How pleasant when we come together

It's a memory from long ago. I was standing in the monastic choir, chanting the Liturgy of the Hours, and we came to psalm 133, How good  and how pleasant it is when brothers and sisters live together in unity! It is like precious ointment on the head, running down upon the beard, Upon the beard of Aaron, upon the collar of his robe."

I remember stopping at that verse and thinking just how lucky I was, to live in community, to be surrounded by those with similar goals, ideas and values. 

I mourn that loss to this day.

That is why, when reading Irvin Yalom, I am fascinated at the clinical benefits of community. I know the spiritual benefits. But Yalom tells us, there are immense clinical and emotional benefits: People need people--for initial and continued survival, for socialization, for the pursuit of satisfaction. No one--not the dying, not the outcast, not the mighty--transcends the need for human contact.

Jesus asked me to love my neighbor, to leave my gift at the altar if I need to be reconciled with a brother or sister, to love my neighbor as myself. And I see, it has far reaching consequences. It isn't just for feeling good. It isn't even for spiritual growth. It also affects my mental health.

Science proves that when I feel loved and accepted by others, I am willing to take more risks, to take on more responsibilities, to be bold. I am emotionally, and also spiritually, healthier.

No man (or woman) is an Island. Each needs the other.

My South Dakota experience

A real cattle roundup on a real ranch in South Dakota

I was riding on a real ranch in northwest South Dakota, looking at the vast expanses of open space, and marveling at the beauty of the land. As I looked at the miles and miles of open space, it hit me. One has to be strong to live in this place. No city close by, and the "big" city of Rapid City is hours away. A person living here will have to be content with less.

I wonder how many could live in such an open area, and be content with the beauty of God's country? I wonder how many could forgo the "pleasures" of living in the city, with multiple opportunities available for distraction? I wonder how many could be content to marvel and glory at God's creation?

Perhaps that is why the Desert Abbas and Ammas went into the wilderness. They were not running away. They did not need a lot of "stuff" to live, and could enjoy the beauty of what was there over man-made pleasures. For there is beauty in rugged landscapes, if I quiet my soul enough to appreciate it.

This brought me to the fact that so much of our lives are lived in the abstract. We read about such things, but have no real-life experience of it. I have eaten beef for years, but had no clue how it was raised or what the ranchers go through to provide it to the rest of us. This was the first time I learned the source: real cowboys saddling up horses and helping one another gather cattle for branding. I saw the vast expanses of land needed to raise such cattle. I saw calves being born, and calves dying. I saw live cows, and one dead, hit by lightning. I saw the real rugged wild and met the gentle ranchers who live here. I saw reality.

And so, as I sit here listening to the sounds of traffic, I think of the wilds of South Dakota. I think of just how independent a person must be to live so far away and yet be perfectly content with life. I think of how much better it is to experience than to know in the abstract.  I think with gratitude to those ranchers who have lived in this land for generations and whom I have never thanked.

Making all things new

To journey is to discover. We discover by entering ever more deeply into the world of the spirit, the world of the unseen, the unknown, the hidden. As we enter there, we become different people, and we learn to walk the path of life with different attitudes and eyes. This is how one advances in the spiritual life.

Some writers of spirituality speak of this journey as though we were climbing a ladder. Each rung represents a different stage, a higher one. But this view of the spiritual life tends to stigmatize. Stages means some are higher and some are at the bottom. And we all know how Jesus felt about that.

The spiritual life is different. Though there is a gradual development, a learning curve, it is more of an awakening to presence. We desire and search, and gradually the mist burns away because a fire has been lit from within. We are not so much ascending to a higher level as we are deepening our understanding of things we've always had, but not appreciated. So our vision becomes a bit clearer and our understanding broader. We find we continue with the same practices, we just understand them differently. 

According to the Abbas and Ammas of the desert, the journey is all about transformation. In some sense, we remain always beginners, because we awaken continually to new understandings and visions. It involves finding that "new" element in our spirituality, that bit of heaven tucked into our heart and soul, a new understanding that is given to us alone, one we can share with others or keep to ourselves.

So put aside those books that would assign steps to your journey. Seek newness of life in each day, the knowledge to see what you already have in a better light. If you do, you will understand the words of Revelation: "Behold, I make all things new" (21:4).

Losing in order to gain

It seems a contradiction, that in order to gain, we must first lose. That is the message Jesus gave his disciples when he ascended away from them. "If I do not go, the spirit will not come" (Jn 16: 6).  It is as if Jesus is saying, losses can become gains. That indeed is good news.

For I know that no one has been untouched by losses, losses we each handle differently. Perhaps Jesus words on going away, on loss, is nothing more than a reminder to hope. Perhaps this is Jesus way of telling us that when we experience loss, as we inevitably will, we must remember there will be a gain as well. And Jesus is saying, not the same gain, but some greater, something more wonderful, something consoling.

This is how Jesus contradicts the world and its concepts. Jesus offers us a different way of thinking and of responding. The disciples responded to Jesus going away by gathering together in prayer and waiting. It can't be a bad example to follow. For sometimes, my loss is overwhelming, and all I can do is wait and pray. Jesus would have me wait with hope.

Are you at the basic level of faith?

While having a great conversation with a friend last week, she mentioned her daughter was going through a rough time and was pretty upset. In the midst of the conversation, she commented that her daughter was still at that basic level of understanding God. "You know," she continued, "still asking why God who is good allows suffering. The bottom of the ladder of faith." The comment struck a cord.

I thought about comment quite a bit, because I have experienced only too many with the same question. And it brings to mind the need to come to know God before the tragedy, before suffering, before death. Otherwise, when suffering strikes, I will blame God. God should not have allowed this, as though God's only purpose in my life is to make things run smoothly. A God of good feeling.

I believe such faith is a faith full of holes. It is treating God as a medicine, as a remedy.  I am reminded of a reading in Yalom on group therapy, where he explains therapy does not cure, it is a process of healing and growth. And we would rather have a cure, so we don't have to deal with issues anymore. So we could be free of struggle.

I know in my own life, there are times when I wish God would just reach down an make everything Golden for me. But then I stop to think that gold is over-rated, and healing and growth are far superior to good things happening at all times.

And so, you and I, let us not stay at the basic level of understanding. Let us not treat life as good feeling and God as a remedy. Let us be real. Then, when suffering strikes, we will be way beyond the basic question of why, knowing that is not the important question. Instead, we will be looking for what. What growth and healing can I obtain though this experience. What is God saying to me? What strengths will come forth from this experience, strengths I did not know I have.

Is this not better?

Purity of heart draws us to new vision

There is a lot of talk these past years about dualism and non-dualism. And yet, for the Christian, is it not more about unity? We seek, not to remove the human dimensions of our lives (dualism) but to heal what is broken, wounded, and hurting (wholeness). Christianity does not make us deny these things, but rather, seeks to incorporate it all into something good (remember Romans 8:28, For those who love God, all things work together for good.)

I am reminded of Paul imaging our relationship with Christ as a body. Each part is part of the whole. We only speak of them in parts in order to understand.

I like to think of earth in this way. If we only had the sun, we would burn up. If we only had night, we would wither. If we only had rain, we would drown.  But when they all come together, they make up life.

Perhaps in our spiritual journey, our need is to remember the whole. Perhaps our challenge is seeing events, circumstances, trials, suffering as part of the bigger picture, one that brings it all together to make life.

To see the whole, I think we need to be able to step back. And perhaps that is why the Abbas and Ammas of the desert always promoted purity of heart and detachment. Because detachment allows us to let go, and purity of heart teaches us new vision. Both help us to see the bigger picture.

















Its just a thought.

If my faith is not changing, then I am not growing

Spring and seeds. A time for new life. Who doesn't get excited at the opportunity to plant. Why? I think it comes down to rejuvenation and hope in this season, hope and a new release on life.

Jesus speaks of faith being a seed sown in our souls. I have been thinking of that quite a bit of late, and these are my thoughts.

Seeds are meant to be transformed. If a seed does not become transformed, it rots where it is planted. Granted, a seed needs water, sun and good soil. But once it has these things, it will show amazing power, even to cracking sidewalks or pavement, as though nothing can keep it from growing and reaching up.

Faith should be like that. Faith should be ever growing, not in trite things such as knowledge of doctrine, but in understanding of the spirit behind these things. If what I believed last year is exactly the same as how I believe today, I have not grown. I have sat. And that produces rot.

For faith to grow, I must come to an ever deeper understandings of what I believe. And this can only be accomplished by daily meditation and Lectio Divina.

