Christian Contemplative Group

Thanks, Wikipedia!

2011-11-17T09:40:00.001-08:00

Radical Incarnation: Thoughts on Nondual Spirituality

2011-10-06T19:41:00.000-07:00

Matthew Wright is a senior at Virginia Theological Seminary in Virginia, and a budding interfaith theologian. Here is his latest piece posted on FaceBook:

Radical Incarnation: Thoughts on Nondual Spirituality

by Matthew Wright on Wednesday, October 5, 2011 at 8:13pm

Dear friends,

Some thoughts from head and heart today on nondual spirituality, the shape of the path, and the importance of practice...

Peace and love,
Matthew

The 9th century Hindu philosopher Shankaracharya is famous for his pithy three statement summation of the teachings of Advaita Vedanta: The world is illusion. Brahman alone is real. Brahman is the world. We might compare the traditional three movements of the Christian mystical path: purgation, illumination, and union. Likewise, the Islamic shahada, or affirmation of faith (La ilaha illallah Muhammadan rasulullah), as understood by the mystics of Islam, moves through three similar stages: La ilaha (“There is no god”), the negation of the world; illallah (“only God”), the affirmation that Divine Reality alone is;Muhammadan rasulullah (“Muhammad is the messenger of God”), the affirmation that the world is not other than Divine Reality.[1] This final insight is not different in essence from the Zen Buddhist realization that “Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.” It could also be seen as the deepest meaning of the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation (in St. Athanasius’ words, that “God became humanity that humanity might become God”) or the koan of a Christ who is simultaneously fully God and fully human.

[1] