AFRICAN UNION

 

AFRICAN UNION

When I landed in ‘Salisbury’ all those years ago, the embers of the Central Africa Federation were still warm. The Federation was built on sand not on consent and it had a brief life of ten years. But there was something sound about it. It brought together three countries and while the benefits were shared inequitably, economically speaking it had great promise. To just take one example, the queues of trucks one now sees wasting time at borders was inconceivable. A man from Zambia told me all you had to do, when crossing at Chirundu, was change gear from 4^th to 3^rd.

The Federation was in effect colonialism by other means. It paid lip service to the aspirations of the vast majority and could only be held together by force. So it collapsed. But in the very year of its demise, the African Union – it wasn’t called that then – was born. This year, the African Union celebrates its sixtieth anniversary. The charter, drawn up in 1963 in Addis Ababa by 32 heads of independent states, focused then on liberation from colonialism. Today, under the slogan, ‘Our Africa, Our Future’, the emphasis is on economics. The AU has a vision to build an ‘Africa Continental Free Trade Area’.

While the Federation was hatched in a hurry, the ACFTA will take time to evolve. The motor driving this movement will be consent and this cannot be rushed. But the last hundred years has seen a process on every continent, and indeed in the whole planet, that is guided by a compass pointing towards unity. The European Union, for instance, despite the blips of the UK leaving it and Russia violently contesting it, is an inexorable process towards removing barriers.

As always, there are two forces at work: the assertion of individual needs and the innate impulse to cooperate with others. All the negotiations – whether it be about the waters of the Nile or migrants crossing borders – come down to gains and concessions. But talking and listening is slowly edging out bombs and bullets. This is something to celebrate on Africa Day even if we have to also face the setback in the Sudan and ongoing violence in other places.

Our spiritual heritage articulates and lifts this deep-felt desire for unity. Have we noticed that the readings for today come from John 17; ‘May they all be one. Father, may they be one in us, as you are in me and I am in you, so that the world may believe it is you who sent me’? This week-end we celebrate Pentecost, the sharing in the Holy Spirit. ‘All share in him’, says St Basil, ‘like a sunbeam whose kindly influence benefits every creature capable of receiving him, as though it were present to that creature alone, and makes them truly spiritual through the common union they have with him.’

28 May 2023        Pentecost     Acts 2:1-11 1 Cor 12: 3-13       Jn 20:19-23

 

COMING INTO HIS KINGDOM

I bought this postcard of the tympanum over the door of the cathedral of St Trophime in Arles, in the south of France, in 1964. This twelfth century sculpture shows Jesus enthroned, surrounded by the four living creatures of Revelation (4:6-8) who, from the time of Irenaeus in the second century, came to represent the four gospels. The whole semi-circular piece is bordered by angels (above) and saints (below). Sometimes described as a depiction of the last judgement, it is more likely to be a celebration of Christ who has ‘come into his kingdom’ – to use the words of the good thief (Luke 23:42).

This week we celebrate the Ascension, an awkward feast only mentioned by Luke, that seems to slip in as an interval between the great events of Easter, the victory over sin and death, and Pentecost, the gift of divine life to all who welcome it. I say ‘awkward’ because, we might ask, what does it add to the great event of Easter and the completion of the Lord’s revelation at Pentecost?

Well, it adds the understanding of the fullness of majestic power. The Son of Man, born in a cattle shed, has carried our burdens – the joys and sorrows of human existence – right through to his passion and death. He has broken the bonds that limit every human being and has now come into his kingdom. The modern mind is not comfortable with ideas of kingship but the European mind of the Middle Ages was fertile in its imagination of what kingship meant. The medievals were surrounded by kings.

Ignatius of Loyola, in the sixteenth century, studded his book of Spiritual Exercises with scenes where we are invited to imagine ourselves ‘in the presence of the eternal king, Christ our Lord. What would I say to him?’ And what would he say to me? Our modern minds are not to be distracted by rosy pictures of royalty, such as some of us may have witnessed earlier this month at the coronation of King Charles. On the contrary, what we have here is an exercise in imagination that is to lead to a real contemplation of our world today. ‘Thy kingdom come!’ We look around and ask, does our world reflect the kind of world God wants his people to enjoy?    

Celebrating the Ascension is a moment when we call to mind the final triumph of Jesus in his earthly life. His kingdom has come. But not fully. We still have work to do.

21 May 2023    The Ascension     Acts 1:1-11    Eph 1:17-23    Mt 28: 16-20

 

 

 

 

A CORONATION

 

A CORONATION

What a spectacle it was! Millions watched the crowning of King Charles III and the question arises; why were they drawn to an event that belongs to a bygone age? What has such a ceremony to do with a Britain struggling with a faltering economy? Everyone has a different answer to the question; ‘What did you like about it?’ One said, ‘the moment the prince kissed his father on the cheek.’ Another said, ‘Bryn Terfil’s singing of the Kyrie in Welsh’ and yet a third said ‘the precision of the marching soldiers, sailors and airmen’.

It was theatre on a grand scale and we could appreciate the variety of acts; there was history, tradition, religion, music, singing, fashion, politics and, yes, ‘precision’ in every detail of timing. There was also, and here I have to be extra careful, something of mystery. It appealed to a latent sense of the transcendent. Scattered among the many details was a desire of the organisers to do everything to bring out references to things that should have no interest to modern minds. But they actually do.

Take the spoon, for instance. We were told that Oliver Cromwell, in the mid-seventeenth century, melted down the crown jewels as there would be no further need for them now that what was the United Kingdom had become a republic. But he missed out the spoon. This article of cutlery dates from Norman times (eleventh century) and was used to stir the vessel holding the oil with which the monarch is anointed.

Anointed? Who is anointed these days? Certainly not presidents and prime ministers. So, for its origin, we are pushed back to remember Samuel anointing Saul and David in the Hebrew Scriptures. These leaders and their successors did not receive their appointment from the people or even the likes of Samuel. The anointing, or ‘christening’ to use the Greek form of the word, was a sign that they were chosen by God.

Some modern leaders like to claim they are chosen by God but that is usually because they are a bit shaky about their position and look for any prop that may bolster their claim. Few are convinced. But in bygone days, it was taken seriously. ‘Not all the water in the rough rude sea can wash the balm off from an anointed king’ (Shakespeare, Richard II). No one would make such a claim for a modern ruler. They have to earn their position, otherwise they will be fired by the voters – or should be.  (Oliver Cromwell’s republic did not last long. A few years after his death, Charles II returned from exile (1660)).  

So now the show is over, but lingering in the air is a feeling we touched, for a moment, something beyond ourselves. Not a bad thing to do occasionally.