"When I consent to the will and the mercy of God as it 'comes' to me in the events of life, appealing to my inner self and awakening my faith, I breath through the superficial exterior appearances that form my routine vision of the world and of my own self, and I find myself in the presence of hidden majesty."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Some days I just can't feel it. My heart feels barren, my prayers are flat, almost echoing as if I'm speaking in an empty room, alone. Worse, on days like today, I feel the dark tendrils of doubt, anger, frustration, and despair creeping in from the margins of my mind to cover the innermost regions of my soul.
This was my experience upon waking today. I have no explanation for it, but it followed me throughout the day, impervious to any distractions, even earnest prayer. It abides still.
And yet, I read a passage like this from Merton, and I am bowled over by its truth and beauty, even though it fails to dispel the darkness.
Days like today call me deeper within myself. Call me to silence, to solitude, to self-reflection. If I can abide in this inner space, and not panic at the darkness and doubt, but simply be with it, offering it to God's divine mercy...it doesn't pass, but something stirs within it, beneath it, a benevolent force that reassures me the whispers of despair are to be tolerated, but not heeded. I am not alone. Far, far from it.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Getting the Point
"I announced your justice in the vast assembly; I did not restrain my lips, as you, O LORD, know."
--Psalm 40:10
My pastor, whom I mention from time to time in this journal, offered yet another powerful bit of wisdom in his homily this past Sunday, a lesson passed down from one of his seminary professors. When reading scripture, he advised, always remember that it is first and foremost about God.
The dramatic human stories of the bible offer us many examples of ordinary people living out great acts of courage and faith. But we can easily be discouraged by some of these stories, as we try to compare our own puny faith to that of the biblical saints. My pastor is advising that before discerning what a passage of scripture is telling us about us, we should first seek to understand what it is telling us about God.
This was particular helpful last Sunday, when the Gospel reading was then transformed from a story about courageous fisherman who abandoned their nets at Jesus' first call into a story of a God who calls very ordinary people to follow him, people with jobs and families and everday lives and, frankly, ordinary faith (as time would prove of the disciples, prior to the Resurrection, anyway).
Today's psalm is more challenging. Here, the psalmist reminds the Lord how unafraid he is to proclaim God's goodness and justice publicly, how he speaks of salvation "in the vast assembly." This all makes me a bit uncomfortable. I am not fond of bold displays of faith in public, at least outside of an explicit religious context. Granted, I write a blog about my spiritual life for all the world to see, but I think it's probably pretty clear how flawed and faltering I am, how doubt and struggle permeates my inner world as much as loud proclamations of faith and rejoicing.
Again, though, my pastor's wisdom prevails. I am making this about me, setting myself up in contrast to the psalmist, about whom I am making many assumptions. What is he telling me about God? The psalmist is reminding me, not about how brave his in speaking up about God, but rather about the Lord's grace, God's faithfulness to us:
I have waited, waited for the LORD,
and he stooped toward me.
And he put a new song into my mouth,
a hymn to our God.
The justice, faithfulness, kindness, truth, and grace of God, in the face of my own puny faith, is the point. God is madly in love with us, and our own resistance and bashfulness does not deter his pursuit of our hearts one bit. "Sacrifice or oblation you wished not," the psalmist writes,
Then said I, "Behold, I come."
This is all that God wants from me.
--Psalm 40:10
My pastor, whom I mention from time to time in this journal, offered yet another powerful bit of wisdom in his homily this past Sunday, a lesson passed down from one of his seminary professors. When reading scripture, he advised, always remember that it is first and foremost about God.
The dramatic human stories of the bible offer us many examples of ordinary people living out great acts of courage and faith. But we can easily be discouraged by some of these stories, as we try to compare our own puny faith to that of the biblical saints. My pastor is advising that before discerning what a passage of scripture is telling us about us, we should first seek to understand what it is telling us about God.
This was particular helpful last Sunday, when the Gospel reading was then transformed from a story about courageous fisherman who abandoned their nets at Jesus' first call into a story of a God who calls very ordinary people to follow him, people with jobs and families and everday lives and, frankly, ordinary faith (as time would prove of the disciples, prior to the Resurrection, anyway).
Today's psalm is more challenging. Here, the psalmist reminds the Lord how unafraid he is to proclaim God's goodness and justice publicly, how he speaks of salvation "in the vast assembly." This all makes me a bit uncomfortable. I am not fond of bold displays of faith in public, at least outside of an explicit religious context. Granted, I write a blog about my spiritual life for all the world to see, but I think it's probably pretty clear how flawed and faltering I am, how doubt and struggle permeates my inner world as much as loud proclamations of faith and rejoicing.
