Flos Carmeli

August 30, 2007

Morning Thoughts

You know, poetry really says it all. If you bother to listen to the voice under the voice, if you read between the lines, or if you just enjoy for the moment and let the moment linger--poetry says it all. I suppose that is one reason, one very good reason for praying the psalms. Poetry is, by its nature, closer to God. Which is not to imply that God is a poem--but God is at the heart of every good poem--just as He is waiting to surprise you in every work of art and nature, if only you are willing to be surprised.

It's amazing to me how the night
passes and the morning thoughts
born of dreams pass silently away,
unencumbered by the obligation
to teach, unaffected by the need
to nurture. They present and then fold
passing briefly into the light of memory
and fading with the stronger morning.

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August 20, 2007

Compassion and Christianity

One of my frequent frustration with Christianity (although not especially with the Catholic Church, which as a teaching body does much better than the Body of Christ tends to do) is the lack of focus on the duty of love and on compassion in general. Too often different Christian groups are so busy arguing the merits or faults of their doctrines that they tend not to put those doctrines into practice. Try finding a Christian book about compassion and compassionate treatment of others. This tends to be left to the Buddhists, and so, for refuge, I sometime find myself turning there to learn what their great teachers taught.

Reading Cultivating Compassion by Jeffrey Hopkins, I stumbled across this "daily exercise" in compassion. The following prayer, mantra, reminder (call it what you will) is to be brought to mind six times a day:

I go for refuge to Buddha, his doctrine, and the spiritual community until I am enlightened. Through the merit of my charity, ethics, patience, effort, concentration, and wisdom, may I achieve Buddhahood for the sake of all beings.

This has few parallels in Christian prayer--although the Prayer of St. Francis comes to mind. And because I don't find myself taking refuge in Buddha, I would need to change the prayer:

I go for refuge to Jesus, his doctrine, and the mystical body until I am made holy. Through the merits of charity, ethics, patience, effort, concentration, and wisdom, may I achieve holiness (Saintliness) for the sake of all beings.

What good is personal sanctity if it does not better the lives of those with whom we have the closest relationships?

The Church hits this theme time and time again, but because we are the people we are we tend to regard these teachings with suspicion. Mention Social Justice and see how many good and faithful Catholics look at you askance. If you hear talk about a preferential option for the poor, it is likely to remain just that--talk. How often have we been stirred by understanding these teachings to actually make the lives of some other person better? Often the preferential option for the poor is left at the foot of the altar as the congregation goes out to play parking lot derby. Not only do we not internalize the teachings, much of our behavior suggests that we reject them entirely.

I was musing this morning as I drove my car in to work how much better things might be if every car was equipped as mine is. I have a hybrid civic, and one of the ways you can configure the instrument panel is to give you feedback on your driving to see how certain behaviors help to conserve gasoline and increase milage. As a result of these readouts, I have seen large changes in my behaviors behind the wheel, and coming with those changes, I have experienced a completely different attitude most of the time when I drive. Other drivers don't become obstacles or problems, but people in their cars, just like me, just as scatter-brained as I sometimes am, just as courteous as I can sometimes be. When I see a person driving foolishly, sudden starts, screeching stops, I think about how they might be different if they understood the effects of their actions.

Compassion, understanding that all people at heart want the same things we want for themselves and for their children. Compassion is one of the roots of charity--when we look at people in all their strengths and weaknesses and see ourselves.

Jesus taught compassion through His words and works. The Church extols and sets up institutions and groups to cultivate compassion. Dorothy Day's Catholic Workers are one such group, but far less radical and far quieter are the innumerable Martin de Porres or Vincent de Paul societies that are part and parcel of our Church.

But compassion isn't just for the church or just for a meeting--it is part of a way of life--living in Christ's love, being Christ's heart for the salvation and redemption of a world gone astray. That is part of the imitation of Christ to which we all are called. That is the root and source of sustenance for Christian compassion.

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July 13, 2007

Oh Lord, Open My Lips. . .

The other day, Tom, at Disputations, wrote beautifully of the prayer, "God, come to my assistance, Lord make haste to help me."

It is probably no secret that among my favorite Psalms to pray is psalm 51 which is prayed in full on Friday of each week except Easter week.

Yet, following an ancient tradition pronounced and sanctified by Jesus as one of the seven last words from the Cross, the Church has us prayer psalm 51 every day as the introduction to the Invitatory Psalm.

"Lord, open my lips/and my mouth shall declare your praise" occurs within the Psalm, a penitential psalm--the prayer of one who knows that she or he falls woefully short of the standard set. Every day we are reminded as we start to pray that we are sinners and the Lord sits in our presence and loves us nevertheless. He loves each person with an everlasting love--a love than knows no boundaries, limits, or restrictions. All have sinned and fallen short, but His expectations are not that we will ever find our way on our own but that we will continue to grow into His life. This is perfection--not every action executed flawlessly--not a life lived without error or fault, but rather that as any life progresses, it does indeed progress toward the wonder and joy of eternal life. Eternal life does not wait for tomorrow or the next day, or next year, or next decade--eternal life begins today with the understanding of God as loving Father and a prayer for an increase in desire to please Him.

Thus, the Church starts the day with a reminder of our sinfulness and of our need for perfection--for walking toward God always.

Praise God for the glory of Psalm 51

"For in sacrifice you take no delight,
burnt offering from me you would refuse,
my sacrifice, a contrite spirit.
A humbled, contrite heart you will not spurn."

Nothing extraordinary, the human person coming before Him in love and saying, "Once again I've failed, and I am sorry."

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March 5, 2007

Distractions in Prayer

True consolation and encouragement from a friend of God.

from Essence of Prayer
Sr. Ruth Burrows, OCD

. . . I do not think readers would want to be bored to tears by an account of what goes on in my head during prayer! Distractions are my unfailing companions at prayer; but I have learned that prayer doesn't go on in the head, in the brain-box, but in that secret heart that is choosing to pray and to remain in prayer no matter what it feels like or seem like to me. I am totally convinced that our God, the God we see in Jesus, is all-Love, all-Compassion and, what is more, is all-Gift; is always offering God's own Self as our perfect fulfilment. I believe, through Jesus, that we were made for this and that it is divine Love's passion to bring it to perfect fulfilment in us. So when I set myself t pray I am basing myself on this faith and refuse to let it go. I just take it for granted that, because God is the God of Jesus, all-Love, who fulfils every promise, this work of love is going on, purifying and gradually transforming me. What I actually experience on my conscious level is quite unimportant. In fact, I experience nothing except my poor, distracted self.

If one lives in close acquaintance with silence and has time set aside for prayer and contemplation and still goes to find distraction, it would seem that distraction is the human condition of prayer. I suspect there isn't a person in the world, saint or sinner, who goes to prayer without distractions. Distractions are part of our nature--they are the rambunctious child who lives on within us even when we have outgrown that child's body. They are not a sign of deficiency, but they are an evidence of our utter dependence upon God to accomplish prayer in us. We must go willing and mindful of the fact that we will accomplish nothing whatsoever on our own. We go nevertheless, not because we are setting out to accomplish, but because we are obedient to the discipline that will foster the growth that the Father wishes to accomplish in us.

So, instead of worrying about distraction in prayer, focus instead upon being present in the prayer, letting the distractions play around us and letting God encounter us as we are--distracted, weak, and child-like. He will not fail us, this great God of Love and Father of us all. When our will is His, however weakly, He will make the best of it and the best of us.

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February 1, 2007

Preparing for Lent--The Nature of Prayer

I was reminded yesterday by Tom at Disputations that it is never too early to begin thinking about Lent. Since I've been thinking about Lent since the day after Easter last year, I would heartily concur with that opinion. I love Lent. I love the spirit of penitence that never seems like penitence because it is such a calm and peaceful sea in which to swim. So many things to give up and then never notice their absence because the faculties are ordered to paying attention to God. For me, the season is a small miracle each year.

I have not yet decided how I will be celebrating the season this year, however, I picked up a book of essays by Ruth Burrows, who must be one of my favorite spiritual writers of recent time.

from Essence of Prayer
Sr. Ruth Burrows, OCD

Prayer. We take the word for granted but ought we to do so? What does the word mean in the Christian context? Almost always when we talk about prayer we are think of something we do and, from that standpoint, questions, problems, confusion, discouragement, illusions multiply. For me, it is of fundamental importance to correct this view. Our Christian knowledge assures us that prayers is essentially what God does, how God addresses us, looks at us. It is not primarily something we are doing to God, something we are giving to God, but what God is doing for us. And what God is doing for us is giving the divine self in love.

When I think of prayer in the common way, prayer itself becomes a form of work. As a form of work, its interest palls as we see no forward motion, feel no sense of accomplishment. But prayer is not a work, it is a relationship. People of our time tend to regard relationships in this same sense of accomplishment and moving forward--a strange malady of the times. "This relationship is going nowhere." Well, of course it isn't, that isn't the nature of relationships. So too with prayer--it is putting aside time so that God may bestow Himself upon us. It isn't a work, it is a way of being with All Being.

