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The modesty of God

In his introduction, Daniel says this: In the sense of modesty there is an element of holding back, of reserve, of discretion as a sort of veil which love imposes on itself in order not to hand itself over too quickly. Timidity dares not, doesn’t know how, or cannot, love as it longs to. In contrast, modesty does not wish to give all of its love, not out of meanness and not because the other person is unworthy to be loved, but to allow love to grow into intimacy. ‘The modesty of God’ is intended as a series of Lenten meditations, therefore leading up Jesus’ Passion, so, like ‘Gethsemane’ it is a lead in to ‘The Silence of God during the Passion’. As an element of to the gospel account it is important to establish that it is legitimate to speak of God’s modesty. Daniel does this firstly be looking at Jesus.

Amazingly, perhaps, the love of Jesus is mentioned just once in the synoptic gospels (he looked on the rich young ruler and loved him – but the love went unnoticed!) It is only in  John that he speaks of his love in his closing address, his adieu! Love one another. As I have loved you, you also must love one another.  We see that the love of Jesus comes first and is the starting point, certainly, but as a foundation for something that has more value in his eyes, communal love. (the ‘you’ is plural). Clearly, this is Jesus’ modesty.

How then does Jesus speak about God’s love?  Typically using the divine passive and parables in which God is hidden; the mourning are comforted, discreetly, modestly, and as in the case of the prodigal son  – God’s tears are hidden. When Jesus does talk about his love for the disciples he says, ‘I have loved you’ – not I love you; and again, in the Song of Songs, while the beloved freely expresses her love for the King, he never speaks openly in this way

Just once, David, another friend of God, allows a word of his intimacy with God to escape his lips in a psalm: “I love you, Lord my strength . . .” (Ps 18:2).

Through this verse of the psalm we learn joyfully that in our intimacy with God we can tell him quite freely of our love for him, in the strongest words, not in any way compromising modesty, but at the heart of a shared modesty, because that is what modesty is, a shared modesty.

The verse also teaches us another essential fact, that the place of intimacy with God is prayer.

Prayer, this is where God awaits us, in the most intimate place of our being, bringing us the knowledge of this intimacy in which God hides himself and in which he hides us with him, in the depths of his modesty in which he guards every bond of fellowship with others.

In chapter 3, Daniel suggest that we efface ourselves a little, stepping aside so that we can consider the love of Jesus for God and God’s love for Jesus.

Jesus and God! We do well to stand back! Indeed we should be taking off our shoes and prostrating ourselves; a face to face encounter between Christ and God is quite simply the Father face to face with the Son. Their reciprocal love is the love of God within himself, Trinitarian love, love in absolute incandescence, in its infinite purity.

The modesty of the Father, the modesty of the Son, the modesty of the Holy Spirit; the modest Trinity, wrapped in discreet reserve. (Speaking about Jesus’ baptism) Heaven was open (Ezek 1:1; Rev 4:1), but no angel appears; no angel and no archangel; the heavenly army is silent, discreet, just as one is silent before the modesty of infinite love.

We clearly see the modesty of Christ’s love in his dealing with the woman brought before who was to be stoned, John 8, and here we see his modesty as a balm to her wound.

From this extremely rich passage, we will pause only over those details which show the degree to which is Jesus is discreet and reserved with regard to the suffering of others

In order not to look at her, Jesus is bent over. He makes himself still smaller than this less than nothing woman! It is for her to look at him. Right in front of her she has a humble man, whose modesty can only bring relief to her suffering. We see this humble and modest love, which is not to be found in any other person in the crowd.

It is Christ’s modesty that has brought her here, and right here, her inner suffering assuaged, she is now able to hear what one does hear in God’s heart: “Neither do I; I do not condemn you; go and sin no more

Again, at Lazarus’ tomb we find that Jesus weeps, it is not with the normal verb of demonstrative mourning but modestly.