Again, though, my pastor's wisdom prevails. I am making this about me, setting myself up in contrast to the psalmist, about whom I am making many assumptions. What is he telling me about God? The psalmist is reminding me, not about how brave his in speaking up about God, but rather about the Lord's grace, God's faithfulness to us:
I have waited, waited for the LORD,
and he stooped toward me.
And he put a new song into my mouth,
a hymn to our God.
The justice, faithfulness, kindness, truth, and grace of God, in the face of my own puny faith, is the point. God is madly in love with us, and our own resistance and bashfulness does not deter his pursuit of our hearts one bit. "Sacrifice or oblation you wished not," the psalmist writes,
Then said I, "Behold, I come."
This is all that God wants from me.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The "New" Covenant
"Now our high priest has obtained so much more excellent a ministry, as he is our mediator of a better covenant...For I will forgive their evildoing and remember their sins no more."
--Hebrews 8:6, 12
The weekday readings since the end of Christmas have featured many deeply theological passages from the letter to the Hebrews. The author describes Jesus as the high priest of a new covenant between God and humankind. One of the subtleties here is that the new covenant does not replace the old covenant, but actually brings it to complete fulfillment.
In the Abrahamic covenant, God called the Hebrews into special relationship, one based on mutual fidelity. God deepened our understanding of fidelity through the Mosaic covenant, which articulated how people who live in relationship with God ought to conduct themselves in the world. The prophet Jeremiah, quoted in this passage from the letter to the Hebrews, challenged the people to let God not only transform their outward behavior, but their very hearts. The law's purpose is to show us what a life of love looks like in practice. But the point is to fall helplessly in love with God, and by extension, the world and people God has created and redeemed.
Throughout the history of this unfolding covenant, the people kept failing to live real lives of faith. They were often selfish, short-sighted, and even blasphemed God for their own failures. God is depicted as being frustrated, angry...hurt practically...by His people's willfulness and refusal to submit to His love. And yet, He never rejects them (despite some of the rhetoric attributed to God in the Scriptures that He wants to and does). Instead, God relentlessly pursues the people, wooing them again and again back to Himself, and rejoicing in their return, putting aside their sins (see the prophet Hosea for a great metaphorical description of this relationship).
Jesus comes into this story for so many reasons, some probably beyond our understanding and awareness, but it is clear that our failure to live by the covenant is at the center of his purpose. In Jesus, God makes the most dramatic demonstration of His love for all time--He gives Himself completely, taking all of our sins on to Himself. "Here's how much I love you," God says. "I will wipe out your failures, and not just that, I will take on the flesh and nature of your very own human lives, and pour myself out as a human being, for you. You will see a perfect example of the covenant, in the flesh, and I will be one with you once and for all."
I don't pretend to understand how all of this works, or really even what it all means. In my own life, though, I can see myself as a microcosm of salvation history itself: God coming to me in an offer of simple relationship when I was a child; God showing me the way of righteousness through the Law, and my failure to live up to the covenant; God calling me to love and deeper relationship; and ultimately, my complete and utter dependence on God. I have earned and deserve none of the blessings of my life, much less the redemption of my soul and the total devotion and love God pours out into my heart.
When I consider this gift, not just for myself, but for all of humanity for all time, it leaves me humbled, breathless, and filled with the deepest gratitude and wonder.
--Hebrews 8:6, 12
The weekday readings since the end of Christmas have featured many deeply theological passages from the letter to the Hebrews. The author describes Jesus as the high priest of a new covenant between God and humankind. One of the subtleties here is that the new covenant does not replace the old covenant, but actually brings it to complete fulfillment.
In the Abrahamic covenant, God called the Hebrews into special relationship, one based on mutual fidelity. God deepened our understanding of fidelity through the Mosaic covenant, which articulated how people who live in relationship with God ought to conduct themselves in the world. The prophet Jeremiah, quoted in this passage from the letter to the Hebrews, challenged the people to let God not only transform their outward behavior, but their very hearts. The law's purpose is to show us what a life of love looks like in practice. But the point is to fall helplessly in love with God, and by extension, the world and people God has created and redeemed.
Throughout the history of this unfolding covenant, the people kept failing to live real lives of faith. They were often selfish, short-sighted, and even blasphemed God for their own failures. God is depicted as being frustrated, angry...hurt practically...by His people's willfulness and refusal to submit to His love. And yet, He never rejects them (despite some of the rhetoric attributed to God in the Scriptures that He wants to and does). Instead, God relentlessly pursues the people, wooing them again and again back to Himself, and rejoicing in their return, putting aside their sins (see the prophet Hosea for a great metaphorical description of this relationship).