Why do we find this concept so difficult to grasp? I think there is something in the modern mindset that is always seeking to get "something out of" whatever is done. But this is a fundamentally flawed way of approaching God and prayer. We aren't looking to "get something out of God" (or at least, we shouldn't be), but rather to be transformed by His Love for us. Our effort is not entirely our own because it is not possible without grace. Moreover, if we look upon it as an effort, we expect a return. Prayer is a time and a place to be--it is no more effort than sitting on our back porch and looking at the sunset.

And yet, we make it a mountain of method and of style, a pound of words and a recipes of all kinds of things that must be done just so. Because Catholicism is so imbued with structured rite and ritual, we have come to ritualize, rubricize and methodize prayer. For example, we confuse the rhythms of the Rosary, the rhythms of a mother singing to a child, with our own feeble efforts at prayer. The Rosary is spoken by us, but it is prayer precisely because it brings us into His presence to receive the love endlessly revealed in each mystery.

Each prayer we say, each action we take, each motion, each method, all of this is about preparing ourselves for Love. We are such awkward creatures. Surely we do similar things for each other, going out of our way to deceive ourselves and the one we love, to make them think we are lovable. But that is something we do not need with God. We are lovable because He loves us. That is a fundamental truth we need to accept at the start and we have to put behind us all the awkwardness and difficulty of pretending to be something we are not. God knows. He knows already. Every fiber of our being is sustained by His Will at every moment. Do we really think we can hide from Him?

So all this effort at prayer is simply a play at telling ourselves that we are really more determined and better than we are. But we are little more than children dressing up in adult clothing and after a while the entertainment palls.

So what must I do? Attend to payer, be there, ready and waiting to receive love in whatever form it may appear. Spend time with His Word, spend time with Him. Don't allow method to intrude upon Being. Be aware of who He is who who I am not. As Saint Catherine of Siena so wisely tells us, "He is He who is, I am she who is not." We do well to remember that. Our reality is grounded in He who is and without Whom all is not.

There is no method to being. We are. We are because He is and in looking at Him we are looking at being. There may be things we can do that will dispose our minds, hearts, and souls to better receive this reality. However, the end is being. And that is also the beginning.

(interesting side note. I composed much of this in my palm and tried to synch it this morning to my computer. For some reason I couldn't get the blue-tooth connection to work. As a result, I had to retype it from the palm screen. Normally my palm is set to go off after a minute or so of inactivity. But in this case it did not go off during the entire typing episode. It suggests to me that the Holy Spirit, perhaps, really wanted this message to get out there. Or, I'm sure, there are other more mechanical explanations. But I'll go with the first.)

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October 31, 2006

Prayer: The Beginner's Trials

Those interested in deepening their prayer life might benefit from picking up Hammer and Fire by Fr. Raphael Simon. In addition to the normal tips and hints one might receive in the course of reading about prayer, there is a depth of understanding about the various trials and tribulations of the person beginning to walk in the way of deeper prayer:

from Hammer and Fire
Father Raphael Simon, O.C.S.O., M.D.

Trials are to be expected by anyone who undertakes seriously to make a half-hour of mental prayer, or two periods of prayer, daily, particularly the trials of distraction and discouragement. The human mind has a capacity to wander without realizing that it is off the point. Thus during mental prayer it may happen that we have spent several minutes thinking about some happening of the previous day or even counting the panes of glass in the church where we are making our meditation, before we realize that we are off on a distraction. As in the cases of temptations to impurity and for the same reason, responsibility only begins when we realize with what our mind is occupied, and that, in this case, it is a distraction. Consequently our prayer has not been interrupted at all, since our intention to pray has remained. Without irritation, gently and peacefully, we should bring the mind back to the subject of our meditation, and as often as necessary. . . .Sometimes we may spend the entire time of prayer in returning to the subject. But we need have no misgivings or feel discouragement; our time has been well spent in the sight of the Father, we have been exercising our will to pray all the time and hence have, indeed, obtained the merit of prayer, if not its refreshment. . . .

[I]ndeliberate distractions are of no consequence, and should not be a source of concern or disquiet. . . . They not impair the value of our prayer. . . .

We do not have to have beautiful thoughts and sentiments in order to pray well, nor do we need to keep up the pace set by an infrequent excellent and "fruitful" half-hour.

From time to time I need these sane reminders that what may seem to be distraction may in fact be the purpose of that evening's conversation. In any conversation, we start a one point and end up winding endlessly (if we are engaged with a good conversationalist) to come to a completely unexpected endpoint. As we start to talk to God, the overfullness of the conversation and the desire to say everything and include everything tumbles out of us and jumbles up the deliberate "purpose" we have established for our conversation. The car needs repair, the house needs repair, one of the children is having trouble at school, there are groceries to buy and errands to run. . . and while these are not necessarily the matter for meditation, they are the facts of a straightforward conversation with God. These are concerns that we can bring to Him, and so this early stage of our conversation will be akin to an adult conversing with a five-year-old--there will be unexpected pause, odd turns in the exchange and sometimes complete flustration. On the other hand, it is all in the desire to talk with God and God will give us the strength to return to the conversation if we do not discourage ourselves.

So, distraction can be a problem, or it can be merely another route to where God would have us go--because He is Lord even of distractions--He knows who we are and what deeply concerns us--and He knows what He wants to touch and give us peace about. So accept the distraction, offer it to the Lord and attempt to return to the point. And if not, then engage God about what is driving you to distraction. Whatever you do, remain faithful to the time of prayer and the rewards will be very great indeed.

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June 26, 2006

The Necessity of Intercession

If you read what is written here you might get the mistaken, but quite understandable impression, that prayer life is a slightly blurry, ethereal passage from one wordless conversation with God to another; that the life of contemplation admits of no ordinary intercourse with God. Part of the reason you might receive that impression is that there is a constant struggle to achieve the right balance, to find a way to do as God wills, and to find the right sort of intimacy with God--neither too familiar or presumptuous nor too self-serving and distant.

Yesterday's gospel hammered home the necessity of intercessory prayer in a way that few gospel passages can. The tiny boat is being tossed and thrown by the waves. All around the apostles, lightning flashes, thunder sounds; with a mighty roaring that shakes the timbers of the houses of kings, the weather assaults them. And they are naked in a boat, completely exposed. Jesus exhausted, is asleep in the stern. And perhaps when this storm started the apostles had decided not to wake him. They had seen many such in their time of fishing, and this was just another, nothing that they couldn't handle themselves. But the tiny tempest grew and grew and engulfed them to the point that they feared they would capsize and all would drown.

They go to wake him, and say, "Don't you care that we're dying here? Wake up! Help!" No, indeed, the people who needed to wake up were the Apostles themselves. They first needed to wake up and realize the real danger of the storm. Only when they had done so could they go to the Lord, wake Him, and ask for help.

Jesus says after He calms the storm, "Why such fear? Have you no faith?" This quiet rebuke shows that whether asked or not, Jesus would have seen them safely home; however, the trip without His help would have been one of white-knuckled terror. Truly, they would have made it safely to shore, but the wear and tear on their persons through the emotional and physical battle they would have had to fight would have been terrible. When they turned to Jesus and asked for help, there came a calm that was both in the elements outside and in the minds, hearts, and souls of the Apostles. One almost wonders whether the words calming the storm "Quiet! Be Still!" were not also for the tumult and furor of the Apostles' spirits as they fought this terrible battle. The mild rebuke was simply Jesus saying that all should be calm and trusting even when it the elements themselves were neither calm nor trustworthy.

The message for the believer today is that it may well be possible to weather the storms of life on one's own; that it may be possible to safely make it to shore through come crisis or calamity. However, it is infinitely easier and certainly more assured with Jesus calming the storms of emotion and frenzy that feed failure.

One must perceive what one needs and ask for it. One must figuratively "wake Jesus" and alert Him to what is going on in order to receive the blessing of His presence. He is always with His people; however, it is often difficult to recognize Him, to see His action. To the person in prayer, it may seem as though He is sleeping, unaware, unconcerned for the plight and anxiety that fuel the prayer. Not so, He is infinitely concerned; nevertheless, He waits upon the prayer. Intercessory prayer requires the believer to look within, recognize what is needed, as ask for it. Certainly this extends to the needs of others as well. But too often people are reluctant to ask for what they need. There is the mistaken belief that God's children are not worthy of the things they would ask. How can that be? How can a child, adored by his or her Father, be unworthy of the gifts that the Father is ready to shower down?

Part of growing closer to God is to be able to see the present storm that tosses one and makes one uneasy and uncertain, and to respond to that storm by turning to Jesus and asking for what is needed. That is how a person grows in faith and knowledge. No one grows by hiding and covering up fear, but by facing the fear and asking for help; because the only thing more frightening than what causes the fear is the necessity of reliance upon another to make it go away. In that, one discovers that one is not the independent hero, the master of all he or she surveys. Rather, one is an utterly dependent child of God. To refuse this truth is to refuse to grow in Christ.

Jesus teaches that it is part of growing in faith and in humility to look deep into the mirror, see the flaws exposed there, and ask for help. Intercessory prayer is not only for others, but it is a way that each person speaks to and for self. The first intercessions necessarily go to the cause of greatest need that each one is aware of--the deep wound, the great hole within the self that can only be filled and healed by God. It is not pride to ask for what is needed, it is humility; and if one's name is at the head of the list, it is because one recognizes the deep and pervasive need for healing before trying to help others. Each one who does not pray for self winds up as one of the blind leading the blind. The only way to service is the way of humility--the way of recognizing how incapable one is and asking for help making it not so.