The movement of the book is towards the modesty of God, particularly, as noted above, in the Passion, but first Daniel looks at some incidents in the OT. The Bible is very discreet about the suffering of God, but it says enough to allow us to see that God does suffer, and, since he is nothing but love, his pain is always the pain of his love.  Firstly, we look at the conversation between God and his friend Moses at the time of the golden calf; God actually asks Moses to leave him alone in his grief, but, Moses, friend as he is, declines to do so but seeks to comfort the Lord. We also see God’s tenderness and modesty in Moses’ death. However God’s grief and modesty reaches its climax of intensity in the Passion. In a familiar theme,  Daniel turns to Mark 12 and the story of the vineyard, where again the father is a hidden figure Typically, Daniel concludes that the unique thing about Christ’s death is that it takes place in the very heart of the Trinity. As he dies, the Son remits the Spirit to the Father. This is death not just passively suffered by Christ; he makes it an act of infinite love. As he dies, the Son sends the Comforter Spirit (John 14:16) to the grieving Father. It is hidden in the heart of the Trinity that we find our salvation, in a modest, hidden, but secretly revealed love.

 

 

 

Gethsemane

Gethsemane  Watch and pray

 

Although not designedly so, Gethsemane could be seen as a companion volume to The Silence of God during the Passion, investigating events around the night of Jesus’ arrest as he retires with his disciples to the olive grove apart from the city. The book divides into two parts, the first solely concerned with Gethsemane, the second dealing generally with temptation.

As one might have come to expect it is wonderful to journey through these events with Daniel as he thinks about Jesus, drawing on each of the gospel accounts; these differ in the details, with John being quite brief; Daniel takes Mark as his base text. It is a dark, heavy night, doubly so because of Jesus’ alteration of a text in Zechariah which says ‘the sword will strike the shepherd’ to make it say ‘I [God] will strike the shepherd.’ This is the mystery of the gospel that hangs over the book, one that is too deep and dark for Daniel to approach directly, but meaning that we must pray — watch and pray!

To me, the great strength of Daniel’s writing is the way he brings out both the humanity and divinity of Jesus, so clearly, so distinctly but so unitedly. Here we find Jesus looking for help from his friends — and not finding much; and here is the one place in the gospels where we find Jesus speaking of his own soul — ‘my soul is troubled’; so we have Jesus deeply human. To balance this, we have Jesus apart from his friends, the only One who can and ever will ‘neither slumber nor sleep’ but who watches through the darkest moments. He watches as only the Son of God could — and yet his weak human frame, which enables him to sympathize with those whose ‘spirit is willing’ but whose ‘flesh is weak’, this weak flesh needs to be strengthened by an angel. Alongside Jesus’ steadfastness is our own lamentable weakness, the weakness of the disciples, unable to watch one hour — but happily there is hope because Jesus has overcome for us!

Even when sleep had conquered us all                                                                                                       While we slept, Lord, you said yes.                                                                                                               You said yes for us, for all our human kin,                                                                                                 For this earth that you love, for the feeble beings we are;                                                                       You said yes for all; for all you have given your life;                                                                                 You who alone did not sleep, blessed Lord Jesus.                                                                                     You see us all still, overcome and asleep,                                                                                                   You see us all sleeping, but watch over us yet,                                                                                           Knowing our weakness, knowing our wretchedness,                                                                               The secrets of our nights, the secrets of our lives,                                                                                     Everything open before you as you continue to watch,                                                                           You who neither slumber nor sleep.                                                                                                           Hold us, Lord, hold us, fast in your prayer,                                                                                                 You who alone bear our lives to the Father in secret.                                                                               May your solitary prayer be the blessing of all.

 

When he turns to his look at temptation, Daniel begins by pointing out that Jesus’ injunction to watch and pray has two settings: Gethsemane and his eschatological address in Luke 21. This means that guarding against temptation is an issue that pervades the whole of Christian life. Daniel begins naturally enough with a close look at Jesus’ Temptation in the wilderness, as well as Job, before moving on to a discussion of the word ‘tempt’, with its twin meanings of entice and test, prove — in any temptation there is both Satan at work and God; we need discernment. Similarly, whenever God speaks we need to be aware that immediately the enemy comes to sow tares, to disrupt, to take advantage of our human nature which is led astray by its own lusts (Jas 1:13). Jesus went through the same process, and models dealing with temptation. It is most interesting that Jesus was ‘driven’ or impelled into the wilderness in just the same way as the Mosaic scapegoat, and that Adam too was ‘driven’ out of Eden; that Jesus is both our scapegoat and the new Adam. There is a way through temptation!

