The question of unanswered prayer

Who of us have not experienced unanswered prayer? And who of us have not wondered, why?

John Chrysostom says If God puts off answering us, it is solely to keep us near him for a longer time…

I beg to differ. God is not a petulant child who needs attention so badly that he would willingly inflict pain upon us. No, I do not agree with this explanation at all. I believe it is rather that we grow into our spiritual maturity, and God assists us not by denying our petitions, but by enlightening us to truth.

If all of our prayers went answered, well, our lives would be pretty rosy, wouldn’t they? Think of the things we’ve prayed for: removal of pain from our lives; health for all our loved ones; no loss or injury, knowledge to always know the right thing to do. In a way, we are asking to be removed from life itself, and live in an unreal world of euphoria. God would be cruel to grant us such requests, as it would mean removing us from reality.

Instead, we are asked to witness our faith in the real world that we sometimes do not like. In this, God is standing by us as we experience pain, loss, anguish, and confusion. He isn’t giving them to us; life happens, and he wants us to know loving him doesn’t remove us from such things. God is near to strengthen us to deal with them in faith and trust.

It is through this reality that we become, in effect, living prophets. We demonstrate how faith and trust in God does not negate life, but fulfills it. We become more alive and aware of our challenges, not protected from them. We bear witness that loving God gives us strength, not illusions. 

And so, do not think that any prayer goes unanswered. Rather, think of all the ways God answered prayer, and we did not realize it.

Behold, all things are new

The Spirit of the Lord fills the whole world! we read in Wisdom 1:7. That spirit comes to fill us, but it takes on different aspects for each one of us. It can come to complete, it can come to make sense, or it can come to give courage so that I can move on. One things is certain, being filled with the spirit means I am not stagnant or static. Being filled with the spirit implies movement.

I think that many of us find movement very hard. Because it is so easy to keep looking back and longing for what once was. It is so easy to see the past that is gone as lost.

I am thinking of my past summer at the monastery, and how so much of what I saw and experienced brought back vivid memories of living there. The nuns were so eclectic! They learned how to do major plumbing jobs, as well as electricity and carpentry. They had to, as they could not get anyone to come and do it for them! But now, gone are the sisters that could wire in a new fuse box or lay a new water line. It isn't that the pioneering spirit has been lost. It is simple a question of membership and time. 

Perhaps that is why the past is hard to let go. As I walked around the monastery grounds, I found myself longing for those days when the tool room was full of tools and the gardens were large and flourishing. Now the tool room is full of cobwebs and the gardens are small. Perhaps our greatest challenge in letting go is not looking at the past as loss. The spirit prompts us to consider it movement, going forward, coming into something new.

Perhaps that is the meaning of the verse from Revelations 21:5, Behold, I make all things new.

We should not be afraid of new. We should realize that moving forward means letting go, and that past memories of things that used to be do not have to be chalked up to loss. It can be stepping stones into what we are to become.

For what are we as Christians if not seekers of the new? And how can the new be beautiful unless it is filled with transformation, new life, a living creation?

That is how we are filled with the spirit. That is how the spirit makes all things new.

Knowing the gift when it comes

I thought I would never say this, but sometimes I think we need to be content with less. Let me explain.

Perhaps it is the culture we live in, or perhaps some of us (or maybe just myself) have grandiose ideas of what life could be like. But I am realizing I miss out when I am shooting too high and not compromising. Not that I don't believe we should dream big. But if my head is in the clouds, then I wonder if I miss the smaller gift that comes along.

I say this as I think of Jesus. For centuries, a Messiah had been prophesied. My understanding is that the Israelites prayed daily for the Messiah, begging God to send him to save Israel. But, as John so eloquently says, he came unto his own, and his own received him not. (Jn 1:11). Why? Because Jesus was too lowly, to humble of birth. He did not promise an earthly kingdom, he did not free them from Roman rule. Even Jesus disciples expected at least that much. In other words, Jesus was a big disappointment.

I wonder just how much I resemble the faithful of Jesus' times. I wonder how many blessings I miss because I am looking for something bigger, something grander. And God sends something humble my way, but I don't see it. I'm waiting for that big grace or event or moment. And so I stand waiting for the earth shattering grace of God, while the soft whisper of God's voice perhaps passes me by. I don't know, but I am wondering.

