A transformed person

Sometimes I re-read things I've written in the past and think, wow, I wrote that? Other times I say, wow, I thought like that?

I realize now that such reactions are part and parcel of "journey". If we are moving forward, we are changing. And this change, when it is determined and sought after, has long been termed "conversion."

Conversion makes me a different person. Not all at once. But one step at a time. And over time, I become a very different individual, one I can hardly recognize down the road. A person whose world has become different.

That change depends totally on how I am searching, seeking and discovering. If I go with the flow, my change will be out of my control. But if I am deciding what to read, what to listen to, who to follow; if I am pursuing God in an active and contemplative way, then my change will be deliberate. I will be deciding the direction I want to go and making choices that move me forward.

Because true conversion is, after all, transformation. And a transformed person is a wonderfully authentic, generous, revealed individual. A transformed person is one who remembers life is a journey, and I am not there yet. I have more to learn.

Living transformed

What is the purpose of living a spiritual life if not to seek spiritual transformation? And just as we can tell a healthy diet by the effects it has on our lives, so too, should an authentic spiritual life show forth on how we live.

We read in Exodus 34:29 that when Moses came down from Mount Sinai, he was not aware that his face was radiant because he had spoken with the Lord. And, the story goes on, every time he spoke with the Lord (who incidentally, came to him in a cloud) his face shone again.

The interesting part of this story is that Moses face did not shine when he spoke about the Lord, or while performing sacred acts. Only when he spent time speaking to God was he transformed by that conversation.

This certainly urges us to learn the art of conversation with the Divine Being. All the books we can read, all the conversations we can have with others are no substitute for a personal conversation with Divinity. And, like the story of Moses, our transformation will not be so much evident to ourselves as it will to those who know us.

Would not it be wonderful if someone grabbed your arm and said, "Tell me your secret, for I see a peace and tranquility in your that I want for myself. Tell me how it is that you have so much faith and hope." And, like Moses, we can reply, "I have spoken with the Divine Being, and it has caused this transformation."

Hoping for a better past

There is no forgiveness without giving up hope for a better past. The sentence grabbed me. How often have I re-played my life, and made past events different because it was comforting to my imagination? Would we not all like to re-live and correct those dumb mistakes, the foolish acts, the less than perfect life so that it never happened? But it did.

Perhaps that is the meaning of Jesus words, "when you put your hand to the plow, do not look back"  (Lk 9:62). Perhaps Jesus is trying to reassure us that the past is not doomed, it is not set in stone, it does not define us. That being a follower means looking forward, not backward.

I think in some sense, our obsession with our past is mostly our obsession with ourselves. A monastic of many years said to me sadly, "I still don't know if God is pleased with me." I looked at her and said, "I don't think there is a problem with God. I think the problem is you are not pleased with yourself."

How true it is. God is standing by, watching us obsess, and wondering when we will give it up. Divinity is bigger than our pettiness. But we have to let it go to experience that wholeness from the Divine. We have to stop looking back, wishing the past were better. We must look forward, knowing it is our desire that matters. And that often, it is ourselves, not God, who is dissatisfied.

Return to your heart

If we were to seek the key to the authenticity of the spiritual journey, that key would perhaps be depth, writes Jean-Marie Howe (23). She goes on to discuss our inability to grasp such thoughts, because we do not understand depth of life. We understand product. We can grasp goals. But depths leave us a bit bewildered. 

Howe believes this is because depths involve spiritual being, a concept we do not often consider. Being is the silent building of ourselves, our consciousness, our motives. To work with being means to understand silence, meditation, Lectio and stillness. Becoming can be likened to working with art, it needs brush strokes that are carefully placed and in sync with what else is on the canvas. Becoming is like fashioning something out of soft clay, or following the music heard in the mind even before it is put on paper. Spiritual being involes creating, transforming, listening and surrendering, all done without diminishing ourselves.

To participate in the journey toward depth and spiritual being, we have but to return to our heart (24). For our heart is the treasure hidden in the field. It is hidden because it is not immediately obvious. It is a treasure because it contains all that we need to become. 

Return to your heart. Find your treasure. And you will have the key to authenticity on your spiritual journey.

