Experiencing God - Contemplative Service 15

"Solitude is necessary for spiritual freedom.  But once that freedom is acquired, it demands to be put to work in the service of a love in which there is no longer subjection or slavery.  Mere withdrawal without the return to freedom in the action, would lead to a static and deathlike inertia of the Spirit in which the inner self would not awaken at all."  

Thomas Merton: Inner Experience

What is this “service of love” for the contemplative?

In December of 1982 at 36 years of age, I became a deacon.  But becoming a deacon does not really provide an answer to the question above. The service of the deacon can play itself out in many ways, and when you examine the ministries of all the deacons, you will certainly see evidence of this.  Some are administrators in churches; some are chaplains in hospitals; some serve in their home parishes in a variety of activities, etc. There are some common functions that all deacons are asked to do, such as reading the gospel, serving at the altar, or performing baptisms and marriages. Over the past thirty years, I've ministered in all of these areas and more, and continue to do so.  But this does not provide an answer to the question addressed above. Is there a particular "service of love" for those who choose to live a contemplative life?  The answer to this question for me “no” there is not.  Does this answer not contradict my quote from Thomas Merton above?  No, I do not think so. Now let me explain.

The discipline of meditation is a practice of silence and stillness that places us in the present moment.  It is a discipline whereby one sets aside their plans, agendas, thoughts of the past and future, feelings and experiences in order to “give attention” to the “now” at the center of our being.  What we discover as we set aside all that normally occupied our self-consciousness is that we have moments when we come in touch with another level of consciousness which I will call “other”. 

For me, coming from the Christian tradition, this “other” is Christ.  The “seeker”,  (which exists for everyone at the self-conscious level) is discovered to be the “sought” as we  dissolve all elements of self-consciousness.  It is here, in this “other”, that God’s Kingdom is present; in the present moment; freed from all other distractions.  The tool that is used to enter into this union with Christ is the mantra, a single word to which we give our full attention until it too goes as the last remnant of self-consciousness.  We are not asleep. We are attentive to nothing, and in that nothing, the Christian find Christ.

The whole discipline of meditation is to free ourselves from our self-preoccupation, particularly with past, future, and fantasy projections that constantly seem to occupy our full attention.  Because these projections are so determined to occupy our full “attention”, the attention to the present moment is not visible; or, at most, faintly visible.  However, after many years of meditative discipline, we are able, through gift, to cross over this gap from self-preoccupation to the “other”.  It is here that the words of St. Paul are brought to fruition:  “I live now, not I, but Christ lives in me".  

The service of love of the contemplative is to assist others, to whatever extent possible, to live in the silence and stillness of this “other”; Christ. The contemplative, by their nature, being  changed by the practice of this discipline, tend to place lessor and lessor emphasis on future or past plans, agendas, and tasks to be preformed.  The reason for this is because these are the very things that have caused the self-preoccupation that the discipline of meditation attempts to avoid. 

The "service of love" that is most important to the contemplative is that which is “now”.  Being present, giving attention to “now” in whatever form it presents, is our "service of love".  The reason for this is because it is “now” that Christ is present.  The past which is gone, the future which is yet to come, appear like only illusions.  The “now” can be filled with the most simple of tasks like washing the dishes; or the most profound, like speaking to hundreds of people.  But each is as significant because Christ is present in the “now”.

Experiencing God - Action vs. Contemplation 14

“Although contemplative practice may over a period of time be associated with greater recognition of the divine in daily experience, it is not to be associated with achievement, attainment, or even the reception of a constant state of unity.  Further, some real questions can be asked as to whether such a state would have any value.  It would, it seems, totally disrupt everything about the person that could be considered human and with it whatever ultimate purpose that humanity might serve.” 

Gerald May, M.D.  “Will and Spirit”

What does Gerald May mean by this statement?  

Upon reflection, you cannot help but see the truth that it contains.  And he has more to say about this subject, in his book “Will and Spirit”. 

The recognition and integration of unitive and other spiritual experiences may give people a sense of meaning and purpose as they fulfill this role, but total and irrevocable union would pull them out of the process entirely, disabling them from helping in any way.  Thus the contemplative approach is far more than a personal seeking towards union.  It contains this personal search, but more importantly, it is a way of discovering how to become of true service to the rest of the world.  This finally is the source of meaning for the contemplative.

Of course, what "Gerald May" is referring to, concerns the age-old question of Action vs. Contemplation, often referred to as the Martha vs. Mary controversy.