Life is stormy; the storms never stop. The only measure of calm is the presence of Christ whom is called to help to make the sailing lighter, more even. But even when He comes, the elements may not change, the events that caused one to summon Him may not resolve, the storm may still be present--but it becomes a storm of elements only, not a storm in the soul.

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May 2, 2006

Conversion

from Deep Conversion/Deep Prayer
Fr. Thomas Dubay

An accurate synonym for conversion, as we are using the word here, would be transformation. Put simply conversion is a basic and marked improvement on the willing level of the human person. Even more pointedly, it is a fundamental change in our willed activities from bad to good, from good to better, and from better to best. Anyone who is fully alive will find this a stimulating set of ideas. We can put the matter in still another way. Conversion is a change from vice to virtue: from deceit and lying to honesty and truth. . .gluttony to temperance. . . vanity to humility. . . lust to love. . . avarice to generosity. . . rage to patience. . . laziness to zeal. . . ugliness to beauty.

From the point of view of attention to and intimacy with God, supreme Beauty, supreme Delight, conversion includes a change from little or no prayer to a determined practice of christic meditation leading eventually to contemplative intimacy, "pondering the word day and night", lending to a sublime "gazing on the beauty of the Lord" with all its varying depths and intensities (PS 1:1-2; 27:4).

I love the works of Fr. Thomas Dubay. I have read most of them. Some take a good deal longer than others to internalize. It took me over a year to read and understand The Fire Within. I still have not completed, or even fully started The Evidentiary Power of Beauty. His writing is dense, sometimes difficult, but always fulfilling. So, too, it appears with this book. The passage noted above is one that I've read every day for the last week or so, trying to encompass all that is said here. The surface of it is clear enough. Conversion is the willing change of life for a better, more intimate relationship with God. But the real depths lie in the comparisons and in the things Dubay indicates may happen and in the underlying assumption that an increased intimacy with God will connect us with both with God and with a sense of beauty and wonder at His magnificence.

Significant to me is the last of the list of transformations--from ugliness to beauty. Now, this is an interesting point. By growing closer to God, ugliness will be transformed into beauty. Obviously Fr. Dubay is speaking of something other than mere physical appearance, because we know that God's intimates run the spectrum from the exquisite beauty of Rose of Lima and Elizabeth of the Trinity or Edith Stein, to St. Margaret of Castello. Physical beauty, while surely a gift from God, is not what Fr. Dubay is talking about here. So one assumes that he is speaking of a life imbued with beauty--with the ability to perceive the beauty that is God underlying all created things, and with a life that is lived beautifully--in union with Him. When we look objectively at the life of someone like Mother Teresa, we don't immediately say, "Oh, what a beautiful life." Our initial reactions may be more along the lines of, "What a heroic life," or "What a difficult life." But when we delve a little deeper, we break in upon sheer loveliness, a loveliness that was reflected in the person of this diminutive friend of the poor. She was not beautiful to look at in strictly aesthetic terms, but her loveliness was greater than that of her near contemporary in death, Princess Diana. Her life was a beautiful jewel in the slums of India.

As I continue to read this book, I shall probably return to this passage from time to time. It ignites all sorts of thoughts, and provokes all sorts of inspirations and influences. It serves as a road map and a clear sign marking out the territory. And Fr. Dubay has clearly made growth in sanctity a beautiful and desirable thing. While this is always a vague desire in the background, I sometimes think that it really a pretty boring preoccupation alongside, say, surfing or diving or parasailing. But the interesting point is that none of these things are in conflict with sanctity--only seemingly so. One can live a life completely devoted to God and still partake of the good things of the world--certainly not to excess and not to the point where it intrudes upon ministry; however, the licit goods are good for all. St. John of the Cross went for long walks through the country, enjoying the beauty that gave ample evidence of the glory and presence of God. Pursuit of holiness does not mean that the world is tossed away. Indeed, as the great saints show us, it often means a more authentic and more realistic involvement with all the goods of creation--a proper use, a proper ordering, and a proper caring for the things God has given to us.

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April 11, 2006

"Leaving God for God"

Quoting Blessed Titus Brandsma

from At the Fountain of Elijah
Wilfrid McGreal

So the contemplative prayer of the Carmelite is also the strength of the active apostolate. The influence of the contemplative soul is not withheld from the apostolate. . . . So there is no opposition of the contemplative life to the active. The former is the great support of the latter. The mystical life is in the highest sense apostolic.

Titus believed in the seamlessness of the Christian life--prayer and work were parts of the whole. Whenever he was called from silence and solitude to help someone he would say that he was leaving God for God.

In the Lay Carmelite life, prayer should find its expression in service in the world. We go to prayer to meet God and in meeting God we are given our work to do. It is a fine balance--making time for prayer and for the service that springs from it, while actively serving our families and our Churches.

But the apostolate of the Lay Carmelite is not merely contemplative prayer, but showing how contemplative prayer "works-in" with an active life. We are blessed and nourished by our prayer and our example, when lived according to the Rule and in accordance with the disciplines of the whole Catholic Church, allows others to see the integration of the contemplative and active that may occur in every person. One of the primary messages of Carmel is that contemplative prayer is for everyone. The way of Carmel is a special call, a vocation; however, contemplative prayer is available to all outside of Carmel. A person who is part of no lay order is invited every bit as much as one who has joined. God wants intimacy with all of His children. Lay Carmelites demonstrate that it is possible to live an active life of service fueled by contemplation--Martha tempered by and informed by Mary. Perhaps it is not the highest or best calling--that is reserved for those whose entire vocation is contemplation. But we don't really want all the best gifts, but rather the gifts most suitable for us as God sees us.

Thus Blessed Titus shows us that leaving our prayer to help a friend, or leaving our prayer to feed the poor is leaving God for God. In this life of apostolic contemplation and service we can never really leave God.

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April 10, 2006

My Holy Week Prayer

May this Holy Week be for each of my visitors, and for each person, a solidification of the gains and a purging of the losses of this Lent. May it set each of us in good place to continue forward with a more ardent love of God and neighbor. May it bless us by setting us on the straight path that leads on into life. And may it grace us by the fuller knowledge of at what cost our freedom comes.

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April 4, 2006

Praying for Virtues

You know, I ignored Zippy's advice again. (I do things like that.) I prayed hard for the virtue of patience and forbearance. I did so because I decided that I really needed to work on the virtues. You probably know that when you pray for a virtue God doesn't just hand it to you. Oh no indeed, a virtue, like a muscle, needs a vigorous workout. And the Good Lord has answered my prayers in every aspect of my life, which I believe confirms the need for work on these virtues, as well as on many others. There will be some I do not pray for simply because I am still too weak to make good use of the opportunities God will grant me to grow.

Zippy cautioned against praying anything other than the "Our Father" on a regular basis because God would simply throw everything He could at you. And yet, isn't that what is needed. If He throws, isn't He also there to catch it all and to help in the establishment and cultivation of the virtue? Aren't these things He wants us to have?

Anyway, I did choose these for this week in Lent, and maybe for many weeks to come. And I pray that my prayer continues to come at night and not during the "exercises" He sets me. Let His grace shine through and let me get out of the way. That's really all I have to do--get out of His way and let His grace live and breathe within me.

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March 31, 2006

The End of the Road

from The Way of the Cross with the Carmelite Saints
St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross

In the Passion and death of Christ our sins were consumed by fire. If we accept that in faith, and if we accept the whole Christ in faith-filled surrender, which means, however, that we choose and walk the path of the imitation of Christ, then He will lead us "through His Passion and cross to the glory of His Resurrection." This is exactly what is experienced in contemplation: passing through the expiatory flames to the bliss of the union of love. This explains its twofold character. It is death and resurrection.

What more is there to say. The culmination of a life of contemplation is a direct participation in the death and resurrection of the Lord. The passage through the Dark Night means death to the senses (which is not to say that one becomes an unanchored, floating, ethereal spirit) and ultimately leads to Union with God. Said Union is a union in both the Death of Christ, and so a Union on the way of the cross, which, by supporting our own burdens (always with the help of grace), we help to lift some of the burden to the cross itself, and in the Resurrection of the Lord, which is a resurrection into His eternal life while here on Earth. That is the meaning of Spiritual Union--actual participation in the Being of God while we live today--and I can't imagine a state more to be desired and yet which also summons up such great fear. And so the sum of my spiritual life is approach-avoidance. I look in on this wonderful spectacle and desire to participate, but innate fear (and of what I cannot say) keeps me back. Nevertheless, His grace is stronger than my fear, and so I trust myself to Him and know that eventually (I hope in this life) I will come to Him and be what He has made me to be.

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The Veil of Veronica

from The Way of the Cross with the Carmelite Saints
Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity

He will communicate His power to you so you can love Him with a love as strong as death ; the Word will Imprint in your soul, as in a crystal, the image of His own beauty, so you may be pure with His purity, luminous with His light.

In prayer and in surrender to Jesus, we become imprinted with His image as did the cloth with which Veronica wiped His face. But the image imprinted upon us is a living image, full of purity and luminosity--bright beyond brightness, light so light that what we see as brilliance is all dark. In the spiritual union that occurs in deepest prayer, each person assumes the place assigned and does the work appropriate to that part of the body--some the head, some the heart, some the feet, some the hands--all One Christ, one mystical body serving our brothers and sisters in all that is done.