A Light not known among mere mortals

Darkness is not dark for you, and night shines as the day. (Ps 139:12). The concept continues to haunt me. When I speak of darkness, I am speaking of struggle, of unknowing, of confusion. So to have the psalm say that to God, darkness is not dark cannot mean he makes light of our human condition. I think it means that what we see as darkness can actually be a source for great light.

I think back to the benefits darkness has given me in the past. It made me stop and reflect, it destroyed preconceived ideals and notions, and I sank deeper into meditation. I stopped asking questions, because real darkness blots out even the formulation of questions. Darkness made me silence, so that I opened not my mouth. I became still before God. And because my expectations were dashed, I just sat there in silence and waited. Without knowing it, darkness forced me into contemplative prayer.

Only later in looking back do I see the rich fruits that came from such darkness. I was concerned about what I was giving to God. I'd forgotten he had something to give to me. I could only receive it after I relinquished my agenda and sat still before him. My darkness taught me a different kind of prayer, one of listening.

Perhaps that is the real meaning behind the phrase of psalm 139. The very trials that punish the soul often reveal the hidden beauty we've not tapped into. And we seem to need the darkness so that we push ourselves beyond what is comfortable, what is admirable, what is acceptable. Nothing can seem more dehumanizing than to sit before God, dumb and knowing not what to say. And even as the soul groans, "Lord, what is it you want from me?" the soul is taking flight into a new type of faith, a new form of hope, into a light not known among mere mortals. Perhaps this kind of darkness releases the soul into the divine light of grace that brings the soul into a new sphere of understanding. Maybe this kind of darkness is no more than a cocoon where transformation takes place.

More than peace

St Peter writes in 2:2: Like newborn infants, long for pure spiritual milk so that through it you may grow into salvation, for you have tasted that the Lord is good.

Once we have tasted the goodness of the Lord, we will always long for that satisfaction. It isn't that we don't long for it all along. It is more that we do not realize what will satisfy our longing until we hit upon the right love. Jesus is so gentle he waits patiently for us to discover him, giving us hints and little gifts as though from a "secret pal". And we dabble with various ways to find joy: possessions, money, attachments, etc. The list is endless. And the joys are not totally frivolous, as we are human and need human satisfaction.

But we also thirst for that which is unquenchable - Divine Love. To taste and see that the Lord is good, we need more than a weekly visit to the church for an obligation. We need more than to sit with scripture and ponder its meaning. We need to develop a personal relationship with Jesus, confiding in him as we would a dear friend. Only then, will our experience do more than give us peace...it will transform our lives.

Authenticity to Transformation

When is it good to be your authentic self, and when is your authentic self not good enough? I've been pondering this question for some time now. I'll share my thoughts on the matter:

We all know how refreshing it is to be in contact with someone who is authentic. It's like a breath of fresh air, for we acknowledge the courage an individual has when she reveals the true "me".  Such a person has taken a chance at being vulnerable, open, naked. And no communication is quite as refreshing.

So, what's not to like about an authentic self? As a person who is striving to unmask the individual I really am, I've learned that there are pitfalls here as well. It comes when I confuse the authentic self with the acceptable self, when I think that authenticity is good enough. We must never forget that, whatever we are or wherever we are in life, there is always need for transformation. And that's the danger: that having reached a certain degree of authenticity, we may settle. We may forget to continue to move forward, we may forget that what we've found is only a beginning; that there is still work to be done.

I guess its a matter of reflection. Being yourself is good. Staying yourself...not so good.

Released Into Divine Light

 Darkness is not dark for you, and night shines as the day. (Ps 139:12). The concept continues to haunt me. When I speak of darkness, I am speaking of struggle, of unknowing, of confusion. So to have the psalm say that to God, darkness is not dark cannot mean he makes light of our human condition. I think it means that what we see as darkness can actually be a source for great light.

I think back to the benefits darkness has given me in the past. It made me stop and reflect, it destroyed preconceived ideals and notions, and I sank deeper into meditation. I stopped asking questions, because real darkness blots out even the formulation of questions. Darkness made me silence, so that I opened not my mouth. I became still before God. And because my expectations were dashed, I just sat there in silence and waited. Without knowing it, darkness forced me into contemplative prayer.

