ROOTED AND GROUNDED

 

Taking a ‘long, loving look at the real’ has become more possible for some during lockdown when there’s time to stop and do just that. The tree that greets me each time I walk down Plum Lane invites me to halt and look ‘at the real’.

See the plants at its base - bark and bird, squirrels, and, depending on the season, leaves on branches.  And if I stand long enough and gaze more lovingly, I notice its ‘tree-ness’: its strong presence and at-one-ness with nature.  Not just the moss and lichen on its bark but those microscopic, white, underground threads that connect with other shrubs and trees – that ‘wood-wide web’ as it’s been described – which, although unseen, is there.  I sense its power and the wonder of its being and that fills me with that same sense – wonder – at what I can see and touch, and what is hidden from sight.  And, if I want to deepen that, I begin to find words to express what I feel.  I can ‘talk to the tree’ and sense its gratitude; and I can give thanks to the One who enabled its being.

It is the great trunk I initially see, a body telling of age, strength, stability, and silence, like an ancient abbey that has stood in the same place for centuries.  Through the seasons of the year and the seasons of humankind – of peace and plenty, war and loss – it is there.  Then, beginning to raise my eyes, I see its majestic crown; boughs raising themselves to the skies like arms which must be uplifted.  Branches which reach up and up because that’s what the tree needs to do – to stretch out to the light. The highest like long, slender, spidery fingers emerging from hands connected to the heart; shoots moving in the breeze whose leaves breathe oxygen and take in carbon dioxide and connect with the deepest roots hidden beneath the earth.  High branches straining to heaven, like incense curling from the censor, prayerful desires giving out (and taking in) that the tree might live and, in doing so, give life.  But its roots, too, though hidden are vital for its life.  And, why all this magnificence?  From this great oak to a small snowdrop each strains for the sun to be enlivened, to produce leaf and petal, to multiply and fill the earth.  Each year, it returns its growth to the earth so that life can continue - and, when it dies, its body will decay and, in decaying, give life to the earth.

We, of course, are like trees.  Crowned with our spectacular life, needing to give for our own sake and the sake of all, as well as take.  Take but, more importantly, be rooted in deep darkness where we are fed.  Does Western, ‘advanced’, society value and feed roots?  Are we encouraged to nurture that life which cannot be seen so that, at times such as this when we can feel so alone, our hidden roots connect with all so we can be nourished meaning, as the psalmist said, that all the trees of the wood can shout for joy (Ps. 96.12).  What do we return to the earth which has given us so much?  What do we return to this planet which has enabled our life so that others may live?

When I am among the trees,                                                

especially the willows and the honey locust,            
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

Mary Oliver

 

THE CONTEMPLATIVE

 

‘I knew when I had looked for a long time that I had hardly begun to see.’  Her descriptions often moved beyond the material.  Up on the mountain, after hours of walking and watching: ‘the eye sees what it didn't see before, or sees in a new way what it had already seen. so the ear, the other senses. These moments come unpredictably, yet governed, it would seem, by a law who's working is dimly understood.   (Nan Sheppard, The Living Mountain, quoted by Robert MacFarlane, Landmarks, p.66)

PANDEMIC RESOURCES

During this pandemic there have been many suggestions as to how we might cope with the awful stresses and strains caused by lockdown.  Frequently the media report on a variety of physical exercises that can relieve gloom and despair; we are reminded that nature is a great healer and that time spent in the countryside, in woods or parks, can be very beneficial.  But few, if any, address the deeper needs that are often forgotten or even unrealised; the need of our inner being, the heart of who we are – that ‘immortal diamond’, interior castle – which needs our attention.  If we’re concerned with our physical well-being, why are we not equally concerned with the centre of our being which determines so much about who we are and how we cope with life.

The Church (of England) has so many resources it could offer people and I hope these simple Exercises might encourage others to share the hidden wisdom of our Faith which can be of such help.  If you have comments you would like to make or additions to the Exercises, do leave a message.

There are various ‘spiritual exercises’ we can undertake, and I want to draw your attention to  a few that can really help in this time which many find to be filled with anxiety and fear.  Firstly, of course, it’s important to acknowledge that we do have an ‘inner-being’!  That we’re more than skin, muscle, brain and bones.  That we have what’s been traditionally called a ‘soul’, our God-given identity, which lies in the heart of who we are.  And, because it is God-given, it is beloved.  We are loved in the deepest part of who we are and no one and nothing can destroy that love because it is of God – we don’t own it, control it or  have it at our disposal.  We need to ‘hear’ that, accept and own it – we are loved in the depth of our being, loved with Godly compassion, so it’s important that we practice sitting in that compassionate gaze which God turns towards us so that we can be enfolded in God’s compassionate love.

