religious wisdom by showing that the dream can be a veiled disclosure or 'revelation' of hidden and valuable personal knowledge. His work makes it easier for us accept that God could speak to Joseph-or even to one of us-through a dream. For if we can see God at work in our intelligence and powers of reasoning why should we not accept that symbolic material that comes into our dreams from the unconscious can be another way in which God communicates with us?

Furthermore, this material from 'the depths' is often concerned with the deep meaning and direction of our lives�and can therefore be profoundly religious. We may have been unwilling to look at some of this material and may therefore have screened it out of our conscious awareness; so it comes through in symbolic form in our dreams. In this limited but important sense one might say that on certain issues the Holy Spirit can 'get through' to us more effectively when our conscious controls have gone to sleep.

To say that dreams can be a channel for the inspiration of the Spirit is not to say that every dream may be understood in a simplistic way as a message from God. For the 'language' of dreams is symbolic, allusive and often obscure. Psychologists have made progress in understanding this language�perhaps re-discovering some of the wisdom of the sages of the past. But the interpretation of dreams is still more an art than a science; and one who engages in it has to move very tentatively and with great delicacy.

The Twilight

So much for the dreams and visions of the night. But there are also dreams and visions of the twilight time. By the latter I mean inspirations which well up from the depths of the human spirit at a time when the person is awake but in a somewhat altered state of consciousness: the usual busy-ness has been left aside and the conscious control has been slackened; so the person is in an unusually open and receptive state.

In my own case, such inspirations come occasionally during-or shortly after-a time of quiet prayer or reflection. They come frequently when my mind has been cleared of the debris of my preoccupations through a total engagement in hill-climbing. They come quite regularly as I drift off to sleep at night or in the instant of wakening up in the morning. On some very special occasions there is a dramatic irruption into consciousness of material which has obviously been shaping itself for some time below the surface. It begins when I am on the very edge of sleep. In that 'twilight' moment the rational structures and defences of my mind are less in control. This allows one inspiration to break through into my conscious mind. That seems to open a channel for a whole stream of insights. They come like eggs which have to be laid one after another. Each one seems to be the last; so, once I record it, I let go my conscious control and begin to drift back into sleep. But this letting go allows the next insight to push its way through into consciousness. With the insights comes a surge of energy, of life and of what St Ignatius Loyola calls 'consolation'.

People who are spiritually sensitive (though not necessarily 'religious' in the conventional sense) often have a sense that their deepest movements of inspiration, challenge or consolation come from beyond their own powers; a certain quality of giftedness is an intrinsic part of the experience. It is not presumptuous to trust this inner sense and to see these movements as gifts from the Holy Spirit. For St Paul assures us that the Spirit lives in us, helps us in our weakness, leads us, prays in us, pleads with God on our behalf in groans deeper than words, empowers us to cry out to God as Father, joins with our own spirit in declaring that we are God's children, enables us to groan in expectation of a new creation to God, gives us the gift of faith to believe that Jesus is Lord, and endows us with a wide variety of gifts ranging from the power of healing to the gift of discernment (Rom 8:9-27; I Cor 12:3-11).

There are two lessons to be drawn from all this. Firstly, it is important to expect that God's Spirit will touch and move us frequently; otherwise we are quite likely to miss the gentle movement of the Spirit when it comes. Secondly, we need to dispose ourselves-for instance, by taking quiet time for prayer and reflection, by immersing ourselves now and then in the beauty of nature, and by having a notebook or tape-recorder near our bedside so we can make a record of inspirations or significant dreams.

Of course it would be a mistake to assume that all such insights are movements or inspirations of the Spirit of God; for the 'channel' can be distorted by one's own biases and emotional wounds. Indeed such blocks are always there to some degree. So it is not very helpful to ask: 'Does this impulse come from God or does it arise from my own selfish concerns?' It is much better to ask: 'To what extent is this the inspiration of the Spirit? To what extent am I allowing the Spirit to flow freely in me and through me?' In order to engage effectively in the kind of discernment which would provide accurate answers to these questions, we require a certain measure of freedom of spirit. For most of us this means, in practice, that we need quite a lot of healing of the emotional and spiritual wounds which were inflicted on us in early life. Some of this healing comes through later experiences of being accepted and loved. In many cases, however, it seems to require a certain amount of therapy, whether of a formal or informal kind.

It is not easy to find language to describe accurately what happens when a person is inspired. We may say about somebody who has a real freedom of spirit that he or she is able to allow the inspirations of the Spirit to 'get through' without being blocked unduly. But the phrase 'get through' may be misleading. It conjures up the image of 'getting through' to someone on the telephone. This, in turn, suggests that the inspiration has come entirely from outside the inspired person. The truth, however, is more complex. It is that authentic inspirations come to people not only from the Holy Spirit but also from their own depths, from the place where they are most authentically themselves. It is not a matter of deciding which part comes from the inspired person and which from the Spirit, as though they were mutually exclusive. The Spirit is most fully and freely at work in us when we ourselves are at our most free and most authentic (cf. Rom 8:10,23).

This is not to suggest that the Spirit is unable to work in people who are damaged by childhood wounds, or by other blocks such as oppression, poverty, sickness or addiction. In fact the presence of the Spirit may at times be more dramatically evident in the lives of such desperate people. The fact that the Spirit can touch them shows that deeper than all our wounds and blocks there is an inner core of the human spirit which still remains open to God. And, touching that deepest place, the Spirit always leads wounded people towards a greater degree of inner freedom which enables them to be more in touch with divine inspiration.{1}

The irruption of material from the personal unconscious is not a sufficient explanation of all the inspirations and movements which are channelled into consciousness from the deeper parts of oneself.

We must also take account of the 'group unconscious'. People who are opened up to the flow of inspiration and energy from their own unconscious can, in the process, become channels for the wider unconscious of a whole group.

I am taking the risk of putting my own experiences under the microscope here because I believe that they are by no means unique. Many people who work intensely with groups have somewhat similar experiences; but they may overlook or undervalue them because they have had no framework in which they can be understood, and no encouragement to share them with others.

On a few occasions when I was immersed in the highly charged atmosphere of a very intense workshop I have experienced a rather dramatic breakthrough of new insights during the night. In each of these cases I was almost swamped by an energy so overwhelming that it seemed to be coming from somewhere beyond me. It is not fanciful to suggest that on these occasions the energy of the unconscious of the group as a whole found a kind of focus in me. For in all of these situations the whole group had been experiencing a build-up of energy due to intense work together; and some elements of unresolved tension also contributed to the charging of the group atmosphere. This energy was seeking an outlet�and it found one as soon as a path was opened from my unconscious into my conscious mind.

On each of these special occasions I was either asleep or just drifting off to sleep; then I came to full consciousness with a sense of breakthrough of powerful insights, accompanied by a very strong surge of energy. In each case I felt as though I had hit 'a gusher' (to use the jargon of those who drill for oil). The insights which came pouring through seemed to be for the group as a whole more than for me as an individual. As the ideas were pouring into my mind I had a strong sense that the light I was getting was somehow 'destined' for this particular group�and that I owed it to the group to offer it back to them, precisely because it was theirs.

So, as the insights popped into my mind, I experienced myself as the reluctant instrument of the group, called to bring back to them, in a focused and articulated form, ideas which were really their truth, though hitherto present in them only in an inchoate way. When I shared these insights with the group the next day I had a strong sense that I was offering this particular group what they had been looking for unconsciously or half-consciously. This impression was vindicated when they welcomed what I had to say and accepted it for their own use.

In all of this I was very aware of the possibility of deceiving myself, of being a victim of delusions of grandeur. Even though the sense of being almost 'taken over' by the energy of the group was very strong, it still left intact a more objective and suspicious part of me which was observing all that was happening and probing it to make it less likely that I would go on 'an ego-trip'. At no time did I feel totally 'taken over' by the ideas crowding in on me and the energy flowing through me. There was a certain sense of exhilaration; but it was accompanied by a good deal of clarity about the process and its implications.

The experiences just mentioned were unusually intense-so much so that I felt obliged to look for some interpretation of what was happening. Having concluded that they were instances of the group unconscious at work, I became aware that the same kind of thing happens to me quite frequently on a less dramatic and less memorable scale. Other people, too, seem to have rather similar experiences, with greater or lesser degrees of intensity.

I have come to believe that such 'breakthroughs' are particularly valuable. For they provide a means by which a group may receive from the Holy Spirit a powerful prophetic message and a surge of divine energy. But, of course, there is need for discernment. We must not presume that the sheer power of the insights and the accompanying surge of energy guarantee that what is happening is a direct unmediated intervention of the Spirit. We have to discern, individually and in the group, to what extent the Spirit is at work and to what extent we have allowed that Spirit to communicate with us and have interpreted the 'word' correctly.

Having looked at the personal and group unconscious as channels of inspiration, we move on to consider another aspect of how groups work and how the Spirit can work through them. Those who are called to engage in a prophetic ministry generally work with local communities or religious communities; and they frequently find that their main role is to facilitate groups. In such situations they believe that the voice of the Spirit is likely to be found in the group consensus. In the shaping of this consensus it is only natural that the major role will be played by those who are more creative and more articulate.

However, there are occasions when the Spirit chooses to speak in a powerful way through a member of the group who has scarcely been heard up to that point�perhaps somebody who has a poor self-image and feels quite intimidated. So the 'word' God speaks to this group-that is, the fundamental truth which they most need to hear-is at times mediated through a member of the group whose contribution is quite likely to be overlooked or undervalued.

A group can easily get into an animated discussion which is leading the members nowhere except 'up into their heads'. Then, quite unexpectedly, the whole atmosphere may be changed by a quiet intervention from somebody who has been sitting silently on the margins of the group. This 'unlikely' person puts forward the real challenge, or offers a word of wisdom which touches people in their hearts more than at a 'head' level. If the members of the group really accept that message, they find that it opens them up to share with each other at a very deep level; and they are far more open to the Spirit.

Sometimes the other members of the group have great difficulty in 'hearing' such a voice, precisely because they would never expect this rather marginal person to be a channel for prophetic truth. So one important task of the facilitator is to listen attentively for such a voice in the group-to await its emergence and to welcome it if it comes. The facilitator must create a space in the group for the acceptance of such a prophetic word. That means finding ways to encourage the group to overcome their blocks and prejudices and to be open to hearing the message. This task is itself a prophetic one.

How can such a prophetic role be reconciled with the professional integrity of somebody who has taken on the task of facilitating the group? Only by presuming that one who is employed as a facilitator by a committed Christian group is not simply being asked to help the group to reach consensus. There is a further implied clause in the contract which might be expressed in some such words as the following: 'The primary task of the facilitator is to enable the group to hear the voice of the Spirit'. To play the role of facilitator without assuming some such clause might leave one in the position of colluding with the group in stifling the voice of the Spirit.

To take on this prophetic style of facilitation means extending the boundaries of the role by making a particular kind of 'option for the poor' within the group. It involves encouraging the more articulate members of the group to make space for an unexpected word which has come from the margins. When such an intervention occurs and seems to be unheard, the facilitator might tactfully suggest that the group may be facing a call from God to look at things in a different light. But, having made that suggestion, one should then resume the conventional style of facilitation, leaving the group free to respond in their own way to the challenge.

In all of this I presuppose, of course, that the facilitator is not imposing his or her own views or values on the group. For it is quite possible to confuse one's own pet ideas with the prophetic word of God; or to patronize the group by giving undue weight to what one of its marginal members may say. So it is crucial that one who takes on the role of a facilitator should be very objective. What I am saying here, however, is that while objectivity is very necessary, it is not sufficient. One must also be open to the possibility that the Spirit may choose to speak to the group not just through its articulate members or through a superficial group consensus; for God sometimes chooses those who seem foolish and weak to shame the wise and the strong (I Cor 1:27).

The Ancestors

Most of the peoples of Asia and Africa have a great respect for their ancestors. They feel the need to keep in touch with them and to reverence them in a ritual way e.g. by pouring a libation to them (in Africa) or by erecting a shrine in their honour (in Asia). The ancestors are part of the community, with a particular role to play in it. So one would expect the Spirit of God to touch the community regularly-or at least occasionally-through the medium of the ancestors.

We in the Western world have largely lost this strong sense of connection with those who have gone before us. So, in claiming that the ancestors can be a 'channel' for the Spirit of God, I have little direct experience to rely on. However, when working as a missionary in Africa I became aware of how important the connection with the ancestors was for the people with whom I was working. Furthermore, as Christians we can all draw on the long tradition of the Church-a tradition which incorporates the accumulated experience of believers from many cultures of the past. Until quite recently, Christians did not just believe in what the Creed calls 'the communion of saints'; it was almost something they experienced. We need to recover some of that experience. In practice this might mean developing a sense of communion with those who have died�and, particularly, maintaining links with them through prayer.

Spiritualists use a medium to get 'messages' from those who have, as they say, 'passed over to the other side'. Most of these messages seem to be quite trivial. So I am not suggesting that the murmured words of mediums are instances of prophetic inspiration channelled through the ancestors. In fact I think that the attempt to get such messages from beyond the grave represents a failure to respect the reality and finality of death.

If we look only for verbal messages from the dead we have missed the really important aspect of the bond between the living and the dead which is so important in many cultures. What African and Asian people get from being linked with the ancestors is not primarily 'news'�either about life 'over there' or about the life of those left behind. It is rather a sense of connectedness, of continuity, of being rooted in an on-going flow of family and community life, and of the life of their people as a whole. This provides them with a meaning in life and is a source of hope for the future. It is true wisdom.

It is in this context that we should think of the ancestors as one of the 'channels' which may be used by the Spirit of God to touch people. Troubled people do not really need a message telling them about the conditions of life 'on the other side'. What they need is a sense of meaning in life and a surge of new hope. Through their sense of being bonded with the ancestors they may receive from the Spirit the gifts of inner peace, wisdom and deep joy. Perhaps one reason why we in the West have become so up-rooted and so singularly lacking in wisdom is that we have largely closed off this channel for the action of the Spirit.{2}

Some time ago I was helping to run a workshop in Zimbabwe for a group drawn from many African countries. Most of the participants were trying to cope with the effect of a severe drought which had affected their home areas. At one point we had a solemn ritual blessing of water and I led a meditation on the theme of water. Many members of the group were very moved by the whole experience. It touched a deep chord in them.

This made me aware that in every culture that are certain basic themes and images which are particularly powerful for ecological or historical reasons. Just as there is a 'group unconscious', so also it seems that a whole people has a collective unconscious. It includes certain fundamental symbols or archetypes which may not be totally universal but which touch all who belong to that culture.

Water is, perhaps, the most obvious instance; clearly, it has a greater significance and 'weight' for those who belong to a desert culture, or for a people who are subject to occasional droughts, than it has in places where rain is regular and abundant. For the ancient Celts, the sun had particular importance, so the Summer and Winter solstices were sacred times. The cow has a very special meaning for Hindu people and for the Maasai of East Africa. In Arab culture and in some African cultures the horse is particularly important. Not long ago I was very moved to hear a man from Namibia describe the significance of the camp fire for a nomadic desert people. And, of course, the dream is exceptionally important for the Aboriginal peoples of Australia. Among the Jewish people the Covenant and Jerusalem are primordial themes and symbols. It would be an interesting and rewarding task to identify similar basic symbols in a range of different cultures.

The myths which underpin a people's culture link together the symbols and themes which are important in the life of that people. Those who feel called to mission can exercise a powerful prophetic ministry by respecting and using the ancient myths, rituals and symbols�and by incorporating them sensitively into the celebrations and prayers of the communities among whom they work. By doing so they open up powerful channels which can be used by the Spirit to touch and move people.

The primordial symbols 'carry' the fundamental hope and meaning of people's lives. So it is particularly important to re-discover and explore them in more secularised cultures where the traditional religious rituals have lost a lot of their power to inspire people. It seems clear that the dramatic (and commercial) success of Brian Friel's play Dancing at Lughnasa{3} is based on his unveiling and 'tuning in' to the almost forgotten power of the Celtic harvest festival. His next play, Wonderful Tennessee{4}, was built around another such primordial Celtic symbol-in this case the 'Isle of the Blessed' which lies just on the horizon of the real world. By putting his audience in touch with these profound symbols Friel bridges the gap between the sacred and the secular. These plays can evoke a profoundly spiritual awareness in people who have lost the capacity or willingness to be involved in explicitly religious ceremonies. They can be channels through which the Spirit touches people's lives.

There are certain universal archetypes which seem to transcend culture and extend to all peoples. Among them we can name 'the child', 'the woman' and 'the man'. Those who make contact with such basic archetypes come in touch with the substratum of what makes us human-symbols, deep feelings and movements of the spirit without which our lives would be grossly impoverished or emptied of meaning and hope.

Linked to these universal symbols are certain fundamental human values which are common to people of every culture. We may think of the sense of outrage which people experienced when the horrors of 'the Holocaust' were revealed, or when they heard of the fire-bombing of Dresden, of the effects of the nuclear attack on Hiroshima, or of the policy of 'ethnic cleansing' in Bosnia and Rwanda. Our rejection of such evils is rooted in something deeper than family or culture; it springs from a very deep sense of what it means to be human. This experience of humanity can also be found in instances of compassion, of solidarity, of shared celebration and laughter which cross racial and cultural barriers. It is present, too, in marriages or religious communities where deep love flourishes despite ethnic differences, thus providing a living witness to a common humanity.

A vitally important component in missionary work today is to seek out and nurture such universal values and the images and symbols which can evoke and express them. By doing so we open up passageways into�and out of�the spiritual depths of the people with whom we live and work. This in turn opens a way for the Spirit to enter people's lives with new insight, energy, hope, comfort, peace, joy and challenge. What could be more prophetic and missionary than the opening to the Spirit of the common ground of humanity? It provides both the solid basis and the flow of energy which is needed to underpin a ministry of human rights and international social justice.

Thomas Berry uses a very telling phrase: when we look at Nature we should, he says, see 'a community of subjects' rather than a set of objects to be used and exploited. In recent years a growing number of people in the West have begun to rediscover what more traditional people never lost: a sense of being a part of a web of life which includes not just other humans but also the animals and plants.

This web of life nourishes us even when we scarcely advert to it. If we deliberately open ourselves to its energies then we receive even more sustenance. Many people get great comfort and an enrichment of the quality of life from their relationship with a dog, a cat or a horse. For others, walking or sitting under trees can bring deep peace.

The Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh has a vivid sense of the salvific power of nature. He begins his poem 'Canal Bank Walk' by speaking of the banks and waters of the canal 'pouring redemption' for him. He ends this poem by saying:

O unworn world enrapture me, encapture me in a web

Of fabulous grass and eternal voices by a beech,

Feed the gaping need of my senses, give me ad lib

To pray unselfconsciously with overflowing speech

For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress woven

From green and blue things and arguments that cannot be proven.{5}

The web of living creatures is itself part of the cosmos or material universe. Indeed the boundary between living and inanimate beings is rather fluid-as is the boundary between conscious and non-conscious life. The time is past when reality could be neatly divided into 'subjects' (humans) and 'objects' (everything else in the world). Modern science lends a lot of credibility to the intuition of Teilhard de Chardin that the world is not an agglomeration of separate objects but a unified whole�and that all of what is called 'matter' has an inherent tendency towards that level of complexity which can sustain life and, eventually, consciousness. Scientists like James Lovelock take this a stage further when they speak of 'the Gaia hypothesis'. This is the notion that life on the planet Earth as a whole can be seen as though it were a single living organism which carefully regulates its environment and its different parts to ensure its own survival.{6}

If we wish to engage in a prophetic ministry then we must expect the Spirit to touch our spirits and those of the people among whom we work. Ironically, we can dispose ourselves for this spiritual work, not by cutting ourselves off from the material world, but rather by opening ourselves up to Nature and the universe. This means, of course, contemplating the beauty and mystery of life and of Nature. But it also means 'getting our hands dirty'�digging the ground and planting seeds, draining or irrigating land, shaping wood and moulding clay, weaving cloth and generating electricity. It is only when we are 'grounded' in the Earth, both by work and by contemplation, that we can reach out to touch the stars and beyond. Then we are making available to the Spirit another 'channel' to get through to us personally, to all the people of our world�and to the Earth itself.

We read in St Matthew's Gospel that, after the temptation of Jesus, 'angels came and ministered to him' (Mt 4:11). St. Luke's Gospel tells us that during his Agony in the Garden 'there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him' (Lk 22:43). The early Christians firmly believed in the existence of angels; and for nineteen hundred years this belief was not seriously questioned in the Church. As children we were assured that God has given each of us a personal Guardian Angel to look after our welfare. This belief was based on the reference by Jesus in the Gospel to the angels of 'the little ones' (Mt 18:10).

Most non-Western peoples believe that we and our world are regularly affected by 'good' spirits, 'bad' spirits, and some which seem to have elements of good and bad in them. On the other hand, to most modern Western people any talk about spirits or angels seems somewhat quaint-at best an outdated relic of the past. As Western Christians became more secularised, the belief in Guardian Angels seems to have been attenuated almost to the point of extinction; while not formally denied it is widely neglected in practice. At best one could hope that it has been subsumed into a more general belief in the providence of God.

In recent times, however, the secularised West has been experiencing a revival of interest in spirits. This suggests a spiritual need which is overlooked by those who glibly dismiss the existence of angels and spirits. Many people are not satisfied with a spirituality which is built entirely around purely human commitment and moral striving. They need a belief-system which articulates their sense of being inspired, supported, encouraged, helped, challenged, rescued, transformed or redeemed. Those who have such experiences often feel they have been touched by benign and powerful spiritual forces that know them intimately but are, nevertheless, distinct from themselves.

People articulate these spiritual experiences in a variety of different ways. Some attribute all of them directly to God. Others are convinced that angels play an important role in them. Still others are not too sure-but they find it helpful to articulate their experience in terms of angelic powers. But do angels really exist as distinct personal beings? If so, do they intervene in our lives to guide and protect us? Some Christians insist that their faith requires them to answer 'yes' to these questions. Others think that to talk about guardian angels is just a vivid way of expressing our belief in the all-encompassing providential care of God and the manifold presence of God's Spirit. It is not necessary here to resolve this issue, since what is central from our point of view is that such angelic presences represent a channel for inspirations from the Spirit�and this is compatible with either understanding of angels.

The New Testament provides terms which people can use either literally or symbolically to articulate their spiritual experience. The phrase 'Guardian Angels and Spiritual Powers' in the heading of this section corresponds to the phrase 'Principalities and Powers' which is found in the older biblical translations.

In accordance with long-standing Christian tradition I use the term 'guardian angels'. I am adopting it as a modern equivalent of the biblical Greek term 'archai' which the older English versions translated as 'principalities' (see Col 1:15-6; 2:15; Eph 1:21; 3:10; 6:12).{7} In the Bible it is not just individuals who have guardian angels but also communities. In the Book of Revelation St John speaks of the 'angels' of various Churches (e.g. Rev 1:20; 2:1). By extending this conception of spiritual 'guardianship' we can envisage various guardian angels appointed by God to have responsibility for different communities, places, families, nations, and even different kinds of human activity (e.g. weaving, painting, or pottery).{8}

I use the term 'spiritual powers' to translate the Greek word 'exousiai' which St Paul uses alongside the word 'archai'. What I am referring to is a whole series of spiritual qualities such as peace, strength, hope, love, joy and beauty; they are not just moral qualities of the person but are experienced as gifts or visitations 'from beyond'. As in the case of the guardian angels, these angelic 'powers' can be understood to be personal spiritual entities; alternatively, they can be seen as manifestations or personifications or symbols of different kinds of grace or spiritual energy. What distinguishes them from guardian angels is that they are not linked to any particular place or activity; rather they are different energies sent by God's providence to help us respond authentically and creatively to particular situations-as when Jesus in his agony was sent an angel of strength (Lk 22:43).

St Paul insisted strongly that all the angels and spiritual powers are subject to the sovereignty of Christ (Rom 8:38: Eph 1:21; Col 1:16). So it is important that we see 'guardian angels and spiritual powers' as agents of God's providential care and of the liberating power of Jesus. This applies whether we understand these terms literally or as symbolic and metaphorical descriptions of ways in which God's Spirit touches our spirits.

What really matters is that we begin to notice the many powerful ways in which the Spirit of Jesus flows into our lives and into the lives of those among whom we live and work. One way of allowing this to happen is to pay more attention to the 'guardian angels and spiritual powers'. Our growth in awareness of that influx of guidance, protection and energy allows the divine energy to flow more freely among us. Just as the Spirit of God acts as midwife to us in our mission, helping us to bear fruit, so we in turn are privileged to be midwives to the mission of the Spirit by helping to widen the opening of this channel through which the Spirit enters our world.

Christians feel called to spread the Good News of Jesus Christ to others. But it is important that we be aware that the Spirit of Jesus has been at work before us�and has touched people at a much deeper level than we can ever hope to do. That is why we need to be aware of the many channels used by the Spirit to enter people's lives. If we cannot recognize the touch, the voice, the action of the Spirit in the situation where we are living, we will be working at cross purposes with the Spirit of God; and we will be deceiving ourselves in thinking that we are carrying on the mission of Jesus.

For Christians the really distinctive aspect of the human relationship with God is the belief that Jesus plays a central role in revealing God to us and opening for us a way to God. The role of Jesus complements that of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit works secretly in the human heart and anonymously in the shaping of human history. Jesus, on the other hand, is a public figure, a figure of history. This means that in order to understand him we have to look at him against the background of the historical era in which he lived and in which the early Church articulated its understanding of who he was and what his mission was. In the present chapter I shall attempt to begin this work by focusing on the life and public ministry of Jesus. In the following chapter I shall continue the process by examining his death and resurrection. I believe that this examination of the historical Jesus is the most effective way of showing how Jesus is relevant in every age and particularly in our own times.

Jesus grew up in a remote and despised corner of the Roman Empire. Like various empires which preceded and followed it, the Roman Empire engaged in ruthless political domination and economic exploitation of many nations and peoples. Its tentacles reached even into the remote villages of Palestine, for instance through the disruption caused by its census (Lk 2:1) and the demands of rapacious tax-collectors. In the cultural sphere the

Empire was equally oppressive; its milieu was a powerful mixture of Roman law and administration, Greek language and thought, alongside powerful religious currents many of which came from Egypt. The traditional religious beliefs and practices of the Jews were under severe pressure. There was an official worship of the Empire itself which was grossly offensive to the Jews.

In spite of the hostility between the Jewish nation and Rome, a small ruling class in Palestine had worked out an uneasy compromise with the Empire. Another small minority had cut themselves off as far as possible; and occasionally some of their members became involved in active rebellion against Rome. Most Jews confined themselves to a sullen and passive resistance to imperial rule.

One way of resisting the cultural oppression of the Empire was to develop a highly legalistic and fundamentalist devotion to the Jewish Law. In the time of Jesus the Scribes were the acknowledged experts in the Law; this gave them a high status among the people. The Pharisees gained their status in society by focusing on a meticulous fulfillment of the Law. The ordinary people, particularly those who were poor or disadvantaged, were looked down on not only by the imperial rulers and their lackeys but also by those who prided themselves on their knowledge of, or practice of, the Law. The people of the northern province of Galilee were particularly despised because they were not ethnically pure Jews.

This was the world into which Jesus was born. Up to the age of about thirty it seems that he lived a quiet life in an obscure village in Galilee, and was known by the local people as 'the carpenter, the son of Mary' (Mk 6:3). Then he felt a call to leave his home and join the thousands of his people who were gathering to listen to the prophetic message of John the Baptist. Jesus showed his solidarity with his people by going down into the water alongside hundreds of others to be baptized by John in the waters of the Jordan (Mk 1:9).

Coming up from the waters, Jesus had a remarkable experience-one which changed the whole direction of his life. As Mark describes it, Jesus 'saw the heavens opened'. This means that the vault of the skies was no longer a barrier between God's abode and our world. For Jesus, at this moment, God was evidently present to the human world, and at work in it. Mark goes on to say that Jesus saw God's Spirit 'descending upon him like a dove'. The dove is a bird which in the ancient Near East and in the Old Testament was seen as having a spiritual character: it was associated with the soul, with tender love (e.g. Song of Songs 2:14), and with God.{1} The account of the outpouring of the Spirit on Jesus recalls the experiences of the Old Testament prophets on whom the Spirit came. Clearly, the evangelist is suggesting that this event is the inauguration of the prophetic ministry of Jesus.

The Gospel then says that Jesus heard a voice from heaven telling him: 'You are my son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.' (Mk 1:11). This overwhelming sense of being accepted by God and cherished as 'the beloved' reminds us that for Jesus, as for the prophets who came before him, the very foundation for any prophetic mission was an overwhelming assurance of God's love and care. It is consoling for us to know that even Jesus needed such an assurance. It makes us aware that he was fully one of us, not just God masquerading as a human being.

The Spirit who descended on Jesus at his Baptism came not just to assure him of God's love but also to reveal God's will to him and to lead him in his ministry. The Gospels say that the Spirit first led him (or 'drove him') into a wilderness place (Mt 4:1; Mk 1:12). There he spent an extended period of time exploring the significance of his experience and discerning his future. Undoubtedly Jesus already felt called and impelled to share with others his conviction of God's love. It seems likely that the main focus of his discernment was how to evoke in others something of the overwhelming love and acceptance which he himself had experienced at his baptism. The issue for Jesus was not whether he would become a 'missionary' but rather what form his ministry would take.

Undoubtedly this discernment went on throughout Jesus' life, but the Gospels concentrate on two key moments. The first is the 'temptation' of Jesus just before he began his public ministry. The second is the agony he endured at the end of that ministry, as he faced death.

The account of the temptations of Jesus helps us to understand the fundamental choice faced by him regarding the way he should carry out his mission. He could present himself as a man of spiritual power able to provide instant solutions to the problems of those who followed him. In this way he would inspire the kind of blind devotion which would deprive his followers of personal responsibility for their lives. Such a leader can easily gather followers, because there are always plenty of wounded or lonely people who long for the easy answers provided by such cults as the 'Branch Davidians' or, before that, the disciples of Bob Jones. But the Gospels tell us that Jesus refused to take this path. He declined to turn stones into bread, or throw himself from the Temple or use spiritual power to impress or coerce people (Mt 4:1-12).

The kernel of the various Gospel accounts of the first confrontation between Jesus and the forces of evil was that he resisted the temptation to present himself as a wonder-worker who would attract followers by his miraculous powers. Instead, he committed himself to total trust and unconditional service of God (Mt 4:4-10). This was a choice which he reaffirmed all through his public life right up to his final agony. Indeed Albert Nolan, in his invaluable book Jesus Before Christianity (pp. 109-110) makes a strong case for saying that the key temptation in the life of Jesus came when Peter hailed him as Messiah and urged him to seize power (Mk 8:29-33). Nolan maintains that the evangelists put this in stylized form as a dialogue with Satan and transferred it back to the beginning of Jesus' public life. The main point is that, throughout his ministry, Jesus refused to be a figure of power, one who wanted to rule over others. He came not to be served but to serve and to give his life for others (Mk 10:45).{2}

The kind of ministry chosen by Jesus to carry out his mission was a way that fully respects others and was, for this reason, slow and at times very painful. Instead of looking to God as a worker of magic providing instant solutions, he looked within. Instead of cultivating a power that would set him apart from others and above others, he explored and unveiled the depths of spiritual power that are available to all who share his humanity and are willing to live with the kind of authenticity he showed throughout his life.

The outcome of the first major period of discernment in the life of Jesus was a decision about the style of his ministry and the content of his message. Basically, Jesus set out to share with his own people the experience he himself had at his baptism. He wanted others to have something of his own overwhelming sense of being loved and accepted by God. The heart of the 'good news' which Jesus preached was God's unconditional love for the people as a whole and for each individual. It was the fulfillment of the promises made by God through the prophets long ago (e.g. Jer 31:31-4; 33:6-9; Ezek 36:26-8). If people had that experience and lived out its implications then the 'reign of God' would indeed be present.

Jesus was particularly concerned about those who were outcast or disadvantaged in his world. The religious belief of his time gave little encouragement to such people. It was assumed that God shared the prejudices of the privileged categories of society. So those who were poor, or sick, or disturbed in mind-as well as those who engaged in such despised work as prostitution, collecting taxes or herding pigs-were given to believe that they were in some way cursed by God; certainly, neither their religious leaders nor their culture and belief-system gave them any reason to believe that God cared for them. Jesus went out of his way to meet and value such people. But he went further: as Albert Nolan points out (p. 27), Jesus was so moved by compassion for the plight of the outcasts that he made a deliberate choice to join them, to become an outcast himself. Indeed this was implicit in his decision to mix socially with the outcasts; for, in the eyes of the 'respectable' Jews of his time, by mixing with those who wee 'unclean' and 'sinners' he became contaminated by them.

Precisely because these people on the margins of respectable society were so needy, they were the ones who were most open to the message of Jesus. For, like every other human being, they too had a deep hunger to be valued and respected, to be treated as people who were truly precious. So, when Jesus socialized with them and defended them, this was indeed 'good news' for them. His friendship with them, his sitting down to eat with them, brought them a healing of spirit, a restoration of their belief in themselves and their own value. And, because Jesus was widely seen as 'a man of God', his friendship with the outcasts gave the clear message that they were loved by God.

A striking feature of the Synoptic Gospels (and to a lesser extent of John's Gospel) is the title which Jesus uses most frequently (about eighty times in all) when speaking about himself. The Greek phrase is 'ho huios tou anthropou', which is commonly translated as 'the Son of Man'. This translation is inappropriate because it now seems sexist; the word 'man' is no longer an accurate translation of the Greek word anthropos which refers to both men and women and is therefore more accurately translated as 'human'. A more inclusive and more accurate translation would be 'The Human One'.

The phrase ho huios tou anthropou is a common one in the Old Testament; in fact it is used more than ninety times in the Book of Ezekiel. There it refers to the prophet as a person, a human being, with the suggestion that he is a mere human, in contrast to the divine voice which speaks to him.{3} In the Book of Daniel its meaning may be somewhat extended so that the phrase would suggest a very special human person, one who represents all of his people and who also has a certain numinous aura about him since he comes 'on the clouds of heaven' (Dan 7:13). There are some (non-conclusive) indications that this extension of meaning may have been carried much further in later Jewish apocalyptic circles and in their non-canonical writings such as the first book of Enoch; then the phrase would refer to a heavenly messianic figure who was expected to come and bring judgement and salvation to God's people.

It is quite significant that, out of all the titles which could have been used by the evangelists as a title for Jesus, this one is given so much prominence. In fact it is used nearly twice as often as the title 'Christ'. Raymond Brown and other scriptural scholars put forward strong arguments for saying that the use of the title in the Gospels is not just a retrospective addition by the evangelists but that Jesus really used the title of himself. It was ideal for Jesus' purposes because it did not carry with it the overtones or 'baggage' associated with the title 'Messiah', but it nevertheless suggested a certain mysterious and heavenly character. It was a title which could imply that Jesus was a chosen instrument of God.

However, it would be a serious mistake to emphasise the 'heavenly' overtones of the phrase in a way that would play down its more literal meaning; for the literal meaning remains crucial. By using this title so frequently, the Gospels are emphasising the humanness of Jesus, and suggesting that his distinctive characteristic was precisely that he was human. It is not going too far to say that the title hints that Jesus is 'THE human' i.e. somebody who is not merely fully human but is even the epitome and model of what it means to be human. There are indications that some of the Jews of Jesus' time expected such a quintessential human to come as an agent of God's saving power.{4}

The real significance of this title 'the Human One' is that it suggests two slightly different aspects of the word 'solidarity', each of which is essential to an understanding of Jesus and his mission. Firstly, by emphasising his humanness, it brings out the fact that Jesus was in solidarity with us in the sense of being truly one of us, living a fully human life, sharing our joys, our suffering and our search for meaning and purpose. Secondly, in the light of the particular connotations of the term in Jesus' time, it suggests somebody who is in solidarity with us in the sense of being both a representative of all humanity and the fulfillment of humanity's highest purposes.

This notion that Jesus is in solidarity with all people and is a representative of humanity is articulated quite explicitly in one passage in Matthew's Gospel. Jesus is describing the coming of 'the Human One' at the final judgement and he puts these words in his mouth: 'I was hungry and you fed me, thirsty and you gave me drink ... in prison and you visited me. ... As often as you did it to one of these the least of my brothers or sisters, you did it to me.' (Mt 25:35-40). The obvious meaning is that Jesus identifies himself with all humans and especially with those who are outcast and left on the margins of society.

If this understanding of the title 'the Human One' is valid, then the implications are very important. It means that the fundamental message of Jesus is already present in germ in the title 'the Human One'. This message is that, in a certain sense, Jesus himself is not unique. He is our representative; we are in solidarity with him. We, too, have within us an element of that which was most distinctive about him and which made it possible for him to play his unique role in human history.{5} Like him, we can share his sense of total acceptance by God and the experience of unbounded love poured out on him. Jesus came to tell us, and to witness to us, that to be fully and genuinely human is to stand before God with the same complete freedom of spirit which he had himself. To follow Jesus is to seek to live with the same total authenticity as he lived-a life so richly and deeply human that it goes far beyond the limits of what we commonly call human.

This was such an unusual and challenging message that Christians down through the ages have found it almost impossible to be content with it. Again and again they have yielded to the temptation to forget it or play it down by turning Jesus into a dominating figure, with superhuman powers. The most common way in which they have done this is by focusing on his divinity in a way that undermines and undervalues his humanity. (Enda Lyons gives a very fine account of this process in his book Jesus, Self-Portrait by God.{6}) The irony is that those who present Jesus as having superhuman power are missing out on the real power he had and which he offers to us-the power to be fully and totally human.

If we say that Jesus was 'fully and totally human' what does that mean in practice? We can begin to answer this question by looking at some of his rich human qualities. The Gospels show that one outstanding characteristic of Jesus was his great compassion for those in trouble-for instance, for people who were hungry (Mt 14:14), for a bereaved widow (Lk 7:13), for a woman whose back had been bent for many years (Lk 13:16), for a wedding group who had run short of wine (Jn 2:1-11) and for the hundreds of others whom he healed or liberated from troubling spirits: 'As he saw the crowds, his heart was filled with pity for them, because they were worried and helpless' (Mt 9:36).

The courage of Jesus was also remarkable. He dared to drive the merchants out of the Temple (Lk 19:45) and refused to be accountable to the chief priests (e.g. Lk 20:8). He accused the lawyers and Pharisees of being hypocrites (Mt 23:25). He used the word 'fox' as a derogatory term when referring to Herod (Lk 13:32) and reminded Pilate that God was the source of political authority (Jn 19:11). He also had the courage to challenge his own close friend Peter for his presumption (Jn 13:38) and to rebuff him harshly when Peter wanted him to 'play safe' (Mt 16:23).

One of the more striking aspects of the life of Jesus as recounted in the Gospels is his friendships. He had the ability to gather around him a group of men and women who were not merely his disciples but also his close friends. He shared his very busy preaching and healing ministry with them (Lk 10:1). He celebrated with them (e.g. Jn 2-the wedding feast of Cana). Occasionally he called them aside to spend a time of prayer and dialogue with him (e.g. Mk 4:34; Lk 9:10). He even called them his mother and his brothers and sisters (Lk 8:21). St John's Gospel sums up the character of his friendship in its account of the Last Supper where Jesus says: 'I do not call you servants any longer ... I call you friends ..' (Jn 15:15). And St Matthew's Gospel gives us his poignant words to Judas who was betraying him with a kiss: 'Friend, why are you here?' (Mt 26:50).

The synoptic Gospels make it clear that despite the obvious rivalries among the circle of his companions (e.g. Mk 9:34; 10:41),

Jesus did not hesitate to pick out Peter, James and John as his particularly close friends (e.g. Mt 17:1; Mk 5:37; 9:2). It must have been a wonderful experience to be a close friend of Jesus. For, in addition to all the obvious riches to be gained, there was also the fact that, as Albert Nolan (p. 42) remarks, 'Jesus was a remarkably cheerful person and ... his joy, like his faith and hope, was infectious. ... Jesus feasted while John fasted.'

The love of Jesus for his friends is an important theme of St John's Gospel. For instance John describes how close Jesus was to Martha and Mary and their brother Lazarus�and how he was moved to tears by the grief of Martha over the death of her brother (Jn 11:33-36). This Gospel also indicates that Jesus was prepared to take the risk of allowing John to be known as 'the disciple whom Jesus loved' (Jn 13:23; 19:26; 20:2; 21:7). The account in John's Gospel of the reunion of Mary and Jesus after the resurrection is particularly touching (Jn 20:14-7). And the final chapter of the same Gospel gives a very moving account of how Jesus repeatedly asked Peter whether he loved him (Jn 21:15-7).

What Jesus offered was not simply a one-way friendship in which he was invariably the one who gave, and the contribution of all the others was simply to be the recipients of his goodness. The real test of the friendship that existed between him and his three special companions came when he was facing up to his imminent death. He took Peter, James and John with him into the garden and asked them to 'watch with' him during his agony (Mt 26:38). His calling on them for solidarity and support is perhaps the greatest single proof of the genuineness of the human life he lived. It reassures us that we can be fully and authentically human even when we find ourselves in darkness and depression.

Love and close friendship did not prevent Jesus from being irritated with those who were close to him (e.g. Mt 8:26; 17:17-20). At times he challenged them quite sharply (e.g. Mt 16:23-'Get behind me Satan'). On other occasions his challenge was much more gentle. We see this, for instance, when he reminded James and John that power over evil spirits was not of primary importance (Lk 10:18), and when he washed the feet of his disciples before the Last Supper and spelled out the implications of this act of loving service (Jn 13:4-17).

As well as giving us an example of virtues such as compassion and friendship, Jesus also explored the deeper reaches of what it means to be human. We see this particularly in the way in which he plumbed human vulnerability. Having resisted the temptation to be one who dominated others by his power, he committed himself to love despite the risk of rejection. In offering himself as a friend to all who dared accept the offer, he was leaving himself wide open to frustration (e.g. Mt 17:17-'how long must I put up with you!') and bitter disappointment (e.g. Lk 13:34-'How often have I wanted to put my arms around you, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you would not let me!'). It was this trusting love of Jesus which left him open to be betrayed and sold by Judas whom he had accepted as a friend (Mt 26:49-50), and to be denied by Peter, the very close friend to whom he had given a special role of leadership (Mt 26:70-5).

A still deeper level of vulnerability in Jesus came from his total trust in the one he called Abba. The ultimate test of this trust came only when, nailed to the cross, he felt himself utterly abandoned not just by Peter and Judas but by his Abba God. No wonder, then, that he cried out in the words of the psalm: 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' (Mt 27:46). In order to enter into the fullness of what it means to be human, Jesus had to endure and transcend this sense of being utterly deserted both by his human friends and by God.

The Gospels indicate that, during the years of his public ministry, he had come to see that his liberating mission would bring him into an ultimate clash with the authorities and that he had to prepare himself to face even death. So he steeled himself to 'go up to Jerusalem' and face that final confrontation. But as he did so, he must have had some human hope of being vindicated by the God to whom he had entrusted himself totally. Perhaps he had not yet fully let in the fact that his life would be cut off in its prime. Or perhaps he hoped that he would meet death with such dignity that people of good will would be won over. He could hardly have imagined that he would be so shamefully betrayed or abandoned by his friends and followers and that his mission and his life would come to an end in such an undignified and humiliating failure. This stretched his faith almost to breaking-point.

When, at the very end, Jesus committed his spirit into the hands of God (Lk 23:46), that was a supreme act of faith. He did not relinquish his ultimate trust in God but he no longer relied on any human calculation of how that trust could be vindicated. The way he finally faced death shows that to be authentically human we too must have faith like his. It means abandoning every attempt to control God or to specify how God's love will ultimately triumph.

Though we are called to take responsibility for our lives, the fact is that we often find ourselves helpless in the face of the intractable and unpredictable power of nature (shown, for example, in the destructive power of an earthquake). Far more frightening than such physical evil is the implacable malevolence of moral evil-seen, for instance, in the horrors of the Holocaust and more recent instances of genocide. The way Jesus faced and accepted his crucifixion teaches us that to be truly human we must acknowledge the full reality of evil and find a meaning and purpose in life beyond this evil, rather than by failing to let it in.

To continue living authentically in the face of incomprehensible evil over which we have no control is to commit ourselves in faith into the hands of the One who remains always beyond our comprehension. It means recognizing how often we have half unconsciously put our trust in an idol made in our own image, a god whose basic function is to underpin our plans.{7} To be genuinely human is to let go of that idol and commit ourselves even in the darkest times to the mystery which we call God and whom Jesus named 'Abba'. We make that commitment by clinging, like Jesus, to the hope that, beyond all hope and despite all the contrary evidence, there is a meaning behind the dark mysteries of life and death�and that that meaning will ultimately be unveiled as love.

Over the past generation a rich new light has been thrown on what it means to say that Jesus was committed to be fully and authentically human. The breakthrough comes from the convergence of liberation theology and feminist biblical studies. For centuries there had been a tendency to think of the central meaning of the Christian faith in individualistic terms, focusing on each person's relationship with God and with other people. This was challenged in a very radical way by Guti�rrez, Segundo, Sobrino, the Boff brothers and the other liberation theologians; they emphasised the ways in which an oppressive political system and an exploitative economic system can make it almost impossible for people to live a fully human life. Feminist writers added a new dimension by their emphasis on the patriarchal system. Perhaps their most important contribution was the way in which they showed that patriarchy is operative in the legal and economic structures of society and has also been internalized in the taken-for-granted attitudes of people and the values and mindsets of a culture.

This emphasis on internalized oppression opened the door for a new understanding of the mission of Jesus. Whereas the main focus of liberation theology (especially in its early years) was on the Exodus and on the Old Testament prophets, feminist biblical scholars focused directly on Jesus and the challenge which he mounted against the patriarchal mindset and the whole culture of patriarchy. Perhaps the best-known and most influential of these studies is Elisabeth Sch�ssler Fiorenza's, In Memory of Her.{8) This locates Jesus within an 'inner-Jewish renewal movement that presented an alternative option to the dominant patriarchal structures' (p. 107). He was the focal point of an egalitarian movement in which God was seen not just as Yahweh but in the more feminine notion of Sophia or Wisdom (cf. Sch�ssler Fiorenza pp. 132-6).

Jesus attacked the central pillar in the patriarchal structure, namely, the family. As Sch�ssler Fiorenza remarks: 'Without question the discipleship of Jesus does not respect patriarchal family bonds, and the Jesus movement in Palestine severely intrudes into the peace of the patriarchal household' (p.146)

Jesus put forward a concept of family in which all are sisters and brothers and there are no patriarchal fathers. 'Call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father who is in heaven' (Mt 23:9). These words (and other Gospel texts) show that Jesus repudiated all claims to power and status based on fatherhood (cf. Sch�ssler Fiorenza pp. 147-51).