As I read, I think to myself, ‘O, that I would remember and apply all this’!

The Beatitudes

The Beatitudes

 

It may be a little tiresome to read again that ‘this is a wonderful book’, however the statement is perhaps doubly so here. In his excellent study, The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard suggests how poverty stricken a group must be that fails to understand its most seminal texts, saying, correctly, that this is true of the Beatitudes. It follows that Daniel’s book should be prescribed reading in every church! The following is an attempt to combine a number of quotations from the book with comments so as take us through some of the essential points. My notes in italics.

 

Happy are the poor – . Jesus welcomes and salutes the afflicted, the hungry, the persecuted . . . The whole world is welcomed with open arms by the man on the mountain, his gaze fixed on those to whom no one had ever spoken in like manner. Nobody could believe their ears to feel themselves thus welcomed, recognized, taken into account. Jesus speaks to all of blessing; he gives entrance, admittance, into the Kingdom of God, and that’s it!

These words of welcome are not burdening anyone with a new law, with commandments we cannot fulfil; on the contrary they usher us into the Kingdom. Daniel emphasizes strongly that the beatitudes do not constitute some kind of new law to obey; that while there are parallels with Moses going up into a mountain to receive the law, the contrasts are greater. Jesus sits down – to teach. “Teacher” – this is wisdom literature – the search for the good life. The beatitudes are sign posts along the way to the good life (poor now – blessed later). I would make a point here that is pertinent with regard to the opening chapter that  to call them ‘beautiful attitudes’ is silly – there is nothing attitudinal here at all – that these are facts –being poor – and behaviours, being meek; however this is not the direction Daniel pursues later.He goes on to say that the Beatitudes correspond so closely to Christ’s experience, they recount so closely Jesus’ inner life and its extreme outcome, that in the end they are a description of Christ. Certainly — the Beatitudes describe Christ! The beatitudes are the sage, the teacher, following his own prescription – as proven by events, and this is a reason they can be trusted as more than merely ideals. Again, though, Jesus is welcoming all – while describing Christ too, the description is plural – ‘the poor’ is multiple. We will never be alone on the journey of the poor and meek  – and if there is only one fellow traveller, it will be Jesus.

The Beatitudes become in this way a program for life, which has nothing to do with law. Law is imposed on us from outside, whereas a life project is an interior desire, a thirst which has been created within us. (!) As Daniel later goes on to examine how each beatitude works, he shows the way Jesus was able to see the sort of people he is talking about in the crowd. The beatitudes are addressed to the world, not to a limited group. It is how to see the world from the high and lofty place, how to see people. It is truly a transformation of our outlook when we see the crowds as bearers of the hope of the Kingdom … A gaze that is fixed on the crowds to draw to the surface all that is hidden, but without violating anyone’s heart, this is the gaze of Christ — and how blind am I! Living in the light of the Beatitudes is indeed to behave towards the people in the crowd as we would behave towards those who will be termed sons of God,

The first chapter concludes by saying that the disciples’ initial experience was of seeing Jesus as a healer – so they would have seen the beatitudes as a description of the science of healing! But then they find that wisdom and healing go together. And in the end they learn to see Jesus as more than a sage and healer – God!

The second chapter discusses the literary structure of the beatitudes – that there are always 2 propositions, one present tense, the second future – the blessing in the present is rooted in the future. This is an important basis for the ensuing discussion of each beatitude. 1. As describing Jesus 2. As describing the disciples 3. As describing the crowds 4. As a prescription for wisdom and healing. As noted above a different direction is now taken. In the discussion of the poor in spirit, for example, the malady of avarice is in view, in contrast to Jesus not being attached to things. To some degree then this is attitudinal, and attention moves in this direction.