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January 18, 2006

From Intercessions to Prayer

Before I start, I must make as clear as I possibly can that there is nothing wrong with intercessory prayer. It is not lesser, it is not unworthy, it is not broken, it is not an indication of a stunted prayer life, it is not in any way to be demeaned. I say this as a precaution because in the context it is possible that I will slip and make it sound as though I think people should not engage in intercessory prayer. This is simply not the case at all. Every time we turn to God for even a moment, He uses the opportunity to encourage us to approach more nearly. God blesses intercessory prayer even when He does not answer it in the way that we think He ought.

One common problem I've encountered is that for some people intercessory prayer = prayer as a whole. That is, the are unaware that there is anything other than intercessory prayer. If they pray the Rosary, they pray it for intentions and don't really reflect on the fact that proper prayer of the Rosary entails meditation upon the mysteries. It is the idea that intercessory prayer is all that there is that can become problematic. Remember, the line is "Speak, Lord, your servant is listening." In any conversation there must be time for speaking and time for listening; otherwise you do not have a conversation but a monologue.

If one is faithful to one's intercessory prayers, but does not do much more, how can one move into the wider field of prayer? How can one grow from listing concerns to hearing what is on God's heart (as it were)?

I'm afraid the answer is one that you've heard here time and again, and I'm going to trot it out again because I haven't read on any blogs recently the tremendous breakthroughs that have come as people adopted and started to faithfully used the tried and true methods of Church tradition. So, here it is one more time--Lectio Divina. For those from a protestant background, you'll know what I mean when I say, "Get into the Word."

I like that Protestant expression because of its productive ambiguity. Indeed, Lectio is "getting into the Word" in at least two substantive ways. In one, we read and pray the Bible to learn to love God, and in the other, by doing the former we "put on Jesus Christ." When we get into the word, we perforce get into the Word. When I pray the Bible, I begin to understand humility--who and what I am before God and what is required of me as a servant of the Lord and a member of the body of Christ. Reading scripture apprises me of where I am in the Lord, and when that happens in a flash of metacognition, I realize that indeed I am IN the Lord. I have "put on Jesus Christ."

Lectio is one gateway that moves us from intercession to the depths of prayer. It is not the only gateway, but it is one that is too poorly used in the Catholic Tradition. The more cradle Catholics I talk to the more surprised I am at how many are only very slightly aware of the Bible. They know that parts of it are read at Mass, but there does not seem to be a real comprehension of the depths of the scriptures and the necessity of reading and studying them. In fact, I am all the more surprised because many of these people are well versed in the writings of the Saints and of philosophers. They argue cogently and coherently certain truths of the faith, but they seem disconnected from the roots of some of these truths. They know vaguely that they come from the Bible, but were one to press the point they wouldn't be able to articulate where or how.

Because Catholics have had a twofold magisterium of Scripture and Tradition, there has been a tendency to honor one above the other. Unfortunately all too often what has been honored is tradition not Tradition, with the net result that many Catholics can't find their way around the Bible. When I was teaching a class a few months ago, I had to guide many to realize that Daniel was in the Old Testament, in the latter half where one found the Prophets. That lead to a whole discussion about the classical division of the Law, the Writings, and the Prophets and to New Testament divisions. This ignorance is understandable, but it is neither invincible nor is it laudable nor long excused once one is aware of it.

Now, I'm not a "read the Bible in a year, every year" sort of guy. But everyone owes it to themselves to have at least a nodding acquaintance with the overall outlines of the books of scripture. That is, one should know that Isaiah is the source of a good many Messianic prophecies, that Jeremiah is the "weeping prophet," etc. The purpose of understanding your general whereabouts in scripture is to know where to turn if you have a particular problem or are seeking help with a particular difficulty. Having trouble trusting God, meditate for a while upon Jonah. . . you get the idea.

The prayer of scripture in Lectio is not about studying to fill your head with more facts. Continuing the discussion of some days past, all of our actions are about loving and glorifying God. If this is not the end of what we do, then there is no reasonable or viable end--there is merely a stopping point. Lectio is reading to love, not entirely reading to learn (although that can and must happen as well if we are to grow in love.)

So, from intercession to other prayer--one step is reading the Bible. The practice is considered so beneficial that if one were to spend a half-hour each day reading scripture (under the usual conditions) one could get a plenary indulgence each day. This is one way the Church announces as clearly as possible that it considers the reading and praying of scripture as paramount to the person seeking to live a Christian life. Do not underestimate the efficacy of reading scripture for even five minutes at a busy lunchtime--the alteration in you day is likely to be dramatic!

So, why are you still here reading this? You could be spending the time with scripture. Start here if you have no other plan. Yes, it is the ghastliest of translation, enough to make a Cornishman gnash his teeth--but it is the Word of God, holy and true--even in a linguistically mangled state.

[Orthographical Note: On this one entry, I managed to find at least two different ways to mutilate the spelling of intercessory--my fingers are accomplished actors all on their own!]

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January 11, 2006

"I am My Beloved's and He is mine. . ."

If it can be said that prayer allows us to share the life of the Trinity, and I do think this is true of some kinds of prayer, then it may also be said that prayer incorporates us into divinity. If it "incorporates" us, who already have a body, then in a sense, God is incarnated in His adopted children. It is this divinization or incarnation that makes us fully part of the mystical body of Christ and it happens to each of us in greater or lesser degree (as God wills) when we turn our hearts to Him in prayer.

Keep in mind this is not theology, nor is it a studied remark. I'm completely insufficient to the task of attempting to explain how this might happen or even if I have phrased it properly. And I stand open to correction of my terminology or phrasing. But I think it is reasonable to say that prayer opens the door to Divine life here and now. And prayer starts with praying--old and well-worn words, tradtional prayers, or traditional forms. But I think we must keep in mind that is where prayer begins. It is not where prayer ends. The end of Prayer is the possession of God Himself in His entirety. In some sense by becoming His, He becomes ours entirely. When we set His seal upon us, He gives Himself to us in all of His majesty. We cannot see it, nor can we fully know it--this is what all of the Dark Night is really about--His brilliance is night to the senses and intellect, but when we are there He is Ours and we are His.

"I am my beloved's and He is mine."

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December 9, 2005

Good Reasons for Avoiding Prayer

I have a million of them:

It's too hot outside
It's too cold.

I volunteer for the Church.
I need to volunteer for the Church.

I'm reading about it so I can do it better.
I'm reading about it so I can see how others do it.
I'm reading about it so I don't have to do it but can still say I pray.

I'm writing about it to inform others.
I'm writing about it to inform myself.
I'm writing about it so I can avoid actually doing it.

I need to take the dog for a walk.
Oh gosh, I don't even have a dog.
Well, I guess I can take the hamster for a walk.
Or the fish.
Heck, I need to take a walk, and heaven knows you can't pray while doing nothing.

I'm not in the right place.
I'm in the perfect place but it is too beautiful.

I'm not in the mood.
God doesn't listen anyway.
I'm only talking to myself.

I have work to do.
I need to wash dishes.
I need to clean the house.
I need to play games with Samuel.
I need to wash the car. (Ha, in all the cars I've ever owned sponge has not touched metal--but it sure rings true as an excuse.)

I'm too sad.
I'm too stressed.
I'm too happy.

I need my space--why does God need me constantly pawing at Him anyway?
God need's His space, He's tired of hearing the same old things.

I'm too sinful.
I'm too tired.
I'm too bored.
I'm too nostalgic.
I'm too . . .

It's too nice a day to remain indoors with a musty old book.
This musty old book is far too interesting to allow myself to become distracted with mere communication.
I'm not good enough.
I don't love enough.

But all of these boil down to one thing. I don't care enough. When God is the priority, all of these excuses melt into opportunities for prayer. But making God a priority is often not a priority with me. I distract myself endlessly with myself. I have a million million concerns and all of them take precedence.

Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness; and all these things will be added unto you. (Matt 6:33)

It isn't a suggestion, it's reality. This is the law I live. God is either first in my life or He is nothing. He is either present in my thoughts, the first word on my lips, or He is so far down the list of priorities He can't even be seen. Can you guess where He winds up most of the time?

I'd like to say I was Martha in a Mary world. But the reality is, if I look at it very closely, I can't even claim to be a Martha. How much of my busyness is really directed at service to the Lord and His people? How much of each day is devoted to serving others?

And you know, despite all of this, despite my own reluctance, despite my own shying away from God, still He invites me in. Still He calls to me and keeps calling until any human voice must be hoarse. Still He welcomes me and makes a place for me by His side. Still He is the Father who loves me and who waits patiently for my love. He waits for the distractions and baubles of the world to lose their glamor. He waits. And all the while He waits, He sends me His messengers of love, His constant and overflowing love for me is present every day and every moment of every day.

And someday I may pay attention. Grace will prevail despite my wiliest resources. Someday I will turn to God first. This I know because He has promised it.

Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. . . (Matt 7:7)

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December 8, 2005

A Secret About Prayer

Much of what we can know about prayer stems from what we know about God. In the first part of the Summa Theolgiae, Aquinas cites this objection to the opponents of God's simplicity:

On the contrary, Dionysius says (Div. Nom. ii): "There can be no touching Him," i.e. God, "nor any other union with Him by mingling part with part."