Christians realise that Jesus is all compassion, and any spiritual exercises are best practiced with him who – ‘though we cannot see him – is closer to us than our breath.  So, here are exercises you can practice – in the comfort of your chair or, if you have one, using a prayer-stool.  Decide how long you’ll spend – how long would you give to physical exercises?  Fifteen minutes?  Half an hour?  Here are some you might try – but remember, they need to become part of your life if they are to have any effect.

(NB.  You can download these from Google docs. by pressing the 'Download' button)

_______________________________

BEFORE YOU BEGIN:  A preparation

EXERCISES

EXERCISE 1:  Learning to breathe

EXERCISE 2:  Becoming centred

EXERCISE 3:  Simple exercises

EXERCISE 4:  Natural exercises

EXERCISE 5:  Words of life

EXERCISE 6:  Imagining the Word

EXERCISE 7:  Relishing Life

EXERCISE 8:  At the centre of our being

EXERCISE 9:  The music of the heart

JUST THINK ABOUT

REFLECTION 1:  PSYCHOMACHIA - psycho what?!

REFLECTION 2:  INSHALLAH - as God wills

REFLECTION 3:  CHRISTMAS IS COMING - without the kids?

REFLECTION 4:  LOCKDOWN AND LONELINESS

REFLECTION 5:  LIVING WITH THANKSGIVING

REFLECTION 6:  COPING WITH FEAR

REFLECTION 7:  THE ONLINE 'JESUIT GUIDE' - to the pandemic if not everything ..

REFLECTION 8:  DEPRESSION, DESOLATION AND DARKNESS

REFLECTION 9:  FULLY HUMAN

REFLECTION 10:  CONTEMPLATION IN A TIME OF PANDEMIC

A BOOK: The Mystery of Faith which is introduced here contains helpful information about ... Faith.

If you would like to be advised when other Exercises or Reflections are added, please send an email to: jff2209(at)yahoo.com requesting to be kept in contact.

_________________________

John-Francis Friendship TSSF
November 2020

ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI: CONTEMPLATIVE PRAYER AND CONTEMPLATIVE LIVING

I suppose many are familiar with Francis view of Creation by which he contemplated God in all things – as St. Bonaventure wrote in his Major Life of St Francis (IX:1):

‘In everything beautiful, (Francis) saw him who is beauty itself, and he followed his Beloved everywhere by his likeness imprinted on creation; of all creation he made a ladder by which he might mount up and embrace Him who is all-desirable.’

But did Francis practice what we would call ‘contemplative prayer’ or did he live contemplatively?  What is contemplative prayer?  Is it desiring and gazing and allowing ourselves to be held in the compassionate gaze of God whilst all the while treating all those logismoi – distracting thoughts – that come to us as so many children wanting to distract or gaze?  Or is it certain practices – Centring Prayer, for example, or spending time before the Blessed Sacrament or an icon seeking to be still?  Do our contemplative prayer-practices ‘stand-alone’ or do we find that they begin to affect the rest of life?  Are we beginning to live contemplatively’?  What do we mean by ‘contemplation’?

"Sometimes I sits and thinks, and then again sometimes I just sits."

Contemplation
The root of the word concerns a space reserved for sacred purposes from the Latin word templum, a piece of ground consecrated for the taking of auspices, or a building for worship.  It has ben associated with a long thoughtful look at something and has been described as simply taking a ‘long, loving look at the real’ (Walter Burghardt SJ).  It could be described as a way of offering a balance to activism for it invites us to stop and focus our distracted attention.  It is a way to realise a sense of being at one with an-other and can be practiced by anyone.  The Swiss-born German artist Paul Klee observed: ‘In a forest I have felt, many times over, that it was not I who looked at the forest.  Some days I have felt that the trees were looking at me … were speaking to me … I was there listening … I think that the painter must be penetrated by the universe and not want to penetrate it.’  

Be still and know that I am God. (Ps.46.10)

Contemplative prayer
Contemplative prayer is one of the classic forms of Christian prayer.  Whilst Discursive prayer is a prayer using words where we talk to God and meditation a type of prayer where we think about God, contemplation is a type that does not use words or thoughts but a prayer-practice where we are simply with God. 

For some it is exemplified in the English tradition by the medieval work of an unknown author, The Cloud of Unknowing: ‘Lift up your heart to God with humble love: and mean God himself, and not what you get out of him… Try to forget all created things that he ever made, and the purpose behind them, so that your thought and longing do not turn or reach out to them either in general or in particular’ (Ch.3).  The writer then points out what had become clear to all contemplatives: ‘When you first begin, you find only darkness, and as it were a cloud of unknowing. You don’t know what this means except that in your will you feel a simple steadfast intention reaching out towards God. Do what you will, and this darkness and this cloud remain between you and God… Reconcile yourself to wait in this darkness as long as is necessary, but still go on longing after him whom you love’ (Ch.3).