This controversy first arose from the gospel story of Martha and Mary when they were visited by Jesus and His apostles on the way to Jerusalem.  Martha became busy with the chores that were necessary to being a proper hostess in tending to her surprise visitors.  Mary settled down before the feet of Jesus to be with Him, to listen, and to be attentively present.  When Martha complains of Mary’s lack of involvement in the many tasks that had to be done, Jesus intervenes in favor of Mary.  “Martha, you worry about so many things.  Mary has chosen the better part.”  Contemplatives can easily believe that they have truly chosen the better part.  They can be, as a result, biased to a passive role of praying and sitting at the feet of Jesus, and not be available when there is work to be done.  As a contemplative, I am often influenced by this bias.  Many times, it has conflicted with my perceived role as a Deacon, which is seen by most as an active ministry. 

When we read about the many contemplative Saints who were caught up in this same struggle, the conclusion we reach is that there are no easy answers to this age-old problem.  It must be worked out in the tension of the tug and pull of the life of each contemplative who is drawn to a life of simplicity and solitude.  A perfect balance will likely never be attained. 

The general conclusion is that some may be inclined to be more contemplative, and others to be more active.  But to be completely immersed in one at the expense of the other is not what God intends as the ideal.  Some sort of balance is needed to provide the wholeness we need and seek. 

There may be times when we can give preference to one or the other.  An example of this would be on a retreat experience.  There are great benefits to be derived from this temporary moving away from activity in favor a time of contemplative silence so as to regain ones composure in a busy life, and to renew ones spirits.  But from that stillness and silence, there always seem to spring a need to give expression to this great gift of God’s love which floods our awareness.  Love must be reciprocated or else it dies from lack of generous self-giving.  This is the balance we must retain.  This is the balance that will continue to be part of our struggle as long as we live on earth.

"Solitude is necessary for spiritual freedom.  But once that freedom is acquired, it demands to be put to work in the service of a love in which there is no longer subjection or slavery.  Mere withdrawal without the return to freedom in the action, would lead to a static and deathlike inertia of the Spirit in which the inner self would not awaken at all."  
Thomas Merton: Inner Experience

Experiencing God - Why Retreats? 12

Within my earthly temple there’s a crowd;

There’s one of us that’s humble, one that’s proud.

There’s one that’s broken hearted for his sins,

There’s one that unrepentant, sits and grins.

There’s one that love his neighbour as himself,

And one that cares for naught but fame and wealth.

From much corroding care I should be free,

If I could once determine which is me. 

Poem by Edward Martin

There is something special about attending a long and intensive retreat.  When we give ourselves this opportunity, we are allowing ourselves to enter an inner sanctuary of our being, to get in touch with realities that might otherwise remain hidden from our view.  It was Socrates who said:  The un-reflected life is not worth living.  Time for reflection is time for discovery and growth.  It is the beginning of seeing and hearing in a new way.  During an intensive retreat, outward activities are stilled, time is slowed and sometimes stopped as the inward windows of the soul begin to open, and we find ourselves sitting on the door step of God’s sanctuary.  It is a common human reaction to want to make this place one’s permanent residence.  And why not?  Did Jesus not tell a parable about the man who discovered the treasure buried in a field?  Did not this man go and sell all that he owned so that he might own the field where the treasure is buried.  Is this the “Kingdom of God at hand” to which Jesus was referring?

Even though I had made a great discovery during this 1997 retreat experience at Gethsemane, it soon became very clear that other passages still had to be made, other deaths and resurrections were still needed to purge out the blindness that clings too easily.  Unfortunately, blindness is exactly that:  Something that prohibits one from seeing properly.  I often wondered if I had the wisdom to seek spiritual direction from someone who had already travelled this road, things might have been easier, and maybe a lot faster.  I would certainly have recommended that for anyone else embarking on a spiritual journey.  Regardless, it was not the case, so I continued my journey, perhaps with more confusion than was necessary, but with a solid conviction that God will show the way to anyone who searches in earnest. 

This next part of my journey would last approximately eight years.  In hindsight, I can see that this time was in preparation for the sudden and unexpected change of events that were to happen in 2005. 

The two very important developments that were to come from this 1997 retreat were:

- Centering Prayer would become a daily practice and discipline that I would follow from that time onward. 

- Mary Anne and I would begin the practice of taking annual retreats at various monastic communities. 

