Sometimes I scratch my head at the behavior of people. I just don’t get it. Why do folks act like they do? Of course, the other part of my head-scratching is the thought, “Why can’t people act sane and reasonable . . . like me!” And then, there is the realization that I, too, do stupid things day after day after day.
I may fool myself into thinking that I have insight into someone else’s motivations, or that I can read another’s life, or that crazy behavior ought to be dismissed out of hand. But for all the information available to me, I am not privy to the interior landscape of another person’s life . . . to all the life experiences that have shaped her . . . to the numerous wounds and betrayals that lead him to act as he does . . . to the intricate, interior web of motivations that move her to act the way she does. I may see what appears on the surface of his life, but I cannot see the inner workings that are behind the behavior.
That is why Jesus said this:
"Do not judge others. Then you will not be judged. You will be judged in the same way you judge others. You will be measured in the same way you measure others.
"You look at the bit of sawdust in your friend's eye. But you pay no attention to the piece of wood in your own eye. How can you say to your friend, 'Let me take the bit of sawdust out of your eye'? How can you say this while there is a piece of wood in your own eye?
"You pretender! First take the piece of wood out of your own eye. Then you will be able to see clearly to take the bit of sawdust out of your friend's eye.” (Matt. 7:1 – 5)
Within each of us are hidden patterns not visible from the outside. The human interior is infinitely intricate, woven mysteriously of our life experiences, our personalities and giftedness, as well as our brokenness and wounds. Thus, what we observe in others (and in ourselves) at the surface of life is a very small part of our stories.
I cannot see or know the motivations of another person, the interior landscape that leads them to certain behaviors and ways of being in the world. And those other persons don’t fully know their own interior motivations, either. It is all a part of our labyrinthine interior, the tangled rootage which becomes the source of our lived experience, the source of our attitudes, ideas, beliefs and behaviors.
This interior is the part of me most in need of transformation and reorientation. It is this more interior place within me that needs “conversion” and “salvation” – if we use traditional language.
Christian “salvation” is not some temporary behavior adjustment or behavior modification technique. Behavior adjustment is generally surface change which may evaporate when will-power subsides. Inner change that lasts must happen within me at the level of the roots of my behaviors, at the source of my motivations.
As we grow in Christ, we recognize that the actions of others arise from interior places we cannot see, and they are not subject to easy projections about motive and cause/effect. Each human is too complex for that kind of simple judgment. So Jesus said, “Do not judge others. . . .”
And growth comes in seeing my own interior landscape more and more clearly . . . not deceiving myself, but facing who I am and the truth of my life.
So I refrain from judging others, because I cannot fully see the wounds and brokenness from which their behaviors arise.
And I refrain from judging myself, because my behaviors come from my own intricate history.
The response of Christ to this, both in others and within myself, is compassion and mercy, not judgment. . . . And an ongoing invitation to see more truthfully, both my own life and the lives of others.
For Prayer: I ask God to soak me in love and compassion. Then I ask the same for others.
I think of a particular person in my life-world, and consider the complexity of who that person is, a complexity that I cannot fully see. I pray for her/him with compassion, both for their actions and for their motivations.
Then I pray for others who are judged hastily or harshly.
Finally, I pray with compassion for all – including myself – who judge others hastily or harshly, based on what we see at life’s surface.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Praying with Psalm 137: Reflections in a Foreign Land
A few weeks ago, I found myself in touch with the dark and angry spirit of Psalm 137. I was surprised at what came out of me . . . and grateful for the honesty with which I could offer my real life in prayer.
Psalm 137 Psalm-Prayer
praying from a foreign land
I sat in a foreign land and wept
among those of strange tongue
among those who hated me
among those who wanted me gone
I remembered You
remembered the thought of You
My songs and instruments
hung in a closet
stored away
no longer needed or useful
I was
who they said
I was
No longer was there dialogue
give-and-take
now there was one way
their way
the tone of taunt in every exchange
“Why can’t you sing your song?
We’ll play the music . . .
you just sing along.”
The song You’ve given buried deep
I don’t want to sing their song
I’ll do anything to keep from singing
a pseudo-song
God, don’t ever let me be too far away
to forget Your song
burn it upon my heart
weave it into my soul
And for them, these pretenders
who take their delight in my despair
who have won the struggle
to steer the ship
who said,
“Damn you! Damn you!”