The main discussion of this first beatitude concerns renunciation of both physical and spiritual wealth in favour of God – He is our one goal.  the task is also to reach the wealthy affected by the same avarice, not in order to deprive them of their assets but to teach them to deprive themselves through renunciation. How are we to teach both groups to be thankful for the good things they have received? How are we to teach them to share the things that come to them from another? And how are we to lead them to discover that this other is God . . . ?’

We seek to be meek NOT in order to inherit the earth! No, the goal is to be with the one who is meek and lowly of heart. The meek resist anger because they are exempt from it, or healed of it. Anger is the malady this Beatitude reveals, anger, the fever of which produces violence.

A common theme in Daniel is the efficacy of tears, and here he says that tears quench anger. This theme continues with the discussion of mourning. Jesus mourns with true grief at Lazarus’ tomb. The sickness here is false grief, shallow grief. Do we truly grieve over Christ’s death? Did the disciples? We are on the path of healing when we weep over his death. Tears and meditation purify our grief. We will be healed when we weep as Christ wept over Lazarus’ death; our tears will then be steeped in divine love, in the Father’s love at the foot of the cross.What is our attitude towards the crowds in the light of this Beatitude? Jesus saw in the crowd those who were true mourners. His insight is such that he sees in the crowd those who are truly wounded by death; and they are perhaps more numerous than we think. We too must learn how to discern them and give them time and space for their grief, time to vent their pain, without making a show of our resurrection preaching too quickly. We can begin by pointing, not necessarily to the risen Christ, but to him as, along with them, truly grieved, in silence alongside them, also weeping at the tomb of a friend. We can begin by pointing to the one who, in silence at the foot of the cross, is at the heart of grief, at the heart of every act of mourning. If we preach to the mourning that Christ mourns with them and the Father mourns with them, then we will come, in due course, to the preaching of the Resurrection. The true mourner (Jesus) is also the true comforter

In French the term we translate as righteousness is typically justice. … if, unhappily, we have the slightest suspicion that injustice might come from God, or, at least, if we have trouble seeing his justice, then our thirst becomes unbearable. Daniel points out that Jesus hungered and thirsted for justice – and didn’t receive it, but behaved always in accordance with it. With us however our sickness is that we are so easily satisfied with a substitute for justice, and cheat the hunger of others with our distorted righteousness. They (so many people) cry out to the whole world without knowing who will satisfy them truly; at times they receive some scrap of justice and are satisfied for a day or two, briefly cheating their hunger, but there are always those who are seeking afresh true justice, that of men woven in with God’s. It is upon those who are hungry and thirsty in this way that Jesus fixes his eyes and towards whom he points his disciples. If only we could make them at least understand how close Christ is to them, so close as to call them his brothers, the least of these my brethren . . .

 

Among the crowd there are [also] the pure in heart. What an amazing insight this is of Christ, Christ who fixes his eyes not on the exterior but on the heart! The inside look links up with the inner lives of others; the pure heart sees the pure in heart. Only a pure heart can see a pure heart, and this is why we fail to see what Christ sees.This is the remedy (to impurity)–  Give alms of what you have, and behold, all things will be pure to you (Luke 11:41)

A difficulty here is if rather than purity of heart  your only desire is to see God, you will fall into the first pitfall laid by the tempter, who is a past master of the art of illusion. You will mistake as a vision of God, as an ecstasy or a spiritual experience, something which in fact is no more than illusion. Therefore do not thirst for visions or wonders (Jer 45:5) . . . We must begin humbly with the management of our own cell!When it comes to seeing God, the Fathers remind us that God is already present in our heart, that this is his temple, his dwelling-place, the seat of his Kingdom.

 

With the quality of mercy the malaise is being merciful in expectation of receiving something back in returen. This is the only beatitude with no imbalance in the promise – those who are merciful will receive – mercy. If our mercy is disinterested, only then is there likely to be a disinterested, abundant return as in the case of the sheep, those who give a glass of water and receive a kingdom.

The French for peacemakers is rather nice – literally it would translate as artisans of peace. Daniel stresses that peace is a gift of God. My peace I give to you. In our spiritual warfare against the passions, our whole being is mobilized for a battle in which no quarter is given, but when we emerge victorious we discover to our wonderment that the victory is altogether God’s. It is those such as David who have fought their way through to victory who are adopted, called sons of God.