Jesus comes into this story for so many reasons, some probably beyond our understanding and awareness, but it is clear that our failure to live by the covenant is at the center of his purpose. In Jesus, God makes the most dramatic demonstration of His love for all time--He gives Himself completely, taking all of our sins on to Himself. "Here's how much I love you," God says. "I will wipe out your failures, and not just that, I will take on the flesh and nature of your very own human lives, and pour myself out as a human being, for you. You will see a perfect example of the covenant, in the flesh, and I will be one with you once and for all."
I don't pretend to understand how all of this works, or really even what it all means. In my own life, though, I can see myself as a microcosm of salvation history itself: God coming to me in an offer of simple relationship when I was a child; God showing me the way of righteousness through the Law, and my failure to live up to the covenant; God calling me to love and deeper relationship; and ultimately, my complete and utter dependence on God. I have earned and deserve none of the blessings of my life, much less the redemption of my soul and the total devotion and love God pours out into my heart.
When I consider this gift, not just for myself, but for all of humanity for all time, it leaves me humbled, breathless, and filled with the deepest gratitude and wonder.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Gift of Silence
"After patient waiting, he obtained the promise."The Lay Cistercians of Gethsemani's Plan of Life includes four key elements (prayer, study, work, and conversatio, or "conversion of manners") based on the major charisms of the Cistercian tradition. Conversatio is further broken down into five virtues which represent the fruition of a life dedicated to a transformation of the human spirit in accord with God's will. The first of these virtues is silence.
According to the Plan of Life, "One should make a genuine effort to spend time in silence during the day. The amount of time will vary given one's availability. Silence will allow one to be more centered and to discover one's inner depths." As we know, silence is more than the lack of external noise. It is in inner state of mind, a kind of precondition for the experience of true contemplation.
It seems to me that silence plays three instrumental purposes in predisposing us to contemplation. First, silence clears away or mutes the filter of incessant distraction (both inward and outward) that prevents us from truly perceiving the world as it is. Silence opens our awareness to the wonder, beauty, and truth of nature and everyday experience, which we otherwise miss by our relentless activity and noise-making, and especially to the ideas, words, and needs of others. An attitude of inner silence should be the foundation of every conversation and encounter with others, since we only truly hear another and can effectively respond to another when we set aside the endless babble of our own opinions, prejudices, and desires.
Second, silence prepares us to hear the deep stirrings of our own heart. Much of our outward activity and our inner mental commentary is meant to distract us from the soul's deepest fears, dreams, and desires. Practicing silence means that we honor the full range of our experience, including listening to these oft-ignored or neglected dimensions. By hearing our own heart more clearly, we can identify and address our true needs.
And finally, with an enhanced attitude of listening to others, to the world around us, and to our deepest selves, silence also opens us up to hearing the voice of God, the way God is challenging us, wooing us, drawing us to God's self. Often, it is actually through nature and through the voices of others that we hear God's voice, and so by opening up to one of these instrumental purposes of silence, we open up to them all.
I do work at meeting the challenge of silence by starting my day with time for prayer and quiet reflection. These times are important, but quiet is not always silence. One thing I need to work on is nurturing an attitude of listening during this time. And the bigger challenge is maintaining an open, silent heart as I proceed through my day. This must be St. Paul's call to "pray without ceasing," and probably constitutes the next frontier of God's work within me.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Answering the Call
"When Samuel went to sleep in his place, the Lord came and revealed his presence, calling out as before, 'Samuel, Samuel!' Samuel answered, 'Speak, for your servant is listening.'"
--1 Samuel 3:9-10
"Jesus turned and saw them following him and said to them, 'What are you looking for?'"
--John 1:38
I spent part of yesterday at the Abbey of Gethsemani for a meeting of the Lay Cistercians, a group of ordinary people who have affiliated themselves with the monastery and seek to live Cistercian values in their everyday lives. Two of the monks joined us for our discussion, and a senior brother who has lived at the Abbey for over 50 years inquired as to why we were drawn to this group and this place.
It's a question I have been pondering seriously since I first inquired about participating in the group last fall, and a question that the Cistercian Order itself has placed upon us also. Last summer representatives from Lay Cistercian groups around the world met with abbots from the order's monasteries at Huerta, Spain, to explore the role and place of lay organizations and our future relationship with the Order. Lay groups were challenged by the abbots to discern, in part, why we specifically want to affiliate with the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (OCSO, the Trappists' formal name), as opposed to some other group or movement.
