There must be a time of day when the man who makes plans forgets his plans, and acts as if he had no plans at all. There must be a time of day when the man who has to speak falls very silent. And his mind forms no more propositions, and he asks himself: Did they have any meaning? There must be a time when a man of prayer goes to pray as if it were the first time in his life he had ever prayed; when the man of resolutions puts his resolutions aside as if they had all been broken, and he learns a different wisdom: distinguishing the sun from the moon, the stars from the darkness, the sea from the dry land, and the night sky from the shoulder of a hill. [Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island, p. 260.]
Black Friday . . . Small-Business Saturday . . . Cyber Monday . . . Giving Tuesday . . .
Who comes up with this stuff, anyway? Well, I think I know the answer,especially when I hear the many reports of how "successful" or "unsuccessful" these days are . . . when the impact of the days is measured in $$$ and %.
Advent arrives as a blanket warming the cold, market-driven days, urging me to "forget my plans" . . . "fall very silent" . . . "pray as if for the first time" . . . "learn a different wisdom."
Advent does not speak the language of market growth or GNP or China trade deals or even "what will I get the grandchildren for Christmas?"
The season offers a quieter, gentler invitation . . . to reevaluate and recalibrate . . . to stay rooted in that which is life- and light-giving, rather than getting carried away by the distractive pulls of the moment . . . to join a more universal design that transcends my little social gatherings and travel plans and musical specials.
Merton was not writing about Advent per se, but he might as well have been describing the season.
I am tempted, this early morning in Advent, to state my goals for the season: “forget my plans” . . . “fall very silent” . . . “pray as if for the first time” . . . “learn a different wisdom.” But I think I would regret placing my own agenda on the days, forcing this grand, unfathomable season into my own little gift box, so that by the end I could measure it - maybe in % - to see how successful or unsuccessful I was.
No, I think instead I'll just be alert what shows up . . . I'll stay open to the grace and mercy hiding in whatever is . . . I'll allow the warm blanket of Advent to cover all the coldness within me and in the world.
Showing posts with label wisdom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wisdom. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 3, 2019
Tuesday, April 2, 2019
In the Living Years
The Rich Man and Lazarus
Luke 16:19-31
19 Jesus said, “There was a certain rich man who was splendidly clothed in purple and fine linen and who lived each day in luxury. 20 At his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus who was covered with sores. 21 As Lazarus lay there longing for scraps from the rich man’s table, the dogs would come and lick his open sores.
22 “Finally, the poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s bosom. The rich man also died and was buried, 23 and he went to Hades, the place of the dead. There, in torment, he saw Abraham in the far distance with Lazarus at his side.
24 “The rich man shouted, ‘Father Abraham, have some pity! Send Lazarus over here to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue. I am in anguish in these flames.’
25 “But Abraham said to him, ‘Son, remember that during your lifetime you had everything you wanted, and Lazarus had nothing. So now he is here being comforted, and you are in anguish. 26 And besides, there is a great chasm separating us. No one can cross over to you from here, and no one can cross over to us from there.’
27 “Then the rich man said, ‘Please, Father Abraham, at least send him to my father’s home. 28 For I have five brothers, and I want him to warn them so they don’t end up in this place of torment.’
29 “But Abraham said, ‘Moses and the prophets have warned them. Your brothers can read what they wrote.’
30 “The rich man replied, ‘No, Father Abraham! But if someone is sent to them from the dead, then they will repent of their sins and turn to God.’
31 “But Abraham said, ‘If they won’t listen to Moses and the prophets, they won’t be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead.’”
Jesus often teaches in parables. He tells stories which serve to illumine something about the way life is ordered when we are connected to God in life-giving ways. Sometimes the images are all positive, speaking in affirming ways about our God-connection. Other parables include examples of persons who sleep through invitations to a life of meaning and fullness. The story of the Rich Man and Lazarus falls into the latter category.
As stories which impart spiritual wisdom, parables are not to be taken at face value. Most often, these spiritual stories are layered, nuanced, and invite a different kind of seeing. To read and understand them at a surface level may allow the hearer to have some understanding of what the parable is trying to say; however, a surface reading will also miss many of the undercurrents flowing beneath the story’s surface.
These undercurrents are suggested by symbols and images which show up in parabolic language. Much as you would do in dream-work, it is helpful to notice the symbols, to trace their meanings, to track where they lead, and to explore the multiple meanings held within a single symbol or image. This kind of investigative work will allow you to find the place where your own soul resonates with some idea or some invitation in the parable.
(Your soul’s language is most often not a verbal language, but a language of images and symbols. You will recognize in your own dreams that what you most remember are not the words spoken in your dream, but the wild symbols and images which point beyond themselves to deeper realities within yourself and in the world.)
So given all this background, I’ll say that the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is not first of all a commentary on the afterlife. The story is not trying to give a description of heaven, or the place of the dead, or any aspect of life after death. Thus, the story does not make a statement about whether there are different levels to which people go after death, nor is it about whether people can communicate across “chasms” after death. The story is basically about our living years. In the landscape of this parable, the “after death” aspect simply sets up a teaching about the way to live life with God in a way which gives life to the world.
Second, when looking at the parable, you do well to notice the many symbols in the story as Jesus tells it. Rich images appear everywhere. In working with the story, I made nearly a page-long list of the images contained in it. I spent some time following the trail of some images that seemed most crucial to the wisdom of this teaching story.