In the spring of 1998, we visited with the Benedictine Sisters in Bennett Pines outside Colorado Springs.  In the spring of 1999, we made a retreat at the “Little Portion Hermitage” in Arkansas, the home place of Michael Talbot.  In the spring of 2000 and the fall of 2001, we visited Mount Savoir, a Benedictine Monastery in Western New York State.  In February of 2002, 2003, 2004 and 2005, we made out retreats at Mepkin Abbey, a Trappist monastery in Charleston, South Carolina, followed by extensive retreat in later in 2005 to celebrate our retirement.  

Why were so many retreats necessary after the one mentioned above in Gethsemane?  Why do they continue to be necessary?  I would like to address these questions in this and the next  chapter.

After returning home from the retreat in Kentucky in 1997, we returned to the way of life to which we were accustomed.  We returned to family and household responsibilities.  We returned to work and all the work implies.  We returned to church ministry.  We returned to the routine day-to-day events that make up the lives of most busy adults.  And it is in this returning that we discovered that the doors and windows that were opened during the retreat experience slowly begin to close, and life appears to returns to where it was before.  One may ask; How can this be after such an eventful experience of the Lord?  I’ve asked myself this question many times.  Is it possible to integrate this “sense of being home with the Lord”, being at one with Him, into the flow of every day life? 

The answer to this question is yes, it is.  But it will take much time:  Sometimes a lifetime.  And it requires a lot of work, and a lot of prayer.  It is something that we really must want.  It is something that we must see of such great value that we never give up the search.  The treasure that is found buried in the field, in this case, deep within our hearts, must be nourished through prayer so that it may slowly grow, blossom until that inward awareness finds expression in one’s outward life and actions. 

There are probably many reasons why this growth and blossoming takes so much time, reasons that differ from person to person.  My own retreat experiences during this eight- year period revealed my own reasons.  Time was needed to come to a full understanding of what was happening and how best to proceed. 

A retreat experience provides the environment and atmosphere that enables one to venture away from the normal busyness and distractions of life to the quietness and silence that is necessary to journey within.  For each weekly retreat that I attended, I noticed that it would often take nearly three days to quiet my mind and emotions from the whirlwind of activity to which I was accustomed.   It was only after I was able to slow myself down, that the Spirit could begin to work in my life, and I would begin the journey inward. 

Right away, this provides a real obstacle for those who are immersed in life’s activities, and who feel they cannot afford to take the necessary time to quiet ones self down.  In these cases, choices have to be made as to what is important. 

We all do what we feel is most important for us at the time, whether we would like to admit it or not.  Look at your day-planner and you will discover what is most important for you.  Oh, but you will argue, how can I avoid these things?  The kids have a dental appointment, the car needs to be inspected.  I have to catch the bus at eight o’clock in the morning or else I will not get to work on time; and I promised to meet with the pastor on that night, and that is my bridge night.  When one plans a retreat, the appointment book slices off a period of time called “retreat”.  It has been prioritized.  The most important thing during that period of time is the retreat experience.  It is time where God is top on your list.  Is it any wonder that during these times, God mysteriously breaks into our life when we provide the time for it to happen.

When we come home from the retreat, and return to the day-to-day responsibilities of life, where in our day planner is time with God?  Where have we broken out time in our busy schedule to be with God?  And if we have booked out time, does it not often get replaced with something else?  It’s not that all the other things are not important.  They are.  I had to grow to realize that God does not vacate me after our retreat.  I vacate God.  I allow the other things that I feel are more important to take precedence over my time just for God.

For those of us who have been married for some time, we have learned that a good relationship with our spouse requires that we place it in some priority and we give it some prime time.  If time for this relationship always falls into second and third place, then it will suffer.  The same is true of our relationship with God.  And it’s not that God needs us so much to be a part of a relationship with Him.  It’s that we need God. 

Even if we are successful in setting aside this time in our day-planner, often it is compromised outside the retreat experience because other activities crowd closely around, and the mental and emotional stimulation generated by these activities often overflow into our contemplative prayer time.  So we are troubled much more with distractions.    

Because of this, I've found that my meditation time takes on a new importance.  There is an added need to develop a daily discipline of spending time in contemplative prayer.  Most spiritual writers recommend two periods of at least twenty minutes each daily.  The development of this discipline in prayer became for me a way of life.  It is this prayer time that kept me focused and aware of the movements of the Spirit within, and allowed me to discern if and when I was getting over absorbed with exterior activity.  This coupled with a planned one-week intensive retreat became a part of my schedule. 