I think the degree of our hope is somehow related to the degree of our growth, how that seed is absorbing the water and sun of contemplation. I think that a sterile faith is a dead faith, something more like a habit, that can be derailed at the first obstacle. I think that when the seed is growing, I will find I am changing, imperceptibly, but truly.

And so, I should be changing. My faith, to grow, does not need more knowledge, but more reflection.

God does not test us

The email said, "This is a test."  Just finishing up a very stressful semester of Grad school, my first thought was, "Oh No!!!!"

Tests are part of life. You cannot go anywhere or do anything unless you have performed some kind of test in some kind of field at some time in your life.

I see many people put the same attribute to God. This pain, this suffering, this trial is a test from God. Even the writers of scripture suggest that certain sufferings and trials are "tests from God". I beg to differ.

I think the mentality of God testing us comes more from our own creation, our own way of discerning or deciding. And of course, we think that God is like us, so God must test us to prove us. Wrong!

Therese of Lisieux could not believe God would treat us this way. Again and again she maintained that God is the Divine being of kindness and understanding, one who does not rejoice in our pain, but who suffers when we suffer.

And so I maintain, God does not test us like that. Life is just what it is. Instead of seeing ourselves forever tested, would we not do better to see life as a journey, with hills and valleys, with peaks and depressions, with light and darkness? And would we not do better to remember there is a Presence beside us at all times, sometimes felt, sometime hidden?

I think so. I think only finite, limited, human beings think up the testing concept. I think that the Divine Being, knowing all things, cares for us beyond our ability to understand or appreciate. I think the problem is, we just cannot grasp this kind of love.

Giving energy to our dreams

I love this quote from Richard Wilkins: Miracles start to happen when you give as much energy to your dreams as you do to your fears."  Wilkins' quote suggests that we play an important role when it comes to miracles happening in our own lives. I like that thought.

 Augustine claims that miracles happen every day, that we just get so used to seeing them that we come to accept them as the "norm". According to this line of thought, our first step to seeing miracles is recognizing them in daily life.

But Wilkins is not speaking of those kinds of miracles. He is addressing the big miracles. He is saying that in some sense, such miracles are spawned by daring desires. He is as much as saying, you cannot grasp what you are not stretching for, and you cannot capture that which you are not pursuing.

I think he is saying even more. I think Wilkins is telling us that it takes energy to hold on to our fears, lots of energy. And if we would just turn that energy toward believing in our dreams, that energy would help the miracle come about. He is suggesting that we have a choice, that we have a role in making miracles happen in our lives.

For everyone has a dream. But not everyone sees the miracle.

 

 

When prayers fall on deaf ears

I used to think that my union with God was determined by how quickly my prayers were answered. As my prayers remained unanswered for the most part, you can imagine how my concept of "union with God" became damaged. I always attributed this failure to some sort of defect in me. I never gave a thought to the fact that the answer came, I just didn't get it.

This begs the question of unanswered prayers. Does any prayer really go unanswered? Or are we just bad at understanding God's message?

When I finally moved on, left my situation, and began a new way of life, suddenly all my prayers seemed to get answered. I had not changed. But somehow, I had finally learned that when something isn't working out, when prayers for that situation are seemingly not heard, it is a message that I need a change. It means I am facing a door that isn't meant to open, a window that isn't meant to lead me somewhere, a path that I am not destined to walk. Sometimes when prayers for such things as opening doors, shedding light, and finding paths seem to fall on deaf ears, I must realize, I am the one with the deaf ears, not God.

So now, when prayers seem unanswered, I do not fret. I no longer beat my head against the doors that are closed. Instead, I try to reflect on the situation, the choices I've made and the choices I have. I do some deep soul searching to see if I can't understand what God is saying to me.

For no matter how it feels, God does answer prayer. I am the one who does not always understand that answer.

The mystery of pain and anguish

Last evening's full moon

I find it painful to see a friend in anguish, and have nothing to offer her but compassion. Sometimes pain comes, and there is little I can do to alleviate it. That is when I come face to face with the mystery of powerlessness.

With that in mind, I found Bernard Bro's words helpful, "The kingdom of God is not established outside of or beyond our lives, but each day as a result of the most insignificant acts. We actually enter into collaboration with God when we begin our search for happiness."