Persecution is aimed at bringing about a betrayal, and may be heavy or slight – just not standing up for Jesus as we should. In persecution we can be stripped of everything and yet have everything – as was Jesus. Being persecuted for righteousness sake is about giving peace, but we cannot give what we don’t have, so attention must be paid to our own hearts. It is the fruit of a struggle – of Jesus’ agonie against anything that rises up against the will of God; but the objective is not merely personal: David fought his personal battle with Goliath, but it was on behalf of the nation…

In the end we see that it is Christ who does it all and who fulfills all the beatitudes, and so, in a closing brief chapter, Daniel has the disciples going back up the mountain and there praising Jesus as they ascribe the beatitudes to him alone as worthy to be thus described.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the banks of Jordan

This, as of Nov 2017, is Daniel Bourguet’s latest book, and there is a sense in which, theologically, it his weightiest, since it is concerned with one issue, the deity/divinity of Jesus.

At one or two places in his books, Daniel says approvingly that an idea is ‘Trinitarian’; this is an emphasis in thought that says not so much that we are working out our identity in relationship to God, but that our identity in Christ is formed as we look no longer at ourselves but at the Trinity. (That at least is something of my understanding.) So, this book is a prolonged meditation in the Trinity through the lens of Jesus’ baptism, and I must say that reading through the work and translating it had a profound impact on me.

There are 5 chapters. The first is concerned with Jesus’ encounter with Thomas, when Thomas calls him “My Lord and my God”. The profundity and impact of this statement is explored, leading into the second chapter which looks at what Paul, Peter, John and Jesus himself have to say about Jesus’ divinity. (If Jesus is not divine, then there is no Trinity.) At the end of these and the other three chapters, there is an imaginative “Prayer of Andrew”, as he is seen seated under an olive tree shortly after the resurrection and Thomas’ statement, as he reflects on events and prays. Then the final chapters look in turn at the different accounts of the theophany that took place at Jesus’ baptism. In each gospel, the details are slightly different, presenting the Trinity in slightly varying ways, and this is the food for much thought. Who spoke, when, to whom? How was the Spirit “like a dove”? How are the Old Testament scriptures used? Daniel covers some ground familiar to his readers, perhaps particularly with regard to Jesus’ act of repentance in being baptized (see Repentance — Good News!), but, bound together by the theme of the Trinity, it comes across in a fresh and strong way. As with the other books, it will repay constant re-reading.

Happy are the pure in heart

Another wonderful book. The themes will be familiar to readers of Daniel’s other books, but with their own particular slant here. Broadly, the theme is repentance and cleansing.

The book opens with a look at the 10 lepers of whom one, the Samaritan, returned for further cleansing. Leprosy is the very picture of the unclean or impure; it meant not just physical and social but also spiritual exclusion; a leper had no access to the Temple and therefore no access to God; how then could they pay? They couldn’t! The impossibility of the impure approaching the pure sets the theme for the book, and, of course, wonderfully, the purity of Jesus overcomes, here by no more than he look. But how can this be? We need detail!

Some detail is provided in the account of Leviticus 14. There was a 3 stage cleansing; firstly to return to society, then to the family, then later, on a day outside normal time, the 8th day, to God. In the first two stages the man had a part to play himself, but stage 3 was entirely an act of God. This leads us into chapter 2, a look at Psalm 51 – “create in me a clean heart, O God.” David had no ground for hope in himself of cleansing – nothing but rottenness and impurity and yet he dared cry out to God for intimate healing – “open thou my lips.” This result would follow not forgiveness but cleansing, a distinction which is carefully brought out.

How in fact can an impure heart cry out to God? The theme Daniel develops is that God hides himself in the secret place, in the hidden places of darkness, that is precisely in the human heart, and it is from here that He operates to cleanse.

In the final chapter, Daniel turns to the early Fathers John Climacus and Macarius, both of whom discuss tears, the tears of penitence as cleansing – but again, how can an impure heart produce pure, cleansing tears? Can it be possible that the tears of God as told by Jeremiah and seen in Jesus – can it be that His tears mingle with ours to cleanse and heal, the tears of God that flow from the hidden place of our heart?