By using the simple approach of the mantra, we practice the art of placing ourselves before the Lord, and spending a few moments of our day allowing God to do the much needed work of breaking down our conditioned compulsive habits that prevent us from entering into His presence.  

Experiencing God - Interior Journey 11

As I search for your love, you always come to me,

You are so beautiful, you make my heart run free.

As I look for your love, shining on your face,

You are so beautiful, you fill me full of Grace.

You are my love, you are my hope, you are my liberty.

Send me your love, send me your hope, you make my heart run free.

All the days of my life, I will follow you,

You are so beautiful, you make my dreams come true.

Poem by Len Moore

We often think that God is way out there, apart from us, distant.  But that is far from the truth, far from reality.  We experience God as we journey inward, not outward into the world of changing things.  The mountain where God wishes to establish His home, that highest mountain where all nations shall stream towards too find justice and to be instructed in the truth, is not some far away place.  It is within.  We are so caught in this outer visible reality -- what we see, what we need and want, what we feel and think -- that we forget and ignore the reality within, God’s Dwelling place.  We search for Him in distant places, or in our activities, when all that He requires of us is to be still, and journey within; away from the visible; away from the surface. 

St. Theresa of Avila calls it journeying within the interior castle.  Many of us are caught on the outside.  We feel isolated from God, unaware of His plan for our life because we do not venture to where He is.  We must leave this outer place and enter into the inner chamber where He dwells.  The first outer room begins to bring us to some awareness that He is present.  We begin, or at least to desire to conform our outward actions with that inward intuitively call; to bring them in line.  As we venture further in, we experience more of the warmth of His love.  It touches and sooths our soul, and brings it into deeper awareness that something special lies ahead, something we want to be a part of.  We experience an inner awakening to spiritual things, marked with peace, love, gentleness, understanding.  We not only dare to journey on, we desire to move on.  As we enter deeper into this inner chamber, this light and love grows more intensely.  It exposes us to our own darkness, unworthiness.  We sometimes feel very unclean in the presence of such purity, yet the light and love have a transforming effect on us.  It actually transforms our darkness into light.  That which we cling to, or clings to us, fall away, and the inner chamber of our hearts begin to glow with the spirit.  We experience the living water that wells up within.  We experience the light that transforms.  We experience desire to be united with the light, spirit to touch spirit, soul to touch soul.  The outer reality is still there, but sufficiently secure that we no longer seek after it.  What now consumes us is our desire to enter deeper into this new reality that transforms and saves.  So we go on, often guided only by our thirst for that which lies in secret, in silence. 

Occasionally, we touch this inner reality.  Love meeting love.  We’ve arrived home, nothing can surpass the experience of finally arriving at the place sought, but only for a moment, and then some distraction, some thought, some feeling carries us away.  Yet even these touches of grace are sufficient to keep us steadfast in our journey. 

We now dare to venture out into our outer reality, carrying with us the remnants of light, grace and love to be shared with others.  They are such fragile efforts, mere tokens of love compared to its source.  They are more fragments of gold dust taken from the burning fire that lies at the centre of our being, but offering them is like offering our greatest treasure.  They are offered with fear at first, with apprehension that they may be rejected, not seen by others as something of immense value.  But later they are offered more freely, accepted by some, and not by others, but that’s OK.  It’s important that they are offered, given freely away, in imitation of their source.  

Isaiah

In the days to come, the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest mountain and raised above the hills.  All nations shall stream toward it.  Many people shall come and say: Come, let us climb the Lord’s mountain, to the House of God of Jacob, that He may instruct us in His ways, and we may walk in His path.  O House of Jacob, come.  Let us walk in the light of the Lord

Experiencing God - Gethsemane Centering Prayer 10

Contemplative prayer is the world in which God can do anything. To move into that realm is the greatest adventure. It is to be open to the Infinite and hence to infinite possibilities. Our private, self-made worlds come to an end; a new world appears within and around us, and the impossible becomes an everyday experience.
Thomas Keating “Open Mind Open Heart

A long-term retreat at Gethsemane during this time of my life was probably one of the best choices that could have been made. On looking back on this time of recollection and prayer, it is easy to see the beginnings of a new and deeper spirituality and way of living. This is the first time that I took the eight-day self-directed retreat written by Fr. George Maloney called “Alone With The Alone”. This retreat book, written from the stance of contemplative prayer, would immerse my life into a mystical path where discoveries would be made beyond my imagination. And this was also the time that I was introduced to Fr. Thomas Keating through his writing on contemplative prayer. Paradoxically, my discovery of the writings of both Maloney and Keating happened at the same time, and they blended together in such a way as to provide a path of light that I would follow in the years to come.

