I become my image of God

I have often maintained that God is to us what we want God to be (see Road to Emmaus). So it was with interest that I read the following from Caryll Houselander:

There is a widespread idea today that it does not matter what our conception of God is like...but as our conception of God is, so we ourselves become. If we think God is hard, we grow hard; if we think God is a kill-joy, we become kill-joys; if we think of God as omnipotent secret police, all-present, all-seeing, all-terrible, we shrink from God, and the heart that shrinks from God shrinks to nothing. (From Lift Up Your Hearts)

Houselander's words do hold an important truth. Those whose God is severe do become severe and judgmental. Those whose God is kind and merciful are generous with mercy. And those whose God is vague and far away, well, they tend to flounder with no particular direction and no particular purpose.

In this light it is good to reflect on my image of God. Because it is the character I am taking on for myself.

A light that is not liked

Seeing and not seeing. It's often a topic here on Monastic Ponderings. I become conscious because I want to see. I practice compassion so that my heart will respond better and know more. I meditate so that I am aware. It all implies a willingness to journey. But there is another aspect to 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 revelation 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 it is there. And I wish I had remained blind…

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 received this reply: "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. When I seek for light, I must realize, I may not like what I find. Revelation is not always exciting. Transformation may hurt.

But this too is journey.

Refusing to carve it in stone

Deuteronomy 5:8 instructs You shall not make for yourself any graven image. We are prone to interpret that as false gods, the kind the early Israelites made and set up before themselves and worshipped.

But is that the true meaning of Deuteronomy 5:8?

I think not. I think it is telling us, don't take an incident, an action, a thought or a value and hold on to it as thought it alone is true. Because that is carving it in stone. And life is not like that.

That is death.

Life is change. Life is learning. Life is journey.

I think that is one of the many reasons why we are urged to forgive. Because to refuse to forgive is in effect saying that that one action, that one incident, is carved into my memory. I will never let that memory go. I will always look at that person in light of that one action. And that too is death. 

We do the same with opinions. We get an opinion, and then we hold on to it, and refuse to see some other value or way of looking at something. In effect, we have carved it into stone and then worshipped our ideal as true.

And any graven image is a dead image.

To refuse to carve an image in stone is to honor life.

I have heard it said that 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.

And so, beware of setting in stone. It is the opposite of growth, enlightenment, and transformation.

Relinquishing my agenda

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 God 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.

A beauty born of suffering

The question 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?

Many have tried to answer this questions. Theologians will speak about free will and original sin. Others will blame the power of evil and darkness. And some maintain it is all an illusion. But when you are the one struggling, such answers do not really speak to the heart and soul.

Elizabeth Kubler Ross 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 takes suffering and turns it into something beautiful. We have seen 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 and are sensitive to the vulnerabilities of life and the need for encouragement.

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