Each of us at yesterday's meeting offered our own personal answers to this question. The answers were tentative, unsure. The truth is, we don't exactly know why we are there, why we keep coming back, though the common themes have to do with a special, spiritual connection to those men and that place, and how the tradition interacts with our own personal biographies.
Through the discussion, one thing that was revealed to me very clearly, and which I shared with the group, was that we were answering a calling. We are trying, in some way, to respond to a call that none of us fully understand. The anonymous author of the 14th-century spiritual classic, The Cloud of Unknowing, says that not all people are called to a life of contemplation. In a deep sense, we do not choose to become contemplatives, God chooses us. God gives us a disposition and desire for contemplation. We may, of course, ignore this call, but those who come to the Abbey, and abbeys like it, are trying in some way to respond to this inner need that God has placed within us. We don't know why we are there or what God is working out in our lives through the connection we've made to the Cistercians, and perhaps that is okay. We are simply trying to line up in accordance with God's will for us. Perhaps the Holy Spirit itself is bringing us together in this way.
An even deeper question which emerged from our discussion was how is my life being transformed by my encounter with the Cistercian tradition? As our facilitator Michael, a founder of the group, pointed out, we don't come to the Lay Cistercians to do something, but to become something. All of our activities need to be reflected upon through the lens of whether we are indeed encountering God and allowing ourselves to be remade according to God's will.
I am a bit chastened and feel a sense of great awe and humility at the realization that I am not following this path simply because I like it, but because God has called me to it. There is a deep responsibility and sense of wonder embedded in that fact, and it heightens my concern that I am answering the call faithfully and allowing myself to be transformed by it. These are questions I'll ponder deeply, and intentionally, in the days ahead.
--1 Samuel 3:9-10
"Jesus turned and saw them following him and said to them, 'What are you looking for?'"
--John 1:38
I spent part of yesterday at the Abbey of Gethsemani for a meeting of the Lay Cistercians, a group of ordinary people who have affiliated themselves with the monastery and seek to live Cistercian values in their everyday lives. Two of the monks joined us for our discussion, and a senior brother who has lived at the Abbey for over 50 years inquired as to why we were drawn to this group and this place.
It's a question I have been pondering seriously since I first inquired about participating in the group last fall, and a question that the Cistercian Order itself has placed upon us also. Last summer representatives from Lay Cistercian groups around the world met with abbots from the order's monasteries at Huerta, Spain, to explore the role and place of lay organizations and our future relationship with the Order. Lay groups were challenged by the abbots to discern, in part, why we specifically want to affiliate with the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (OCSO, the Trappists' formal name), as opposed to some other group or movement.
Each of us at yesterday's meeting offered our own personal answers to this question. The answers were tentative, unsure. The truth is, we don't exactly know why we are there, why we keep coming back, though the common themes have to do with a special, spiritual connection to those men and that place, and how the tradition interacts with our own personal biographies.
Through the discussion, one thing that was revealed to me very clearly, and which I shared with the group, was that we were answering a calling. We are trying, in some way, to respond to a call that none of us fully understand. The anonymous author of the 14th-century spiritual classic, The Cloud of Unknowing, says that not all people are called to a life of contemplation. In a deep sense, we do not choose to become contemplatives, God chooses us. God gives us a disposition and desire for contemplation. We may, of course, ignore this call, but those who come to the Abbey, and abbeys like it, are trying in some way to respond to this inner need that God has placed within us. We don't know why we are there or what God is working out in our lives through the connection we've made to the Cistercians, and perhaps that is okay. We are simply trying to line up in accordance with God's will for us. Perhaps the Holy Spirit itself is bringing us together in this way.
An even deeper question which emerged from our discussion was how is my life being transformed by my encounter with the Cistercian tradition? As our facilitator Michael, a founder of the group, pointed out, we don't come to the Lay Cistercians to do something, but to become something. All of our activities need to be reflected upon through the lens of whether we are indeed encountering God and allowing ourselves to be remade according to God's will.
I am a bit chastened and feel a sense of great awe and humility at the realization that I am not following this path simply because I like it, but because God has called me to it. There is a deep responsibility and sense of wonder embedded in that fact, and it heightens my concern that I am answering the call faithfully and allowing myself to be transformed by it. These are questions I'll ponder deeply, and intentionally, in the days ahead.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Getting Saved
"It is a pity that the beautiful Christian metaphor 'salvation' has come to be so hackneyed and therefore so despised.... The word [in fact] connotes a deep respect for the fundamental metaphysical reality of man. It reflects God's own infinite concern for man...for all that is His own in man, His son. It is not only human nature that is 'saved' by the divine mercy, but above all the human person."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Growing up in the Bible Belt, "getting saved" was an essential moment in one's life. For the churched children like myself, it was a rite of passage of great significance, when one accepted Jesus as one's personal Lord and Savior. For the unchurched, the "lost," it could be a life-changing event, and I heard many a testimony as a child from adults who had repented of licentiousness and drunkeness and a variety of other sins that were, frankly, titillating to my young ears, but here were these nice, seemingly ordinary people who had transcended those wicked ways by God's grace.