‘For He can well be loved, but he cannot be thought.
By love he can be grasped and held,
but by thought, neither grasped nor held.’
(The Cloud of Unknowing, Ch.6)

Meditation
Contemplation is sometimes confused with meditation.  Meditation is a practice which uses a particular technique, such as a mantra, to focus the mind in order to train attention and awareness.  One mantric prayer used by St. Francis was the simple: “Deus meus et Omnia – my God and my All”.

“Whatever a monk keeps pursuing with his thinking and pondering,
that becomes the inclination of his awareness.”
(Buddha, Majjhima Nikaya 19,)

Centring Prayer is a name given to various forms of meditation designed to aid the development of contemplative prayer by preparing our faculties to cooperate with this gift. ‘It is an attempt to present the teaching of earlier time (e.g. The Cloud of Unknowing) in an updated form and to put a certain order and regularity into it.  It is not meant to replace other kinds of prayer; it simply puts other kinds of prayer into a new and fuller perspective.  During the time of prayer we consent to God's presence and action within’ (Contemplative Outreach).

Mindfulness
Rooted in ancient practices of Eastern and Western meditation this concerns focussing on opening the soul to God.  In secular terms certain practices are recommended in order to achieve a mentally clear and emotionally calm and stable state.  Mindfulness has been described as ‘the basic human ability to be fully present, aware of where we are and what we’re doing, and not overly reactive or overwhelmed by what’s going on around us” (What Is Mindfulness?, Mindful.org, 2014).  Is Meditation, which usually concerns openness to God through a loving inclination of the heart, the same as Mindfulness or is Mindfulness, primarily, a discipline focusing on developing inner freedom through practising certain techniques?  Or are mindfulness practices akin to the ancient practice of recollection which is the first step on the contemplative path?  Or are they two sides of the same coin?

All have their pitfalls, especially when they become focussed on perfecting techniques. It’s easy to forget that meditation needs to be understood in the context of the commandment to love God and neighbour – in fact, it’s all about putting self aside to centre on God rather than attaining a particular experience.  Living in a society where the self often seems all important Jesus teaching to put self aside and that those who seek to save their life will lose it – and those who lose their life for his sake will find it – are challenging.  As is his observation that whoever wants to follow his way must deny themselves and take up their cross.  This seems to make clear that we ought not to be too concerned with the perfecting of techniques but by the loving gift of self through our practice (Matt. 16:25f).

The orans mentale (mental prayer) of which St Teresa of Avila wrote in her Book of the Life (Chs.8-10) seems similar to aspects of Mindfulness.  But her practices were motivated by a desire for intimacy and “unknowing” (‘the soul’s profit consists not in thinking much but in loving much’ – Foundation 5.2), not for the benefit of the individual but for the purpose of the exercise of ‘good works’ brought about by loving desire.

Orthodoxy uses the word theoria to indicate beholding God leading to theosis, which is union with God through the ascetic practise of hesychasm, that process of letting the mind be enfolded in the heart to enable the sinful person to be changed, by grace, into a child of God.  It is connected with the desire to create a pure heart which enables the vision of God (Matt. 5.8) and, in the Christian tradition, is rooted in the cosmic Christ. 

Contemplative living
For some the practice of contemplative prayer/meditation is an important part of their life of prayer.  It is quite possible to develop such a practice separate from the rest of life – having a ‘quiet time’ can be important in a hectic life, but I wonder if it’s really possible to have such a distinction between contemplative prayer and contemplative living?   In New Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton wrote: ‘Contemplation is life itself, fully awake, fully active, and fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is spontaneous awe at the sacredness of life, of being. It is gratitude for life, for awareness, and for being. It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible, transcendent, and infinitely abundant Source’ (New York: New Directions Press, 1962: 1-3). So Merton begins to invite us to consider practice contemplation in action which will affect the way we look at the homeless as much as the trees.

Later, in a survey (Robert Toth, The Merton Institute) most of those contacted defined contemplative living as ‘leading a less busy, more quiet life or engaging in certain practices such as meditation, centering prayer or yoga.  In the popular imagination contemplative living is still influenced by the close connection between contemplation and monks and nuns who leave "the world" and live in monasteries.’ 

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‘There are some profoundly important characteristics in Merton's interpretation of contemplative living that distinguish it from popular notions of spirituality.  First, it is specific in its focus on our four essential relationships.  Secondly, it asserts that our contemplative/spiritual practices lead us to a clearer understanding of our responsibility in these relationships.  Thirdly, it emphasizes that our everyday, active life is our spiritual life and that our contemplation should guide our actions; and fourthly, it provides direction to our actions that deepens and transforms our relationships in ways that are visible and measurable.  These distinctive characteristics of contemplative living make it tangible and easy to adopt as a way of life.’  (Contemplative Living, The Abbey of the Arts, https:///abbeyofthearts.com/blog/2007/07/29/contemplative-living/)

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That was clearly an impetus to the development of monastic life and would seem the cause for St. Francis’ Rule for Hermitages.  Richard Rohr OFM has said that ‘Creation itself was Francis’ primary cathedral, which then drove him back into the needs of the city, a pattern very similar to Jesus’ own movement between desert solitude (contemplation) and small-town healing ministry (action)’ (A Cosmic Mutuality, CAC, October 6^th, 2020).