• rich
• poor
• Abraham
• Abraham’s bosom
• far distance
• great chasm
• death
• Hades (place of the dead)
• clothed in purple and fine linen
• lived luxury
• dogs
• sores
• gate
• scraps
• rich man’s table
• dip finger in water
• cool my tongue
• agony
• fire
• good things
• bad things
• send Lazarus
• five brothers
• Moses and the prophets
• rises from the dead
These images enliven the story and allow the reader to explore it for himself or herself.
The point of the parable seems to be about how we live now, in our living years, in light of death and the afterlife. How do we use our goods and our riches? How do we see our “resources”? Are we generous, miserly, hospitable, protective?
The Bible does not throw blanket condemnations on wealth and riches. Neither does it subscribe to the prosperity theory that God wants everyone to have an abundance of worldly riches . . and it certainly doesn’t teach that faithfulness to God = material blessings, which is a distortion of the Gospel.
In fact, while the Church has been obsessed with matters of sexuality – it seems like forever – the scriptures are much more concerned with the dangers of money and possessions. I sense that many of us are more comfortable demonizing certain elements of sexuality because we can objectify them or pretend we are not interested. But acquiring a lot of money not only is socially acceptable, it is encouraged, seen as a sign of ambition, drive, and creativity. But I digress . . .
In the parable, the Rich Man hides behind gates and doors, without interacting with the world’s need, which is personified by Lazarus. If not a picture of miserliness, at least the Rich Man is a symbol of self-protection, of luxury, of an “eat, drink, and be merry” lifestyle that lives oblivious to others or their needs. In the Rich Man’s world, the other does not even exist.
As I pointed out above, this story has a treasure trove of rich images . . . doors and gates . . . purple, fine linens versus body-sores and dog’s saliva . . . finest foods versus hunger . . . Father Abraham . . . life and death . . . chasms, separation, and alienation . . . the place of the dead . . . fire and water . . . luxurious excess or scraps from the table . . . on and on it goes. Any and all of the symbols are worth exploring.
The story portrays two rich persons . . . or even three, if you consider some of the alternative ways Lazarus was rich other than in possessions. (Each of us is rich in some way . . . just not always financially. In fact, sometimes financial wealth is the most impoverished state of all. Many persons are impoverished in compassion, or peace, or contentment, or generosity, or hospitality . . . you see how it goes.)
One man in the story is labeled “Rich Man” and he is portrayed in a negative light. But Abraham is also a wealthy man – the Hebrew scriptures describe his vast holdings of livestock . . . he was a wealthy man in his time – and it is Abraham who makes a place for Lazarus in his heart. He is a wealthy person who is generous, who opens himself to the other. He stands in contrast to the Rich Man who feasts solo behind closed doors and locked gates.
The parable turns on the Rich Man’s insistence that had he known better, his life would have been different . . . and at the very least, that his family should be warned so their fate will not be the same as his. There is no repentance, no real change of heart, just the thought – occurring too often among the privileged – that someone else should do something in order to alleviate their suffering.
But the moral of the parable is that everything you need to live a life of compassion and generosity has already been given. In the frame of the story, Moses and the prophets – especially the 8th century prophets – advocated compassion and kindness for the poor, the widows, and the orphans. If you don’t heed their call, you will not heed even someone who rises from the dead (see what Jesus did in that twist?).
There are many ways to slice the parable. I’ll leave most of them for you to explore. But I’ll suggest this basic question, which the story seems to ask in a most pronounced way: “Are you are child of Abraham (gracious, welcoming, generous) or are you a child of the world (gate-making, door-locking, door-not-opening, shielding, guarding, protecting, indulging)?”
Luke 16:19-31
19 Jesus said, “There was a certain rich man who was splendidly clothed in purple and fine linen and who lived each day in luxury. 20 At his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus who was covered with sores. 21 As Lazarus lay there longing for scraps from the rich man’s table, the dogs would come and lick his open sores.
22 “Finally, the poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s bosom. The rich man also died and was buried, 23 and he went to Hades, the place of the dead. There, in torment, he saw Abraham in the far distance with Lazarus at his side.
24 “The rich man shouted, ‘Father Abraham, have some pity! Send Lazarus over here to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue. I am in anguish in these flames.’
25 “But Abraham said to him, ‘Son, remember that during your lifetime you had everything you wanted, and Lazarus had nothing. So now he is here being comforted, and you are in anguish. 26 And besides, there is a great chasm separating us. No one can cross over to you from here, and no one can cross over to us from there.’
27 “Then the rich man said, ‘Please, Father Abraham, at least send him to my father’s home. 28 For I have five brothers, and I want him to warn them so they don’t end up in this place of torment.’
29 “But Abraham said, ‘Moses and the prophets have warned them. Your brothers can read what they wrote.’
30 “The rich man replied, ‘No, Father Abraham! But if someone is sent to them from the dead, then they will repent of their sins and turn to God.’
31 “But Abraham said, ‘If they won’t listen to Moses and the prophets, they won’t be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead.’”