Oh, the warrior in me wants to fight to the death,
to take them down
and stand over their plot
And the diplomat in me wants to run far
to get out of their sight
and reach
and make a new life somewhere else
And the poet in me – at this moment –
just wants to sing my song
to spill out the verse from within
no vengeance or vindication
just song
so that the cycle stops
and all the little ones
saved
Psalm 137 Psalm-Prayer
praying from a foreign land
I sat in a foreign land and wept
among those of strange tongue
among those who hated me
among those who wanted me gone
I remembered You
remembered the thought of You
My songs and instruments
hung in a closet
stored away
no longer needed or useful
I was
who they said
I was
No longer was there dialogue
give-and-take
now there was one way
their way
the tone of taunt in every exchange
“Why can’t you sing your song?
We’ll play the music . . .
you just sing along.”
The song You’ve given buried deep
I don’t want to sing their song
I’ll do anything to keep from singing
a pseudo-song
God, don’t ever let me be too far away
to forget Your song
burn it upon my heart
weave it into my soul
And for them, these pretenders
who take their delight in my despair
who have won the struggle
to steer the ship
who said,
“Damn you! Damn you!”
Oh, the warrior in me wants to fight to the death,
to take them down
and stand over their plot
And the diplomat in me wants to run far
to get out of their sight
and reach
and make a new life somewhere else
And the poet in me – at this moment –
just wants to sing my song
to spill out the verse from within
no vengeance or vindication
just song
so that the cycle stops
and all the little ones
saved
Monday, June 4, 2012
Digging for Treasure in the Field of My Life
“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field." (Matt. 13:44)
My life is full of treasure . . . the relationships, experiences and encounters that have shaped me and continue to shape me.
Jesus told a short story in which he likened a person’s life to a field, and to the search for treasure in that field.
I don’t know that I’ll ever get to the end of exploring, searching, digging around in the fields of my life. I know some folks find a treasure, claim it for themselves, then go on with life in possession of that treasure. It hasn’t worked that way for me. It’s not that I haven’t found any treasure, or that I have no treasure to show for my life. But just about the time I dig up something that seems to be THE treasure, the priceless trinket to end all trinkets, I keep on searching and digging, to find something else of even more value.
They are all treasures, but the notion that soon I’ll discover THE treasure, or the end-all treasure just doesn’t seem true to my experience with God. I imagine that God knows I’d stop seeking, stop knocking, stop finding if I ever found the treasure that was final.
Again, though, so many things I’ve found in life are treasures. So many things have been precious to me, of great and lasting value to me. So it is not a stretch for me to think that there are many treasures open and available to me, and that these treasures taken together, play a significant role in shaping and ordering my living.
That’s pretty strange thinking, I know. From my experience, though, I recognize that so many things have felt like the big discovery, the ultimate treasure. In fact, part of being human is to believe that where we are at THIS MOMENT is the place where we’ll be settled forever. Every discovery feels like the ultimate discovery. Every movement that reveals new depths of truth to us feels like the final movement out of darkness and into the light.
If you’ll check your life, though, you may find a number of these movements into so-called “finality.” And if you’re honest, you may also recognize that what felt “final” and “complete” in the moment was actually a doorway or threshold into something else. New discoveries led to more exploring and other discoveries. The pattern continues.
In fact, there may be a time when the things we once considered to be treasures are treasures no more. In Phil. 3:7 - 8, the Apostle Paul wrote about things he once valued that he later considered rubbish or garbage.
So for me, my stance always has to be open hands, holding open who I am and what I have discovered, always open to other treasures and deeper, more meaningful treasures.
One corollary for me, then, is that someone else's treasure cannot be my treasure. I can learn from others. I can use maps others have left of the field in which I seek. But in truth, a map that leads to your treasure won’t necessarily lead me to mine. It might be helpful to me if it gave some tips on how to search, how to dig, how to explore. It won’t, however, be helpful if it tries to make your treasure mine.
I think of it like this: Someone else – friend, mentor, pastor, counselor, author – can help me in the exploration, but they can never do all my discovery for me. I may use some of the maps they’ve left and some of the tools they found helpful in exploring, but my life is different from theirs.
For instance, using someone else’s map to find your own spiritual treasure may be something like trying to find my most authentic and true self within the biography of Francis of Assisi, Martin Luther, or Mother Teresa. They had maps for their own lives and for what it meant to be who God created them to be . . . and for me to try and live into their maps will mean that I miss my own life, my own truest self.