Like others who heard the call to live with a deepening awareness of the presence of God in all things Francis found an example of the contemplative life in Mary the Mother of God.  She had listened to the Word, given birth to it in the silence of her womb and contemplated Him with a growing awareness of His identity as she became what she was called to be:

Hail, holy Lady, most holy Queen,
Mary, Mother of God, ever Virgin.
You were chosen by the Most High Father in heaven,
consecrated by Him, with His most Holy Beloved Son 
and the Holy Spirit, the Comforter.

On you descended and still remains all the fullness of grace and every good.
Hail, His Palace.
Hail His Tabernacle.
Hail His Robe.
Hail His Handmaid.
Hail, His Mother.
and Hail, all holy Virtues, who, by grace and inspiration of the Holy Spirit,
are poured into the hearts of the faithful so that from their faithless state,
they may be made faithful servants of God through you. 

Both Francis and Merton show that contemplation affects the one who contemplates and concerns living in true relationship with oneself, God, others – and nature.  As Fr. Richard Rohr OFM has written: ‘For Francis, nature itself was a mirror for the soul, for self, and for God.  Clare used the word mirror more than any other metaphor for what is happening between God and soul.  The job of religion and theology is to help us look in the mirror that is already present.  All this “mirroring” eventually effects a complete change in consciousness’ (Contemplating the Goodness of God with St Francis). 

Rohr points out that contemplative practices will affect the psyche to the extent that they can lead to a movement of the soul to want to live in such a way.  Finally, our own Fr. Gilbert Shaw said in a talk to the Sisters of the Love of God: ‘(God) has brought in the Kingdom.  There is nothing static about it: it is not an escape of the soul from the encumbrance of the body; nor is it a mystic consciousness of entities and experiences beyond the temporal.  It is the experience of the whole of life lived for the will of God’ (Paper on Contemplative Prayer).

PRIESTLY PONDERING'S (2) - Prayer, the heartbeat of life

(These 'Ponderings' are available via YouTube:  https://youtu.be/leecLTTnHu4)

‘I said to my soul, be still, and let the darkness come upon you

Which shall be the darkness of God.’ (East Coker, III)

In the first of these ‘Ponderings’ I quoted those lines by T. S. Eliot in connection with the way this pandemic is forcing many of us into a place of loss.  That’s been made worse, for some clergy, by the absence of ‘real time’ pastoral contact compounded by that instruction from the hierarchy about not entering churches. This seminal crisis is causing some to experience an existential darkness seeping through their vocation; the very things priests were identified as possessing and ordained to express – an ability to care, an empathic nature, praying the Divine Office in church – all that and more, has been denied.  And, despite valiant efforts to nurture their calling, some are feeling let down, lost and fearful. 

In that first ‘Pondering’ I said that this period reminds me of the way Christ entered the darkness on Holy Saturday with the light of the Resurrection. I touched on this in my second book, ‘The Mystery of Faith’ when, in Chapter 6, I wrote about Christ’s descent into this darkness, a darkness he allowed to overwhelm him but which, in the end, didn’t overcome him;

‘There’s something of deep significance in Christ’s journey into the realm of Death, for the effect of his redemption works at both a conscious and unconscious level, affecting the whole cosmic order. Carl Jung said it also represents the ego’s deliberate descent into the unconscious where it emerges reborn.

This great event, celebrated in the – neglected – Liturgy of the Burial of Christ, is portrayed in orthodox icons by the image of his descent into that darkness.  He breaks into the prison-house of death and drags Adam and Eve, our archetypal ancestors, from sleep into the light of his Divinity.  This, arguably, is the great moment of salvation – his victory which redeems all humankind, even back to the beginning.  And our ceaseless task is to open ourselves more and more deeply to Christ’s gracious, compassionate invitation to be set free.’  (p.61f)

As both theology and psychology agree in the importance of this event, it’s clearly of primary importance.  God needs to descend into our depths and illuminate them with resurrection light, something the icon of the Anastasis reveals.  It also reveals just how hard it was for our archetypal parents, Adam and Eve, to receive that light into which Christ had to drag them.  It’s in that darkness we encounter our vulnerability, the place where we realise the need for humility, where we open ourselves to the reality of our human frailty.  It’s a darkness which we proclaim Christ entered; he has broken open that place by the light of the resurrection, and where Christ has gone, we need to follow despite any fear we may have; for our gospel is that the darkness cannot overcome us.  Isn’t that what we should be proclaiming and every parish celebrating? 