And sadly, anyone who was not saved was indeed mortally "lost," bound for the eternal flames of hell. And this included any good people who might be Jewish, Muslim, agnostic or otherwise, none of whom actually lived in my small town or whom we had any dealings with. But the lost were everywhere, because it didn't matter if you were a church person, if you had never really surrendered your heart to Jesus, if your name was not written in the Lamb's Book of Life, you were a goner.
I am not trying to make light of these beliefs. The folks I heard these teachings from were by and large good people. But by my late teens, I had begun to see the world in less stark, less black and white terms. I rejected the notion that one had to abide by some theological formula to be "saved," and I began to have a different idea about what, exactly, we were being saved from.
In New Seeds, Merton tries to rescue the concept of salvation by showing how it is indeed more than an intellectual affirmation of a theological formula, but is nevertheless an experience that all us are called to, regardless of our religious labels, station of life, or circumstances.
"The object of salvation is that which is unique, irreplaceable, incommunicable--that which is myself alone. The true inner self must be drawn up like a jewel from the bottom of the sea, rescued from confusion, from indistinction, from immersion in the common, the nondescript, the trivial, the sordid, the evanescent."
Our normal way of looking at the world is "lost" in the sense that we assume we are an independent reality, cut off from all other people, alone and yet at the center of the universe. Even if we profess religious belief, our tendency is to doubt, to operate as though we are utterly alone. This leaves us with nothing but the mess of our own, self-centered fears and desires. We must give up this false sense of separateness, but to do so means that we give up making our normal sense of "self" the center. God becomes the center, and we have to surrender our whole person to be remade from that new centerpoint. And somehow by giving ourselves up, we find our true self, in all its wholeness.
"The person must be rescued from the individual... The creative and mysterious inner self must be delivered from the wasteful, hedonistic and destructive ego that seeks only to cover itself with disguises."
My forebears' understanding of what it means to "get saved" may have been limited by their own experiences, but that is true of everyone. What they had absolutely right was the understanding that we are all in some way lost, and that only by giving ourselves up completely to God can we discover who we really are.
"To be 'lost' is to be left to the arbitrariness and pretenses of the contingent ego, the smoke-self that must inevitably vanish. To be 'saved' is to return to one's inviolate and eternal reality and to live in God."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Growing up in the Bible Belt, "getting saved" was an essential moment in one's life. For the churched children like myself, it was a rite of passage of great significance, when one accepted Jesus as one's personal Lord and Savior. For the unchurched, the "lost," it could be a life-changing event, and I heard many a testimony as a child from adults who had repented of licentiousness and drunkeness and a variety of other sins that were, frankly, titillating to my young ears, but here were these nice, seemingly ordinary people who had transcended those wicked ways by God's grace.
And sadly, anyone who was not saved was indeed mortally "lost," bound for the eternal flames of hell. And this included any good people who might be Jewish, Muslim, agnostic or otherwise, none of whom actually lived in my small town or whom we had any dealings with. But the lost were everywhere, because it didn't matter if you were a church person, if you had never really surrendered your heart to Jesus, if your name was not written in the Lamb's Book of Life, you were a goner.
I am not trying to make light of these beliefs. The folks I heard these teachings from were by and large good people. But by my late teens, I had begun to see the world in less stark, less black and white terms. I rejected the notion that one had to abide by some theological formula to be "saved," and I began to have a different idea about what, exactly, we were being saved from.
In New Seeds, Merton tries to rescue the concept of salvation by showing how it is indeed more than an intellectual affirmation of a theological formula, but is nevertheless an experience that all us are called to, regardless of our religious labels, station of life, or circumstances.
"The object of salvation is that which is unique, irreplaceable, incommunicable--that which is myself alone. The true inner self must be drawn up like a jewel from the bottom of the sea, rescued from confusion, from indistinction, from immersion in the common, the nondescript, the trivial, the sordid, the evanescent."
Our normal way of looking at the world is "lost" in the sense that we assume we are an independent reality, cut off from all other people, alone and yet at the center of the universe. Even if we profess religious belief, our tendency is to doubt, to operate as though we are utterly alone. This leaves us with nothing but the mess of our own, self-centered fears and desires. We must give up this false sense of separateness, but to do so means that we give up making our normal sense of "self" the center. God becomes the center, and we have to surrender our whole person to be remade from that new centerpoint. And somehow by giving ourselves up, we find our true self, in all its wholeness.