Can we say this for sure? Perhaps not. Can we think about it? We can indeed.

Jesus exhorts us to pray with humility, calling us to a process of the greatest importance: Go into your most secret place, which, as the Fathers well understood, means, into the most secret corners of your soul, your heart. There, Jesus goes on, shut the door without delay, because he whom you seek is awaiting.

 

John 17

The title, translated literally from the French, is The world, a sanctuary and a battlefield. Initially this seems rather cumbersome, so I have tended to use the simple title John 17, which says a great deal — there could hardly be a more interesting chapter in the Bible, and to hear from Daniel on this must be worthwhile! The French title does, however, convey a lot.

The subject is sanctification, and Jesus’ prayer that his disciples be sanctified. Only God can sanctify because only God is holy. Jesus is God and he alone can say, “I have sanctified myself”, but now with his last prayer, the last words he speaks before his disciples and to his Father, he asks that his disciples be sanctified. Why?

Well, it goes in two directions. Firstly, the world and indeed the cosmos is holy, a “sanctuary”, and to live within this holy place, as “priests unto God” offering praise and worship requires of us that we be holy. In referring to “the foundation of the world”, Jesus likens the creation to a temple, and in this temple God has placed humanity as his living image, our place — to proclaim the glory of God. Hence the need for us to be sanctified.

Secondly, though, the world is a battlefield; God has a holy war and we need to be sanctified as warriors to engage in this war, the war of love. The war also goes in two directions, outwardly towards the world, and inwardly too, in the heart, which leads to what is with Daniel a familiar theme, the monk and inner discipline; however, the key point here is Jesus prayer and statement, “sanctify them through the truth; thy word is truth.”

Life as a “hermit”

Perhaps the word sounds rather different in French (ermite), but it is hard to know how else to translate it, though it does tend to conjure up rather the wrong image. The point is made in the pieces that follow that an ermite is not a recluse; in fact Daniel is a busy man, rather busier than he perhaps desires. Anyway, we can’t do much better than quote, in translation, from a number of accounts of visits to Daniel; a few of these can be found through google.fr. The first, nicely written, piece is from www.lafree.ch; the author is Gabrielle Desarzens.

An incursion into the world of Daniel Bourguet, hermit

“You hear it said that places where people pray become places of beauty — or is it perhaps that the beauty of some places calls us to prayer? We’re going to find out! The path which leads to the cabin of hermit Daniel Bourguet in this gateway to the Cevennes is such a place; walking here is in itself an invitation to introspection. This October morning the hermit shows the way. He stops at the sheepfold to leave some mulberry leaves for the sheep; then he leads on to the edge of the forest where we see, a little further on, his log cabin, the other side of a patch of grass bordered by large chestnuts. He has lived here for 17 years now, in this one room hut, with its outlook into the surrounding forest.

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A beneficent solitude

The generous beard, a smile in the eyes, he doesn’t particularly care to prepare for an interview and above all does not seek publicity since there are already plenty of people who seek him out. “It becomes more and more difficult; I live as far as possible from people but they come here. I often long for the solitude I need, which does me so much good.” For all this, Daniel Bourguet does not welcome his neighbour with any less compassion “. . . They don’t come here for no reason.” And because a hermit is not a recluse. “A recluse keeps his door permanently shut, unlike a hermit who could do with losing the key.” He laughs. “You have to understand that a hermit welcomes people as though each time he was welcoming Christ in the person who comes. Thus, the welcome is warm and attentive.”

 

In touch with the world

No electricity in his cabin. No television, no radio, no newspaper. The news of the world does make its way in through the words of those who come to see him. “I don’t know who won the World Cup, but I do know that children are mistreated, women violated, there are couples who break up, people who plan on suicide. I am up to date with all that because people tell me themselves; I get it straight!” Some come with deep wounds. Daniel listens; then he entrusts what he has heard to God. “Welcoming also means opening up to someone who opens up to me. There is therefore a profound dialogue. I realize that in our media filled world, so full of information, paradoxically few people are open to listening. That’s where the ermite comes in. To listen. And then to bear the world up in prayer. One day, deep in the Carpathians, I had the opportunity to meet a Romanian hermit, who told me this: ‘Remember that you are not a hermit on behalf of the protestants but of the whole world!