Maloney’s approach was simple. Over an eight-day period, he guides one through an exploration of Jesus’ life from a contemplative perspective, providing scripture reflections, but more importantly, times of stillness, times to listen to the gentle movements of the spirit within oneself. In the introduction, he would write: (pg. 24)

“To contemplate is to move beyond your own activity and become activated by the inner power of the Holy Spirit. It means to be swept up into the threefold love current of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. In the silent prayer of the heart, a gift of the Spirit praying within you, you move beyond feelings, emotions, even thoughts. The Spirit is so powerfully operative that imagining or reasoning can only be noise that disturbs the silent communication of God at the core of your being. If you introduce “noise” by speaking words and fashioning images of God, then you are limiting His freedom to speak His word as He wishes, when He wishes. The Holy Spirit frees you so God can give Himself to you. With utter freedom and joy, respond always in deep silence and humble self-surrender to His inner presence.”

Fr. Thomas Keating’s book “Open Mind Open Heart”, although on the same subject, was entirely different. It was more like a “how to do” book explaining what contemplation is and what it is not, the history of contemplation, a chapter by chapter description on how to do it followed by a very detailed discussion on the difficulties encountered by others with responses. Although it is not my purpose here to explain the techniques of centering prayer, I have quoted the following from his book (pg. 110) to explain his teaching.

The method

“To do this systematically, take up a comfortable position that will enable you to sit still. Close your eyes. Half of the world disappears for we generally think most about what we see. In order to slow down the usual flow of thoughts, think just one thought. For this purpose choose a word of one or two syllables with which you feel comfortable.

A general loving look toward God may be better suited to the disposition of some persons. But the same procedures are followed as in the use of the sacred word. The word is a sacred word because it is the symbol of your intention to open yourself to the mystery of God’s presence beyond thoughts, images and emotions. It is chosen not for its content but for its intent. It is merely a pointer that expresses the direction of your inward movement towards the presence of God

To start, introduce the sacred word in your imagination as gently as if you were laying a feather on a piece of absorbent cotton. Keep thinking the sacred word in whatever form it arises. It is not meant to be repeated continuously. The word can flatten out, become vague or just an impulse of the will, or even disappear. Accept it in whatever form it arises.

When you become aware that you are thinking some other thoughts, return to the sacred word as the expression of your intent. The effectiveness of this prayer does not depend on how distinctly you say the sacred word or how often, but rather on the gentleness with which you introduce it into your imagination in the beginning and the promptness with which you return to it when you are hooked on some other thought.

Thoughts are an inevitable part of centering prayer. Our ordinary thoughts are like boats sitting on a river so closely packed together that we cannot see the river that is holding them up. A thought in the context of this prayer is any perception that crosses the inner screen of consciousness. We are normally aware of one object after another passing across the inner screen of consciousness: images, memories, feelings, external impressions. When we slow down that flow for a little while, space begins to appear between the boats. Up comes the reality on which they are floating.

The prayer of centering is a method of directing your attention from the particular to the general, from the concrete to the formless. At first you are preoccupied by the boats that are going by. You become interested in seeing what is on them. But just let them all go by. If you catch yourself becoming interested in them, return to the sacred word as the expression of the movement of your whole being toward God present within you.

The sacred word is a simple thought that you are thinking at ever deepening levels of perception. That’s why you accept the scared word in whatever form it arises within you. The word on your lips is exterior and has no part in this form of prayer. The thought in you imagination is interior; the word as an impulse of your will is more interior still. Only when you pass beyond the word into pure awareness is the process of interiorization complete. That is what Mary of Bethany was doing at the feet of Jesus. She was going beyond the words she was hearing to the Person who was speaking and entering into union with Him. This is what we are doing as we sit in centering prayer interiorizing the sacred word. We are going beyond the sacred word into union with that to which it points—the Ultimate Mystery, the Presence of God, beyond any perception that we can form of him.” 