Only later in looking back do I see the rich fruits that came from such darkness. I was concerned about what I was giving to God. I'd forgotten he had something to give to me. I could only receive it after I relinquished my agenda and sat still before him.  My darkness taught me a different kind of prayer, one of listening.

Perhaps that is the real meaning behind the phrase of psalm 139. The very trials that punish the soul often reveal the hidden beauty we've not tapped into. And we seem to need the darkness so that we push ourselves beyond what is comfortable, what is admirable, what is acceptable. Nothing can seem more dehumanizing than to sit before God, dumb and knowing not what to say. And even as the soul groans, "Lord, what is it you want from me?" the soul is taking flight into a new type of faith, a new form of hope, into a light not known among mere mortals. Perhaps this kind of darkness releases the soul into the divine light of grace that brings the soul into a new sphere of understanding. Maybe this kind of darkness is no more than a cocoon where transformation takes place.

Envision the Change - And You Will Do It

Each year we treat Christmas as though it brought something new into our lives. A great deal of this has to do with gift giving, of course. But it is good to reflect on the reason for our feelings at this time of year, and on the whole concept of  having something new.

For the dedicated Christian, Christmas is a time to renew commitment to Christ. We are reminded of all that he gave up just so he could become one of us, a step down for him to be sure. It's also a time to take stock of our own life, of our own transformation, and what it might mean in concrete terms for me.

A friend of mine has been on a rather interesting journey of late, one that doesn't let her settle too long. This shift is rather dramatic because she spent over 20 years in one place and in one profession. But for the last ten years she has been on the move. Recently, she left her job, sold her home, and moved again. After a year, she found a Graduate course that spoke to her heart, decided to go on to Grad school, started looking for a new job and a new place to live. In the midst of all of this, she admitted she couldn't help but wonder about herself and her journey. Shouldn't one seek to be settled, secure, and rooted after a time? Why did her journey never seem to end, and what was "wrong" with her life that she couldn't seem to find peace in what she has done, but felt drawn to continue the search?

Just about this time she received a Christmas card from a former co-worker. In part, it read: It is so important to be true to yourself, and you have done this all along. I admire your courage & strength. Believe that you can have peace of mind & freedom to live the life you want. Believe that you will not only survive but you will thrive. I am excited for you. I can see the sparkle in your eyes & your beautiful smile. Your loving spirit stays in this place. You have touched many lives & you will continue to do so. Your path is as special as you are.

Such affirmation did a lot for my friend. It reminded her that even while she was questioning her own journey,  she was touching hearts and souls and spirits.

And so, what change do you envision this Christmas? And what are you willing to do to accomplish it?

 

Teach me to Pray

One of the most interesting lines in scripture are the words of Jesus disciples, "Lord, teach us how to pray." They had the whole Jewish cycle of prayer, they had the law, they had the customs of their day. Yet, when they saw Jesus pray, it was different, he was different, and they wanted to know what he was saying in prayer that caused him to experience the Father in a way that was real and tangible.

Simon Tugwell says when we come to God, it is not to force our moods or our interests onto him, but to receive his interests and to let him, in a sense, share his moods with us...

In other words, prayer is when we become more a part of God. Is not this what caused the disciples to ask Jesus about his prayer? He became different. They wanted to too.

In our prayer, it is most important that we have this openness to God, this ability to take on his interests and to let him share with us. It is interesting that many who go to God in prayer hope for answers, but forget God wants to share himself with us. We should leave prayer with a greater sense of God, with a greater peace, a more wonderful hope.

I'd like to close this thought with another quote from Simon Tugwell on prayer: It is not the immediate feeling that is important; that may or may not come. What matters is that we should be, slowly and quietly, molded by  this rehearsal for and anticipation of the worship of heaven. It is a schooling for paradise.

Being found by Someone

Transformation. It's the goal of any human being who desires more. For those seeking a spiritual life, it means changing from what we are to something better, something deeper, in one word, someone. James Alison calls such transcendence a "falling into" or an "undergoing of God". And Richard Rohr says it happens to us rather than we make it happen.