God is utterly simple. There is no mixture in Him and unlike cannot mix with like. Another way to say this is that there is no communication between like and unlike. The word communicate comes from a Latin root that means "to make common to many, share, impart" (O.E.D.) God communicates with us in prayer through the Holy Spirit who dwells within us. That is, He touches the divine within us to communicate Himself with us. He cannot share or make common to many what is of unequal substance. He cannot blend with what is not simple.

Prayer then isn't so much an ACTION as it is a way of being. And, at that, an exemplary way of being. Because prayer isn't so much a list of petitions, questions, or colloquies with God; rather, prayer is the process of divinization, wherein God truly begins to communicate Himself with us and in the process transforms us.

It's a little daunting to think about. Prayer is not an action, but a becoming. As we grow in prayer God purifies us to grow more in prayer. As we continue the path of prayer we become more like what we pray to. That is the end of prayer.

In such a way the old forms of (at least the protestant form of Marriage, and I think they derived ultimately from the Catholic) say that the "two become one." Marriage is a sacrament because it bestows grace and also because it is a sign of the ultimate end of each human being in God. The two become one. There is only one way for this to happen. God cannot lower Himself. He will not become a being of parts to accommodate a divided humanity. Rather, humanity must become as He is. If the two are to become one, the transformation must be on our part.

Prayer is the process of transformation. It may start with simple petitions, forms, and rites of prayer--rote examples. But prayer grows with the person praying and with grace. The growth is directly related to the desire one has to pray.

Too often we channel this desire into paths we find more acceptable. They allow us to think we are praying and thus feel good about our prayer life even as we deftly avoid anything like a prayerful attitude. This most often happens with those of us disposed to reading about and writing about prayer. We become so preoccupied with these very good things that we manage to avoid engaging in the act itself.

But prayer is so simple, it does not need an explanation. Prayer is the triumph of One Desire, the Desire of the Ages, over all the other desires that define each person. Prayer is to want the One Thing Necessary above all other things. We engage in prayer actively when we long for God, when He is front and center in our thoughts and in our actions. The degree of transformation is directly related to the degree of desire, which in turn is fed by grace and by responding to the desire, not with displacement (reading about prayer, buying things, conversing with a neighbor, busying ourselves with tasks that can fill the emptiness that this desire seems to summon) but with being present. We present ourselves as we are, where we are, no matter what we are doing, as people ready to change and be changed. And in changing we grow in our desire to please Him, to become more like Him, to ultimately become One with Him and communicate in the way of a single being.

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November 21, 2005

The Joy of La Madre/Praying Constantly

The more I read about Teresa of Avila, the more she becomes my mother. I am a person after her heart, or at least I'm in training, trying to learn to be.

The other day I quoted some swathes of St. Teresa. Now I shall regale you with other related pieces:

from Journey to Carith
Peter-Thomas Rohrbach

[first a repeat]

"My chief fear," she wrote, "is that the sisters should lose the spirit of joy by which the Lord leads them, for I know what a discontented nun is."

In this he [Nicholas Doria--the autocratic first Prior General of the Discalced Carmelites] was diametrically opposed to the mentality of Teresa who wrote: "What my nuns are afraid of is that we shall get some tiresome superiors who will lay heavy and excessive burdens on them. That will lead us nowhere." And when a visitator had written a number of directives for her nuns, she wrote: "Even reading the regulations made me tired, so what would it be if one had to keep them? Believe me, our rule will not stand additions from tiresome people like that: it is quite hard enough to keep as it is." Doria certainly fell into her category of "tiresome people."

This Saint who begged to be delivered from "sour-faced Saints" (one gets the impression that she wouldn't much have cared for Jerome or Margaret-Mary Alacoque) understood the primary place of Joy in being able to follow God.

Joy is not merely the result of following Him, it is the consolation poured out for obedience to Him, which, in turn, makes following Him easier and more desirable. In the Teresian reform and constitutions, there is the perfect blend of joy and discipline. The discipline, in fact, is a source of joy. It is a boundary that helps define the acceptable limits of behavior and the expectations of one who dearly loves the Lord.

We do not have to practice endless self-denying things. It is enough to take ten or fifteen minutes and spend it in prayer. Not in petitions, or intercessions, or any sort of planned, pre-considered prayer, but rather in the conversation with the Lord that results from considering His word to us. Fifteen minutes of Lectio each day is discipline enough. At least for Carmelites, at least as a start. As one is faithful to the time, the desire to increase the time grows dramatically. Fifteen minutes becomes insufficient. But the press of the day will not allow more! It's amazing what the Lord will work when we give Him the opportunity. I did not have enough time for prayer in recent weeks and so I've been visited by a condition that frequently causes me to wake in the night and need to get up and move about for a while. Surprisingly, I do not feel less rested in the morning for all the break in the middle of the night. And what is the thing I do? I pray. Yes, I also write and read and do other things, but I pray in ways that were not possible in the course of the day. If the desire is there, God will find a way to help! It won't always be the same way--but I'm stubborn to the core and have to be convinced to take time out, so the Lord used this means. For others, they will find windows of time mysteriously opening up that somehow never really affect the other tasks of the day.

The simple practice of time alone with God allows us to carry the God of our acquaintance in solitude into ordinary life. We have what St. John of the Cross refers to as "solitude of the heart" and it makes it possible to pray constantly. Elsewhere in the book referenced above is this intriguing reference:

One of his contemporaries recalls that John would frequently scrape his knuckles against the wall while he was conversing with others so that he could keep his attention on the matter at hand and not allow himself to become rapt in prayer.

Oh what a gift--to have to distract myself to keep me OUT of prayer. But that is the gift and consolation incumbent upon solitude of the heart, which is cultivated by the little discipline of daily solitude with God. What perfect joy--to have to distract myself from prayer. I only hope that this longing within me increases immeasurably until it overwhelms all other conflicting desires.

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Cultivating a Listening Heart

Prayer is a conversation.

Say it again, prayer is a conversation.

Now, do you believe that? Ask this harder question: does my prayer life reflect that I believe that?

My guess is that for a vast majority of very good, very pious, very attentive, very orthodox Catholics their prayer life in no way resembles this dictum. It isn't that we don't believe it so much as we don't really know how to act upon it.

To cultivate a listening heart, we must first consider why it is we listen to others. There are many reasons, of course, but let's look at a couple of main ones. We listen to others to learn things. We listen to others to exchange information. And in the most intimate settings, we listen to others to come to love them more.

What qualities are necessary to really listen to someone? Well, it seems that you must believe that whoever it is you are listening to has something worth saying. That is, you respect the speaker. You cannot really listen to anyone whom you believe is just wasting your time or prattling on or repeating what you've already heard a million times, or who is talking about something in which you have no interest or no comprehension.

True listening involves a willingness to lay part of yourself aside for a while. You need to open up and not carry on whatever the agenda of the moment is.

The great Carmelite Saints, St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, and many others, provide the key in a simple triumvirate of interrelated practices--humility, obedience, and charity (caritas). This is most pronounced in St. Teresa of Avila's Way of Perfection, where she spells these out right at the beginning.

Humility--we must know that we do not know everything and we must be willing to live with that. More, in conversation with God, we must know that we know almost nothing. We must approach God knowing who He is and who we are. St. Catherine of Siena's remedy is sovereign--You are He who is, I am He who is not. This attitude gives rise to tremendous possibilities and opportunities. For example, if we humility truthfully, we will discover that ordinary vocal prayers, things we have memorized from childhood become more than mere recitation. St. Teresa of Avila pointed out that a vocal prayer properly said or thought through can be, in fact, a mental prayer, a moment of meditation or even contemplation. How is that? She tells us to always remember to whom we speak as we pray a mental prayer. In seeing God clearly as we pray the Our Father, we are, in fact, engaging in a mental discipline, a prayer that goes beyond the words to enter into a real conversation. Let's take an analogous situation. Suppose you are in your car and the person ahead of you does something stupid--cuts you off and makes a dangerous turn. Let's suppose you're in a less-than-patient frame of mind that day and you lay on the horn. More often than not, you are not thinking of a person in that other car, but of the car as though it were merely a moving obstacle unpiloted and annoying. Now, let's assume that you are following you neighbor to the hospital and that neighbor is taking their child to the emergency room. You see them do something of the same sort and you see others honk at them. Suddenly you are angry because they are not compassionate and don't understand what is going on. The persons in that car are real, what the car is doing is secondary. More often than not our vocal prayers are conducted in the first scenario--we're all in traffic and making our thoughts known to that car up ahead that seems to be doing the craziest things. But ideally we should be in the second situation. We know that the car up ahead is actually inhabited by people or a Person to whom we owe love and allegiance. When God becomes a Person, we can know and love him intimately, we can say even the simplest, oldest, most rote prayers with a greater spirit of reverence and with a knowledge of the Person to whom we speak.

Let's focus for a moment on two of the attitudes that can cultivate a listening heart. (We'll set aside caritas, the discussion of which would encompass much more than a simple blog entry.)