One more thing . . . In thinking about my own treasure, my own most authentic self, a part of my social responsibility in life is to live in relationship with others in such a way that I discover my own treasure and that I help others discover theirs.
That means I am not charged with leading others to discover my treasure, as if there were only one treasure for all people, and as if I were the one who had the secret key to that treasure.
No, my place is to be in relationship with others in a way that encourages their exploration with God, helps them to discover their own treasure, and then encourages them to live into it.
This may happen through acts of service, of feeding and care-giving. It may happen through empowering others to explore and make those discoveries. It may happen through giving others a voice where they are voiceless.
The question for me is: “How am I to be with others in a way that frees them to do their own necessary digging in the field? How do I help others explore and search and dig so they can find their own unique treasure?”
This is my very basic purpose in engaging the world, engaging others, and encouraging their growth and fullness in God.
My life is full of treasure . . . the relationships, experiences and encounters that have shaped me and continue to shape me.
Jesus told a short story in which he likened a person’s life to a field, and to the search for treasure in that field.
I don’t know that I’ll ever get to the end of exploring, searching, digging around in the fields of my life. I know some folks find a treasure, claim it for themselves, then go on with life in possession of that treasure. It hasn’t worked that way for me. It’s not that I haven’t found any treasure, or that I have no treasure to show for my life. But just about the time I dig up something that seems to be THE treasure, the priceless trinket to end all trinkets, I keep on searching and digging, to find something else of even more value.
They are all treasures, but the notion that soon I’ll discover THE treasure, or the end-all treasure just doesn’t seem true to my experience with God. I imagine that God knows I’d stop seeking, stop knocking, stop finding if I ever found the treasure that was final.
Again, though, so many things I’ve found in life are treasures. So many things have been precious to me, of great and lasting value to me. So it is not a stretch for me to think that there are many treasures open and available to me, and that these treasures taken together, play a significant role in shaping and ordering my living.
That’s pretty strange thinking, I know. From my experience, though, I recognize that so many things have felt like the big discovery, the ultimate treasure. In fact, part of being human is to believe that where we are at THIS MOMENT is the place where we’ll be settled forever. Every discovery feels like the ultimate discovery. Every movement that reveals new depths of truth to us feels like the final movement out of darkness and into the light.
If you’ll check your life, though, you may find a number of these movements into so-called “finality.” And if you’re honest, you may also recognize that what felt “final” and “complete” in the moment was actually a doorway or threshold into something else. New discoveries led to more exploring and other discoveries. The pattern continues.
In fact, there may be a time when the things we once considered to be treasures are treasures no more. In Phil. 3:7 - 8, the Apostle Paul wrote about things he once valued that he later considered rubbish or garbage.
So for me, my stance always has to be open hands, holding open who I am and what I have discovered, always open to other treasures and deeper, more meaningful treasures.
One corollary for me, then, is that someone else's treasure cannot be my treasure. I can learn from others. I can use maps others have left of the field in which I seek. But in truth, a map that leads to your treasure won’t necessarily lead me to mine. It might be helpful to me if it gave some tips on how to search, how to dig, how to explore. It won’t, however, be helpful if it tries to make your treasure mine.
I think of it like this: Someone else – friend, mentor, pastor, counselor, author – can help me in the exploration, but they can never do all my discovery for me. I may use some of the maps they’ve left and some of the tools they found helpful in exploring, but my life is different from theirs.
For instance, using someone else’s map to find your own spiritual treasure may be something like trying to find my most authentic and true self within the biography of Francis of Assisi, Martin Luther, or Mother Teresa. They had maps for their own lives and for what it meant to be who God created them to be . . . and for me to try and live into their maps will mean that I miss my own life, my own truest self.
One more thing . . . In thinking about my own treasure, my own most authentic self, a part of my social responsibility in life is to live in relationship with others in such a way that I discover my own treasure and that I help others discover theirs.
That means I am not charged with leading others to discover my treasure, as if there were only one treasure for all people, and as if I were the one who had the secret key to that treasure.
No, my place is to be in relationship with others in a way that encourages their exploration with God, helps them to discover their own treasure, and then encourages them to live into it.
This may happen through acts of service, of feeding and care-giving. It may happen through empowering others to explore and make those discoveries. It may happen through giving others a voice where they are voiceless.
The question for me is: “How am I to be with others in a way that frees them to do their own necessary digging in the field? How do I help others explore and search and dig so they can find their own unique treasure?”