The friendship of Jesus with women-even 'bad' women (e.g. Lk 7:37-9)-was quite contrary to what would have been expected of a 'respectable' Jewish religious teacher of his time. John's account of the meeting of Jesus with the Samaritan woman shows us a man who was scandalously willing to reach out beyond the conventional boundaries not only of race but also of gender to befriend a foreign women on the roadside (Jn 4:7-9).

The Scripture scholar Walter Wink gives three striking examples of how, according to Luke's Gospel, Jesus challenged the patriarchal mindset.{9} These are worth mentioning because those who do not have a detailed knowledge of the society in which Jesus lived could easily miss the significance of his behaviour. Firstly, Jesus touched and spoke in public to a sick women whom he healed (Lk 13:12-6); he went on to put her in the middle of the synagogue (which was of course reserved for men); and he called her a 'daughter of Abraham', a phrase that is unique in the bible since the Jews invariably spoke of the 'sons of Abraham'. Secondly, Jesus refused to go along with the assumption typical of Jewish society in his time that Mary's value derived simply from being the mother of such a wonderful man; he insisted instead that her greatness lay in her ability to hear the word of God (Lk 11:27-8). Thirdly, Jesus approved of Mary, a woman, taking the position of a disciple-a role that was the prerogative of men (Lk 10:3-42).

There is good reason, then, for Wink's claim (p. 112) that Jesus was 'not a minor reformer, but an egalitarian prophet who repudiates the very premises on which domination is based: the right of some to lord it over others ...'

Jesus was equally uncompromising in his challenge to other forms of domination and authoritarianism. He saw how the fundamental purpose of the Jewish Law had become distorted by the religious authorities of his time. The Law had been given by God as an instrument for the protection of the poor and the marginalised; but it was now being used to oppress 'the common people'. The arrogance of those who saw themselves as the experts in the Law is expressed in the passage in John's Gospel where the evangelist has some of the key Pharisees say, 'this crowd who do not know the Law are accursed' (Jn 7:49). The anger of Jesus with the Pharisees and the Scribes has to be understood as springing from his outrage with the way in which they were colluding in the oppression of the vulnerable people by giving the impression that God was on the side of the wealthy and the powerful.

Jesus' indifference to the detailed prescriptions of the religious leaders about the observance of the Sabbath (e.g. Mt 12:1-8) and about ritual purity in eating (Mt 15:20) was far more than a disagreement with the Pharisees on a purely religious issue. It represents a calculated 'option for the poor' by Jesus-a considered choice to be on the side of 'the common people' who did not have the leisure to be concerned with such minutiae.

This 'option for the poor' is even more evident in the deliberate way in which Jesus persisted in mixing with 'unclean' outcasts despite the offense which this gave to the religious 'experts' of his people. The Gospels make it clear that he made a point of welcoming and socializing with people who were despised as public sinners (Mt 9:10-3). On the other hand, the Gospels also suggest that Jesus did not limit his friendship in a doctrinaire way to the poor and the outcast. He was prepared to be friends with, and eat with, Simon the pharisee (Lk 7:36) and to engage in serious dialogue with Nicodemus, who was one of the ruling class (Jn 3:1-21). The truly radical quality of Jesus' friendship lay in its utterly non-exclusive quality.

Jesus lived in a world where the oppressive use of Roman imperial power was an everyday reality�and where it was so resented that Israel was hovering on the brink of revolution. In this situation, violent resistance was counter-productive, since every time there was a rebellion it was savagely repressed�and not long after the time of Jesus an uprising led to the total destruction of the Jewish State. Furthermore, not only were the Jewish people as a whole victims of imperial injustice, but the nation at this time seemed to have internalized this oppression. It had become a violent and unjust society where the wealthy and the powerful oppressed the poor and the vulnerable who had no redress.

How then did Jesus take the side of the oppressed? What he proposed was a policy of non-violent resistance. He advised his followers to turn the other cheek, to go the extra mile and to give their undergarment to the one who takes their outer garment (Mt 5:39-41). This is usually understood to mean that we should in no way resist oppressive behaviour. But Walter Wink, by a careful study of the customs of the time, puts up a strong case for interpreting this passage in a very different way (pp.175-83). He maintains that Jesus is suggesting a set of clever non-violent strategies by which victims could resist the injustice. This resistance would have two aspects. Firstly, the victims would affirm their own human dignity in the face of the indignities imposed on them. Secondly, they would put their oppressors to shame-for instance by standing naked before the oppressor.

Such active but non-violent resistance would be very much in line with the behaviour of Jesus himself during his trial, as I shall point out in the next chapter. There is no support for a policy of passivity in either the words or the life of Jesus. But the radicality of his approach was that he refused to be 'boxed in' to choosing between a violent response to evil on the one hand or, on the other hand, acquiesence in injustice. What he stood for was active resistance, carried out in a non-violent manner. The whole point of this approach is that it is 'a way of opposing evil without becoming evil in the process' (Wink p. 127).

The sheer radicality of Jesus' rejection of domination and authoritarianism of all kinds is well brought out by Wink in this passage (p.110):

Not only did he and his followers repudiate the autocratic values of power and wealth, but the institutions and systems that authorized and supported these values: the family, the Law, the sacrificial system, the Temple, kosher food regulations, the distinction between clean and unclean, patriarchy, role expectations for women and children, the class system, the use of violence, racial and ethnic divisions, the distinction between insider and outsider-indeed, every conceivable prop of domination, division, and supremacy.

It is against this background that we can begin to understand the programme of religious and moral education which Jesus put before his followers. The teachings gathered together in the Sermon on the Mount (Mt 5:1-7:29; Lk 6:2-49) were not intended to help people to live contentedly within the existing political, social, economic and religious system. Instead, they call in question both the values and the institutions of the time; and they provide inspiration for those who wish to follow Jesus in searching for a more authentically human style of living, one which resists every kind of domination and at the same time refuses to fight against domination by using the weapons of oppressors.

After nearly two thousand years the challenge and the inspiration remain as strong as ever. Today, as in every age, people find rich spiritual nourishment and motivation in the beatitudes and in the lessons Jesus taught his friends about what God is really like (e.g. Mt 5:45), about our attitude towards God (e.g. Lk 18:9-14; Mt 6:5-6), and about how we ought to pray (Mt 6:5-13). Like his first followers, people today are still challenged and energized by the radicality of his teaching about loving our enemies (Mt 5:44) and unlimited forgiveness (Mt 18:22).

If we look for one word which describes in today's terms the effect which Jesus had on his friends and followers then this word 'energize' comes to mind. Think of the woman who poured out precious ointment on the feet of Jesus (Lk 7:38). Or think of the instant response of Simon Peter, James and John to his call: 'They pulled their boats up on the beach, left everything and followed him' (Lk 5:11). It is obvious that this woman and these men were totally enamoured of him, fascinated not so much by his power as by the energy that he exuded. He was literally a 'dynamic' character; for his words and even his body were filled with what the Greek New Testament calls 'dunamis' (Lk 6:19; Mk 5:30)-a word that is best translated as 'energy'. This helps to explain how so many people were drawn to hear him. It throws light on why sensible working people were willing to give up their work of fishing or tax-collecting and devote their whole lives to him.

The words of Jesus were filled with this power. What an energizing effect the Sermon on the Mount must have had: what strength it must have brought to poor people, to those who felt themselves persecuted, to those who were weak and those who deliberately opted to be gentle, to be peacemakers (Mt 5:3-12). What a forceful challenge it was to those who were rich and powerful (Lk 6:24-5)�and what a powerful effect that must have had on 'the common people' who flocked around Jesus. The Gospels make it clear that those who thronged around him were really excited by the power of his words and the energy and magnetism of his personality (e.g. Mt 21:9). This excitement was noticed by the authorities who felt it as a real threat to their position (e.g. Lk 19:47-8; Jn 12:19).

The followers of Jesus saw him as a wonder-worker�and in this they were quite correct. But this was secondary. The primary quality of the Jesus of the Gospels was that he was a wondrous person, one who inspired wonder and awe in others. He revealed to his followers, both of his own time and today, the wonder of what it means to be human. This is seen in a particularly heightened way in the account of the Transfiguration (Mt 17:1-9: Mk 9:2-10; Lk 9:28-36). On the mountain, the face of Jesus became radiant and even his clothes seemed to radiate the inner light that was in him. Yet the disciples had no sense that the Jesus they saw there was a different person-or even that he had some extra quality added on. They felt rather that the veil had been lifted. So they became fully aware of the inner glory that was his always but which they had previously only glimpsed.

It would be far too easy to say that what the disciples experienced on the mountain was the divinity of Jesus. There may be a sense in which this is true. But it would be quite out of keeping with the Gospel accounts to contrast this 'divinity' with his 'humanity' which was visible at other times. The traditional Jewish sign of God's presence was a cloud; and, in the account of the transfiguration, Jesus was not identified with the cloud. Rather, the cloud enveloped the top of the mountain, as it did when Moses was given the Law. The Gospels do not show Jesus being worshipped but rather conversing with Moses and Elijah, the two figures who sum up the whole prophetic tradition. The voice from the cloud tells the disciples to listen to Jesus; this indicates that Jesus is the new Moses, the founding figure of a new prophetic tradition. Moses was seen pre-eminently as the servant of God, and (as I pointed out in chapter 2) he was the founding figure in a line of prophets. Similarly, the role of Jesus was to be the new 'servant'; and he would become a new source of prophecy. This new prophetic tradition, while in continuity with that of Moses and the prophets, would be one where the Spirit would be much more abundantly and evidently at work (cf. Jn 7:39).