Jesus often teaches in parables. He tells stories which serve to illumine something about the way life is ordered when we are connected to God in life-giving ways. Sometimes the images are all positive, speaking in affirming ways about our God-connection. Other parables include examples of persons who sleep through invitations to a life of meaning and fullness. The story of the Rich Man and Lazarus falls into the latter category.
As stories which impart spiritual wisdom, parables are not to be taken at face value. Most often, these spiritual stories are layered, nuanced, and invite a different kind of seeing. To read and understand them at a surface level may allow the hearer to have some understanding of what the parable is trying to say; however, a surface reading will also miss many of the undercurrents flowing beneath the story’s surface.
These undercurrents are suggested by symbols and images which show up in parabolic language. Much as you would do in dream-work, it is helpful to notice the symbols, to trace their meanings, to track where they lead, and to explore the multiple meanings held within a single symbol or image. This kind of investigative work will allow you to find the place where your own soul resonates with some idea or some invitation in the parable.
(Your soul’s language is most often not a verbal language, but a language of images and symbols. You will recognize in your own dreams that what you most remember are not the words spoken in your dream, but the wild symbols and images which point beyond themselves to deeper realities within yourself and in the world.)
So given all this background, I’ll say that the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is not first of all a commentary on the afterlife. The story is not trying to give a description of heaven, or the place of the dead, or any aspect of life after death. Thus, the story does not make a statement about whether there are different levels to which people go after death, nor is it about whether people can communicate across “chasms” after death. The story is basically about our living years. In the landscape of this parable, the “after death” aspect simply sets up a teaching about the way to live life with God in a way which gives life to the world.
Second, when looking at the parable, you do well to notice the many symbols in the story as Jesus tells it. Rich images appear everywhere. In working with the story, I made nearly a page-long list of the images contained in it. I spent some time following the trail of some images that seemed most crucial to the wisdom of this teaching story.
• rich
• poor
• Abraham
• Abraham’s bosom
• far distance
• great chasm
• death
• Hades (place of the dead)
• clothed in purple and fine linen
• lived luxury
• dogs
• sores
• gate
• scraps
• rich man’s table
• dip finger in water
• cool my tongue
• agony
• fire
• good things
• bad things
• send Lazarus
• five brothers
• Moses and the prophets
• rises from the dead
These images enliven the story and allow the reader to explore it for himself or herself.
The point of the parable seems to be about how we live now, in our living years, in light of death and the afterlife. How do we use our goods and our riches? How do we see our “resources”? Are we generous, miserly, hospitable, protective?
The Bible does not throw blanket condemnations on wealth and riches. Neither does it subscribe to the prosperity theory that God wants everyone to have an abundance of worldly riches . . and it certainly doesn’t teach that faithfulness to God = material blessings, which is a distortion of the Gospel.
In fact, while the Church has been obsessed with matters of sexuality – it seems like forever – the scriptures are much more concerned with the dangers of money and possessions. I sense that many of us are more comfortable demonizing certain elements of sexuality because we can objectify them or pretend we are not interested. But acquiring a lot of money not only is socially acceptable, it is encouraged, seen as a sign of ambition, drive, and creativity. But I digress . . .
In the parable, the Rich Man hides behind gates and doors, without interacting with the world’s need, which is personified by Lazarus. If not a picture of miserliness, at least the Rich Man is a symbol of self-protection, of luxury, of an “eat, drink, and be merry” lifestyle that lives oblivious to others or their needs. In the Rich Man’s world, the other does not even exist.
As I pointed out above, this story has a treasure trove of rich images . . . doors and gates . . . purple, fine linens versus body-sores and dog’s saliva . . . finest foods versus hunger . . . Father Abraham . . . life and death . . . chasms, separation, and alienation . . . the place of the dead . . . fire and water . . . luxurious excess or scraps from the table . . . on and on it goes. Any and all of the symbols are worth exploring.
The story portrays two rich persons . . . or even three, if you consider some of the alternative ways Lazarus was rich other than in possessions. (Each of us is rich in some way . . . just not always financially. In fact, sometimes financial wealth is the most impoverished state of all. Many persons are impoverished in compassion, or peace, or contentment, or generosity, or hospitality . . . you see how it goes.)
One man in the story is labeled “Rich Man” and he is portrayed in a negative light. But Abraham is also a wealthy man – the Hebrew scriptures describe his vast holdings of livestock . . . he was a wealthy man in his time – and it is Abraham who makes a place for Lazarus in his heart. He is a wealthy person who is generous, who opens himself to the other. He stands in contrast to the Rich Man who feasts solo behind closed doors and locked gates.
The parable turns on the Rich Man’s insistence that had he known better, his life would have been different . . . and at the very least, that his family should be warned so their fate will not be the same as his. There is no repentance, no real change of heart, just the thought – occurring too often among the privileged – that someone else should do something in order to alleviate their suffering.
But the moral of the parable is that everything you need to live a life of compassion and generosity has already been given. In the frame of the story, Moses and the prophets – especially the 8th century prophets – advocated compassion and kindness for the poor, the widows, and the orphans. If you don’t heed their call, you will not heed even someone who rises from the dead (see what Jesus did in that twist?).
There are many ways to slice the parable. I’ll leave most of them for you to explore. But I’ll suggest this basic question, which the story seems to ask in a most pronounced way: “Are you are child of Abraham (gracious, welcoming, generous) or are you a child of the world (gate-making, door-locking, door-not-opening, shielding, guarding, protecting, indulging)?”
Tuesday, November 6, 2018
Spiritual Life and the Social Order
The inward spiritual journey always impacts life in the outer world.
A deepening connection with God (the inner work) always makes a difference in who we are with (and how we see) God, self, others, and the world (the outer work).
The spiritual dimension of life should always impact the social order in which we live.
In fact, the spiritual life gives you and me a different way of being in the world, a way of swimming upstream against the prevailing current of the social order, without having to adopt the means by which society plays the game.
To “play the game” by the rules of society is merely a way of granting legitimacy to those rules and to the social order that created them.
“The ‘team’ with the most votes wins . . . or the side that has the strongest argument is right . . . or this election is a referendum on _________.”
The social order acts – and throughout history, always has – as if it holds all the cards, as if it is the most powerful order in the world. The prevailing social “wisdom” assumes that because it creates the rules, passes the legislation, and determines what is important and unimportant, that it must be the most powerful aspect of life, whether that social wisdom represents “the Left” or “the Right”.
On the other hand, those given to the spiritual world and the spiritual realm of life bet their lives that there is a Spiritual Presence that undergirds all of life, a Divine Source present always and everywhere to which the prevailing social order is largely oblivious. Further, underlying the spiritual life is the conviction that the real authority and power in life is this Spiritual Presence, that all social claims to power and authority are mere pretenders.
So I’m pondering what it means to be a contemplative presence in the kind of world in which we live (and in which we have always lived). What is my life about as I seek to live in the world from the Center, tethered to the Source of all things?
I recognize that for centuries, when the Church was complicit in society’s corruption, those who carried forward the way of Jesus had to do so underground, in ways and in places that were quiet, unseen, and out of the mainstream. In fact, in those centuries, the mainstream expressions of religious faith were just as corrupt as society at large, filled more with the messages of the social order than with the Gospel. So it was up to mystics, monks, and holy women to carry – and live into – a way of being in the world that was healing and regenerative, rather than divisive, hostile, and hysteric.
In the Middle Ages, Popes, Cardinals, and Bishops were a part of royal courts, in the service of monarchs, and a part of the corruption that comes with power. In those settings, the religious authorities offered widespread blessing of the very corruption that served some well, but oppressed most. In those days, it was up to mystics to speak of an authentic connection with God that ran deeper than political influence. Monasteries became places where simplicity and poverty of spirit symbolized a stance against the power structures of the day. But that kind of resistance flowed mostly underground.
In the 1930’s, the Church in Germany so totally adopted the platform of the Nazis that Christians could no longer see what was real. Persons who carried forward an authentically Gospel message – like Dietrich Bonhoeffer – had to do so through an underground Church, so totally had the mainstream Church and clergy adopted the prevailing social order.
So today, the calling of those who would be awake, who would seek a deepening connection with God that makes a difference in the world, may take an underground, almost subversive form. That is not to say contemplatives or those who lean into the spiritual dimension of life should not be active in the social order, in political systems, government, business, and so on. Always, part of the Divine invitation is to work and pray for a more just, more merciful and compassionate world (“on earth as it is in heaven”). So we do not “sit this one out.” However, we also acknowledge that trusting in elections, legislation, capitalism, and policies to change hearts is misplaced trust.
Your spiritual journey makes a difference in the world.
Your practice of prayer impacts the circumference of your realm of influence.
Your openness to a deepening connection with God creates healing space within you and around you that touches the world with wholeness and generosity.
Your soul’s tether to the Source of Life is stronger and more real than all the power, control, and legislations of the social order.
And in your intention to live from a life-giving Center, you carry on an underground tradition that no power of the world can curb.
Friday, November 2, 2018
Crossroads Voices: Giving Thanks at All Saints and All Souls
GOD’s Message yet again:
“Go stand at the crossroads and look around.
Ask for directions to the old road,
The tried-and-true road. Then take it.
Discover the right route for your souls.
But they said, ‘Nothing doing.
We aren’t going that way.’”
(Jeremiah 6:16, The Message)
At times, I stand at a crossroads and look around for direction on the path to take onward . . . and hear nothing, see nothing.
At other times, I stand at the crossroads and look around for wisdom . . . and what I hear or see or sense seems too difficult, too unreasonable. I’m not yet ready to go in the way I’m being led.
And at other times, I stand at the crossroads, noticing the several ways that branch out from that intersection, and I find myself ready to hear and follow the wisdom that I sense in that moment. Very often for me, that wisdom comes in the form of a person, a voice, another life who shows up at just the moment I’m needing wisdom at the crossroads.
Sometimes the voice that shows up is someone speaking across the ages . . . the voice of someone in days past who has lived wisely and courageously shared their wisdom . . . in order to help guide other travelers . . . a poet like Rilke or an otherwise unsuspect woman who lived underneath the notice of her times like Mother Julian.
I am aware of how indebted I am to these other voices, these other lives. I stand on the shoulders of so many others, as do you. There is no such thing as a “self-made man” or a “self-made woman.” All of us are products of those who have guided us when we were seeking direction at the crossroads, open to wisdom that has guided others before us in ways that are healing and life-giving, in ways that enable us to live with fullness of soul.
