Thursday, Seventh Week of Easter
Feast of St. Bernadine, Priest
“Paradoxical as it may seem, it would not even occur to a person – no, nor to an angel or saint – to desire contemplative love were it not already alive within him. I believe, too, that often our Lord deliberately chooses to work in those who have been habitual sinners rather than in those who, by comparison, have never grieved him at all. Yes, he seems to do this very often. For I think he wants us to realize that he is all-merciful and almighty, and that he is perfectly free to work as he pleases, where he pleases, and when he pleases.
“Yet he does not give his grace nor work this work in a person who has no aptitude for it. But a person lacking the capacity to receive his grace could never gain it through his own efforts either. No one at all, neither sinner nor innocent, can do so. For this grace is a gift, and it is not given for innocence nor withheld for sin…
“He who experiences God working the depths of his spirit has the aptitude for contemplation and no one else. For without God’s grace a person would be so completely insensitive to the reality of contemplative prayer that he would be unable to desire or long for it…you will never desire to posses it until that which is ineffable and unknowable moves you to desire the ineffable and unknowable. Do not be curious to know more, I beg you. Only become increasingly faith to this work until it becomes your whole life.”
—The Cloud of Unknowing
We who long for contemplation, though we feel unworthy and completely clueless as to how to be contemplatives, have been chosen for this work by God’s inexplicably mystery and grace. There is nothing to do but start cooperating.
Great Silence, still my racing mind, my searching heart. Allow me to accept this calling, and follow you into the cloud of unknowing, where we are truly, fully known. Amen.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Out of Our Hands
Wednesday, Seventh Week of Easter
“And now I commend you to God and to that gracious word of his that can build you up and give you the inheritance among all who are consecrated.”
—Acts 20:32
I struggle sometimes when people ask me to pray for them, or when I, in my enthusiasm, offer to pray for someone or some situation. When it comes time to pray, my words falter. I don’t know how to pray sometimes. But I have the intention.
Likewise, I often don’t know how to pray for myself.
So, here Paul provides an example of how it is not ultimately our prayers that bless others, but rather the unconditional love and grace of God which we acknowledge through our prayers.
I spend an awful lot of time trying to make the world into my image. I hope that most of the time, my vision for how things ought to be corresponds with the Divine plan for what ought to be, but it’s likely I often miss the mark. And I often wind up frustrated because things don’t unfold as I plan or intend. Then, too, Paul’s example is helpful. We are vessels, and the land to which we are being delivered is beyond our imagining, a place of immense inheritance, where every need and longing will be fulfilled.
Lord of Life, I commend all those in need, including myself, to your gracious word. Build us up and give us the inheritance you so lavishly have reserved for us. Amen.
“And now I commend you to God and to that gracious word of his that can build you up and give you the inheritance among all who are consecrated.”
—Acts 20:32
I struggle sometimes when people ask me to pray for them, or when I, in my enthusiasm, offer to pray for someone or some situation. When it comes time to pray, my words falter. I don’t know how to pray sometimes. But I have the intention.
Likewise, I often don’t know how to pray for myself.
So, here Paul provides an example of how it is not ultimately our prayers that bless others, but rather the unconditional love and grace of God which we acknowledge through our prayers.
I spend an awful lot of time trying to make the world into my image. I hope that most of the time, my vision for how things ought to be corresponds with the Divine plan for what ought to be, but it’s likely I often miss the mark. And I often wind up frustrated because things don’t unfold as I plan or intend. Then, too, Paul’s example is helpful. We are vessels, and the land to which we are being delivered is beyond our imagining, a place of immense inheritance, where every need and longing will be fulfilled.
Lord of Life, I commend all those in need, including myself, to your gracious word. Build us up and give us the inheritance you so lavishly have reserved for us. Amen.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
The Divine Gardener
Wednesday, Fifth Week of Easter
“He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit,
and everyone that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit.”
—John 15:2
Well, there it is, isn’t it?
Who can tell the mysterious ways in which we are being pruned? Who is to say that this spiritual dryness I feel isn’t simply the Divine Gardener, weeding my spirit, pruning and shaping the branches of my being so that great fruit can bear forth?
Holy One, be gentle with your shears, but complete your work in me. Reveal all in me that needs to be removed, so that I might abide in your perfect love. Amen.
“He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit,
and everyone that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit.”
—John 15:2
Well, there it is, isn’t it?
Who can tell the mysterious ways in which we are being pruned? Who is to say that this spiritual dryness I feel isn’t simply the Divine Gardener, weeding my spirit, pruning and shaping the branches of my being so that great fruit can bear forth?
Holy One, be gentle with your shears, but complete your work in me. Reveal all in me that needs to be removed, so that I might abide in your perfect love. Amen.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
What Peace?
Tuesday, Fifth Week of Easter
“Peace I leave you; my peace I give you.”
—John 14:27
Some days I just don’t feel it. Maybe I’m going through a dry spell. Maybe it’s acedia, that delightfully old concept of listlessness and spiritual sloth. But maybe not. I’m still praying; I just don’t feel much right now. Maybe it’s the mental and physical exhaustion of being a new parent and facing a new job transition.
At any rate, my tendency is to view this condition as a problem, and specifically as a failure. I am slowly learning, however, that this not the case. Consolations come and go, for reasons beyond our capacity for understanding. Feelings, motivations, desires and fears are conditioned by that mysterious combination of nature and life-long patterns of mind. They are transient. They are impermanent. They are not the essence of my true self.
The peace Christ promises, at least in this life, is not the peace of perpetual consolation and ease. It is the promise that, regardless what I’m feeling at the moment, I am loved, redeemed, and restored in the ultimate sense. Joy will return, and then recede again. Life’s pace will change, and so will my affect. But at the level of my truest self, all is one, and all is well.