This year the Paschal Triumph has an importance that we need to take to heart.  We may not be able to be with people in their sickness, their suffering or their dying, but we can seek to be in that place of dazzling darkness.  Christ invites priests, in particular, to be open to that for, as part of the Holy People of God, we need to lead where all must go.  Isn’t our vocation to show the way, no matter how hard, how very hard, it can be?  Whatever Christ meant when John records him as saying in the gospel for Good Shepherd Sunday: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly”, it’s clear the life he offers comes as a consequence of passing through suffering and death.  People won’t hear about that on the TV News – they’ll only hear it if we tell them what we’re discovering.

Death and life are, of course, the twin foundations of our faith – and the former isn’t pleasant!  For a priest, at this time, it can be experienced in a variety of ways.  Yet, through it all, there is one thing that matters, and that’s our faithfulness to our calling.  Not to what we do, for we are denied much of that, but to the call of Christ ‘who was faithful to the one who appointed him, just as Moses also was faithful’ (Heb.3.2).  As I said in Enfolded, Christ didn’t save us by his ability but through his disability (p.109). Our faithfulness is, primarily, to the God who calls us and that must mean faithfulness to be open to that call – to prayer.  About that, one enclosed sister wrote to me:

‘I think as a monastic I am aware how beneficial the rhythm and routine of the life we live is.  ... Unfortunately, it is much easier to form a rhythm when things are normal, so that it is there to fall back on when they aren't’.

So, maybe this is the time to look at your Rule of Life and check what norm you have created in relation to praying, and not simply saying, the Divine Office each day.  Occasions when we enter the wonder of Christ’s prayer to the Father through the Spirit not just twice, but maybe four or more times a day.  But any prayer – especially meditation – can become boring, especially when it doesn't seem there's any consolation in it. But Christian meditation – or contemplation – isn’t passive ‘quietism’ but desiring to be where Christ is; and whether that’s in the joy of heaven or the darkness of hell, we’re called to be there.  Whatever we experience (and it’s not the experience we’re to desire, but God) we’re called to be faithful to the way that leads to divine union.  As sister pointed out:

“Learning to inhabit boredom when it is around is important; not easy, but we get into patterns of distracting ourselves when things are not very exciting.  If we can sit with boredom and restlessness when they are there and realise that they are normal – we don't need to feel a failure or guilty, just sit with the discomfort.  We are being pushed to realise that our value is in being and not doing – doing flows from being – and it is uncomfortable for people.  On the whole we take our identity and value from what we can do, and for lots of people having the usual opportunities for doing taken away is very uncomfortable!  We don't really know how to be alone and unoccupied.  We will face an apparent void we think, nothing there, if we are not 'doing'.”

That clearly speaks of the way our life is united with Christ’s oblation ‘of himself once offered’ – and an oblation isn’t a pleasant thing!  It’s bloody and involves the apparent loss of everything that makes life meaningful but, as I said in Enfolded, ‘We follow one who was a failure in the sight of most of his contemporaries, yet who could never have been a failure in the sight of his Father.  Jesus wasn't formed for success but for faithfulness’ (p.57).  It’s the way of the saints: of Theresa of Lisieux who wrote in ‘Autobiography of a Soul’:

‘He allowed my own soul to be plunged into the thickest gloom. The thought of heaven which had been so sweet from my earliest years became for me a subject of torture.  The trial did not merely last for days or weeks.  As I write, it has gone on for months and still I am waiting for relief.  I wish I could explain what I feel, but it is beyond my power.  One must have passed through the tunnel to understand how black its darkness is.’

She had wanted to be a priest and now God allowed her a share in Christ’s passion whereby she had to live by faith – and love – alone.  It’s the way of St John of the Cross who, thrown into a dungeon by his Carmelite confreres because they didn’t approve his reforms, produced from that place of deprivation some of the greatest poetry ever written.  Who said:

“Never give up prayer, and should you find dryness and difficulty, persevere in it for this very reason. God often desires to see what love your soul has, and love is not tried by ease and satisfaction.” – St. John of the Cross, Special Counsels: Degrees of Perfection #9

Perhaps this pandemic is forcing us to face what lies beneath the surface of our lives, inviting us to consider where we look for our primal meaning.  Without so many of the norms of ministry we might experience a sense of being overwhelmed by darkness.  One of the reasons why it’s important to continue to offer Christ’s oblation is that it’s concerned with overcoming the darkness of death – it unlocks the gates of Hades and, with great tenderness, sets prisoners free.  Unfortunately – and misleadingly – some say of that day that it’s when Christ ‘rested’, a day of “dead silence” (Pastoral Letter, Archbishops of Canterbury and York, 2018) when nothing happened.  But, lying at the heart of the Paschal Mystery, it’s the greatest day of salvation, the day when what is most important occurs. 