This is my very basic purpose in engaging the world, engaging others, and encouraging their growth and fullness in God.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
When I Die: A Poem
When I die
read nothing that rhymes
and tastes like sugar
read some Rilke
something fierce
and raw
something that
shapes the awe
and cloud
that compels us
toward the mystery
of what has not yet
appeared.
read nothing that rhymes
and tastes like sugar
read some Rilke
something fierce
and raw
something that
shapes the awe
and cloud
that compels us
toward the mystery
of what has not yet
appeared.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Psalm 40 . . . In the Early Drafts
Psalm 40:1 - 6
I waited patiently upon the LORD;
he stooped to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay;
he set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God;
many shall see, and stand in awe,
and put their trust in the LORD.
Happy are they who trust in the LORD!
they do not resort to evil spirits or turn to false gods.
Great things are they that you have done, O LORD my God!
how great your wonders and your plans for us!
there is none who can be compared with you.
Oh, that I could make them known and tell them!
but they are more than I can count.
Parts of Psalm 40 sound cliched, like a too-good-to-be-true formula for getting what we want from God, or for getting what we think we need in life.
1. I wait patiently for the Lord.
2. God leans toward me and hears my request.
3. God rescues, or heals, or comes to my aid, or gives me a really sweet job, or "blesses" me with a BMW.
4. Others will see it, and want in on that sweet God-action!
5. Repeat above formula as needed.
As I've prayed with this psalm in recent days, creating a formula or a pattern with which to manipulate God (what some might call a "Bible promise") did not seem like such a good idea. It didn't seem too honest. I recognize the legitimacy of the perspective with which this person in Psalm 40 prayed these words, but I also recognize the danger in making his or her testimony into a proposition or a formula that, if followed, yields the same results.
Then I wondered if there might be other "drafts" or editions of this psalm that I could consult. Would they express such a positive outlook? Would they come to the same neat and tidy ending? As it happened, I found several earlier drafts of the psalm in the Archive of Lost Biblical Psalms.
There was one draft, for instance, that went like this: "I had no time to wait for the Lord. Patience, schmatience! God works way too slow for me. God can't keep up with my busy schedule. So I took matters into my own hands . . . I explored every option . . . I investigated every course of action. God gave me a brain, after all, and expects me to use it! Besides, waiting is wasted time. God wants us to be active, to take the initiative, to be people of action."
Another draft went like this: "I waited patiently for the Lord . . . for about 24 hours. Then I waited impatiently for the Lord. Why can't You speed this up, God? I can't wait forever, you know. So God, I'm waiting, waiting, waiting. Would you please hurry up? I'm waiting, impatiently, for the Lord. . . ."
There was the draft of Psalm 40 in the Archives that said: "I waited patiently for the Lord, and I waited, and I waited . . . and I have spent a lifetime waiting. I wait for some sign, for some movement, any indication that there will be rescue or healing. This is a long, long time to wait, Lord . . . days that stretch into weeks and months, and then the weeks and months become years. In fact, I may be waiting a lifetime. Finally, I didn't get rescued from the pit . . . rather, I waited so long that I ended up making my home in the pit . . . and I decorated my house with the miry clay. The pit became my home, not comfortable, but familiar, so that even if someone had come along to rescue me, I would have refused."
Then there was this draft of the psalm that went something like: "I waited for you, Lord, in patience and openness. I prayed and tried to stay vigilant. And you leaned in, you heard my cry. You were attentive to me. But you did not give me what I asked for. You did not give me what I wanted. You did not remove the trouble. You did not lift me out of the pit. I wanted rescue and deliverance, to be taken out of this cancer . . . this difficult work situation . . . this troubled relationship . . . You didn't give me that. You gave me something else. You gave me something unexpected. You surprised me."
In the Christian tradition, yesterday was Pentecost Sunday, the day on which the Church remembers the coming of the Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2). For all of the biblical symbols for God's Spirit (fire, breath, wind, water), most often I've found God's Spirit manifested in surprise. If I receive what I've expected, there may not be much of God's Spirit blowing in it. On the other hand, when I'm open to surprise and the unexpected, God's Spirit is most often the driving wind behind it.
For example, in Acts 1 and 2, Jesus had instructed his disciples to wait in Jerusalem for the coming Spirit. They thought they were waiting for the coming of the Kingdom. What they received, instead, were tongues of fire and a radical empowerment for the days ahead of them.