Lord of Peace, I honestly wouldn’t mind some consolation right now. Open my eyes and heart to experience joy where you are trying to reveal it to me. But above all, let me rest in the peace of knowing you, even when I don’t feel it. Amen.
“Peace I leave you; my peace I give you.”
—John 14:27
Some days I just don’t feel it. Maybe I’m going through a dry spell. Maybe it’s acedia, that delightfully old concept of listlessness and spiritual sloth. But maybe not. I’m still praying; I just don’t feel much right now. Maybe it’s the mental and physical exhaustion of being a new parent and facing a new job transition.
At any rate, my tendency is to view this condition as a problem, and specifically as a failure. I am slowly learning, however, that this not the case. Consolations come and go, for reasons beyond our capacity for understanding. Feelings, motivations, desires and fears are conditioned by that mysterious combination of nature and life-long patterns of mind. They are transient. They are impermanent. They are not the essence of my true self.
The peace Christ promises, at least in this life, is not the peace of perpetual consolation and ease. It is the promise that, regardless what I’m feeling at the moment, I am loved, redeemed, and restored in the ultimate sense. Joy will return, and then recede again. Life’s pace will change, and so will my affect. But at the level of my truest self, all is one, and all is well.
Lord of Peace, I honestly wouldn’t mind some consolation right now. Open my eyes and heart to experience joy where you are trying to reveal it to me. But above all, let me rest in the peace of knowing you, even when I don’t feel it. Amen.
Monday, May 03, 2010
A Prostrate Heart
Feast of Sts. Phillip and James
“Through [the Gospel] you are also being saved,
if you hold fast to the word I preached to you.”
—1 Corinthians 15:2 [emphasis mine]
“Any monk or nun who is corrected for anything by abbot or abbess or one of the seniors and perceives that the senior is upset by feelings of anger, even though they may be well in control, then that junior should at once prostrate on the ground in contrition and not move until the senior gives a blessing which will heal the upset.”
—from The Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 71
Some teachings in the Rule are easier to apply to the modern circumstances of lay life than others. When I read this passage today, I chuckled at the thought of prostrating myself before my wife or my best friend when I have angered them, and refusing to move until they gave me a blessing.
This is funny to think about both because of the imagined looks on their faces and the awkwardness they would feel in response, and secondly because I can hardly picture making myself humble enough to actual do such a thing.
My resistance to this kind of humility is partly socially conditioned. In our modern, egalitarian society, to show this kind of deference to another considered self-diminishing and unhealthy. But the greater resistance comes from my own unwillingness to completely admit my own error without somehow justifying it, minimizing it, or pointing out the error of others. “You shouldn’t be so angry with me,” I want to say. “I am only human. And look at all your faults! You should be prostrating before me!”
This is natural, of course. No one likes to admit their failures, and it is all too easy to justify our foibles by point out the failings of others, especially when one person’s error is tied up in the errors of another.
The relevance of this chapter of the Rule is not for us to actually go around physically prostrating ourselves to each other,(though that might not actually be so bad), but to remind us of the utter humility with which we ought to continuously seek understanding and reconciliation. In reality, if we all applied the Rule, we’d be falling down before each other simultaneously, and the gateway to forgiveness and peace would be instantly opened.
It will require a substantial transformation of our stubborn wills, of course (which is why the physical act of prostration is so powerful), but ultimately, as St. Paul reminds us, through grace God is working out our kinks, and we are being saved, restored to perfect unity with God and one another.
Holy One, I come to you with prostrate heart. Give me the humility, courage, and grace to approach others with the same longing for reconciliation and peace. Amen.
“Through [the Gospel] you are also being saved,
if you hold fast to the word I preached to you.”
—1 Corinthians 15:2 [emphasis mine]
“Any monk or nun who is corrected for anything by abbot or abbess or one of the seniors and perceives that the senior is upset by feelings of anger, even though they may be well in control, then that junior should at once prostrate on the ground in contrition and not move until the senior gives a blessing which will heal the upset.”
—from The Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 71
Some teachings in the Rule are easier to apply to the modern circumstances of lay life than others. When I read this passage today, I chuckled at the thought of prostrating myself before my wife or my best friend when I have angered them, and refusing to move until they gave me a blessing.
This is funny to think about both because of the imagined looks on their faces and the awkwardness they would feel in response, and secondly because I can hardly picture making myself humble enough to actual do such a thing.
My resistance to this kind of humility is partly socially conditioned. In our modern, egalitarian society, to show this kind of deference to another considered self-diminishing and unhealthy. But the greater resistance comes from my own unwillingness to completely admit my own error without somehow justifying it, minimizing it, or pointing out the error of others. “You shouldn’t be so angry with me,” I want to say. “I am only human. And look at all your faults! You should be prostrating before me!”
This is natural, of course. No one likes to admit their failures, and it is all too easy to justify our foibles by point out the failings of others, especially when one person’s error is tied up in the errors of another.
The relevance of this chapter of the Rule is not for us to actually go around physically prostrating ourselves to each other,(though that might not actually be so bad), but to remind us of the utter humility with which we ought to continuously seek understanding and reconciliation. In reality, if we all applied the Rule, we’d be falling down before each other simultaneously, and the gateway to forgiveness and peace would be instantly opened.
It will require a substantial transformation of our stubborn wills, of course (which is why the physical act of prostration is so powerful), but ultimately, as St. Paul reminds us, through grace God is working out our kinks, and we are being saved, restored to perfect unity with God and one another.
Holy One, I come to you with prostrate heart. Give me the humility, courage, and grace to approach others with the same longing for reconciliation and peace. Amen.
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