"The person must be rescued from the individual... The creative and mysterious inner self must be delivered from the wasteful, hedonistic and destructive ego that seeks only to cover itself with disguises."
My forebears' understanding of what it means to "get saved" may have been limited by their own experiences, but that is true of everyone. What they had absolutely right was the understanding that we are all in some way lost, and that only by giving ourselves up completely to God can we discover who we really are.
"To be 'lost' is to be left to the arbitrariness and pretenses of the contingent ego, the smoke-self that must inevitably vanish. To be 'saved' is to return to one's inviolate and eternal reality and to live in God."
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Never Alone
"If today you hear God's voice, harden not your hearts."
--Psalm 95:7-8
I got up this morning acutely aware that I have not prayed in a few days. My work has been busy this week and has kept me more distracted than usual. I thought I was behind on some of my political reading and writing, and so I chose to work on those things instead of pray the last couple of mornings.
Today, as I prayed again, reflecting on the last two days, I was actually struck by a strong sense of God's presence, even during that time of my distraction and inattentiveness. God was there, even though I wasn't paying attention, and somehow that was obvious to me, but only in retrospect.
My lukewarm discipleship is not a problem for God, only for myself. God remained faithful to me, and all I missed out on was the joy of the awareness of his presence. And that loss is enough to bring me back to prayer.
--Psalm 95:7-8
I got up this morning acutely aware that I have not prayed in a few days. My work has been busy this week and has kept me more distracted than usual. I thought I was behind on some of my political reading and writing, and so I chose to work on those things instead of pray the last couple of mornings.
Today, as I prayed again, reflecting on the last two days, I was actually struck by a strong sense of God's presence, even during that time of my distraction and inattentiveness. God was there, even though I wasn't paying attention, and somehow that was obvious to me, but only in retrospect.
My lukewarm discipleship is not a problem for God, only for myself. God remained faithful to me, and all I missed out on was the joy of the awareness of his presence. And that loss is enough to bring me back to prayer.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Extraordinary Time
Yesterday we celebrated the Baptism of the Lord, and today we begin Ordinary Time (at least until Lent commences a few weeks from now). Fittingly, the observance of Jesus' baptism is followed in the church calendar with readings about Jesus' calling of the apostles. In today's Gospel, he calls the first of them, the fishermen Peter, James, and John.
At his baptism, Jesus becomes the New Adam, the first of a new kind of people. Theologians puzzle over Jesus' baptism because the Church teaches that he was sinless and therefore would have no need of a baptism of repentence. For myself, I think his baptism must be understood in light of the Incarnation. God becomes fully human for a wide variety of reasons, some of which we understand and perhaps many which we don't. But one reason for God to incarnate in the life of a real human person is so that Jesus can show us the way, as a human. In his baptism, he becomes our example, our leader, our commander, our high priest (as the author of Hebrews is going to remind us this Ordinary Time), in this work of discipleship. He is our trailblazer and pioneer in the work of becoming a people renewed, reborn, healed. To be the New Adam, he must be one of us.
And so, yesterday we recognized him as such, and today he begins his work of calling us to follow him, just as his own baptism was followed by his calling of Peter, James, and John.
Notice that the fishermen do not go seeking for Jesus. He calls to them. Perhaps as we begin (again) our commitment to discipleship, the first lesson we need to learn is to listen for our call. Our prayers are so consumed with us talking to God, us beseeching God for this or that. Which is fine, we are told. But first, we must listen for what God is beseeching of us.
As we take our first, stumbling steps into Ordinary Time, following our new High Priest, our New Adam, let's pause long enough from mending our nets to hear his call.
At his baptism, Jesus becomes the New Adam, the first of a new kind of people. Theologians puzzle over Jesus' baptism because the Church teaches that he was sinless and therefore would have no need of a baptism of repentence. For myself, I think his baptism must be understood in light of the Incarnation. God becomes fully human for a wide variety of reasons, some of which we understand and perhaps many which we don't. But one reason for God to incarnate in the life of a real human person is so that Jesus can show us the way, as a human. In his baptism, he becomes our example, our leader, our commander, our high priest (as the author of Hebrews is going to remind us this Ordinary Time), in this work of discipleship. He is our trailblazer and pioneer in the work of becoming a people renewed, reborn, healed. To be the New Adam, he must be one of us.
And so, yesterday we recognized him as such, and today he begins his work of calling us to follow him, just as his own baptism was followed by his calling of Peter, James, and John.