For anyone who is not familiar with Richard Rohr, I encourage you to read his works or subscribe to his daily reads. He offers rich, deep, spiritual insight that is astonishing. In his latest book, "The Naked Now" he writes When you joyfully surrender to God...you seldom have the feeling you have found anything. It feels much more like Someone found you!

I would dare to say, this is the difference between those whose spirituality consists of rituals and obligations, and those who seek because they realize the one we are seeking is good. In one, we justify ourselves by works. In the other, we are justified by the one who saves.

Francis Thompson said it years ago in his now famous poem, the Hound of Heaven:

Wherefore should any set thee love apart?
Seeing none but I makes much of naught," He said,
"And human love needs human meriting,
                How hast thou merited--
Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot?
                Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee
                Save Me, save only Me?
All which I took from thee I did but take,
                Not for thy harms.
But just that thou might'st seek it in my arms.

Finding our Dream

We are all on a journey, whether we are conscious of it or not. In his book, The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho addresses this issue. He chronicles a young man and his dreams. In the beginning, all the boy wants is to be a shepherd. This is not the trade of his father or family. This is something he chose for himself, and he works hard to buy sheep and leave all he knows to travel around his country, selling his wool. He is happy, for a time. But then something happens to change all that: he has a dream.

In his dream, there is greater treasure to be found, but not in his land. He must go to Egypt. The boy is troubled, and seeks advise and counsel. All point to the same truth: if you want to really fulfill your dream, you will have to take the steps necessary, even if that means great sacrifice. The boy sells his sheep, and armed with this money, sails for the coast of Africa. He barely arrives when he is robbed of everything. It could be the end of this story, but it is not. He takes a job working for a crystal shop, learns how to read omens, and saves up enough money to continue his journey. Where most of us might give up, he goes forward.

In Coelho's story, this is just one of many trials that the boy encounters. On and on the boy goes, never letting the difficulties or dangers he faces keep him from following his dream. As he moves, he grows, changes, intuits more and more, and does in fact come to find his treasure. When he discovers it, he finds the best aspect of his journey is the change he experiences within himself.

Our journey is unique to each of us. Failure will happen on our journey, and threaten to end it all. It is for us to continue to hope and believe, to continue forward in another direction, to never give up. Such are the things great women and men are made of. Such is the goal of our lives. And in this very goal, we will become transformed.

Transformed Through the Cross

The Cross. As essential as this symbol  is to Christianity, the views, opinions and spirituality of the cross are varied and sometimes contradictory. So I feel right at home giving my own views on the cross and its relation to suffering, trials, hardships, etc.

In early Christian spirituality, the cross became a symbol encouraging early martyrs to endure suffering. If Jesus did so much, what should we not do? Perhaps because of that, the cross, especially the phrase from scripture, "Unless you take up your cross and follow me, you cannot be my disciple" became the goal of many Christians.

True to my contrariness, I think such statements cannot be interpreted so simply. I agree with Frederick Faber, who once wrote that our concepts of the cross and suffering are all upside down. We think, well, Jesus carried his cross, so I must do the same. As though Jesus brought this hard way of life to us, and to follow him, we must choose it too. But Jesus didn't bring suffering to our lives...it was already there, through the free will of others. And no matter how good you are, you will be affected by bad choices others make.

So, my interpretation is this: Jesus is telling us, suffering isn't the end, something to make us bitter, or sad, or rejected. It isn't even something he wants us to have to go through. But because it will come in our lives, he is showing us it can be turned into something good. How that happens depends on us.

Someone I know recently learned he had cancer. The treatments he underwent were brutal, exhausting, and made him even want to just die to end it all. But being a true Christian, he knew something good could come from it. He says he learned to surrender to what was beyond his control, the suffering from his treatments. And as he continually surrendered, he began to realize the power that was his: take this pain and reap good from it. He said when he did this, he realized that very little has happened in his life for which he was not later grateful when seeing it in a different light.


So it is how we gaze upon what happens to us that makes the difference. Burden remains burden only while we continue to struggle under its weight. With time, thought, reflection, prayer, questioning, struggling, which are all part of the process, we can keep moving, beyond pain into realization. Then, we can glory in the cross, as St. Paul says. And when we can do that, then are we transformed.