Yesterday was the Feast of All Saints and today is the Feast of All Souls. These days on the calendar give opportunity to pause and remember those who have gone before us, those who have shared their wisdom when we were at crossroads, lost and searching. I have given more time than usual this year to reflecting on the importance of these two days because of three deaths last week of persons who shared their wisdom with me in different ways, yet all when I was at various crossroads.
Eugene Peterson died last week. In a story I’ve told often, I first encountered Peterson through a friend who sent me a copy of Working the Angles in the early 1990’s. I had recently completed four years of rigorous doctoral work that had occupied every spare moment that didn’t include family or church responsibilities. I was in a dry spot, facing my own internal emptiness. I didn’t know I was standing at a crossroads looking for wisdom, but in hindsight I very clear was doing just that. As I read Peterson’s words in Working the Angles, I knew he was talking right to my heart and soul. The moment was pivotal and the course I took in reading his words had huge repercussions on everything that has unfolded in my life in the 25 years since.
Peterson gave me a language for my soul’s yearning, and some basic practices that began to feed my soul. I quickly bought as many of his books as I could find. In the summer of 1995 I took a sabbatical for study and refreshment. I took several weeks to study under Peterson at Regent College in Vancouver. The time was transforming, feasting on Peterson’s talks in the mornings, then spending the rest of the long British Columbia days exploring mountains, hiking in forests, discovering waterfalls, dipping my feet into glacial lakes. I ended up going back to Vancouver for his classes four or five times.
In recent years, I have found myself pushing back more and more on some of his assumptions, but isn’t that the way it is with our mentors? He and I grew in different ways, ways unique to each of us. Even so, I have never stopped being grateful for how he gave me an early language for what was happening in my soul.
Kyrie eleison.
Fr Thomas Keating died last week. I don’t remember my first encounter with Fr Keating. I practiced Centering Prayer – thanks to another saint, Sr Adeline O’Donoghue – before I knew who Keating was. Sr Adeline probably introduced me to him, as well, in the mid-1990’s. At any rate, the first book by Keating I read was not his introduction to Centering Prayer, Open Mind, Open Heart, but his book which explained the interior workings of contemplative prayer, Invitation to Love. Keating had a deep, experiential grasp of contemplative prayer and how it operates in a person’s soul. He was smart and knew a lot of psychology, but most of what he shared was borne of personal experience. He did not simply repeat someone else’s theory.
I ended up meeting Keating a handful of times and hearing him speak in person. He was a large man, commanding a room in his white monk’s habit, but gentle and funny. And in either conversation or teaching, his words always seemed to arise from a deep place within him. There was weight in his speech, gravitas, something that seemed to come from a deep interior well. He knew who he was and was comfortable with who he was, so he was not demonstrative or persuasive or motivational. He did not need to be someone other than the person he was. My time with him helped shape my own notion of what it means to be wise . . . that wisdom comes from spiritual reflection and integrating life experiences, from considering life deeply.
I grieve that the world will be without Fr Keating’s physical presence. But I celebrate that wisely, Keating and others years ago formed Contemplative Outreach as a structure that would carry on the work of contemplative prayer and serve as a vehicle for transformation through this unassuming prayer practice.
Christe eleison.
Robert Winn died last week. In my home church in Tulsa, I served on the staff for four years during college and for a year after college before leaving for seminary . . . and I served alongside Robert. I was fairly new to the “Christian-thing” and brand new to the “church staff thing.” Robert was the older, wiser presence – in my late teens, I thought he was an old man . . . turns out Robert was only 14 years older than I am, so he was in his early 30’s . . . still, he was an “old man” to me as a teenager.
Robert was the one person on that staff I could go to for advice and wisdom, the person whose door was always open to me. Any other staff person, I would have needed an appointment to see. I could seek him out with questions about how to do things, how to approach certain aspects of ministry. He was funny, relaxed, and the afternoons we spent in ping-pong battles in the church’s game room produced some epic matches. He was a friend and an early mentor. For many years, I carried with me Robert’s notions about what it means to serve well on a church staff. As much as anyone, especially early in ministry, he taught me about survival in a local church.
Kyrie eleison.
Who have been your “crossroads” voices?
For whom do you give thanks at All Saints and All Souls?
Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
Kyrie eleison
“Go stand at the crossroads and look around.
Ask for directions to the old road,
The tried-and-true road. Then take it.
Discover the right route for your souls.
But they said, ‘Nothing doing.
We aren’t going that way.’”
(Jeremiah 6:16, The Message)
At times, I stand at a crossroads and look around for direction on the path to take onward . . . and hear nothing, see nothing.
At other times, I stand at the crossroads and look around for wisdom . . . and what I hear or see or sense seems too difficult, too unreasonable. I’m not yet ready to go in the way I’m being led.
And at other times, I stand at the crossroads, noticing the several ways that branch out from that intersection, and I find myself ready to hear and follow the wisdom that I sense in that moment. Very often for me, that wisdom comes in the form of a person, a voice, another life who shows up at just the moment I’m needing wisdom at the crossroads.
Sometimes the voice that shows up is someone speaking across the ages . . . the voice of someone in days past who has lived wisely and courageously shared their wisdom . . . in order to help guide other travelers . . . a poet like Rilke or an otherwise unsuspect woman who lived underneath the notice of her times like Mother Julian.
I am aware of how indebted I am to these other voices, these other lives. I stand on the shoulders of so many others, as do you. There is no such thing as a “self-made man” or a “self-made woman.” All of us are products of those who have guided us when we were seeking direction at the crossroads, open to wisdom that has guided others before us in ways that are healing and life-giving, in ways that enable us to live with fullness of soul.
Yesterday was the Feast of All Saints and today is the Feast of All Souls. These days on the calendar give opportunity to pause and remember those who have gone before us, those who have shared their wisdom when we were at crossroads, lost and searching. I have given more time than usual this year to reflecting on the importance of these two days because of three deaths last week of persons who shared their wisdom with me in different ways, yet all when I was at various crossroads.
Eugene Peterson died last week. In a story I’ve told often, I first encountered Peterson through a friend who sent me a copy of Working the Angles in the early 1990’s. I had recently completed four years of rigorous doctoral work that had occupied every spare moment that didn’t include family or church responsibilities. I was in a dry spot, facing my own internal emptiness. I didn’t know I was standing at a crossroads looking for wisdom, but in hindsight I very clear was doing just that. As I read Peterson’s words in Working the Angles, I knew he was talking right to my heart and soul. The moment was pivotal and the course I took in reading his words had huge repercussions on everything that has unfolded in my life in the 25 years since.
Peterson gave me a language for my soul’s yearning, and some basic practices that began to feed my soul. I quickly bought as many of his books as I could find. In the summer of 1995 I took a sabbatical for study and refreshment. I took several weeks to study under Peterson at Regent College in Vancouver. The time was transforming, feasting on Peterson’s talks in the mornings, then spending the rest of the long British Columbia days exploring mountains, hiking in forests, discovering waterfalls, dipping my feet into glacial lakes. I ended up going back to Vancouver for his classes four or five times.
In recent years, I have found myself pushing back more and more on some of his assumptions, but isn’t that the way it is with our mentors? He and I grew in different ways, ways unique to each of us. Even so, I have never stopped being grateful for how he gave me an early language for what was happening in my soul.
Kyrie eleison.
Fr Thomas Keating died last week. I don’t remember my first encounter with Fr Keating. I practiced Centering Prayer – thanks to another saint, Sr Adeline O’Donoghue – before I knew who Keating was. Sr Adeline probably introduced me to him, as well, in the mid-1990’s. At any rate, the first book by Keating I read was not his introduction to Centering Prayer, Open Mind, Open Heart, but his book which explained the interior workings of contemplative prayer, Invitation to Love. Keating had a deep, experiential grasp of contemplative prayer and how it operates in a person’s soul. He was smart and knew a lot of psychology, but most of what he shared was borne of personal experience. He did not simply repeat someone else’s theory.
I ended up meeting Keating a handful of times and hearing him speak in person. He was a large man, commanding a room in his white monk’s habit, but gentle and funny. And in either conversation or teaching, his words always seemed to arise from a deep place within him. There was weight in his speech, gravitas, something that seemed to come from a deep interior well. He knew who he was and was comfortable with who he was, so he was not demonstrative or persuasive or motivational. He did not need to be someone other than the person he was. My time with him helped shape my own notion of what it means to be wise . . . that wisdom comes from spiritual reflection and integrating life experiences, from considering life deeply.
I grieve that the world will be without Fr Keating’s physical presence. But I celebrate that wisely, Keating and others years ago formed Contemplative Outreach as a structure that would carry on the work of contemplative prayer and serve as a vehicle for transformation through this unassuming prayer practice.
Christe eleison.
Robert Winn died last week. In my home church in Tulsa, I served on the staff for four years during college and for a year after college before leaving for seminary . . . and I served alongside Robert. I was fairly new to the “Christian-thing” and brand new to the “church staff thing.” Robert was the older, wiser presence – in my late teens, I thought he was an old man . . . turns out Robert was only 14 years older than I am, so he was in his early 30’s . . . still, he was an “old man” to me as a teenager.
Robert was the one person on that staff I could go to for advice and wisdom, the person whose door was always open to me. Any other staff person, I would have needed an appointment to see. I could seek him out with questions about how to do things, how to approach certain aspects of ministry. He was funny, relaxed, and the afternoons we spent in ping-pong battles in the church’s game room produced some epic matches. He was a friend and an early mentor. For many years, I carried with me Robert’s notions about what it means to serve well on a church staff. As much as anyone, especially early in ministry, he taught me about survival in a local church.
Kyrie eleison.
Who have been your “crossroads” voices?
For whom do you give thanks at All Saints and All Souls?
Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
Kyrie eleison
Monday, February 16, 2015
Monday, February 16, 2015 – A Pre-Lenten Reading
Introduction to “The Wisdom of the Wilderness”
by Jerry Webber
During Lent, I’ll provide daily meditations based on the stories and sayings of the Desert Fathers and Mothers (3rd – 5th centuries) on my Lenten blog (www.dailylent.blogspot.com). I've posted this introductory material on that site . . . it is intended to give some basic background and context to the Desert Christians: Who were these men and women? How did they get to the desert? What did they do there?
In the years after Christ, followers of Jesus faced a number of challenges. For many decades, Christians were persecuted by a hostile Roman Empire, which viewed Christian faith as atheistic (Christians did not worship the gods of the Roman Empire, nor the Emperor as deity). Christians were imprisoned, tortured, or put to death, often for sport in the Roman Empire.