 

A life discipline

First a pastor in the French Reformed church some forty years ago, Daniel begins and finishes his days with prayer. He follows a regular and repetitive rhythm of life, marked by the three offices he celebrates at the Fraternité des Abeillères, the Cevennes retreat centre of the Veilleurs; by reading; and by his tapestry work, murals, the biblical motifs for which were designed by the pastor and painter Henri Lindegaard, whom he knows.

Spiritual deserts? Yes, these have to be traversed, and in one respect there is beauty there, he muses. “It’s painful, but you can’t just stop, because just as if you were in a physical desert, you can die! You have to keep going and understand that the deserts are there to measure the extent of your trust in God. Do you find yourself to be weak? God does not abandon us. It is good for us to know our weakness; it strengthens our bonds with God.”

The sheep rejoin us, coming to eat the chestnuts at our feet. The spot is bathed in sunlight this morning and breathes quietness. At the end of any discussion, the hermit suggests that his visitors stay and enjoy the natural terrace before they go back down to their numerous concerns . . .

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The following translates an article by Celine Hoyeau at www.la-croix.com

A protestant hermit near St Jean du Gard, his light shines well beyond the Cevennes

It’s not an isba  beside Lake Baikal but a log cabin, no electricity, tucked away in the heart of the Cevennes forest. Here Daniel Bourguet, 64, with the beard of a prophet and the eyes of an eagle, has established his hermitage, far from the noise of the world.

He retired to this natural cloister some 15 years ago to fulfil his double vocation, monk and pastor. This is not a common choice in the protestant world, and not one he explains here . . . or not in so many words. Daniel Bourguet declines interviews, for the sake of privacy and so  as not to expend his energies.

But the man of silence does speak, in a different way; and his words sound out well beyond this woodland clearing. He preaches retreats, publishes abundantly – twenty books in ten years – and counsels dozens of people by mail. His books, feeding on the tradition of the desert Fathers, have been a straightforward success among protestants who are looking for a more contemplative and less intellectual spiritual life.

Previously he was a teacher in the faculty of theology in Montpellier and a pastor in les Landes; he also now preaches in the neighbouring parish of St Jean du Gard, and during Advent his voice resonates across the air waves with RCF in a series of meditations on the tenderness of God.

Silence as a condition for listening.

In fact, the self-imposed silence is not an end in itself but the condition for listening. “One of the curses of our times (he writes in Bible Meditation), is how impoverished our listening has become, because there is no knowledge of how to be silent . . . To hear the word of God, the necessary silence is an internal silence, the silence of the heart, when the thoughts that jostle each other in a brouhaha which is more disturbing than the neighbour’s television or the scooters in the street are silent.”

His editor, Henri Fischer, from Éditions Olivétan, confirms this: “It is in the silence that the word is born. Daniel Bourguet’s preaching is the fruit of silent rumination on the Word of God. And it becomes richer in contact with the words of others.”

The day begins at 4, in the silence of the night. It follows a rhythm of seven offices, Bible study, meditation, writing. Ora et labora: he gains his living doing tapestries in wool following the designs of the painter Henri Lindegaard. A great part of his time is also consecrated to receiving visitors.

The paradox of the hermit is that in the retirement of  his Cevennes solitude, he doesn’t spend two days without a visitor. They come from all over France to confide in this protestant starets who knows so well the human soul.

Silence at times anguishing

“Often (he writes), in prayer I run unhappily into the silence of God. This silence is at times so heavy that I am seized by anguish; I know nothing of tenderness in this silence and I am pained by its harshness. This is not the sweetness but the rawness of silence; no longer the joyous light but the intense obscurity of God’s silence.”

For twenty years Daniel Bourguet was the prior of the Fraternité des Veilleurs, a protestant equivalent to the third order of Franciscans founded in 1923 by Wilfred and his son Théodore Monod.

Everyday, this unseen monastery gathers together 300 Christians across France who seek to live their daily life in this same silence.