Notice that the fishermen do not go seeking for Jesus. He calls to them. Perhaps as we begin (again) our commitment to discipleship, the first lesson we need to learn is to listen for our call. Our prayers are so consumed with us talking to God, us beseeching God for this or that. Which is fine, we are told. But first, we must listen for what God is beseeching of us.
As we take our first, stumbling steps into Ordinary Time, following our new High Priest, our New Adam, let's pause long enough from mending our nets to hear his call.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Finding My True Self
Chapter Five of New Seeds comes to its climax with Merton's discussion of the "false self." Earlier, Merton described how human beings are called to express their individuality most fully by co-creating their identities and realities with God. But Merton warns that this is not some kind of Nieztschean "will to power" exaltation of the individual with no reference point beyond oneself. Because of the false self, we are perpetually at risk, not of becoming fully what we are meant to be, but of actually distorting our true identities.
"All sin starts from the assumption that my false self, the self that exists only in my egocentric desires, is the fundamental reality of life to which everything else in the universe is ordered. Thus I use up my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, for power, honor, knowledge and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real."
The false self is not real. It is the identity that we create for ourselves, and that we spend our entire lives trying to protect and preserve, even as all of life and creation reveals that it is an illusion. The false self is our sense that we exist somehow independently and separately from the rest of creation (and from the Creator), and that this identity is somehow the center of the universe. According to Merton, all sin arises from this distorted sense of self, which leads us to engage in all manner of greed, hatred, delusion and a myriad of other, less obvious but equally insidious forms of self-aggrandizement.
So, how do we create ourselves as a real individual, while negotiating the pitfalls of the false self? I suspect Merton will elaborate on this throughout the rest of the book, but he concludes the chapter by saying that our real identiy is "hidden in the love and mercy of God," and only by surrendering ourselves completely to God can we create, with him, the person we are meant to be:
"Ultimately the only way that I can be myself is to become identified with Him in Whom is hidden the reason and fulfillment of my existence. Therefore there is only one problem on which all my existence, my peace and my happiness depend: to discover myself in discovering God. If I find Him I will find myself and if I find my true self I will find Him...
The only One Who can teach me to find God is God, Himself, Alone."
"All sin starts from the assumption that my false self, the self that exists only in my egocentric desires, is the fundamental reality of life to which everything else in the universe is ordered. Thus I use up my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, for power, honor, knowledge and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real."
The false self is not real. It is the identity that we create for ourselves, and that we spend our entire lives trying to protect and preserve, even as all of life and creation reveals that it is an illusion. The false self is our sense that we exist somehow independently and separately from the rest of creation (and from the Creator), and that this identity is somehow the center of the universe. According to Merton, all sin arises from this distorted sense of self, which leads us to engage in all manner of greed, hatred, delusion and a myriad of other, less obvious but equally insidious forms of self-aggrandizement.
So, how do we create ourselves as a real individual, while negotiating the pitfalls of the false self? I suspect Merton will elaborate on this throughout the rest of the book, but he concludes the chapter by saying that our real identiy is "hidden in the love and mercy of God," and only by surrendering ourselves completely to God can we create, with him, the person we are meant to be:
"Ultimately the only way that I can be myself is to become identified with Him in Whom is hidden the reason and fulfillment of my existence. Therefore there is only one problem on which all my existence, my peace and my happiness depend: to discover myself in discovering God. If I find Him I will find myself and if I find my true self I will find Him...
The only One Who can teach me to find God is God, Himself, Alone."
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Creating Our Identities
"Our vocation is not simply to be, but to work together with God in the creation of our own life, our own identity, our own destiny. We are free beings and sons of God. This means to say that we should not passively exist, but actively participate in His creative freedom...To put it better, we are even called to share with God the work of creating the truth of our identity."
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
The fifth chapter of New Seeds continues with Merton explaining that, unlike the tree which automatically expresses its full individuality in God, we get to choose our identity, and not as one chooses which shirt to wear today, but rather as an artist who creates an identity through the work of his hands. It is not only our ability to choose freely which makes us in the "image and likeness of God." It's our ability to create, especially to create ourselves. In this sense, we are co-creators with God of our identities and our very realities. What an awesome power and responsibility. No room here for victims. We are fully in command of what we will become.
Of course, because we also carry around the "false self," we often squander this power and create ourselves very poorly. This is the topic of the remainder of chapter five.
--Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
The fifth chapter of New Seeds continues with Merton explaining that, unlike the tree which automatically expresses its full individuality in God, we get to choose our identity, and not as one chooses which shirt to wear today, but rather as an artist who creates an identity through the work of his hands. It is not only our ability to choose freely which makes us in the "image and likeness of God." It's our ability to create, especially to create ourselves. In this sense, we are co-creators with God of our identities and our very realities. What an awesome power and responsibility. No room here for victims. We are fully in command of what we will become.