Feelings of loss and confusion can drive us away from our calling, yet it’s precisely at this moment we need to be present to prayer.  Present to the Spirit moving within us as we open our heart – with all its messy emotions – to God whose ongoing work of salvation will be occurring at the deepest levels.  Prayer which isn’t just the words we utter but what happens in a heart inclined to God; which goes on gently even when we’re unconscious of it.  We have to set up the rhythm – like the rhythm of breathing – because prayer is the heartbeat of life. 

It may be that this pandemic is forcing us into places we would never enter by our own efforts.  Now, like the contemplative, God invites us to enter the worlds lostness with the flickering light of Christ.  Not our flame but his, carried in our heart.  We may fail at times, fall flat on our faces or even run from this calling, but it’s fundamental to the nature of priesthood.  All we need to do is be there, in the darkness and despair with the light of Christ’s love.  He does the work.  

John-Francis Friendship

April 30^th 2020

PRIESTLY PONDERING'S (1) - Being beneath the role

This is also available via YouTube:  https://youtu.be/Mk6GeJHV64g

In 2018 I wrote Enfolded in Christ: the inner life of a priest, and it’s been suggested I might offer some further thoughts arising from that, or from my second: The Mystery of Faith: Exploring Christian belief.  So, as we’re in a world-wide crisis at present, I thought I’d go back to something I wrote in chapter nine of ‘Enfolded’ because I think it speaks into something a number of priests might be experiencing.  It’s headed: Beneath the Role and is part of a section on ‘Being in Christ’:

‘While (the) desire for union with Christ is at the heart of our (priestly) calling, I’ve noticed, in directing clergy, that many find it easier to talk about roles and responsibilities. Although ministry may form the expression of our vocation, it’s not its essence, for that can only be found as ‘Cor ad cor loquitur’ – heart speaks to heart.  Vocation concerns the heart of being which our actions express. The demands of ministry can overbalance the call to intimacy and relationship just as doing can easily replace being in our desire for meaning. And while this isn’t unique to priesthood, unless our vocation is rooted in the desire for union with Christ, sooner or later it will wither – and may die.’

Now I’m not suggesting that your spiritual life has died or even withered, but I’ve noticed the way the present coronavirus crisis is causing some clergy to feel a bit lost – or depressed.  Many of the norms which accompany ministry have gone: ‘no church and no congregation’ is causing them to wonder what they’re meant to be doing.  We look at what the media focuses on – doctors and nurses caring for the sick and dying, food banks providing help for those in poverty and people hard at work raising funds for charities and we can easily begin to feel inadequate, or even guilty.  Many people have begun living in ‘virtual reality’ offering online parties and games, and some clergy are turning to the internet to broadcast services.  And whilst much of what’s appearing is helpful, I wonder – I just wonder – if we might be missing something…  If every crisis provides an opportunity, what might this one offer?  What might God be saying to us through it?

One of the reasons, as I mentioned, for writing Enfolded was because I sensed that many clergy live out of their role, something which can easily begin to take over from our vocation.   Many have become very proficient in what they do; they work hard, and their ministry is greatly valued.  But now much of that role seems to have been side-lined.  A century or so ago it was clergy and religious who nursed the sick – Florence Nightingale turned to the emerging Anglican Religious Orders to work in the Crimea, and priests cared for victims of cholera in the slums of 19^th cent. cities, gaining for them the name, ‘Father’.  Now it can feel as if we’re not needed. Yet, many are doing valiant, if hidden, work supporting congregations, helping organise Food Banks and so on.  But the fact that the Archbishops have ‘banned’ clergy from entering their churches to live-stream liturgies feels as if it’s undermined something of great importance and has hit many hard.

I’m one of those who no longer have a parish, or any ‘official’ ministry, and recall the way I, like others, suddenly felt an utter sense of lostness when that came to an end.  My identity as a parish priest had gone, and I suddenly had no idea what meaning life had for me. T. S. Eliot words, in his Four Quartets, captures something of the feeling I had:

‘ … as, when an underground train, in the tube, 
stops too long between stations

And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence

And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deeper

Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about … ‘ (East Coker, III)

That, of course, can be a feeling anyone can have when their job comes to an end – as has happened to thousands of people as a result of the ‘lockdown’ we’re going through.  So, my first reflection is that priests may be sharing the same feelings as many of their parishioners: this loss means we can identify with millions of others.  Like Christ, some of us have suddenly descended into the experience of many – have entered a wilderness that seems endless.  Into a darkness that can be depressive.

Now one of the things I notice about the account of Christ in the Desert is that the first Temptation which came his way was to turn stones into bread; and I then hear his response: “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matt. 4.4).  What might that be saying to the noble attempts of many to offer ‘virtual’ liturgies replicating, as best we can, what happens in church?  If every crisis offers opportunities, what might this crisis offer those who have a responsibility to nurture the spiritual lives of people?  Those who stand at the threshold of heaven?  Of course, many find satisfaction through the familiar and some, consequently, will encounter ‘church’ via the internet for the first time.  But are we missing something? 