So this became my practice, and it opened up pathways to moments of ecstasy and delight in the Lord that surpassed all my previous experience. The Lord always seem to catch my attention through consolation, and then gently lead me to solid ground where union with him is sought without so much inner fanfare and delight. The danger with too much consolation is that we can begin to seek it instead of maturing into a union with God based on faith along. Without God’s gentle wisdom on this matter, we can end up chasing after the wake of the ship when God wants to take us on board where we can be shaped into a proper vehicle of His love and service. But at the same time, grace beckons us to let go of any resistances to God’s love and to flow with ease towards this way of life He desires for us. During my retreat time, centring prayer would continue to be a delightful experience.

It was never difficult for me to discipline myself to practice this prayer for the recommended two sessions a day of at least twenty minutes each. I looked forward to this time and gauged the rest of my day around these delightful times of just sitting in silence before the Lord.

On April 25, 1997, while on retreat in Kentucky, the following entry was made in my journal:

“This had been a very eventful day for me, and much healing has resulted through the grace of our Lord. I read more of Thomas Keating’s book on contemplative prayer and tried centring prayer during the morning reading time. It was more difficult than I thought to set aside distracting thoughts, to gaze into God, to be attentive with no distractions. But I’m beginning to see the value of this prayer. In the afternoon, while sitting outside in the sun and reflecting on “Praying with St. Francis of Assisi”, and moving into centering prayer, God touched my inner being with such a healing love that it burnt within with such a strong sense of thanksgiving and gratitude. 

Experiencing God - Gethsemane's Deeper Silence 9

Our Christian destiny is, in fact, a great one: but we cannot achieve greatness unless we lose all interest in being great.  For our own idea of greatness is illusory, and if we pay too much attention to it we will be lured out of the peace and stability of the being God gave us, and seek to live in a myth we have created for ourselves.

Thomas Merton “No Man Is An Island” 

My opening journal entry read as follows:

We have arrived.  Our plane (and us) arrived without a hitch in Louisville at 4:55 PM as promised.  We rented a car at the airport and were on our way.  We had dinner in Bardstown and met Sister Danielle at Bethany Spring at 8:00 PM.  She was in the middle of a meeting, but took time to set us up in a cottage.  Everything exceeds my expectations.  The countryside, the crickets, the quietness, all make me realize how precious I find the stillness, how far away from God one can be in busyness.  I can’t believe I’m here, after reading about Gethsemane for nearly twenty years.  I am walking the roadways that inspired Thomas Merton for most of his life.  After settling in, we went to bed early in order to get up at 5:45 AM for morning prayer at the Abbey.

Mary Anne and I made two trips to Gethsemane; a four day visit in September, 1996 which only wet our appetites for the much longer five week visit in the spring of 1997.  During these visits, I was given the quiet moments I needed to explore more deeply the writings of Thomas Merton, Thomas Moore, Thomas Keating, George Maloney and others.  Through their insights, I began to unravel some of the obstructions in my own mysterious journey. 

Thomas Moore wrote: “Care of the Soul” 

“Writers are taught to “write what you know about”.  The same advise applies to the quest for the power of the soul: be good at what you’re good at.  Many of us spend time and energy trying to be something that we are not.  But this is a move against soul, because individuality rises out of the soul as water rises out of the depth of the earth.  We are who we are because of the special mix that makes up our soul.  Power begins in knowing this special soul, which may be entirely different from our fantasies about who we are or who we want to be.”

Thomas Keating, in his trilogy of books, “Open Mind Open Heart”, Intimacy With God”, and “Invitation to Love” would introduce me to a system of prayer called “centering” which caused my prayer of stillness to blossom in ways that I would not have previously imagined.  His books also brought me to a greater understanding of the struggle I was experiencing at this point in my life, and thus provided some necessary assurance that many of the things I was experiencing were normal, and to let go of the resistances.

According to Keating, I possessed all of the symptoms of one who was experiencing the “dark night of the senses” an expression coined by St. John of the Cross in his books on spiritual growth. 

These symptoms included:

(i)  a generalized aridity in both the conventional methods of prayer and discursive meditation, and daily life in general,

(ii)  a manifestation of a fear that one is going backwards, and that through some personal fault or failure we have offended God.

(iii)  an inability or disinclination to practice discursive meditation in which one ponders the teaching and example of Jesus

(iv)  a desire to spend more time alone and in solitude, not for the sake of isolating oneself from society, but to be obscurely in God’s presence.

Let’s look at each of these symptoms in a little more detail.

(i)  I was quite aware that I could not find the same interest in the conventional methods of prayer that use to be very satisfying.  As a deacon, my ordination pledge included doing church prayer, either morning or evening.  This prayer was very structured and consistent in its approach from day to day.  Often I found that my attention in this prayer was very distracted, sometimes to the point of having little recollection of the contents of the psalms and readings after the fifteen or twenty minutes to complete.  Also, the sense of satisfaction that use to come from fulfilling these spiritual obligations was dulled and ineffective.  The old enthusiasm for them was not there.  In fact, these daily activities often seemed like obstacles to a different way of life to which I was drawn.  Keating would explain this phenomenon in this way:

“This aridity springs from the realization that no created thing can bring us unlimited satisfaction, or the satisfaction previously experienced.  In light of this intuition, we know that all the gratifications we were seeking when we were motivated by our emotional programs cannot possibly bring us happiness.  This creates a period of mourning, during which all things that we had counted on to bring us happiness are slowly relativized.” 

(ii)  Although I experienced much consolation during my times of solitude and prayer of quiet, I carried with me a sense that following God required that I become more rooted in activity (Christian Service). In wanting to do otherwise, it was as if I was not being charitable, that I was being self-centered.  I carried an underlying belief that this outward action is what God expected of me, and I multiplied these actions in hopes of purging this self-centred attribute.  Again, Keating says:

“During these times, some people mistakenly think it is the end of their relationship with God.  This is not true.  What has ended is there over dependence on the senses and reasoning.  God is really offering a more intimate relationship.  If they would not reflect on their anxious feelings, they would begin to perceive it.”

(iii) In prayer, I spontaneously moved towards more times of quiet and solitude.  I continued with the other types of prayer and did find research and reflection for homilies very beneficial and satisfying, but ultimately, stillness would result.  My outward prayer activities, however, were principally unsatisfying.  Keating remarks:

“Our ordinary ways of relating to God are being changed to ways that we do not know.  This pulls the rug out from under our plans and strategies for the spiritual journey.  We learn that the journey is a path that cannot be mapped out in advance.  God helps us to disidentify from our preconceived ideas by enlightening us from within.

(iv)  I discovered that looking too close at this anxiety, or attempting to purge this anxiety through more activity just did not work.  It only split, to a greater degree, the inner self (which truly wishes to be aligned with God’s will) from the exterior person who identifies and sees him(her) self in the frantic activity that never satisfies.  However, during this time it was difficulty to stop, to become composed, and then to place complete trust in God to do what I was unable to do myself.  

Experiencing God - Passages of Growth 8

The human heart, when left to it self, inclines to dissatisfaction and is easily distracted from its true home.  We concentrate on the loss of our powers, our looks, our ability to control events. The paradox is that, the more we learn to surrender ourselves, a more generous and available self comes into existence.

Allan Jones “Passion for Pilgrimage 

There seem to be passages or doorways through which we must go at certain intervals in our lives.  The most obvious one would be the transition from adolescence to adulthood.  The events of this passage are well documented; raging hormones, a striving for independence, a general lack of maturity in dealing with life’s situations, tensions and anxieties caused by bodily and chemical changes, the beginning of sexual activity and all the joys and struggles that go with that.  But are there not other passages in life that are not as well known to us?   

If one were to look at Jesus’ life, three passages are easily observable.  The first would be His baptism in the river Jordan when He was awakened to His own personal identity as one with a special mission. 

“As soon as Jesus was baptized, He came up from the water, and suddenly the heavens opened and He saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming down on Him.  And a voice spoke from heaven, “this is my Son, the Beloved; my favour rests on Him.”

(Matt. 3: 16-17)

The second passage for Jesus would be the forty days He spent in the desert overcoming the world, the flesh, and the devil so that He could begin His worldly ministry unobstructed.  This time of purification would enable Him to place the will of the Father over all worldly ambitions, compulsions, desires, and anything else that might become an obstacle to following that inner voice.

His third passage would be in the garden of Gethsemane when, in one final act of surrender and self-giving, He would consent to let go of His very life. “I pray that this cup of suffering may pass me by, but your will, not mine, be done.”

Each of these passages we must also experience.  In fact, life demands it of us.  And the more we resist the movement through these passages, the greater will be our suffering.  We cannot cling to life or the experiences of life in order to retain them because the cycle of life demands that we let them go.  And through the process of letting them go, we eventually discover something of much greater value.  The only difficulty is, that as we are passing through, the fear of being cut off from all that is familiar obscures our vision and confuses our mind.   We experience what Thomas Merton and other mystics call “spiritual dread”. 