We are called to believe in big things. I guess the secret is, to believe while still seeing God in the humble aspects of our lives. Not really a balancing act, but an openness to the moment. Perhaps this is what Jesus meant when he said to the Samaritan woman, If you but knew the gift of God, and who it is saying to you 'Give me to drink" (Jn 4:10).

Perhaps that is the secret. Perhaps that is also a life's work.

The one remaining shadow

Our age has sought to bring equality to the fore as no age before it. We have sought out shadows and fought to bring light. We have set up models, glorified leaders, and proclaimed our heroes.

One shadow still remains; the shadow that covers every human soul and is in need of healing: the shadow of woundedness.

Woundedness does not speak to glory, but rather to struggle. Yet, in all the ways that we are alike, none is so universal as that of being wounded. Perhaps that is why we can so readily identify with Jesus. He did not come as the sage of the ages, but as the wounded healer.

Sirach 24:21 says You who eat of me will hunger still, you who drink of me will thirst for me. It is as if we are being told no matter what our accomplishments, we will still have needs, we will still have emptiness, we will still want. And in our attempts to satisfy those wants, we often compromise. It is our compromising that wounds us.

I think remembering this fact brings about true equality. It makes us an honest community, one built on what is common among us. I believe that only when we remember our woundedness can we truly stand together. Because when I remember I am wounded, only then can I have the understanding and compassion that allows for another's wounds.

The neglect of God

The sun does not always shine brightly in our lives

I have written about this before. But I think the concept bears repeating. No matter how strong your faith, no matter how fervent your prayer, I think each one of us knows the truth of these words: God neglects us. And I am just as sure, we have all questioned it.

But we are not the first to think these thoughts. The prophets before us, the writer of the psalms, the mystics, even Jesus himself felt abandoned at one point or another.

So how do we deal with God's seeming neglect? 

I think I must first remember that I have an urgency God does not seem to share. My urgency usually stems from my desire to avoid all pain and anxiety. God's neglect is my time to realize, I have inner resources. These are my times of desert traveling and my own garden of Olives. For, as hard as God's neglect feels, I have come to realize that faith and trust and spiritual strength are built not by prayers answered, but by silence to prayers…a seeming neglect of God. In that silence, I am forced to find those hidden inner resources. And I readily admit it...I would never have found that treasure had my prayers been answered on my time schedule.

I need to remember this the next time I feel the neglect of God. Without understanding, I need to remind myself that God is present, even in neglect. I need to remember that strength is there, and not to panic. I also need to remember that I am going to learn something in this stressful situation that I did not know before. Most of all, I need to remember that the neglect of God is actually God drawing me deeper into Presence. For when I draw from my inner strength, I am actually drawing straight from the Divine Being.

Walking where no one wants to tread

Come. It was one simple word. And Peter got out of the boat and walked on water (Mt 14:29).

Much as been said about this incident as told in the gospels. It begs the question, how far will I go to follow my beliefs?

Jesus often invites me to “come” and step forward. What holds me back? For one, I tend to stay with what is secure, what is familiar. I might even question, what did Peter accomplish by stepping out of the boat? He grew afraid and began to sink. And Jesus had to reach out and save him. What kind of faith is that?

But that is precisely the point. Peter did not hesitate to move, and when he needed Jesus, he was there. Stepping forward toward the Divine does not negate fear or failure…it simple helps me go deeper in my relationship with God.

Faith should never reach a plateau. And to keep my faith active and alive, there will be times when I am invited to step out. As a follower of Jesus, those times will probably come as an inner whisper echoing in my heart, come!  It is then I have a choice: stay in the security of my boat, or be willing to step out onto the fluid waters with hope. If I begin to sink, well, I know Jesus is somewhere near. I must realize that sinking is not the danger...staying in the boat and waiting for something to happen is.

For faith bids me to believe that I will find that treasure I am searching for...the destiny planned for me from all eternity. All that has gone before me has prepared me for a particular moment. I must not put it off, waiting for the perfect time. Peter stepped out of the boat in a raging storm! So, when the whisper of God is in my heart, and I hear the invitation come, I must go for it.

Touching the hand of God

I love Michelangelo's picture of creation, God's finger touching the finger of humankind.  It speaks eloquently of what our relationship should be with the Divine Being. I think that it should not just be in a painting. I believe that living with faith means realizing my own ability to touch the finger of God.

I am sure you get as tired as I do of reading about God or listening to others speak of God's love. I find I want to feel that Divine love for myself. I find that there are times when words have become empty, and I need that one on one God-with-me experience. 

I find in my own journey that the problem isn't having the experience, but recognizing it.  I find it easy to get caught up in the moment, and forget to reflect on its impact. I find it easy to look back and say, "Wow, God was really with me at that time," but can easily fail to see God with me in this present crisis or challenge. I find it easy to write about God, but harder to live out my own inspirations, my own insights, my own words.

I suspect we all struggle with these experiences. I think that it comes down to mindfulness of the moment. For when we are mindful, that experience is not lost in the milieu of events. It becomes a point of touching the finger of God.

Finding the three in one

Painting by Sr. Mary Grace Thul, OP

I've been meditating on the meaning of our belief in the Trinity. I have always found the doctrine of three Persons in one God complicated and deep. St.Augustine makes the point that Trinity reminds us of charity. He likens the relationship within the Godhead of three to the charity that Jesus recommends to us, always.You cannot practice charity unless there is another.

I wanted to go beyond that concept. So I searched for three themes to be found in spiritual writings. I found that the author of the Cloud of Unknowing tells us in chapter 5 that before we can enter into the cloud of unknowing we must first surrender to the cloud of forgetting, all things past, present and future. You need to read the whole chapter to get a proper understanding of what the author is trying to say. But it does point to a threesome effort.

I am thinking of three solid monastic principles that all seekers embrace when they walk into the cloister: conversion, compunction, and vestiture. Before a monastic can set out on the spiritual journey, she must first turn away from her former way of living (metanoia), show her sincerity with a deeply felt sorrow, and proclaim that change of heart by changing either/both her name and her outward garment. The three are dependent upon each other.

I am thinking of the three main proofs of faith that St. Paul gives us in 1 Cor: 13:13, Now these three remain, faith, hope and charity. This senstence comes after a whole chapter on love. Yet, as Paul says, love comes from faith and hope. Another Trinitarian concept.

Richard Rhor talks about three ways of seeing. He says we see through our senses, through our thinking, and through our understanding. It takes both senses and thought to make what we are examining into something meaningful. To live spiritually, according to Rhor, we need all three.

I am sure there are more ways the Trinity concept affect our lives than I have shared. I would be very interested in hearing other thoughts on this. Please share!

Getting it right by admitting wrong

The gospel is not written as a public relations piece. The words were profound. It came from the sermon on Mark 8:29 when Jesus asks his disciples, Who do you say I am?

The sermon pointed to how often we, church officials, government officials, are more concerned about image than substance. We do not want to appear imperfect, and so we grossly exaggerate our goodness and cover up our failings. As a Church, we have done this to an embarrassing degree. This is counter to the spirit of the Gospels.

The Gospels are full of very human individuals.The gospels tell the story of how Jesus' friends got it wrong time and time again. No attempt is made in the stories to cover up their words or explain their regrettable actions away. 

I am reminded how, in 2000, Pope John Paul II publicly apologized to the world for the crimes committed by the Catholic Church. It was the first time I had ever heard a church official publicly admit that the church had done wrong in the name of God. John Paul II not only said the words openly, he wrote them in an official document so posterity would never forget it. It did not shake my faith; it actually restored it.

I think the ultimate message we should get from all of this is, get rid of the chaff and do away with pretense. For the honest truth is far more attractive. No one wants to hear the rhetoric.

Not waiting for tragedy to strike

I love to walk early in the morning, especially when the moon is out, and everything has an eerie glow, with moon shadows and moon light. I remember one such walk last summer, when I was working at the monastery, and thoughts were about recent events in the lack of vocations. My understanding is, vocations are always slow for dedicated religious life, and that the only times monasteries were rushed with applicants were after some drastic war, when death and suffering were very real in the minds of the young. Death and intense suffering do have a way of making us look for something deeper, more lasting, more eternal.

And that makes me wonder, why do we have to face death and suffering before we make God a serious part of our daily lives? For a death sentence strikes fear to those who know little of the Divine Being. And learning about God in the here and now can bring so much peace and joy.

My thoughts go to a deathbed I witnessed while I lived in the monastery, where the rather young sister was dying of cancer. Death was not fearful for her. She greeted it with a joy so profound and a peace so deep it is hard to describe. This attitude affected me very much, as I was one of her caregivers, and saw her suffering, her quick decline, and her willingness to accept it all. She had made God her friend, and so she could welcome death because she believed she was going to someone she knew, someone she had thought about often.

It demonstrates just how powerful friendship with the Divine can be, and why we should not wait for suffering or death to force the issue.

Which brings me back to some of my thoughts of moonlight in early morning darkness. I think it resembles living without an awareness of spiritual things. We can see, but in a dim way. Faith has always been called a light, a light so steady that no suffering or death can dim it. More importantly, there is so much joy to be had in building a spiritual relationship with the Divine it is a pity so few seek to develop one while life is going well.

Let's not wait for death to force spirituality upon us. Let us develop a relationship now, in the fullness of health.  Divinity is waiting for us.

Where our strengths lie

The longer I live, the more I'm amazed at the human tendency to anger. I am not speaking about the ability to become angry. I am referring to our tendency to carry anger around inside ourselves for injuries or injustices carried out many long years ago. One pin prick, one little rub the wrong way, and we erupt in a seething volcano.

Perhaps that is why Heather King's words in her book Redeemed struck me as very profound: I thought I'd be loved by being strong, by carrying my own weight, by not needing anything. I'd never understood we are loved by being vulnerable (p. 189). King is speaking of her own anger at a relationship gone awry. In her reflections, she realizes she too has some blame to carry. In her desire to appear strong, she became isolated.

Being vulnerable is important, not because it has the power to soothe our own angry souls (it doesn't), but because it keeps us aware of our real fragility.  We read in Phil. 4:13 I can do all things in him who strengthens me. I think sometimes when I am doing all things, I risk forgetting my fragility. It is even easier when you have been on the spiritual journey for a long time, and have come to believe that you are stronger than you really are.

Perhaps we should keep in mind another verse from Philippians: Though he was God, he did not deem equality with God something to grasp at; instead, he emptied himself, taking on the human in all things, becoming humble, even unto death. Being vulnerable does not diminish us; it is rather a fact of life. When we understand this, we remember where our strengths lie.

The respect and awe of silence

Ever find yourself without inspiration, even when you try to find a quiet time and place? I hate those times, for it makes me feel empty and unconnected. I think it comes when I have too much "busyness" going on in my life.

Recently I read the words "silence shows respect and awe". The phrase caught my attention.

What do I need to have a silence that results in awe and wonder? I suspect it must be a silence that not just listens, but sees. A silence that pierces the veil that hides the spiritual, and allows me to move beyond.

I want that kind of silence. I blame my busyness for my lack of inspiration, yet I know this is not true. I was by far much busier in the monastery than I am at present. I suspect it is my own surroundings.  In the monastery, we were not just surrounded by silence, but silence was imposed upon us as a rule. The times for speaking were clearly defined. It built respect, so much so that when I broke silence, I felt like I was breaking a precious dish, destroying something priceless, losing something sacred.

I have to wonder if I have let myself surrender to the noise of life. I have to wonder if my lack of inspiration comes, not from being busy, but from my own willingness to break silence. I have to reflect that noise has become part of my life, and that I have lost some of that wonder over stillness and quiet.

Now to return to that wonder!

As long as we have not met God...

I like to think of one of the Gospel writers, Matthew. Looking at his life, we see a mirror of how Jesus thinks and how Jesus acts.

According to the gospel account, Matthew was a tax collector, a profession considered traitorous by his own country men. Strict Jews of Jesus time would have banned any contact or communication with such a person. So, of course, Jesus walks over to Matthew and says not "Hi. Howya doin?" but, "Follow me" (Mt 9:9). And Matthew rises up and leaves everything to follow.

I've often wondered at certain passages of the gospels, those that deal with the righteous being cast out and those considered "sinners" or "least worthy" being made friends of God. Matthew certainly fits in this category, but so does Mary Magdalen (Lk 7:36-50), the Centurion (Mt 8:5-13), and most especially, the story of the pharisee and the publican (Lk 18:9-14).

Jesus must see something humble, something honest, something authentic in these cast-outs of regular religious society.  According Matthew (9:9-13) Jesus response to those who questioned his association with Matthew and his friends were simple, Go and learn the meaning of the words, I desire mercy, not sacrifice.

Swiss mystic Maurice Zundel writes As long as we have not met God...God is like a false god. Maybe this is the answer to the puzzle. All of the good works or piety or just deeds we do have no real meaning until we meet God. And in Jesus own words, we do that by mercy, not sacrifice.

Be the maker of our own destiny

I recently picked up from another blog the concept of having an "exit plan."  The author of this blog debates the pros and cons of such an idea (she is more inclined to live spontaneously and not to plan), but I think the idea of an exit plan boils down to this: be the decider of your own fate. In other words, you make the choices necessary. Do not leave it up to chance or another individual.

I for one think exit plans are good. I think we often miss out in life because we are too passive and want a freedom that actually harms us spiritually. I think far too many of us refuse to "exit" when necessary because of the risks involved, the unknown, or the insecurity. So we stay put far longer than we should, and miss the excitements and lessons we could learn if only we would take control and exit when our souls prompt us to.

I speak from experience. I often look back at my life of 29 years within a monastery and ask myself why I stayed so long! God was telling me I was not a good fit, but I could not hear it. I kept accepting other opinions that said my only problem was a lack of generosity and faith. I let others tell me that this was the life for me, and get over my questioning. I let others decide what the spirit was saying, instead of discerning it for myself. 

And so I think we all should have an exit plan, we all should know ourselves through what spiritual writers call self-knowledge. I firmly believe we should not let others dictate how life should be for us. Each one of us should be the maker of decisions. Then, whether it is to enter or exit, we will be following, not the whims of another, but the promptings of the spirit alive and awake in our own soul.

The gift of darkness

How often do we see darkness is as evil and light as God. And yet, scripture would tell us, it ain’t always so. There are times when the darkness we experience is actually good, a time of rest and rejuvenation. Conversely, there are times when light is not God, but scorching heat and even subtle pride.

Psalm 121:6 speaks to this time: The sun shall not smite you in the day, nor the moon at night. These words infer that light can be harmful at times, times when I put a lot of trust in myself, my own reflections, my own inspirations, and forget that I am and always will remain wounded. And that seems to be the problem.

I think we people of faith tend to struggle between feeling unworthy and forgetting that I remain wounded no matter how strong my faith. It is for me to strike a balance between the two. First of all, I do not need to become "worthy" in God's eyes. I only need to go forward in trust, a humble trust that remembers always, I am a vulnerable being.

As Christians, we are often taunted by the same words used against Christ and Jeremiah, "If he is God's chosen one, surely God will save him." I bet some of us even speak these words to ourselves. And yet, how wrong are those words! I should replace them with the words of psalm 23:4 Even if I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil, for you are with me with your rod and staff, that give me courage.

This is the truth, that for a believer, neither darkness nor light will harm. Because both have gifts to offer, both have advantages, both bring grace.

The price of revelation

We read in Genesis 3:7 that after Adam and Eve had eaten the forbidden fruit, a fruit offered to them to gain wisdom, the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized that they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made loin-cloths for themselves. When God came in the cool evening time to visit with them, the man and his wife hid themselves from the Lord God among the trees of the garden.  The story goes on to the dialogue that followed, and ends with God leading them out of the garden and the heavens were closed. Amazing that these two individuals who had all the pleasure of paradise could not handle self-revelation. Seeing their nakedness, they were ashamed. They not only ran, they tried to hid from God.

We read in the gospel of Matthew 3:16 about Jesus being baptized. To be baptized, Jesus would have stripped before going down into the Jordan. When Jesus returns from the water, the heavens were opened. I think part of the reason Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River was to redeem our notion of nakedness.

I think of nakedness as the result of revelation, especially self-revelation. When things come to light, our eyes are opened. Sometimes we see wonderful and inspiring things. Sometimes we see just how naked we really are. Jesus would show us that shame is not the proper response, but rather, acceptance and honesty that admits our condition.

Matthew's account goes on to say that when the heavens were opened and the voice of the Father was heard, the voice proclaimed This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased. Take note that the voice of the Father that thundered at Jesus’ baptism stands in stark contrast to the Genesis story which has God speaking to humankind in the cool of the evening. The heavens were split to show that revelation is not meant to break us down but to open us up.

The legendary Adam and Eve failed to understand this. Hebrews 4:13 says: Nothing can be hidden from the Divine Presence, but everything is naked and uncovered before the eyes of him of whom we speak. So true. And so it only makes sense that we accept revelations, both those that bring us joy and those that threaten to shame. For in accepting we learn the truth about ourselves, we deal with that truth, and stop attempting to cover it up. 

For, I am sure, when we can accept revelations about ourselves, our true state, our very limited yet seemingly infinite capacities, then the heavens will open for us as well. And we will hear, within the depths of our hearts, breaking forth from the clouds of doubt and confusion, a voice that affirms: you are my beloved. In you I am well pleased.