Being aware of the energy which filled Jesus and poured out of him we can have a better understanding of his role as a wonder-worker. For the irony is that, having resisted the temptation to present himself as a figure of power, a worker of impressive wonders, Jesus went on to become a wonder-worker of a different and far more impressive kind. It was not so much that he performed miracles but that he himself was a living miracle.

The people who gathered to listen to Jesus quickly sensed that he had a healing power: 'All the people tried to touch him, for power was going out from him and healing them all' (Lk 6:19). It is obvious that he himself was conscious of this power as an energy that flowed out of him: 'Jesus knew that energy had gone out of him, so he turned round in the crowd and asked "Who touched my clothes?"' (Mk 5:30).

The Gospels make it clear that the wonders of Jesus were in no sense magical. So it is a good Christian instinct which makes Biblical scholars of recent times call in question the literal truth of any Gospel story which has a magical tone-for instance, the account of the fish with the coin in its mouth (Mt 17:27). But, while scholars are entitled to have a healthy scepticism about magic, they are quite wrong if they assume that Jesus had no extraordinary power and that the 'marvels' he performed could only be seen as such in an unscientific and credulous age. We are missing out on the heart of the Gospel story if we refuse to accept that Jesus evoked awe not only by the magnetism of his personality but also by the wonders he performed. What the Gospels suggest is that Jesus was able to tap into a source of energy which is an intrinsic part of human life. And we know that this kind of power or energy has also been tapped, in varying degrees, by other gifted and deeply religious people.

The apocryphal Gospels are full of miracle stories which give the impression that Jesus had a magical power. The authentic Gospels, by contrast, convey a very different impression. They suggest, for instance, that his power to heal people was in some way dependent on the faith of those who were to be healed (Mt 13:58). This 'faith' of theirs seems to be the ability to tap into the healing energy that could flow between Jesus and the sick or troubled person. It could take time for that energy to become fully operative, as we see in the story of the blind man who regained his sight in stages (Mk 8:24). This suggests that it was not a simple matter of Jesus transferring healing energy to those he cured; it seems rather that a latent healing energy within them was activated and augmented by Jesus.

There are suggestions in St John's Gospel that Jesus was a person of remarkable perspicacity. For instance:

* he knew what had been happening in the heart of Nathaniel before he met him (Jn 1:47-8);

* he knew he could not trust some people (Jn 2:24-5);

* he knew when people were 'murmuring' about his teaching (Jn 6:61);

* he knew who would betray him (Jn 6:64; 13:11);

�and he knew when his 'hour' had come (13:1).

No doubt, each of these instances could be explained as shrewd guesses by Jesus. But, as John presents him, Jesus had the ability to read the minds and hearts of those with whom he came in contact. However, this does not come across as a magical power. It is rather the kind of ability which evokes wonder in people, but which other sensitive humans also possess in varying degrees.

What about the 'miraculous' draft of fishes and the nature miracles recounted in the Gospels? Should we, for instance, interpret the calming of the storm in a metaphorical way rather than take it literally? Perhaps. But I do not think we should rush to this conclusion. For there are indications not only in the Gospels but also in the scriptures and traditions of various non-Christian religions that deeply spiritual people may develop a special rapport with nature. This attunement to nature may not be 'miraculous' in the conventional sense in which it is hard to distinguish between a miracle and a magical action. It may rather be a fully human capacity-a gift which could be 'normal' but which remains rare simply because few people expect it or are willing to take the steps required to actualize it.{10}

There are passages in the Gospels which indicate that Jesus knew that the power to perform marvels was by no means unique to himself. According to Luke's Gospel he gave his disciples the power to heal (Lk 9:1-2) and the ability to be unharmed if they walked on snakes or scorpions (Lk 10:18). And John's Gospel reports him as saying that his followers will perform even greater marvels than Jesus himself (Jn 14:12). His remarks about the power of faith to move trees (Lk 17:6) and mountains (Mt 17:20; 21:21), though they may be hyperbolical, nevertheless suggest a latent power that can be tapped by faith. And the passage at the end of Mark's Gospel foretelling that believers would not only heal the sick but would even survive poisonous drinks and snake-bite (16:18) has the ring of literal truth; for it was obviously written with hindsight, in the light of such events as the healing miracles of the early Christian community (e.g. Acts 3:6; 5:15-6; 19:11-2) and Paul's encounter with a snake (Acts 28:5-6).

The early Christians evidently took Jesus at his word and worked marvels similar to his. But they were very careful not to allow themselves to act like magicians or to present themselves as people who had divine power. Having healed a lame man in Lystra, Paul and Barnabas were appalled to find that this caused them to be mistaken for gods in human form. They shouted out: 'We are only human beings like yourselves.' (Acts 14:15). Their Christian experience had convinced them that 'ordinary human beings' could exercise the same kind of healing power as Jesus did.

The real secret of the energizing power of Jesus lay in the fact that his personality glowed with a creative power which people seemed to sense was a share in God's own life. They knew that he was filled with, and led by, God's Spirit. This put him in the prophetic tradition, since the distinctive feature of the prophet was the inspiration of God's Spirit. After his death his followers also found themselves filled with God's Spirit through the experience of Pentecost (and later similar experiences). But the crucial point was that they experienced the Spirit who energized them to be not just the Spirit of God but also the Spirit of Jesus (Acts 16:7). This meant that Jesus was more than a prophet; he was the source of the prophetic Spirit, which put him in the sphere of the divine.

One way in which the early Christians expressed their belief about Jesus was by calling him 'the image of the invisible God' (Col 1:15).{11} This is a beautiful way of describing both his mission and his personality. It describes his mission because in his ministry of healing, teaching, energizing and giving life he was showing forth in the world what the transcendent God is really like. He was continuing the work of the prophets but at a much deeper level. But the phrase also describes the personality of Jesus. For those who gathered around him did not come simply to hear a word, a message from God. Rather they saw in Jesus himself-his words, his manner, his attitudes, his life-style, his whole person-a quality of such tenderness, generosity, healing power and creative energy that for them it was an image and a glimpse of the divine.

Another way in which the New Testament articulates early Christian belief about Jesus is by applying to him the prophetic title 'Emmanuel, God with us' (Mt 1:23). This indicates that the life-work and the personality of Jesus were evidence of God's presence. But it goes further, because it suggests that, in the life of Jesus, God is actively involved in our human history, not just through the divine providential directing of it 'from beyond' but also from within and as part of this history.

Some years later this was taken a step further when St John's Gospel (2:21) referred to the body of Jesus as the Temple, the place where God is present on earth. The same idea is expressed in a more dynamic form in the Prologue to that Gospel which says that 'the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us' (1:14). The phrase 'dwelt among us' might be translated more literally as 'pitched his tent among us'; so the evangelist is comparing Jesus to the 'tabernacle' or sacred tent in which, in the Old Testament, God travelled with the people on their long desert march. (The idea that Jesus was the temple or 'tabernacle' of God is also implicit in the text in John's Gospel [10:36] where Jesus speaks of himself as the one whom God 'consecrated'; I shall return to this passage at the end of this chapter, since it throws a lot of light on our relationship to Jesus.)

When John's Gospel says 'the Word was made flesh', it identifies Jesus with the Word of God. It means that Jesus is not just one who delivers God's message but is himself the human expression of God. The very first verse of the Prologue is still more explicit when it says, 'the Word was with God and the Word was God' (Jn 1:1). This clear affirmation of the divinity of Jesus

at the very beginning of the Gospel is quite deliberately matched with another explicit affirmation at its end, where the evangelist puts in the mouth of Thomas the words 'My Lord and my God' (Jn 20:28). This phrase was probably a formula of the faith in common use at the time the Gospel was written, perhaps sixty years after the death of Jesus. By including these words in the Gospel the writer gave definitive expression to a conviction which in the intervening years had been growing in explicitness and clarity-the conviction that Jesus was divine.{12}

One of the eucharistic prefaces for Christmas finds unusually accurate and beautiful words to articulate the Christian faith in the divinity of Jesus. It says:

In the mystery of the incarnation your eternal Word has brought to the eyes of faith a new and radiant vision of your light. In him we see our God made visible and so are caught up in the love of the God we cannot see.

The particular value of this formulation is that it expresses the truth that Jesus is divine, but in doing so it brings out the reason why the Word took flesh: Jesus 'unveils' God for us and in this way draws us into God's love.

It is important that in speaking of Jesus as divine we do so in a way that avoids the kind of 'redundancy' which for many centuries has weakened the Christian understanding of the Trinity and thereby impoverished our spirituality. By 'redundancy' I mean the tendency to think and speak as if Jesus and the Holy Spirit were just different names for God. The effect of this jumbling together was that Christians at prayer no longer experienced much difference between the transcendent God ('the Father'), the indwelling Spirit, and Jesus the living image of God who shares our human life. This helps to explain how for so long the Spirit came to be more or less forgotten, since few Christians had a vivid sense of a distinct purpose or identity for the Spirit. It is also the reason why Christians were seldom encouraged to pray with Jesus to the one whom he called 'Abba'. In popular piety, the Word who had come forth from God to be in solidarity with us was almost subsumed back into God.

The New Testament usage avoids this kind of fuzziness. It does not directly give the title 'God' to what Raymond Brown calls 'the Jesus of the ministry',{13} i.e. to the accounts of Jesus during his human life on earth. That title is given rather to the triumphant resurrected Jesus (Heb 1:8-9; Jn 20:28) and to the pre-existent Word who lives with God (Jn 1:1; 1:18).