Of course, because we also carry around the "false self," we often squander this power and create ourselves very poorly. This is the topic of the remainder of chapter five.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
The Source of Love
Feast of Blessed Andre Bessette
"In this is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us."
--1 John 4:10
The theme of today's readings focuses on love, God's love for us and how our love for one another emanates from that love.
Even before I read the scriptures for today, as I prayed for the people around me whom I love, I found myself pondering how I can best show them love. And God's response was clear to me: "Love them as I love them, not as you love them."
As full and deep as my love is, it remains partial and often sadly conditional in comparison to God's love. And of course, I cannot simply will myself to love as richly and unconditionally as God. But in this desire to set my love aside and love others as God loves them, in this intent, comes the capacity to love more fully and truly.
"In this is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us."
--1 John 4:10
The theme of today's readings focuses on love, God's love for us and how our love for one another emanates from that love.
Even before I read the scriptures for today, as I prayed for the people around me whom I love, I found myself pondering how I can best show them love. And God's response was clear to me: "Love them as I love them, not as you love them."
As full and deep as my love is, it remains partial and often sadly conditional in comparison to God's love. And of course, I cannot simply will myself to love as richly and unconditionally as God. But in this desire to set my love aside and love others as God loves them, in this intent, comes the capacity to love more fully and truly.
Monday, January 05, 2009
A Tree Like No Other
The fifth chapter of New Seeds strikes me as one of the finest expositions of Christian existentialism. Here Merton focuses on the essence of what it means to be a human, and the unique human experience of discovering oneself and one's purpose and meaning in life, a purpose inextricably linked to God.
"A tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it is obeying Him. It "consents," so to speak, to His creative love...No two created beings are exactly alike. And their individuality is no imperfection...This particular tree will give glory to God by spreading out its roots in the earth and raising its branches into the air and the light in a way that no other tree before or after it ever did or will do."
This passage reminds me of the Islamic concept that all created things besides humans are already "Muslim." That is, they are surrendered to God (for a Muslim is "one who surrenders to God.") I love this idea, that all of creation is already conformed to God's will and purpose and plan, except us humans, of course, though this is also God's ultimate desire for us. A tree is Muslim, then, by being a tree. And not just any tree, according to Merton, but by fulfilling its full capacity as an individual, ordered to God's vision and its place in the universe of created things.
Similarly, we reach the apex of our being, the meaning and purpose of our lives, when we manifest ourselves in our full individuality, co-created with God. I'll write more on this idea tomorrow.
"A tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it is obeying Him. It "consents," so to speak, to His creative love...No two created beings are exactly alike. And their individuality is no imperfection...This particular tree will give glory to God by spreading out its roots in the earth and raising its branches into the air and the light in a way that no other tree before or after it ever did or will do."
This passage reminds me of the Islamic concept that all created things besides humans are already "Muslim." That is, they are surrendered to God (for a Muslim is "one who surrenders to God.") I love this idea, that all of creation is already conformed to God's will and purpose and plan, except us humans, of course, though this is also God's ultimate desire for us. A tree is Muslim, then, by being a tree. And not just any tree, according to Merton, but by fulfilling its full capacity as an individual, ordered to God's vision and its place in the universe of created things.
Similarly, we reach the apex of our being, the meaning and purpose of our lives, when we manifest ourselves in our full individuality, co-created with God. I'll write more on this idea tomorrow.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
The End of Seeking
Epiphany of the Lord"We have seen his star at its rising and have come to do him homage."
--Matthew 2:2
I have long been a spiritual "seeker." To this day, I cannot explain exactly what it was I was searching for. Wisdom, insight, peace, are words that come to mind. My spirituality was very "practice" focused, as if I found the right formula, I would get what I was searching for. Not that I thought there was one universal, "right" formula for everybody, but I still thought there must be a formula for me that would work.
God has pretty much done away with all that now. Not that I don't continue to be tempted by the idea that there is one best spiritual practice that I should be pursuing, or that I don't sometimes catch myself feeling guilty that I haven't been disciplined about my prayer life or spiritual reading or meditation or whatever. But it is thoroughly clear to me that this is not what it's all about.
The search is over. God has found me, not the other way around.
I'm not denigrating spiritual practice, just putting it in the proper perspective for me. Once the Christ child has been found, the practice shifts from seeking to being: being in relationship, practicing the presence and intimacy of being together. I have nothing to do anymore but "do him homage."
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