My need for God

I love this thought from Bernard Bro: perhaps the best definition [of an adolescent] is that of someone who has not yet experienced her limitations, and therefore has not had to accept them.

It is true. Until I experience my limitations, I have not grown up. Probably my biggest challenge in life will be accepting and dealing with such humanness.

We are not taught about such things. If anything, we are told that we can be anything we want to be. But that is just not so. Every single one of us has limitations in some field. The secret is, those limitations need not make us less; they can be stepping stones not only to a greater maturity, but to a more authentic and sincere form of prayer.

Bro says Prayer brings us back to what is most authentic in our quest for happiness...prayer makes us free...prayer...must teach us every day of our need for God.

Our need for God. That is the reality of life. If I should live without feeling any need, it is most likely that I would become satisfied with life as is. It is when I face limitations, when I am needy, that I pray with a humble heart.

Limitations need not be defeating. For in authenticity, we learn the truth.

Letting another be human

Forgiveness moves us, like seeing the first flowers of spring

Of all the Christian virtues that are difficult to practice, I think forgiveness is probably the hardest. As the mark of the Christian, it is deep, symbolic, and telling.

The gospels have several stories on forgiveness, probably the most succinct and direct being the "Our Father." Forgive us, as we forgive those who sin against us. In the monastic life, it was often pointed out to me that this prayer says, in effect: God look at me. And as I forgive or do not forgive, that is how I want you to treat me.

But I think it is more. I think forgiveness says I accept my vulnerability. I acknowledge my mess up. I see that I am not perfect, and so will not expect another to be what I am not. It is me saying, okay, you offended me, hurt me, abused me. But I will not set that act in stone. Just as I do not always do the right thing, I will give you to freedom to be human and imperfect as well. I will see this for what it is...human frailty.

I think failure to forgive is telling. I think it means I have not accepted my own vulnerability, and so cannot accept the vulnerability of another. It says I am not secure. It says I am still clinging to the fallacy that it is possible to be perfect.

Psychologists and counselors will tell you, forgiveness is not only good, but necessary for your mental health. Jesus would tell you, forgiveness is good for your peace of mind. It is good for your soul. It is good for your heart. To forgive is to acknowledge your own human status. It is to accept that I am not the only one who does not get it right all the time. It is to have the gentle heart and the open eyes that says, yea, we are all in this together.

Transforming stoney hearts into bread

Paul Claudel writes [Christ] did not come to give us a life that would serve only to enable us to die. He did not come on earth to prevent hunger and thirst...He came with his great leaven so that no stone might be incapable of becoming wheat or loaf.

Think of the stones Satan used to tempt Jesus in the desert. Satan placed them before Jesus with an invitation to transform them into loaves of bread. Those stones symbolized human hearts, and Jesus did not come so that we might feed him. He came to feed us. So, even though those stones were meant for transformation, it would not come at the command of Jesus. He could have, but he would not. He waits on us to initiate the transformation. He waits on us to open our hearts.

In the desert of life, we too are tempted to feed off the very things that are set before us, especially in our spiritual quest. We have our devotions, our church time, our meditation time, and our fasts and prayers. But good as they are, they are not meant to feed us, but we are to feed them, with a burning spirit that comes from a heart opening. It's the spirit that prompts the action, not the devotion that calls for it, that gives sustenance to the soul.

Jean-Marie Howe writes to open our heart, to open a depth within ourselves: this is the aim of monastic life, and from this flows its fertility. The treasure hidden in the field of monastic life is depth: to arrive at such a depth of being that our whole life flows from the level of the heart, for it is there where God is, there where God gives to us and through us to the world.

God does more than give to us. When we cooperate in our own transformation, a unity occurs whereby we become like that which feeds us. It's the wonderful assimilation seen when a person takes nourishment, and it occurs on the spiritual plane as well.

Olivier Clement writes to seek the place of the heart. We live so much on the surface of ourselves. We live in our head and in our entrails, and all the vast spaces of the heart we have forgotten. I believe that we must rediscover them.

Discovering them transforms them. The heart of stone can become bread which will feed, but not by Jesus command. Only when I initiate the process. Only when I open.

Follow me in the scripture sense

Camino Trail through Cahors, France

Follow me. The words tend to make one think of obedience, submission, and disregard for one's own desires. Yet, when Jesus said Follow me he invited us to a different kind of following, one that used him as an example, one of seeking destiny. For Jesus, destiny did not mean following the status quo. If anything, it meant stepping outside the norm, thinking in terms of truth, not convention. If you hesitate to accept this, think of how Jesus was judged by his own church authorities: he cures on the Sabbath; he eats and drinks with sinners; he makes himself to be like God.

In each of our lives, there comes a time when we too are challenged in our discernment. What seems the right thing to do is not the norm, does not follow protocol, is not offering security. Yet, when we can accept our responsibilities and made the hard decision, we find we step deep into a new level of spiritual life.

It doesn't have to be dramatic. And I can pray, reflect, and seek advise. But ultimate, I have to make the final decision.

Perhaps the difficulty we experience in discernment comes from expecting life to follow some sort of norm. Even though we are scripture people, we tend not to read the gospels very deeply. For when Jesus invites us to follow him, he is really asking us to be willing to risk. He shows us that when following him, we must think not in terms of what is acceptable, but in where I am called; to seek my destiny, not my stability. And, as wonderful as the pilgrim's life looks on paper, it is not so romantic in reality. It requires me to draw deep from inside of myself, and find a stronger faith, a greater trust, and a deeper love.

I find that once I make that step, I begin to live on a different plane, one deeper and more aware of my destiny. I begin to be less afraid of fear, and strengthened in making hard choices. I find myself not looking for peace, but for my calling, for fulfillment in the stage of meaningful living, for God. Because my concept of God has changed, and I know God can be reached, God can be touched, God can be taken at his word. And I know, I too can become like God.

Signs of the nature of 'I'

Tranquility...our attitude toward our humanity

Lent. A journey toward Easter. But often, in this journey, we feel bogged down by our humanity. And we often arrange our Lenten practices as means of overcoming and subduing such humanity.

Julián Carrón views it differently. He writes how many times are we tempted to look at the concrete humanity in which we find ourselves—for example, the unease, the dissatisfaction, the sadness, the boredom—as an obstacle, a complication, an impediment to the realization of what we desire! We get angry with ourselves and with reality…

He goes on to say that we live in the illusion of going ahead by cutting away a piece of ourselves. Instead, we should realize that the very struggles we have in our human nature are there to show us that here, in this life, in this world, we do not have a lasting city. Unease, dissatisfaction, sadness, and boredom are not symptoms of an illness to treat with medicines; this happens more and more often in a society that mistakes disquiet of the heart for panic and anxiety. They are rather, signs of what the nature of the “I” is. The “I” that is created with a capacity for the infinite.

And so, the humanity we discover in ourselves is not something to cut out of our lives (even if we could!) but rather the signature of God written deep in our hearts, a signature that says we are made for something bigger. Carrón continues, The real obstacle on our journey is not our concrete humanity, but [our] disregard for it. Everything in us cries out [for] the need for something to fill the void.

It sounds like we are better off listening to our hearts. Because it will lead us to understand, we have been made for greater things.

A time to be still

Ever have one of those days when you're tired of trying to think wonderful and deep thoughts, when life seems to drag just a bit, and you wonder if you're up to the continual challenge of being true to yourself? During such times, one wants to find a hideaway to mope and feel sorry for oneself, when a safe spot becomes more desirable than a honest one. The storms of life batter and discourage, and its normal to wonder if it all will someday fall into place. Perhaps it never will. And as much as one glories in being a pilgrim, the pilgrim's life can get down right lonely at times.

I suppose we all go through the above emotions. Life isn't a planned, straight road for most of us. Going it alone can be difficult, even for those of us who are used to it.

Then it is good to hunker down in that soul-room of our heart and just let life be. Because if past experience teaches us anything, it is the truth that God takes care of us, in God's time and in God's own way.

So hunker down and enjoy the simple things of life: the sun, the birds, the budding trees. There is a time to let go of bigger issues, and wait on God for strength, hope and courage. There is a time to forget about the bigger issues of life, and just be.

Making friends with the psalms

Cloister in West Springfield Monastery

During the season of Lent, I hope you are making friends with the psalms.

In the monastic culture, the psalms are the daily prayers of the monastic nun. Seven times a day, the community gathers to sing the psalms in chant through the established Hours of Prayer: Matins, Laudes, Tierce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline. As you sing the psalms day after day, they not only become familiar, they become your friend.

Because the psalms express the emotions we all share. And if your prayer is not full of the emotions you have in your heart, then your prayer lacks. 

The psalms not only teach us how to prayer, but offer us an example of the words we should use. As we pray with the psalms, we find that they are indeed very earthy, human, and authentic.

Best of all, when we least think of it, verses will come to mind.

When I am lost and lonely, perhaps psalm 22 will come to mind: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

I am grateful for God's blessings, and feel overwhelmed with God's goodness. Perhaps psalm 33:5 will pop into my head: "The earth is full of the goodness of the Lord."

I finally come through a difficult period in life, and psalm 40 keeps repeating itself: "I waited, waited for the Lord, who bent down to me and heard my cry, Drew me out of the pit of destruction, out of the mud of the swamp, Set my feet upon rock, and made my footsteps sure. And put a new song in my mouth, a hymn to our God."

Can any prayer rival such sentiments?

Of late, I find the verse from psalm 31:4 keeps coming to mind: "You are my rock and my fortress; for your name's sake lead  me and guide me." Yes, lead me and guide me.

What ever lent means to you, however you observe it, I encourage all of us to make friends with the psalms. They have so much to teach us about prayer. They can change our lives and the way we pray.