Another challenge arose about three centuries after Christ, when Constantine became Emperor of the once-hostile Roman Empire. The new Emperor declared that Christianity would be the official religion of the Empire. Suddenly, the hostile Romans became the Christian Romans. Everyone in the Empire was called a Christian.
From these two very diverse scenarios, a movement within Christianity arose in the wilderness areas of Egypt and the Middle East. Christians who were serious about deepening their life in God fled from the cities into the desert in order to seek a life of spiritual discipline, hoping to grow in their love for God (heart, mind, soul, strength) and others. These Christians, living mostly in wilderness communities, were the first monks (from, “monos”, meaning “one”).
The movement into the wilderness actually began around A.D. 269, when an eighteen-year-old Egyptian named Antony heard scripture read in the church. He listened to the Gospel story of the rich, young ruler with his heart, and when he heard Jesus tell the rich ruler, “Go, sell your possessions, give the money to the poor, then come and follow me” (Mt. 19:21), Antony felt those words were spoken directly to him. He sold his property and gave away the proceeds, holding back only enough to care for his sister (the parents of Antony and his sister had died in an accident previously). He moved outside the city gates, befriending the religious men who sought lives of holiness by living outside the city walls. As he listened still more in the coming days, he was led further into the wilderness to take up the life of a Christian hermit.
Antony intended that he would live alone, allowing a life prayer, fasting, silence, and solitude in the wilderness to be the setting for his own purification. Over many years, he lived in complete solitude and endured terrible trials. When Antony emerged from his solitude, people recognized him as an authentically “healthy” person who had dealt with his own inner darkness in a whole and life-giving way.
Others began coming to him, urging him to help them come to a deeper sense of their own most authentic self. They sought healing from him, and wise counsel. Groups of disciples gathered around him, for whom Antony was a spiritual guide. Antony also made frequent forays back into the cities of Egypt, into the churches of the area, and before the bishops in Alexandria.
After Antony, a slow trickle of men and women entered the Egyptian desert in order to follow Christ more closely. These desert Christians found freedom to express their love for God through spiritual practice, both in solitude and in communities of seekers that sprung up in the wilderness. The first rule for these Desert Fathers and Mothers was charity toward all. Love and charity, for these Christians, seasoned every ascetic practice of the desert.
The wisdom of the wilderness actually grew up around these men and women who were seeking God and who, through their own spiritual practice, were attentive to their own interior shadows. They literally lived in the Egyptian desert. But metaphorically, they also lived in a spiritual desert, sensing that within their cultural milieu, they existed in an arid wilderness in which they needed to be spiritually lean and fit in order to survive. The desert was their place of their fitness, learning, and becoming . . . learning about God, self, others, and the created world (the four contexts of any wholistic spirituality) as they became the persons God created them to be.
It is important to know that the Desert Abbas and Ammas (Fathers and Mothers) were not ascetics for the sake of being ascetics. They did not strictly adhere to a code of spiritual discipline simply for the sake of being disciplined. They sought to be aware of their own internal darkness, to bring that darkness under the love of God, and then share their wisdom with others who would endeavor a similar spiritual journey.
For some today, their harsh asceticism seems outdated and irrelevant. They engaged in practices that seem extreme. Whether fasting food, sleep, sexual gratification, conversation, or the company of others, they could go to extremes. But always, asceticism was the means, not the goal. Their spiritual disciplines always pointed to a purpose beyond the practice. The spiritual practices were shaping them to be the kind of person who knew their own self and who knew what tripped up the self, in order that such a person could love God, self, and others more completely.
These Desert Fathers and Mothers – as they have come to be known – were shaped by love, but also by a desire for purity of heart, the purification of actions and motivations, in order not to drown in the world’s excesses. They chose to do this as best they could by living apart from the constant tugs and pulls of society. And paradoxically, by withdrawing from society, they were able to engage society and culture in an entirely different way, both through their prayer and with their wisdom.
Finally, a short word about how this wisdom was generally passed on. Usually, groups of disciples would gather around a certain Abba or Amma, living in close community with him or her in the Egyptian desert (generally in huts or caves, called “cells”). The mentoring would take the form of apprenticeship, in which the novice disciple would learn from the life, words, and actions of the Abba or Amma. Thus, there are a number of stories told about things the spiritual Fathers and Mothers did in interacting with others.
There are stories, too, that simply communicate the pithy sayings of these wisdom figures, told often as koans or paradoxical word riddles. Usually these wisdom sayings would be initiated by the disciple, who would approach the spiritual Father for instance, and say, “Father, give me a word.” The Father would offer a sentence that, then, the apprentice was invited to chew on for its meaning in his/her life.
The wisdom of the wilderness, then, is contained both in stories from the lives of these Desert Christians and in their sayings. We’ll explore their wisdom through the coming days of Lent. The daily posts will be available at www.dailylent.blogspot.com.
– Jerry Webber
Introduction to “The Wisdom of the Wilderness”
by Jerry Webber
During Lent, I’ll provide daily meditations based on the stories and sayings of the Desert Fathers and Mothers (3rd – 5th centuries) on my Lenten blog (www.dailylent.blogspot.com). I've posted this introductory material on that site . . . it is intended to give some basic background and context to the Desert Christians: Who were these men and women? How did they get to the desert? What did they do there?