Humility and obedience. It seems as if these two travel hand-in-hand. Humility--knowing precisely who and what one is in the face of All that is and obedience, submitting to authority. I think we distort both, but if modern American society has a problem with something, I think obedience is the prime place. Our democratic society has lost any real sense of allegiance to hierarchy. We think almost nothing of immediately ascending to the next higher rank in any chain if we're not satisfied with results at the level we occupy. But in the time of St.Teresa of Avila, this was not something one did. One obeyed one's immediate superior even as one worked to change that immediate superior's mind. St. Teresa notes this. She states that the superior is put over us by God and we owe all obedience to his or her will. If we are unsatisfied by our superior, we act in obedience even as we pray and work to change the situation. St. Teresa did this in practice, in an extremely complex and threatening political environment. Even though the Pope himself gave her permission to do certain things, if her confessor didn't, she would not do them.

I'll take an example that has been run into the ground. I often read in St. Blog's and elsewhere that hand-holding during the Our Father is an enormously controversial, emotionally-charged, and salvation-critical issue that we must act exactly according to rite. Let's take an example where the local ordinary, or perhaps even the pastor of a parish, has decided that everyone ought to hold hands during the "Our Father." Now, according to St. Teresa, obedience is ultimately to God, but is acted out in the most immediate of situations. Hence, if the pastor told her to hold hands, she would hold hands, even if the Bishops said something more nebulous. Thus, if we are TOLD to hold hands by the priest, then in obedience we should be holding hands. Now, I pick this issue because it really amounts to a personal preference issue that a lot of people make too much of. How far one can go with this I don't know. If the local priest told us to use leavened bread for the host, it would seem to constitute a violation of a higher sort and then we might need to invoke St. Catherine of Siena. But in most matters obedience merely involves abandoning cherished personal preferences around which we have constructed elaborate scaffoldings of reason and excuse.

That is why obedience is so hard--it involves self-emptying and humility. We must abandon our preferences on any given subject and take up those given us from above. However, obedience is merely the ultimate reality--we don't control when we get sick, when we are born, when we die, or any other of a number of life-affecting events. Viewed through the proper lens, we control nothing, we merely cooperate (or rail against) whatever is happening.

Obedience is difficult. Humility is even worse, particularly in our culture. While we might manage "letter-of-the-law" compliance as we bide our time waiting for change, this nation of rugged individualists has a hard time with humility. Let's face it, humility isn't pleasant. You want to see yourself as kind, and loving, and giving, and understanding, and still strong and independent. Then something happens and you see the reality--I'm small, weak, and self-centered. My chief interest is whatever advances my own interest.

Humility is obtained not through attempting to be humble but through conversation with God and coming to know ourselves as He knows us. That we are small, small children in comparison to Him is not a subject for shame (often incorrectly used as a synonym for humility) but for reality and course correction. That God is all powerful and that the most powerful of us is as nothing is beyond our comprehension without His grace.

Humility expresses itself in obedience and also flows from obedience. As a member of an Order, I learn humility when I submit to the rule of the Order despite what I would like to do myself. In the regular practice of all that the Order requires, I gradually learn humility. God uses my willingness to obey to bestow grace which increases willingness and begins to move me toward humility. As obedience increases, humility grows. As humility grows, obedience increases because in the interplay to the two, love also increases. When you realize who you are and Who God is, only gratitude can flow. With gratitude comes a deeper understanding and a greater love.

The virtues feed one another, just as the vices do. So humility-obedience-love is a virtuous or gracious cycle as opposed to pride-disobedience-indifference is a vicious or sinful cycle.

So, the first step to cultivating a listening heart is obedience to what God asks of us and learning humility. These steps are acts of will informed by grace and understanding. (I can't help you with these latter two--for the one go to God, for the other, Disputations is a helpful beginning.) Only in humility will our prayer life begin to grow. This is because only humility will allow us to recognize that we have our guard up and hence take it down.

A listening heart is a humble heart is a loving heart. The three go together and the three are found in God's heart from which flows the grace that reifies and saves us. Until we are centered there, we are nowhere. Until we find a home in His heart, our own hearts are restless and wandering. Until we make up our minds that we want God more than anything else, we cannot come home.

Believe it or not, even at this length, there is so much more to say, and what I don't know about the matter fills a great many volumes that I have not yet read. My inadequacy to this task is exhilirating because I know that any success there is, is entirely due to Him. Praise God.

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November 19, 2005

Mary, Queen and Mother of Carmel

Some of what follows is sheer speculation, thinking out loud. If it conflicts in any way with established doctrine and understanding, it should be disregarded, and I would greatly appreciate a note correcting any such error.

Mary, Queen and mother of Carmel and big sister to the Carmelites and to all contemplatives. From earliest times, Carmelites have viewed Mary as both Queen and Mother and as true Sister and exemplar of the Christian expression of St. Elijah. In a certain way, she is the Mother Superior of the Order, chief among the sisters and brothers--example and guide for the attentive.

Also from earliest times, Carmelites have had a special devotion to Mary. The earliest manifestation of this was in the primitive Oaths and Vows that referred to the Carmelite follower of Mary as Vassal and Fief of Mary--the true property and servant, the one owed protection and special care of the Blessed Virgin. Even today, the Carmelite, with his or her habit of the brown scapular, claims the special attention of Mary. (Which is, in no way to imply favoritism on the part of the Blessed Virgin, it is merely reflective of the origin of the Order and its charism.)

True devotion to Mary does not consist of endless prayers to her but of substantive imitation of her way of life and of obedience to her very few direct words to us.

John 2:1-5

1 On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there;
2 Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.3 When the wine failed, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine."
4 And Jesus said to her, "O woman, what have you to do with me? My hour has not yet come."
5 His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you."

Do whatever he tells you. These are the words of the Mother and sister who already has reason to know that what is being done is extraordinary. As she pondered the events of her life in an extended thirty year examen, she came to know who and what Jesus is even before there has been any overt sign. It is at a word from her that the prophetic and salvific mission begins. It is as though the Holy Spirit in both unites them at this unique time and place to initiate the Earthly preaching mission of Jesus. At Mary's word, the every obedient, loyal, and loving Son is released just as He had been bound after the finding in the temple.

One of the chief ways in which devotion to the Blessed Virgin is expressed is through praying the Rosary. In the before times, long ago, the Rosary was a device that led to a kind of extended lectio without the necessity of being able to read. One pondered the mysteries of the life of the Blessed Virgin and of Jesus Christ in the course of praying through the Rosary. In addition, the Rosary was a kind of "replacement" for the Liturgy of the Hours for those who could not read. It became possible through the three sets of mysteries of the Rosary to pray through the 150 psalms of the psalter.

Of the rosary, Pope John Paul the Great, of recent memory, wrote:

from the Apostolic Letter "Rosarium Virginis Mariae"

[1] With the Rosary, the Christian people sits at the school of Mary and is led to contemplate the beauty on the face of Christ and to experience the depths of his love. Through the Rosary the faithful receive abundant grace, as though from the very hands of the Mother of the Redeemer. . .

[3] I have felt drawn to offer a reflection on the Rosary, as a kind of Marian complement to that Letter and an exhortation to contemplate the face of Christ in union with, and at the school of, his Most Holy Mother. To recite the Rosary is nothing other than to contemplate with Mary the face of Christ.

[5][T]he most important reason for strongly encouraging the practice of the Rosary is that it represents a most effective means of fostering among the faithful that commitment to the contemplation of the Christian mystery which I have proposed in the Apostolic Letter Novo Millennio Ineunte as a genuine “training in holiness�

[10] The contemplation of Christ has an incomparable model in Mary. In a unique way the face of the Son belongs to Mary. It was in her womb that Christ was formed, receiving from her a human resemblance which points to an even greater spiritual closeness. No one has ever devoted himself to the contemplation of the face of Christ as faithfully as Mary. The eyes of her heart already turned to him at the Annunciation, when she conceived him by the power of the Holy Spirit.

[15] The Rosary is both meditation and supplication. Insistent prayer to the Mother of God is based on confidence that her maternal intercession can obtain all things from the heart of her Son. She is “all-powerful by grace�, to use the bold expression, which needs to be properly understood, of Blessed Bartolo Longo in his Supplication to Our Lady.This is a conviction which, beginning with the Gospel, has grown ever more firm in the experience of the Christian people. The supreme poet Dante expresses it marvellously in the lines sung by Saint Bernard: “Lady, thou art so great and so powerful, that whoever desires grace yet does not turn to thee, would have his desire fly without wings�. When in the Rosary we plead with Mary, the sanctuary of the Holy Spirit (cf. Lk 1:35), she intercedes for us before the Father who filled her with grace and before the Son born of her womb, praying with us and for us.

I won't belabor the point. The entire letter is worthy of careful consideration--it may be among the most Carmelite of the Letters of this most famous Third Order Carmelite. The understanding of both the Rosary and of what it teaches, strikes me as profoundly Carmelite. We don't recite the prayers of the Rosary as a rote exercise or as a devotion, we pray the Rosary as a model and a source, a root, as it were, of contemplation. For the Carmelite, any other use of the Rosary falls short of its true potential AND, more importantly, falls short of true devotion to Mary. True devotion to Mary, in the Carmelite tradition, consists in imitating her to the extent possible according to our way of life and our present cultural milieu. Yes, through intercession and prayer, we trust her with all of our concerns, but that falls short of the perfection of devotion, which consists of Imitating her, and in the imitation of Her, gazing on and becoming like Her Son. In a very real way, in her thirty years of meditation upon the mystery of her life and the Incarnation, she bound herself to her Son--as the Spouse of the Holy Spirit, she already experienced the "spiritual marriage" and "mystical union." In some way that I don't comprehend or presume to explain, it would seem to me that she shared in the sufferings of Christ in His passion AND carried her own weight of suffering (as a Mother losing a beloved child) as well. In the depths of the mystery of the Passion, she seems to play two roles--one in union with the Holy Trinity through the indwelling Holy Spirit and the complete consummate spiritual union, the other as sorrowing mother, observer and witness of the trials, terrors, and horrors, of the Passion. (I hope I don't overstate the case here, forgive me if I have or if I have inadvertently written any error in regard to these deep mysteries. They are truly beyond me, and I hope I do not go beyond what the Holy Catholic Church teaches. Here most of all, I humbly await and accept correction.)

Thus, the Carmelite looking upon the Blessed Virgin sees both contemplative and example. She is Queen and Mother of Carmel. She is the chief protector, guide, and example of the Order. But by virtue of her human birth She is our sister as well as our mother in faith. This is not so odd as it sounds--in many religious order, the Mother Superior, is merely the chief of all the sisters. After her term of office, she returns to the state she had before in the Order. Mary is simply the permanent Mother Superior of all Carmelites.

I hope I've provided some insight into the role and importance of the Blessed Virgin in Carmelite devotion. It explains why a great many Carmelites had difficulty with reciting the Rosary on a regular basis. The common recitation of it does not often lend itself to the depth implied by John Paul the Great in his letter. Too often it is too easy to be carried along on the tide of the familiar and not enter into the depths of what is available in this most wonderful of devotions. Truly prayed, the Rosary should effect a profound change in the pray-er making her or him more like the subject of the devotion and more like Jesus Christ. Too often, the Rosary is a chain of supplication and intercession more than it is an entrance into the depth of the life of Our Savior and His Mother. But, as Saint Teresa of Avila points out, even vocal prayer is raised to the level of mental prayer if we keep in mind always the vastness of great dignity of the One to Whom we speak. And even though we seem to speak to the Blessed Virgin, the Rosary is a continual plea to God through the merciful intercession of the Blessed Virgin. A properly prayed Rosary, faithfully accomplished every day, is as much a gateway to contemplation as faithful following of the Liturgy of the Hours or Lectio Divina. That the latter two along with special devotion to the Blessed Virgin--either in the form of the Rosary or in other special devotions--make up the pillars of the introduction to prayer in Carmel should come as no surprise. That they serve as the gateway to meditation, contemplation, and as God wills, eventual union with God, again should not be the source of any surprise. The Blessed Virgin Mary looks with an eye of special kindness on those who wear her scapular worthily and upon those who invoke her aid in learning to look upon the face of Her son. This is true whether one is Carmelite or not. Carmelite Spirituality merely shows these forth for what they are in a way unique to the Carmelite Order. They are a special gift to the Carmelites and hence to the Church at large--available for anyone who chooses to follow them within the order or outside. The Blessed Mother will not withhold the graces she bestows for the sake of a name.

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November 16, 2005

Lectio Divina in Carmel and for You

If you look at Carmel from the outside you probably would not be aware of one of its most open secrets. As an outsider, I was not aware of it. What's more, as an insider it's taken ten or eleven years for it finally to sink in.

What is that secret? Well, the title of this entry gives it away--lectio divina. My block in coming to terms with the importance of Lectio in Carmelite spirituality stems from the fact that Lectio was not "invented" by the Carmelites. Likely it has existed in some form as long as there have been scriptures. I suppose if anyone takes credit for codifying it, it may be the early monastics or St. Benedict. Whoever may have credit for it, the Carmelites do not. As a result I have never seen it as a particularly Carmelite tradition. But I have been woefully mistaken. Lectio Divina holds pride of place as the gateway for contemplation.

And that is why I'm sharing the Carmelite tradition. Not everyone is called to be a Carmelite and to approach scripture in a Carmelite way and to approach prayer with a Carmelite heart. However, I do think it is safe to say that Lectio Divina is a practice which everyone may use profitably to increase the intimacy and immediacy of their prayer life.

In Carmel, Lectio Divina or sacred reading, is seen as the root of any worthwhile mental prayer. One cannot engage in productive discursive meditation if one is ignorant of scriptures. Ignorance of scriptures truly is ignorance of Christ. While we might not come to know and understand fully everything the Church knows and teaches about Jesus simply from reading scripture, the vast majority of what there is to know is centered there and stems from that special revelation.

Lectio Divina is also a practice that has "methods" and a system. Further, it is a method that can be profitably employed by any reader (or, in fact, illiterate people who can memorize) in relatively little time. Ten or fifteen minutes a day is all that it takes to start. The danger (if you wish to think of it that way), dear reader, is that once started it tends to become like any good thing, addictive and consuming. That is, once you discover how simple it is and how utterly rewarding, the length of prayer time tends to increase on its own as you continue the pursuit of it.

Carmelites regard discursive meditation as the gateway to acquired contemplation. The previous sentence probably sounds like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo to those not familiar with the precise meanings of the words, so a restatement may be in order. Thinking about holy matters can lead to a greater intimacy with God. Hence, thinking about sacred scripture--not in an academic or distant way, but in a highly personalized way--can open the door that leads to union with God (in God's own time of course.)

How does one "do" lectio? My guess is that there are as many different ways as there are practitioners, but I suspect that all of the ways include certain essentials. After a period of quieting down (if done later in the day) and a prayer invoking the Holy Spirit one takes up scripture and reads. It is perhaps best if one does this according to a preset reading plan such as the Mass readings for the day or a plan to read through an entire book or section of a book. While one can use the time-honored principle of Bible roulette, it is perhaps not conducive to a continued adherence to the discipline of lectio. If one knows where one is going, one is more likely to continue the journey.

After this quieting and prayer one takes up scripture and reads. Generally this is not done as reading a novel or a nonfiction book. Rather, it is done slowly, as though weighing each word, or allowing each word to distill about it an image or a sense. It is better not to tax oneself with too long a reading, for a number of reasons. Reading a lot of scripture will provide too many points from which to begin, too many productive lines of meditation. It may introduce distraction as one flits from one idea to another. Nevertheless, the reader must gauge what is to be read--that will vary from one person to another. Perhaps a single pericope of scripture will suffice. Perhaps the next entry in the plan is dry and so two are entailed. But honestly, once you start to really rejoice in the Lord, there is almost nothing that is too dry. (I will remain agnostic on the question of the books of Deuteronomy, Leviticus, and most of Numbers--as I haven't tried them recently. But as the beginner would do well to start with the Gospels, that's not likely to be a consideration anyway.)

One reads a short section of scripture--savoring it, tasting it, chewing it over. In the words of Father John-Benedict Weber, sucking all of the juices out of it. (Don't worry--scripture is an extremely juicy fruit--even if you think you've gotten everything possible out of it, that is merely for the moment. Were you to return to the same scripture even the next day, you would be surprised at how deeply rewarding renewed meditation on it can be.) An important point to remember: lectio IS NOT Bible Study. This is not the time to be considering the parsing of Greek verbs or the economic relations of Syro-Phoenicians (whatever they may happen to be called at any given point) with other ancient civilizations. In lectio you may fruitfully use all that you have gained from careful study and consideration of the Bible, but this is not the time to learn all of that. For example, it may be very useful in reflecting on Philippians (surely you're not surprised to see reference to that book here!) to recall that this letter was written from confinement, imprisonment awaiting a sentence that, given the tenor of the times, could only be death. That would add depth to what you read. However, lectio is not the time to find that out. One could do lectio on Philippians with very little knowledge of Paul or Paul's life and mission at all. Lectio seeks to draw out of the passage a meaning and a purpose that is intensely personal. Personal, not in the sense of exclusivity--that is, one can share the meaning--but personal in the sense of application. The end of lectio should be not so much a new understanding of the literal meaning of the text, but a new internalization of the text--a new understanding of how the text applies to oneself. As with all productive prayer, lectio should allow the practitioner to enter into a closer relationship with God. As the pray-er begins to internalize and make personal some of the truth present in the Gospel, a new way is forged to approach God.

It would be a very serious mistake to think that lectio is the work of the one praying. As with all prayer, its efficacy stems from the invitation, the grace God provides, that allows us to continue in it effectively. We do not produce the effects of lectio, but rather the Spirit praying within us shows us what we need to see in the course of our meditation.

Now, what form should this meditation take? Again, that is a matter for each person. I found it very helpful to take the course of the Ignatian Retreat over a period of about thirty to forty weeks. What one derives from it are a number of approaches to meditation. One can form images and linger in the scene of scripture. One can hear over and over again a single phrase or word which has changes rung upon it, shifting subtly and becoming progressively richer in meaning. One can begin to see all the strands that connect the whole of revelation and how this incident in a specific place is related to another elsewhere and hence has ramifications for our lives today. The passage may plunge straight to the heart and convict one of sin, error, or fault. The key is to trust the lead of the Holy Spirit. He prays within as one reflects on Scripture. He connects one to the life of the Holy Trinity, and from within that life, one is given what is needed for the time. All stems from our trust and His Grace.

This is merely a brief, unsatisfactory introduction. The method itself is so simple that one merely need take up sacred writ and start. It is in doing that one learns what exactly to do.

I realize on finishing this that I've said remarkably little about Lectio in Carmel. But I think I've said what needs saying--it is central, critical, foundational, necessary. Without lectio a Carmelite cannot reasonably hope to approach the contemplation to which we are called. Not everyone will enter contemplation in this way; nevertheless, it would seem a fine practice for any Catholic who wishes to know God as He knows Himself. That is, after all, what revelation is about.

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November 10, 2005

The Way of Gratitude

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

--Phil 4:8 (KJV)

You knew that in my extended reflections on Philippians, I would eventually come to this verse and I will. But today, I wanted to reflect a little on this verse because I believe that it is a way of gratitude, a way that will tutor us in how to approach the Lord. As The way of gratitude helps to pave the way of Joy.

Let's first note what this passage DOES NOT say. It doesn't say that we are to hide our heads in a hole in the ground and pretend ugly, evil, and terrible things do not exist. It does not imply that we should withdraw to an insular world of airy contemplation of lovely things and refuse to engage the real tragedies and difficulties present in the world. It does not say that we are to pretend that what is ugly is beautiful or that we are to put on some distorting spectacles that reinterpret all events in the lights of the good, true, beautiful and virtuous. As Christians, we are called to be the ultimate realists about the existence of both individual and corporate evils and we are called to try to demolish both.

However, what it does say, is that when we are seeing all of these things around us, we are not to let them become the center of attention. These things are distortions of the reality God wrought--these are signs of the fall and they are not the food for good meditation. They are not to be denied, but they are not to be central to our time with God. Paul was in prison (actually confined to house arrest in Rome) while writing this letter, and while he acknowledges that situation, he does not dwell upon it. Rather his whole letter dwells upon the faith and the love of the people of Philippi. The joy of the letter comes from the contemplation of the faithfulness of a community. In the letter itself, Paul spells out the meaning and the practice of this piece of advice.

There are probably a great many reasons for thinking about the things that Paul suggests. It would seem that they would feed all three of the theological virtues--faith, hope, and charity. But one of the reasons that comes to my mind is that when I think about these things, there is a natural inclination to humility and its consequent expression gratitude. When I see the beautiful--either the work of human hands or the natural world, I am moved. In some strange way I am called beyond myself and caused to realize, not in a negative way, but in a way charged with grace, how small and inconsequential I am in comparison to all of this. And further reflection would show me how small this is compared to all of these wonderful things. And how small all of these wonderful things are compared to the Maker of wonderful things.

Reflection on the good, the true, and the beautiful is one road to personal realism and humility. I can begin to see myself as very small and yet intensely loved. All of this Universe of beauty and truth was made to be enjoyed and appreciated by the one part of creation (we presently know about) capable of doing so. So far as we know, Dolphins do not contemplate great beauty, nor do worms, nor birds, nor trees, nor fish. Only humanity has this ability to see beyond the immediate circumstances and to discern meaning.

Knowing who we are in the scheme of things is a sovereign remedy to pride. We know who we are in all of creation and how small we are. Then add to that the knowledge that God Himself came and lived and died that we should be redeemed, and we understand that despite our smallness, we are greatly valued. In the right-ordered person, or even in the mostly-not-right-ordered person, the natural destination of such knowledge is intense, life-altering gratitude. God Himself entered my insignificance. God Himself loves me so much that He chooses to make a dwelling-place of my smallness. He fills the space and lights it as nothing else can.

This gratitude naturally begins to flow into deeper and deeper love of God and consequent joy in His presence regardless of our circumstances. It is not an overstatement to say that the purpose of the good, the true, the beautiful, the upright, the pure, and the virtuous are to lead us directly to the throne room of God. They are restorative and they are salutary to any spiritual life. It is important to understand that they are not the end in themselves, but the means to the One Thing Necessary. And as means they are meant to be pondered and to be enjoyed. They are goods that God has granted to transform us into beings more like Him. Eventually, with sufficient time and prayer, we are to become beings not just like Him, but of Him. St. John of the Cross and St. Teresa of Avila refer to this divinization as "union with God." I think it's important to note the this divinization does not mean that we all become little Gods, but that we enter into the life of the Most Holy Trinity in a way that allows us our identity even while we become of the substance of God. In some way I do not presume to understand, we become the simple substance of God. Otherwise there would be no union. What is pure can not mix with what is blended in the spiritual world.

So, for those looking for joy, one good place to start is to see what is around you insofar as it is beautiful, true, and good. Ponder these things, not for themselves but for what they tell us about the God who made both them and us. Humility will blossom, and gratitude will be its natural outpouring. Do keep in mind that this is not the only way to humility, gratitude, or joy; however, it is a way that has worked for many over the centuries.

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November 3, 2005

The Indwelling God

So, now I move on to a different essay, with different insights.

from Carmelite Prayer: A Tradition for the 21st Century
Ed. Fr. Keith J. Egan

"Transformation and Divine Union in the Carmelite Tradition"
Sr. Vilma Seelaus, O.C.D.

From profound experience, mystics like Teresa and John of the Cross knew with certitude that God is personally present where we are most ourselves. In fact, the soul's center is God. . . . From the dark closet of his imprisonment, John learned that no time or place or circumstance exists in which God is not present. Event in the worst of circumstances, God is always present as abiding offer.

It should be known that God dwells secretly in all souls and is hidden in their substance, for otherwise they would not last. . . .In some souls he dwells alone, and in others he does not dwell alone. . . . He lives in some as though in his own house, commanding and ruling everything, and in others as though a stranger in a strange house, where he is not permitted to give orders or do anything.

Which begs the question, what dwelling does He find in me? And further, am I content in the place that He finds for Himself, or would I prefer it to be other? Have I shown the greatest Guest into a house in disarray, where one can hardly wind one's way through for all the years of junk and debris that have accumulated? Or have I shown Him into a place so spare and lean and short and narrow that it threatens to crush Him with each heartbeat? Regardless of the accommodation I have made Him, He lives there nevertheless. It makes me rather more inclined to get the house in order when I think of what a poor host I have been.

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Living with Distractions

I know that I have tried your patience with excerpts from this single essay, but all I can say is that I have found its insights so helpful I cannot resist sharing. However, this will be the last. Once again, I cannot reccommend this book highly enough. While it is about the Carmelite tradition of prayer, its insights (it would seem) can be helpful to anyone in any walk of life interested in prayer.

from Carmelite Prayer: A Tradition for the 21st Century
Ed. Fr. Keith J. Egan

"Contemplation and the Stream of Consciousness"
Fr. Kiernan Kavanaugh

What can we do then about the stream of consciousness? In a sense the response, "Welcome to planet earth" fits the reality of distraction in prayer. Rather than trying to stop the stream of consciousness during our prayer, we can influence it indirectly through love, detachment, and humility, the Christian virtues stressed by our [Carmelite] saints As the love of God grows, God will enter all the more frequently into the stream of consciousness. John teaches that the soul lives where it loves, lives through love in the object of its love (Spiritual Canticle 8.3). Through love the soul spurs itself to seek and find God everywhere, in all the creatures of the summer heat, in the winter snowflakes at our feet, in all things, all events. The impassioned lover will go out from self and become fixed on the loved object. God will go out from self and become fixed on the loved object. God begins to pervade all the pieces, large and small, of the bride-soul's consciousness. Especially does she discover Christ in her neighbor which prompts her to the services of love. In going out ot the Beloved, then, she goes out in freedom from the many entanglements of her attachments and self-interests. The effect left on her consciousness is humility, "her heart of love will not be set on herself or her own satisfaction and gain, but on pleasing God and giving him honor and glory" (Spiritual Canticle 9.5)

In short, do not do violence to prayer by trying to force those things that are so uniquely you out of the picture. Be gentle; let the distractions flow around and always gently, lovingly, return to the center. Yes, you may be distracted for a while about some particularly knotty problem, but when you become aware of it, gently turn the eyes of the soul back to Jesus. Often recommended is a prayer word, or a short prayer, some meaningful reminder to you of Jesus in your life. For example, I prefer, "My Lord and my God." (Despite appearances I have secret sympathies for the monarchists out there.)

But the important part of prayer is to continue despite the swarm of gnats we call thoughts or stream of consciousness. These gnats are who you are and where you are right here and now. They are integral to what you are as a person and God loves them as He loves the entire person. When we share those we are sharing a part of ourselves. We should not be ashamed we do not have the strength to throw them off. Think of small children. For example, my conversations with Sam follow some alien trajectory that always ends up somewhere in Sponge-Bob land or roller coasters no matter where they start. I cherish this deeply because it is so much who he is. So God is with us, cherishing us for our childlike babbling and sharing of so many unrelated things. He will enter in and organize as He sees fit, so long as we continue to approach Him in love.

The most important point is not to let distraction stop you from talking to God. If you want to, make them the topic of conversation some time. But continue to talk, continue to spend time with the Beloved. For, as in any relationship, time spent increases the bond of love and understanding and makes us more amenable to the ways of the One who is Loved.

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