Putting fire under your desire

Sometimes I grapple with the sayings and writings of great Christians. Take, for example, what Jean Leclerq says about Gregory the Great, whom he calls the Doctor of Desire: The importance given to desire confers on St. Gregory's doctrine an extremely dynamic quality. It is concerned with constant progress, for desire, as it becomes the more intense, is rewarded by a certain possession of God which increases it still more. The result of this desire is peace rediscovered in God, since desire is itself a possession in which fear and love are reconciled.

I find Leclerq's words a bit bland. I would like to put fire under it and proclaim, its all about desire! God cannot be possessed without it, nor fear vanquished, or struggle overcome. His phrase that we obtain a "certain possession of God", bothers me, because it makes God seem almost beyond our reach. And I'm not so sure fear and love can be reconciled. I'm more of the mind that love casts out fear; that fear can be overcome, that we can move beyond fear into a loving trust through a habitual response of trust. What we often lack is patience with ourselves, patience with the process, patience with the imperfections. It's as though we expect never to fail, and then berate ourselves because, what? we're human? God forbid!

God isn't unapproachable. God doesn't reign somewhere high above us, so that we must struggle to find even a "certain possession". Time and time again scripture and mystics tell us: God is in the depths of our hearts. The Divine Being waits patiently for us to find Divinity there. And desire can bring us to that sacred place.

The real power of meditation

I love this quote from Georges Bataille: Mere words have something of quicksand about them. Only experience is the rope that is thrown to us.

How many times do I find that a set of words that inspire me are forgotten down the road. Words gain power with experience, and "experience" starts with meditation.

Meditation has become popular in our time. Yet, for me, the real power of meditation comes through an atmosphere of silence.

A visit to a monastery recently brought this truth home to me. As I sat in my room reading, I physically relished the silence that enveloped me. The silence permeated the atmosphere, pregnant with self-discover, Presence, and mystery.  As I sat there, I thought, "Why do I not have this in my life?"

The truth is, though I love silence, I have allowed the noise of music or TV to invade my life, with cell phone conversations and social networking distracting me. I have let myself be duped.

Silence is to meditation what yeast is to flour. It breaks through languid thought and brings mere words to profound understanding.  It does this because it puts the breaks on the incessant flow of thoughts that come careening through our brains. It allows us to be still and quiet before the Divine Being.

In the day and age of multitasking, meditation will not work until we capture the atmosphere of silence, and find a way to integrate it into our lives.

And so, I start again. I bring silence back with me, and make it a solid part of my life.

Carved in stone

We go through many doors...

Sometimes we hold someone's image in our mind as one unchangeable. No matter the passage of time, we think of that person from that one time, perhaps even from one act or circumstance. In effect, we have carved that person in stone.

But no one stays the same. No one is set forever.

Perhaps that is why Deuteronomy 5:8 instructs You shall not make for yourself any graven image. We are prone to set things in stone, and then worship our ideal as true. When we do that, we are so wrong.

I look on my own past, and sometimes wish I had learned earlier and understood sooner. I wish I could have let go more. And matured younger. And stepped out sooner rather than later. I wish I had been more open, more able to question, and realized the difference between an image and a true self.

I wish I had not feared so much, and done so little. In a word, I wish that a lot of my past had been different. And I realize, it is all part of journey.

Michael Himes says if we say we know someone like a book, then we really don't know that person at all. Because we are not books. We are human beings.

If I need time to grow, if I make mistakes I later regret, or act in a way that I later abandon, then I need to allow another the same freedom. It doesn't matter if I cannot see a change, cannot discern the person's regret or difference.

All that matters is that I set that person free. That I let her find herself on her journey. Even as I need to find myself in journey.

Lead into contemplation

Sitting in stillness before presence

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 God had something to give to me. I could only receive it after I relinquished my agenda and sat still before the Divine Presence.  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 devastating 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.

Darkness is not dark

Seeing and not seeing. It's often a topic here on Monastic Ponderings. We become conscious because we want to see. We practice compassion so that our hearts will respond better and know more. We meditate so that we are aware. It all implies a willingness to journey. But there is another aspect to our journey: a willingness to accept what that journey brings us.

It happens that sometimes I fail to see, not because I am spiritually blind, but because I don't like what I find. The product is not what I expected, I had hoped for more, or less, or better. I find myself in disbelief that after all I've done, this is the result? And so my journey has brought me to a point I do not want to be, with a decision I do not want to make, and a revelation I do not like. The resistance can be ever so slight, but resistance it is.

It just goes to show that no one ever "arrives" at a place where struggle ceases, despite rhetoric to the contrary. The journey will always have its challenges, and we will always have choices. Paul complained about his own battles, and the reply he received was "My grace is sufficient for you."(2 Cor. 12:9)

Perhaps this is the meaning of psalm 139:12 Darkness is not dark for you, and night will be light as the day. What I worry about is really of little importance, because I am prone to get it wrong. Knowing this should help. For revelation can be having our expectations thwarted so that what we think is replaced by what is. It's worth the thought. And isn't that what the journey is about anyway?

Remembering gifts

Friends. We all have them. But sometimes we do not realize just how many we have or how far they are wiling to go for us until we get into some kind of fix, and they come to our rescue.

This past week, I got myself into such a fix. Sure enough, friends from afar went above and beyond to take care of the situation for me. And I sat there and thought, I am so blessed.

The situation made me think about my forgotten gifts. Such as friends.  Especially friends that I do not see on a regular basis, but who are there for me none-the-less.

I think God is a forgotten gift. Like my friends, God is there for me regardless of my awareness. But often, it takes a need, a pain, or a struggle before I stop to think of the Divine Being. And unlike some of my friends, God is not far away.

It is good to remember: God is closer to me than I am to myself. It is up to me to remember...

The most beautiful people

The questions is as old as the ages, and has been asked in every language and in every religion. If God is loving and kind, then why do we have suffering in this world?

We are given many kinds of answers to this question: theologians will speak about free will and original sin. Others will blame the power of evil and darkness. But when you are the one struggling, these answers do not really speak to the heart and soul.

Elizabeth Kubler Ros offers a more profound answer. She is quoted as saying The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.

To explain away pain is to cheapen human suffering. To acknowledge it, to struggle and rise from the depths, that is the goal of every human sufferer. And we see this in individuals who have endured much, but not let that pain embitter them. They are powerful souls because they know suffering, and do not try to explain it away. They instead offer compassion, sensitive to the vulnerabilities of life, and the need for encouragement.

Beautiful people do not just happen. They are born of suffering, struggle, loss and defeat.