In what we call the ‘spiritual life’ there’s a clear correlation between the wilderness and the monastic cell.  You probably know that saying of the 4^th cent. Desert Father, Abba Moses: “Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.”  In a world where many feel lost, might the most important thing we have to share be that simple piece of teaching?  If you’re finding life difficult at present, don’t go looking for distractions – virtual games and sports, chat rooms and so on.  Simply stay in that place of emptiness and listen to what it might teach you – you may never have another opportunity to learn what this solitude, this enforced ‘retreat’ might offer.  And that, of course, means clergy need to do just that.  As Eliot said:

                            ‘I said to my soul, be still, 
                            and let the darkness come upon you

                            Which shall be the darkness of God.’ (East Coker, III)

That darkness, of course, can feel very dark – a darkness which can feel hellish.  And I’m reminded that Christ entered that darkness on Holy Saturday with the light of the Resurrection – and I want to consider that on another occasion because it is of such importance, yet often ignored.  For now, let’s consider the difference between that feeling of loneliness and the awareness of being alone.  Feeling lonely is about isolation, whereas being alone concerns realising in in-depth at-one-ness with all things.  Just listen to these words of Mother Mary Clare of the Sisters of the Love of God at Fairacres from their pamphlet, Aloneness Not Loneliness:

‘Like the solitary sailor, we deliberately choose our aloneness as part of a personal quest.  We are people engaged on a search.  It is always a search for God, but it is also a quest that brings us to a place of exposure to a deep, heart-searching, listening awareness of the fundamental, crying need of the world.  This is precisely the monk’s or nun’s chief service to humanity.  In aloneness we learn to share in a basic way in the emptiness and lostness that people today often know but also often tried to block out and ignore. … It is essential that we realise the intensely positive use and value of being alone and trying to stop being frightened at the very negative reaction or feeling lonely.’  (Fairacres Pubs. FP002)

I wonder if one of the most important things clergy can do at this time – at any time – is not only to be open to and aware of that basic emptiness and lost-ness, but to encourage people not to run from that primary human condition, the calling to and of God deep within their deepest self – the soul.  Rather than offering people religious ‘distractions’ isn’t one of our primary tasks to enable people to realise they’re called to enter the depths of their being?  Instead of just streaming services, might we also address this primary experience which so many are having but can’t make sense of or seek to avoid – aloneness?  Only the church can do that – the media have no understanding of the deeper reaches of our common humanity.  Doesn’t this crisis offer an opportunity – hopefully, one that won’t be repeated for a long time, but one we need to grasp – the opportunity to encounter ourselves in a creative way.  And to encounter God.   

So, use this time to create a fresh rhythm of prayer.  Make sure you’re having a day offline from time to time – now’s a wonderful opportunity to take an at-home Quiet Day where you can focus on prayer and meditation, a solitary walk and a little light reading. And, if you haven’t already, make sure the Blessed Sacrament is kept in a worthy place at home, a place you can ‘visit’ each day where you can be still before the Lord.  Let’s discover what this time has to offer so we can share with others from our experience.

Do you remember the way, also in 2018, that a group of boys became trapped in a cave system in Thailand for over a fortnight?  Their leader, a former Buddhist monk, led them in various meditation practices which helped them cope with their enforced isolation and kept them sane.  It’s clear many people at present are experiencing great anxiety, and whilst Christian meditation is primarily concerned with opening the eye of the heart to God, it has also been shown to be of great help in addressing anxiety and stress which can lead to depression.  I realise meditation might be difficult if you sense you’re extraverted – you may be finding the loss of human interaction really painful.  But, maybe, this is an opportunity to give attention to your inner life – and to teach others the importance of these practices.  

In a society which judges the church by what it can be seen to do, its actions, might God be offering us an opportunity to reach out to others from the hidden wisdom of our tradition – of the contemplative way?  Might this be a time when we remind the world it has a forgotten soul which needs nurturing?  Isn’t that the meaning behind our role?  Rather than this being a time when the church hardly seems needed, maybe it’s a time when we’re needed even more – we just need to realise what we have and find ways of sharing it with others. 

I said to my soul be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing;

wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing;

there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope 
       are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, 
       for you are not ready for thought:

So the darkness shall be the light, 
       and the stillness the dancing.  (East Coker III)

John-Francis Friendship

April 17^th, 2020

VIRAL THOUGHTS 4 - THE BETHANY SISTERS

ABOUT 18 MONTHS AGO twelve teenage boys, all members of a football team, became trapped in a flooded cave system in Thailand before being rescued after 17 days as the world looked on.  All of them coped remarkably well – that is, all bar one.  For eleven of them were Buddhists, trained in the skills of meditation, whilst the twelfth was a Christian who he found it hard to cope with such sustained solitude.  At his church, no one taught the importance of contemplation.