"God, You are in the surprise at the end of my waiting, the unexpected outcome, the thing I have not looked for, nor sought. Your Spirit is most manifested, not in the formula carried out, but in the posture that is open to surprise. So I want to be open and receptive, attentive to see and experience your Spirit in the surprise of the next moment."
This is where God's Spirit, to me anyway, seems to be most alive.
I waited patiently upon the LORD;
he stooped to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay;
he set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God;
many shall see, and stand in awe,
and put their trust in the LORD.
Happy are they who trust in the LORD!
they do not resort to evil spirits or turn to false gods.
Great things are they that you have done, O LORD my God!
how great your wonders and your plans for us!
there is none who can be compared with you.
Oh, that I could make them known and tell them!
but they are more than I can count.
Parts of Psalm 40 sound cliched, like a too-good-to-be-true formula for getting what we want from God, or for getting what we think we need in life.
1. I wait patiently for the Lord.
2. God leans toward me and hears my request.
3. God rescues, or heals, or comes to my aid, or gives me a really sweet job, or "blesses" me with a BMW.
4. Others will see it, and want in on that sweet God-action!
5. Repeat above formula as needed.
As I've prayed with this psalm in recent days, creating a formula or a pattern with which to manipulate God (what some might call a "Bible promise") did not seem like such a good idea. It didn't seem too honest. I recognize the legitimacy of the perspective with which this person in Psalm 40 prayed these words, but I also recognize the danger in making his or her testimony into a proposition or a formula that, if followed, yields the same results.
Then I wondered if there might be other "drafts" or editions of this psalm that I could consult. Would they express such a positive outlook? Would they come to the same neat and tidy ending? As it happened, I found several earlier drafts of the psalm in the Archive of Lost Biblical Psalms.
There was one draft, for instance, that went like this: "I had no time to wait for the Lord. Patience, schmatience! God works way too slow for me. God can't keep up with my busy schedule. So I took matters into my own hands . . . I explored every option . . . I investigated every course of action. God gave me a brain, after all, and expects me to use it! Besides, waiting is wasted time. God wants us to be active, to take the initiative, to be people of action."
Another draft went like this: "I waited patiently for the Lord . . . for about 24 hours. Then I waited impatiently for the Lord. Why can't You speed this up, God? I can't wait forever, you know. So God, I'm waiting, waiting, waiting. Would you please hurry up? I'm waiting, impatiently, for the Lord. . . ."
There was the draft of Psalm 40 in the Archives that said: "I waited patiently for the Lord, and I waited, and I waited . . . and I have spent a lifetime waiting. I wait for some sign, for some movement, any indication that there will be rescue or healing. This is a long, long time to wait, Lord . . . days that stretch into weeks and months, and then the weeks and months become years. In fact, I may be waiting a lifetime. Finally, I didn't get rescued from the pit . . . rather, I waited so long that I ended up making my home in the pit . . . and I decorated my house with the miry clay. The pit became my home, not comfortable, but familiar, so that even if someone had come along to rescue me, I would have refused."
Then there was this draft of the psalm that went something like: "I waited for you, Lord, in patience and openness. I prayed and tried to stay vigilant. And you leaned in, you heard my cry. You were attentive to me. But you did not give me what I asked for. You did not give me what I wanted. You did not remove the trouble. You did not lift me out of the pit. I wanted rescue and deliverance, to be taken out of this cancer . . . this difficult work situation . . . this troubled relationship . . . You didn't give me that. You gave me something else. You gave me something unexpected. You surprised me."
In the Christian tradition, yesterday was Pentecost Sunday, the day on which the Church remembers the coming of the Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2). For all of the biblical symbols for God's Spirit (fire, breath, wind, water), most often I've found God's Spirit manifested in surprise. If I receive what I've expected, there may not be much of God's Spirit blowing in it. On the other hand, when I'm open to surprise and the unexpected, God's Spirit is most often the driving wind behind it.
For example, in Acts 1 and 2, Jesus had instructed his disciples to wait in Jerusalem for the coming Spirit. They thought they were waiting for the coming of the Kingdom. What they received, instead, were tongues of fire and a radical empowerment for the days ahead of them.
"God, You are in the surprise at the end of my waiting, the unexpected outcome, the thing I have not looked for, nor sought. Your Spirit is most manifested, not in the formula carried out, but in the posture that is open to surprise. So I want to be open and receptive, attentive to see and experience your Spirit in the surprise of the next moment."