I began this book by describing graced moments as times of wonder and awe, as times to look forward to and even seek.  We must realize too that graced moments are also those times of passage, times of struggle, where life is calling us to emerge like butterflies from a caterpillar’s cocoon.  These graced moments can be frightening to us because they are asking us to move away from all that is familiar.  And we do not know what to expect as we are drawn into unchartered waters.  These graced moments are asking us to leave behind all that is familiar and embrace uncertainty.  We do not look forward or seek these times as they go against some natural build-in defense mechanisms that seek comfort and certainty.  These defense mechanisms are built into our physical bodies, our intellects, and our emotions, and they revolt against these moments of passage and grace. 

One such time of passage (and therefore grace) was described in the following struggle noted in my journal on December 26, 1996:

“The weakness that I’m trying so hard to overcome is my lack of interest in my exterior self and life.  This is evident in how it plays itself out in my day-to-day activities.  I struggle to obtain an explanation as to why I suffer from this lack of interest in order to overcome my anxiety of it.  But I am beginning to believe that I may just have to learn to live with this anxiety.

Deep within myself, I experience a sense of security, presence, and peace for which I have no explanation.  It resides there when I am in prayer, in solitude.  During these times, my human outward condition, my weakness, no longer has any relevance.  My striving,  possessions, and worldly concerns disappear into insignificance.  It is within that I am at rest, in peace, knowing that I’m loved for who I am.  My human weakness, which I seem to struggle with so much in my day-to-day activity, are no longer important.  They still exists, but causes me no distress or concern.  My deep inner self presides in silence over all of this.  It is here that I experience my God residing, accepting, loving, nourishing, healing, allowing the inner fire of His love to glow, assuring me that what I search for is here; not in the outward struggle to overcome my human weakness.  God, in essence, will provide the strength, perhaps not to heal my poverty, but to overcome it in solitude.  Faith is the key; faith in God who resides with me in solitude”

At this time, it was apparent that I experienced dissatisfaction with my exterior life but this was more than compensated for by a rich and satisfied interior life.  It often seemed that a solution to such a dilemma would be to escape entirely to the interior and leave the exterior with all its confusion behind.  Of course, on quick scrutiny, one could easily conclude that this is not a solution, little long possible.  

Thomas Merton in his book “No Man Is An Island” touched on what I was experiencing during this time of passage:

“When a man constantly looks at himself in the mirror of his own acts, his spiritual double vision splits him into two people.  And if he strains his eyes hard enough, he forgets which one is real.  In fact, reality is no longer found either in himself, or in his shadow.  The substance has gone out of itself into the shadow, and he has become two shadows instead of one real person.

Then the battle begins.  Whereas one shadow was meant to praise the other, now one shadow accuses the other.  The activity that was meant to exalt him reproaches and condemns him.  It is never real enough; never active enough.  The less he is able to be the more he has to do.  He becomes his own slave driver – a shadow whipping a shadow to death, because it cannot produce reality, infinitely substantial reality, out of his own nonentity.

Then comes fear.  The shadow becomes afraid of the shadow.  He who “is not” becomes terrified at the things he, cannot do.  Where for a while he had illusions of infinite power, miraculous sanctity (which he was able to guess at in the mirror of his virtuous actions) now it had all changed. 

Why do we have to spend out lives striving to be something that we would never want to be, if we only knew what we wanted.  Why do we waste our time doing things which, if we only stopped to think about them, are just the opposite of what we were made for.

We cannot be ourselves unless we know ourselves.  But self-knowledge is impossible when thoughtless and automatic activity keeps our souls in confusion.  In order to know ourselves it is not necessary to cease all activity in order to think about ourselves.  That would be useless, and would probably do most of us a great deal of harm.  But we have to cut down our activity to the point where we can think calmly and reasonably about our actions.  We cannot begin to know ourselves until we can see the real reasons why we do the things we do, and we cannot be ourselves until our actions correspond to our intentions, and our intentions are appropriate to our own situation. 

The way through this uncertain and turbulent passage, I discovered, would be through inward stillness.  In quiet stillness, allowing my body, my thoughts, and my feelings to be at rest, an inner light would guide my way through all the transitional difficulties of passages until a new life blossomed.  And it would never fail that I would be in a better place after than before, emerging once again more whole, more beautiful, and more accepting of the mystery that’s contained in the human journey. 

In the spring of 1997, this passage would take place at the Abbey of Gethsemane in Bardstown Kentucky, the Trappist monastery that had captivated and inspired Thomas Merton for the majority of his life.