I have already noted the beauty and appropriateness of the title given to Jesus in the Epistle to the Colossians: 'the image of the invisible God' (Col 1:15). It is particularly significant that this passage goes on immediately to call Jesus 'the first-born of all creation'. This can be linked to a rather similar text in Paul's letter to the Romans, which says that Jesus is 'the first-born among many brothers and sisters' (Rom 8:29). This suggests that, though he may be the first and most perfect image of God, he is not the only image. We too, like him, are called to be images of God. Confirmation of that idea is found in the first chapter of the first book of the Bible where we are told that humans were fashioned in the image and likeness of God (Gen 1:26-7).

The text from the book of Genesis brings home to us the crucial point that what made Jesus the 'image of the invisible God' was precisely his full humanity-not something extra added on to it. He was a perfect image of God because of the totality and authenticity of his humanity. Echoing Karl Rahner, Albert Nolan (p.138) remarks that in Jesus the human and the divine have been brought together in such a way that they represent one and the same religious value and so, 'In this sense ... Jesus' divinity is the transcendent depths of his humanity.'

The remarkable human eloquence of Jesus, and his human qualities such as love, respect, dedication, creativity and fidelity mirrored the qualities of God. But in order to have a complete image of God we need to take account also of the more unusual human powers exercised by Jesus. These are powers which most people would consider to be superhuman, for instance, his gift of healing, his ability to read the human heart and his perfect rapport with nature.

Why include such unusual powers? Because the 'wonders' worked by Jesus were a central aspect of his mission to bring the world to fulfillment. It would make a mockery of the incarnation to think that Jesus as human was just a passive agent or channel of the wondrous healing and life-giving power of God. Rather his total humanity, including his fully developed unusual powers, was an active agent of healing, liberation and creativity; his own human energy was at work in this aspect of his ministry, just as much as in his teaching.

There is no question of seeing two distinct kinds of activity in Jesus, the first being his human actions and the second being a passive waiting for God to act in response to his petitions. The healing brought about by Jesus was not an intervention 'from outside' by God in response to the request of Jesus; for that would be a kind of magic. The deep meaning of the Incarnation is that all of the healing, liberation and life-giving which God brought about through Jesus came through his human activity.{14} These human actions were, literally, wonder-full; they were channels for a creative, healing life and power which was fully human and was at the same time truly divine. In this way they ensured that Jesus was truly the image of the invisible God.

If it was the humanity of Jesus which made him the image of God, and if he is the first-born of many brothers and sisters, then we are called to follow him in being images of the invisible God. His life and witness are a call to each of us to allow our humanity to be used in the same way.

Obviously, we should follow the example of Jesus in loving and serving others, in challenging hypocrisy, in resisting all systems of domination in a radical and non-violent manner, in being faithful to the bitter end, and in praying constantly to God. But we should equally follow his example in activating those 'extraordinary' latent (or partly latent) energies in us which can make us wondrous sources of healing and new life for others. The Incarnation unveils the fact that all of us have within us a creative and healing power which is truly god-like. This is an intrinsic part of what it means to be human.

I referred earlier to a text in John's Gospel (10:36) where Jesus speaks of himself as 'consecrated' by God. This passage is part of the response of Jesus to the accusation that he made himself God and was therefore guilty of blasphemy (10:33). He defended himself by making a very interesting comparison with a passage in one of the Old Testament psalms. Referring there to the judges, the psalmist called them 'gods' (Ps 82:6). This was because the judges were vehicles of the word of God and representatives or deputies of God.{15} If the judges can be called 'gods', argues the Jesus of

John's Gospel (10:34-8), what is the objection to using the title 'Son of God' for the one whom God consecrated [as God's temple] and sent into the world [as the vehicle of God's word and God's special representative]?

From our point of view, the particular value of this passage is the approach it adopts to the issue of the gap between God and mere mortals. The way in which Christians have usually dealt with this question is by seeing the gap as quite unbridgeable and by putting ordinary humans on one side of the gap and situating Jesus very firmly alongside God on the other side. That is the source of the constant tendency to play down or neglect the humanity of Jesus. John's Gospel adopts a very different approach: we might say that this text offers stepping-stones for crossing the gap between God and humanity. The first of these stepping-stones is located on the side nearest humanity; it is the fact that judges and other representatives of God can be called 'gods', because God is actively present in and through them. The second stepping-stone is the temple or 'tabernacle'; even though this is a part of creation it is nevertheless a real presence of God in our midst. These stepping-stones open our minds and hearts to accet Jesus as not just a stepping-stone but as a real bridge, one who spans the gap between God and humanity. In this passage, John shows us Jesus claiming to be the living consecrated temple of God (10:36); he also claims to be the one who performs the works of God (10:37)-that is, the one in whom God is actively at work in bringing healing and liberation to the world.

The implications of this approach are crucially important for Christians in every age�and particularly so today when we are called to be in dialogue with 'New Age' thinking (which I shall look at in some detail in Chapters 6 and 7). It means that, while the gap between God and creation remains very real, God has actually bridged the gap. Jesus is one who truly stands on both sides of the gap. And we-we who are in solidarity with Jesus, who are sent out by him as his representatives to continue his mission (Mt 28:19-20), who share in his life-energy and bring it to others-we too are not just agents of the divine but share in some degree in the divine life itself. This is the great truth which was expressed by the

Greek Fathers by saying that by grace Christians become 'divinised'.

We are privileged to share both in the life and in the activity of Jesus. What he did is what we are all called to do, in varying degrees. As we become more like Jesus we become more fully human. Conversely, as we become more fully human we become more like Jesus, sharing more and more in the creative and healing energy which was so characteristic of him. And as we become more like him we become more authentic images of God. Our mission is a continuation of his mission. It is to be a living revelation to others, and to ourselves, of the hidden mystery of unlimited goodness, boundless life and inexhaustible energy which we call God.

One of the weakest parts of Christian theology is the treatment of redemption. Many committed Christians are put off by the traditional language in which this doctrine has been expressed and explained-so much so that some even react against the very word 'redemption'. But the mere adoption of another word-such as liberation-does not solve the problem. People still need some convincing account of what it means to say that 'Jesus died for our sins'. The traditional explanations do not find an echo in the religious experience of many people today. The lack of clarity or credibility in our teaching about redemption is a serious problem for anybody who is interested in continuing the mission of Jesus. In order to present this central part of the Christian message to the people among whom we work, we need to find some approach which 'rings true' in our own lives.

In this chapter I propose a new approach to the theology of redemption. In doing so I try to make use of a language and idiom which people nowadays will find meaningful and which will strike a chord in the religious experience of the present generation. The chapter is a study of the death and resurrection of Jesus. It follows on directly from the previous chapter and the two should be taken in conjunction with each other.

One might have thought that the message of Jesus would be seen as 'Good News' for all and a threat to nobody. But from an early stage it became clear that the message and approach of Jesus were very unacceptable to those who held positions of power in his world.

The Pharisees resented his freedom of spirit before God�and particularly his mission to share that freedom with the 'common people' and so-called 'sinners' (Mt 15:2). Furthermore, they heard Jesus deny their own privileged position-for instance in the parable where he presented the prayer of the tax-collector as more acceptable to God than their prayer (Lk 18:9-14).

The Scribes and lawyers saw their authority as religious 'experts' called into question by his open challenge to their interpretation of the Law on issues of healing (Lk 6:7; 14:3-4) and eating on the Sabbath (Mk 2:23-8); the Gospels show him passing a very severe judgement on them-that they were 'blind guides' who had missed the whole point of the Law, 'straining out gnats and swallowing camels' (Mt 23:24).

The ruling elite felt their position undermined by his exercise of power in teaching, healing and clearing the temple (Mt 21:23)�and by his accusation that they were just like those who in the past had rejected the prophets (Lk 20:19). They saw a threat in the very fact that so many people believed in Jesus (Mk 11:18); they feared that this would provoke a reaction by Rome leading to a loss of their own power (Jn 11:47-50).

Even the Roman governor Pilate eventually went along with the idea that Jesus was a threat to the empire (Lk 22:13-25; Jn 19:12-6).

Because of the way he chose to live his life, Jesus found towards the end of his public ministry that he had become the object of an implacable hatred from the very people who exercised authority in the name of God. The Gospels convey very well how this resistance to Jesus, and all that he stood for, gradually built up and eventually culminated in his judicial murder. They also bring out the point that Jesus came to endure his rejection and condemnation, even though it was, quite literally, an agonizing process for him to come to this acceptance. He sweated blood in the process of moving from saying 'let this cup pass from me' to saying 'not my will but yours be done' (Lk 22:42-4). The New

Testament presents this willing endurance of his suffering and death as a sacrifice offered by Jesus to atone for human sin (e.g. I Cor 15:3-4; II Cor 5:14; Eph 5:2).

However, the New Testament does not put forward a theology which would explain how Jesus' death can have the effect of removing sin or breaking its power in others.{1} Down through the centuries we have had a succession of different theologies of redemption which seek to throw light on this mystery. Nowadays, none of these theories sound very convincing. People today are quite unwilling to use the images which were popular in the early centuries of Christianity; they cannot think of Jesus 'buying' us by paying a price either to God or to the Evil One; and they are not impressed by the idea that he overcame Satan by a kind of trick. Even more unacceptable are the theories of atonement which were popular from the Middle Ages up to recent times. Most people nowadays are rather horrified by the suggestion that the death of Jesus was effective because it made satisfaction to the injured honour and dignity of God; and many people recoil from the phrase 'washed by the blood of the Lamb'. Nowadays, religiously sensitve people see this kind of language and theology as having a bloodthirsty quality which they feel has nothing to do with God.{2} On the other hand, people feel dissatisfied with the alternative theology which was put forward-one that attributes the effectiveness of the death of Jesus to the example he gave his followers.