If I can keep in mind that whatever anguish I suffer, it is building, not destroying, perhaps that would give some comfort to a suffering heart. For not all pain can be analyzed. Perhaps most cannot. It remains a mystery, that the God who we are taught is all-good can allow so much suffering in this world.

It brings to mind the verse in Jeremiah 29:11, one that has always brought me great comfort as I journey along the pilgrim way: For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans for your welfare, not for woe! Plans to give you a future full of hope.

I have always found this verse helps put me in a state of mind that accepts the mystery surrounding life. I cannot always understand, or perhaps even often understand. But I can trust. I can believe that the kingdom of God is being established, in some mysterious way, with all that happens to me.

I know this is not a satisfactory answer. I do not pretend to give one. I only offer what has been helpful in my own search, a reminder that what I suffer is not futile; it has the ability to be turned into something. If I can only hold on to that hope.

A mystic is a person who...

I was in a class learning sand-tray therapy last evening, and as the instructor explained how images help connect a person's psyche to actual events, my own thoughts began to connect with my beliefs. I scribbled down these thoughts (I'm sure the professor thought I was taking copious notes on her lecture...sorry!) and here they are.

A mystic is the person who can connect the dots of life, so that:
                                                no incident
                                                no event
                                                no pain or sorrow
                                                no joy or elation
              is lost.

All have a very small connecting thread. The mystic can see that thread, not as the Omnipotent Will of God, but as steps along the journey through the desert.

By seeing that small connecting thread, the mystic is led to Wholeness.

This is how the mystic acknowledges the soul. It is through the knowledge of journey that the mystic realizes - God works through all of these things. Nothing is lost.

The mystic does not have to see it (require signs of his or her own making) to know it. The mystic does not need to concretize the symbolic, because the mystic has transcended these things.

(So, what do you think? Was it worth taking these notes during class? :-)

Shaking the dust from my sandals

The emotions were spawned by a Youtube clip of monks. As I watched them describe their life within the monastery, and attribute their union with God to their monastic silence, I felt they were being a bit "coy". When I realized this, I took a soul-check and saw that I still have a little anger toward the established monastic communities for their lack of understanding of me years ago. And as I thought about this, I became amazed that there is still, after all of these years, a vestige of anger inside of me.

That brought to mind a scripture passage about Jesus telling his disciples to "shake the dust from your sandals" (Mt 10:14) whenever they were in a house that would not accept them. Perhaps Jesus was not telling them to do so in contempt or disgust (as I always assumed) or even in some sense of righteousness. Maybe Jesus told his disciples this because he was trying to tell them, rejection is hard, and the results (anger) will cling to you like dust. You cannot just walk it off. You have to take off your sandals and shake them, which could mean to imply becoming humble before your own soul, and then consciously letting go (though shaking seems to imply more than just letting go...more like "struggle").

Yes, I think anger is like dust that clings. It certainly can obscure vision. Like sand it can irritate, and like sand it can creep into everything.

And so, again, I take off my sandals and shake off the dust. I will probably have to do so many times before I am free.

For want of insight

Insight. In the world of psychology, it is the mark of mental health. In the world of spirituality, it is the mark of atunement.

I think insight is so important because it is a mark of growth. It takes life as it comes, instead of trying to fit everything neatly into a box of my own creation.

I think of this in light of recent conversations held on Christian Mystics. The topic concerned the calling of God, but the conversation quickly turned to other things, such as the question of duality, the tendency to use scripture as a static verse, the need to evolve in our spiritual world.

That got me to thinking, we all struggle with the need to control. Yes, even in the spiritual realm, we want to control the game, to know what is happening, to explain the process. And in that light, I think insight can be the antidote. Insight can help us let go. Insight can be the inflatable that helps us flow with the process.

For it is true, we understand in stages. If we do not change in our understanding, we remain quite rigid, like statues in a church. Insight allows us to see the new, to understand in a different way, to grow as we go forward.

Perhaps the biggest flaw of the scribes and pharisees of scripture was their lack of insight. They had the law and the prophets, which they understood perfectly. So perfectly that when Jesus came as a fulfillment of those prophecies, they could not accept him. He did not fit in the "box."

Insight is what brings the monastic realm out into the world because it is insight that allows us to live in the spirit of God. It is insight that turns a simple activity into one of light and grace. It is insight that keeps us from settling for less.

The only way I can diminish my need to control is by opening to insight. Then, I will not need to know or understand perfectly, because I will know it is an ongoing process.