This is where God's Spirit, to me anyway, seems to be most alive.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Stones and Serpents, Bread and Fish
Matthew 7:7 - 11
Ask, and you will receive. Search, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened for you. Everyone who asks will receive. Everyone who searches will find. And the door will be opened for everyone who knocks. Would any of you give your hungry child a stone, if the child asked for some bread? Would you give your child a snake if the child asked for a fish? As bad as you are, you still know how to give good gifts to your children. But your heavenly Father is even more ready to give good things to people who ask.
Prayer is mostly envisioned as asking for things from God. That's the view of prayer most of us have grown up with and accepted.
Jesus affirmed that asking is a part of prayer. He included searching and knocking as well. In each image, a person must acknowledge his or her lack, and then be open to receiving whatever comes.
The analogy Jesus used for this asking/searching/knocking is a strange one. I typically read it and hear it as a description of how God responds to the person who asks/searches/knocks. And I think that level of understanding is appropriate. If a child asks for something nourishing, a responsible parent is not going to give the child something dangerous or unhealthy. God is likened to the responsible parent, giving spiritual bread and fish to spiritual children, helping them grow up into fully developed adults.
So the passage is about how God gives. Left unsaid, I believe, is that many of us -- "spiritual children" -- spend much of our prayer asking for stones and serpents. Maybe I should just speak for myself here. Prayer, as generally practiced, is a kind of holy asking for whatever would bring me benefit . . . for my health, my comfort, my general well-being. Prayer is the remedy that smooths out the rough spots in my life. In many cases, it is my asking for the things I think would make life "better" or "easier" or "more pleasant" . . . for me or for others.
It becomes hard to see -- because all those things seem like good things to me -- that I'm probably asking for stones and serpents much of the time. In fact, when I get into an asking-mode in my prayer, the majority of my prayer becomes stones-and-serpents-asking.
So step back for a wider view for a second. What are the larger questions in which we live and pray . . . the larger contexts for our lives, specifically for our life with God? Spiritually speaking, is the goal of life to be as comfortable as possible? to be without problems? to be well-heeled?
No, the aim of life is to become fully human, as completely connected to God as possible. This kind of spiritual union does not come from acquiring all we can get from life, but usually happens in relinquishing and letting go of the things that can only give a kind of pseudo-life.
We do not become fully human, fully ourselves apart from God. Thus, in this project of growing up to maturity, becoming fully ourselves, and most deeply connected to God, we don't see what we need. We may see what we'd like to have, but our seeing is always finite, boundaried, limited. God, on the other hand, sees beyond our sight to what actually can get us to the goal for which we were created.
[There is a sub-issue here related to what our goals for life are . . . ours goals for ourselves are almost always quite different from God's intention or design for us. We can feel like we're making grand progress in the spiritual realm when we lean on God or the Church to help us achieve the aims we have for life. In fact, it is quite common in the contemporary religious scene for persons to use God or Church as a way of getting where they want to be. It may feel "spiritual" or "religious" to us, and still be self-serving all the same. God and Church, then, become ways to get ahead or to get where we want to be. We ask for stones. We ask for serpents.]
The nourishment God wants to give you and me is the food that will help us grow up into spiritual maturity, into a developmental-adulthood. This is true bread and fish, not stones and serpents. But it is bread and fish we don't often ask for, because it is sometimes difficult for us to swallow. And it can be bread and fish we don't want in our lives because it is not consistent with where we want to be.
As persons growing in God, we are invited to an evolving life of prayer, where our asking is refined. That is, we cross a threshold where our asking is not so much stones and serpents, but bread and fish.
And sometimes in this evolving life of prayer, we cross another threshold where prayer is not so much asking for anything at all, as it is a posture of openness and a stance of receptivity . . . sitting quiet and still with heart and hand open to receive from God whatever God wants to give, trusting that God knows what we need to become fully human, fully ourselves, fully connected to the One who creates and sustains us.
In a sense, our open heart and hands become our asking, our willingness to receive.
This, to me, is the posture of ultimate trust . . . that we would not have to ask, but rather live so connected to God's heart that, as we live in a stance of openness toward God, we trust that God will not give us stones and serpents.
Rather, God will give us what we most need . . . bread and fish.
Ask, and you will receive. Search, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened for you. Everyone who asks will receive. Everyone who searches will find. And the door will be opened for everyone who knocks. Would any of you give your hungry child a stone, if the child asked for some bread? Would you give your child a snake if the child asked for a fish? As bad as you are, you still know how to give good gifts to your children. But your heavenly Father is even more ready to give good things to people who ask.