In the years after Christ, followers of Jesus faced a number of challenges. For many decades, Christians were persecuted by a hostile Roman Empire, which viewed Christian faith as atheistic (Christians did not worship the gods of the Roman Empire, nor the Emperor as deity). Christians were imprisoned, tortured, or put to death, often for sport in the Roman Empire.
Another challenge arose about three centuries after Christ, when Constantine became Emperor of the once-hostile Roman Empire. The new Emperor declared that Christianity would be the official religion of the Empire. Suddenly, the hostile Romans became the Christian Romans. Everyone in the Empire was called a Christian.
From these two very diverse scenarios, a movement within Christianity arose in the wilderness areas of Egypt and the Middle East. Christians who were serious about deepening their life in God fled from the cities into the desert in order to seek a life of spiritual discipline, hoping to grow in their love for God (heart, mind, soul, strength) and others. These Christians, living mostly in wilderness communities, were the first monks (from, “monos”, meaning “one”).
The movement into the wilderness actually began around A.D. 269, when an eighteen-year-old Egyptian named Antony heard scripture read in the church. He listened to the Gospel story of the rich, young ruler with his heart, and when he heard Jesus tell the rich ruler, “Go, sell your possessions, give the money to the poor, then come and follow me” (Mt. 19:21), Antony felt those words were spoken directly to him. He sold his property and gave away the proceeds, holding back only enough to care for his sister (the parents of Antony and his sister had died in an accident previously). He moved outside the city gates, befriending the religious men who sought lives of holiness by living outside the city walls. As he listened still more in the coming days, he was led further into the wilderness to take up the life of a Christian hermit.
Antony intended that he would live alone, allowing a life prayer, fasting, silence, and solitude in the wilderness to be the setting for his own purification. Over many years, he lived in complete solitude and endured terrible trials. When Antony emerged from his solitude, people recognized him as an authentically “healthy” person who had dealt with his own inner darkness in a whole and life-giving way.
Others began coming to him, urging him to help them come to a deeper sense of their own most authentic self. They sought healing from him, and wise counsel. Groups of disciples gathered around him, for whom Antony was a spiritual guide. Antony also made frequent forays back into the cities of Egypt, into the churches of the area, and before the bishops in Alexandria.
After Antony, a slow trickle of men and women entered the Egyptian desert in order to follow Christ more closely. These desert Christians found freedom to express their love for God through spiritual practice, both in solitude and in communities of seekers that sprung up in the wilderness. The first rule for these Desert Fathers and Mothers was charity toward all. Love and charity, for these Christians, seasoned every ascetic practice of the desert.
The wisdom of the wilderness actually grew up around these men and women who were seeking God and who, through their own spiritual practice, were attentive to their own interior shadows. They literally lived in the Egyptian desert. But metaphorically, they also lived in a spiritual desert, sensing that within their cultural milieu, they existed in an arid wilderness in which they needed to be spiritually lean and fit in order to survive. The desert was their place of their fitness, learning, and becoming . . . learning about God, self, others, and the created world (the four contexts of any wholistic spirituality) as they became the persons God created them to be.
It is important to know that the Desert Abbas and Ammas (Fathers and Mothers) were not ascetics for the sake of being ascetics. They did not strictly adhere to a code of spiritual discipline simply for the sake of being disciplined. They sought to be aware of their own internal darkness, to bring that darkness under the love of God, and then share their wisdom with others who would endeavor a similar spiritual journey.
For some today, their harsh asceticism seems outdated and irrelevant. They engaged in practices that seem extreme. Whether fasting food, sleep, sexual gratification, conversation, or the company of others, they could go to extremes. But always, asceticism was the means, not the goal. Their spiritual disciplines always pointed to a purpose beyond the practice. The spiritual practices were shaping them to be the kind of person who knew their own self and who knew what tripped up the self, in order that such a person could love God, self, and others more completely.
These Desert Fathers and Mothers – as they have come to be known – were shaped by love, but also by a desire for purity of heart, the purification of actions and motivations, in order not to drown in the world’s excesses. They chose to do this as best they could by living apart from the constant tugs and pulls of society. And paradoxically, by withdrawing from society, they were able to engage society and culture in an entirely different way, both through their prayer and with their wisdom.
Finally, a short word about how this wisdom was generally passed on. Usually, groups of disciples would gather around a certain Abba or Amma, living in close community with him or her in the Egyptian desert (generally in huts or caves, called “cells”). The mentoring would take the form of apprenticeship, in which the novice disciple would learn from the life, words, and actions of the Abba or Amma. Thus, there are a number of stories told about things the spiritual Fathers and Mothers did in interacting with others.
There are stories, too, that simply communicate the pithy sayings of these wisdom figures, told often as koans or paradoxical word riddles. Usually these wisdom sayings would be initiated by the disciple, who would approach the spiritual Father for instance, and say, “Father, give me a word.” The Father would offer a sentence that, then, the apprentice was invited to chew on for its meaning in his/her life.
The wisdom of the wilderness, then, is contained both in stories from the lives of these Desert Christians and in their sayings. We’ll explore their wisdom through the coming days of Lent. The daily posts will be available at www.dailylent.blogspot.com.
– Jerry Webber
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