I mention them because of the place of the contemplative as we enter Holy Week.  According to St. John’s gospel today, Monday, Jesus came to the home of his friends; Mary, Martha and Lazarus in Bethany (Jn.12.1).  The two sisters, Mary and Martha, play quite a prominent role in the gospels; Martha seems to be the active one whilst Mary appears to be more reflective.  Luke’s gospel contains a famous account of a visit Jesus paid to them when Mary sat at his feet whilst Martha was distracted by the many tasks she had to undertake.  This caused Jesus to observe: “Martha, Martha. you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing.  Mary has chosen the better part which will not be taken away from her” (Lk. 10.41). 

It’s a statement many consider shows Jesus commending the contemplative way over the active; others disagree.  Whatever the truth, it’s clear he’s is drawing attention to the importance of ‘sitting at the feet of Jesus’ – contemplating him – and the dangers of becoming ‘distracted’ from giving attention to that necessity.  And that would certainly seem to be true when consider the way eleven of those Thai boys had been taught the importance of meditation whilst the one who went to church clearly had not.

Discovering our inner world

As I’ve talked about before, this present period of enforced ‘lockdown’, when many cannot pursue their normal activities, has spawned a whole range of virtual replacements: if you can’t sing and dance, go to parties, play sports and so on there’s a whole range of similar activities being offered online so you never need feel alone, never have to explore alternative ways of living.  Even churches are offering online services, some of which are clearly designed to prevent people becoming bored.  And none of that is bad, it’s just that we’re missing an important opportunity to discover our inner world, an opportunity the church ought to be offering.

A long time ago, at another time of social upheaval, a wise monk said to an explorer: “Go to your cell, your cell will teach you everything.”  Those words strike me as important now we’re instructed to self-isolate.  Some, of course, will relish the monk’s instruction more than others, although it’s clear that even in our ‘cell’ we can do everything to avoid being there, never have to face what the cell might teach us. 

Whilst this crisis is a time of major, world-wide danger, it’s also, by definition, a time of opportunity; some-thing which is a very, very rare gift to humanity.  And whilst none of us want anyone to be affected by this virus, some see one consequence might be that we learn some vital truths about this matter of being human.  We’re offered a time when, unable to connect in real-time with friends, we have the opportunity of deepening our spiritual lives.  Instead of attending events where many gather, we’ve the chance of diving deeper into the cave of our inner-being and find our lost soul, both as individuals and as societies.  Will we take it?  Or is that inner world so foreign we fear going there? 

Many, when they first shut the door of their soul to the outer world find what lies within strange, even fearful, but this is the home of the ‘soul-self’, the one from whom we can never be parted, yet we can easily ignore.  Instead of finding the silence of the cell boring, we have the opportunity to practice ways of prayer which can unite us with the Other – which is one of the great discoveries I made as a Religious (a Franciscan), when I had to spend 30 minutes each day in silence alongside my brothers – and realised a depth of connectivity which no amount of partying enables.

At one with the other

Those of us living in ‘advanced’ societies can forget the wisdom of the ages – forget the deeper truths that, for millennia, sustained our ancestors.  After three or more years when we’ve torn ourselves apart over separating from a Union half the country said they wanted, and the other half didn’t, we’re suddenly realising a need for each other in profound ways.  Life’s no longer about some of the goals we’ve become accustomed to reach for; greatness doesn’t come with wealth but compassion; and that compassion is enabled by more than just a sense of empathy, it’s enabled through opening our self, our soul, to the Other. 

Those contemplative prayer-practices many have forgotten, or of which they’re ignorant, have much to offer, especially for those needing to overcome fear and loneliness.  We’re part of a hidden communion, a communion of saints, who surround us and to whom we can open the door of our heart.  That deep, slow breathing into the heart; holding on to a word and repeating it silently with the breath; being aware of ourselves as part of a beautiful, alive and life-giving creation – all this and so much more – reading those strange books called ‘gospels’ which nurtured humankind for over two thousand years, but which have been discarded in one generation – we have the opportunity of re-connecting with all these ways which touch into the heart of our humanity, the heart of God, during this crisis.  But will we take it?  There are so many resources around to help, and I’d be very happy to share some with you if you contacted me for ways of developing contemplative prayer.

The two Bethany sisters reflect our humanity and our society: we have grasped at the outer world of activity and ignored our need to nurture contemplation.   Now, for a few weeks, we have the real opportunity to dive deeper and learn practices that will help all of us – change all of us so that the tectonic plates of our humanity make a profound shift.  Practices that will open us to God in whose image we are made; which will enable us to become more at-one with the world.  Spiritual exercises good for the soul – as well as the body.

Go to your cell, your cell will teach you everything …