Prayer is mostly envisioned as asking for things from God. That's the view of prayer most of us have grown up with and accepted.
Jesus affirmed that asking is a part of prayer. He included searching and knocking as well. In each image, a person must acknowledge his or her lack, and then be open to receiving whatever comes.
The analogy Jesus used for this asking/searching/knocking is a strange one. I typically read it and hear it as a description of how God responds to the person who asks/searches/knocks. And I think that level of understanding is appropriate. If a child asks for something nourishing, a responsible parent is not going to give the child something dangerous or unhealthy. God is likened to the responsible parent, giving spiritual bread and fish to spiritual children, helping them grow up into fully developed adults.
So the passage is about how God gives. Left unsaid, I believe, is that many of us -- "spiritual children" -- spend much of our prayer asking for stones and serpents. Maybe I should just speak for myself here. Prayer, as generally practiced, is a kind of holy asking for whatever would bring me benefit . . . for my health, my comfort, my general well-being. Prayer is the remedy that smooths out the rough spots in my life. In many cases, it is my asking for the things I think would make life "better" or "easier" or "more pleasant" . . . for me or for others.
It becomes hard to see -- because all those things seem like good things to me -- that I'm probably asking for stones and serpents much of the time. In fact, when I get into an asking-mode in my prayer, the majority of my prayer becomes stones-and-serpents-asking.
So step back for a wider view for a second. What are the larger questions in which we live and pray . . . the larger contexts for our lives, specifically for our life with God? Spiritually speaking, is the goal of life to be as comfortable as possible? to be without problems? to be well-heeled?
No, the aim of life is to become fully human, as completely connected to God as possible. This kind of spiritual union does not come from acquiring all we can get from life, but usually happens in relinquishing and letting go of the things that can only give a kind of pseudo-life.
We do not become fully human, fully ourselves apart from God. Thus, in this project of growing up to maturity, becoming fully ourselves, and most deeply connected to God, we don't see what we need. We may see what we'd like to have, but our seeing is always finite, boundaried, limited. God, on the other hand, sees beyond our sight to what actually can get us to the goal for which we were created.
[There is a sub-issue here related to what our goals for life are . . . ours goals for ourselves are almost always quite different from God's intention or design for us. We can feel like we're making grand progress in the spiritual realm when we lean on God or the Church to help us achieve the aims we have for life. In fact, it is quite common in the contemporary religious scene for persons to use God or Church as a way of getting where they want to be. It may feel "spiritual" or "religious" to us, and still be self-serving all the same. God and Church, then, become ways to get ahead or to get where we want to be. We ask for stones. We ask for serpents.]
The nourishment God wants to give you and me is the food that will help us grow up into spiritual maturity, into a developmental-adulthood. This is true bread and fish, not stones and serpents. But it is bread and fish we don't often ask for, because it is sometimes difficult for us to swallow. And it can be bread and fish we don't want in our lives because it is not consistent with where we want to be.
As persons growing in God, we are invited to an evolving life of prayer, where our asking is refined. That is, we cross a threshold where our asking is not so much stones and serpents, but bread and fish.
And sometimes in this evolving life of prayer, we cross another threshold where prayer is not so much asking for anything at all, as it is a posture of openness and a stance of receptivity . . . sitting quiet and still with heart and hand open to receive from God whatever God wants to give, trusting that God knows what we need to become fully human, fully ourselves, fully connected to the One who creates and sustains us.
In a sense, our open heart and hands become our asking, our willingness to receive.
This, to me, is the posture of ultimate trust . . . that we would not have to ask, but rather live so connected to God's heart that, as we live in a stance of openness toward God, we trust that God will not give us stones and serpents.
Rather, God will give us what we most need . . . bread and fish.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
A Rilke Poem about Your Beauty
Initial
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Let your beauty manifest itself
without talking and calculation.
You are silent. It says for you: I am.
And comes in meaning thousandfold,
comes at long last over everyone.
Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Images, a bilingual edition trans. by Edward Snow (New York: North Point Press, 1991) 107.
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Let your beauty manifest itself
without talking and calculation.
You are silent. It says for you: I am.
And comes in meaning thousandfold,
comes at long last over everyone.
Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Images, a bilingual edition trans. by Edward Snow (New York: North Point Press, 1991) 107.
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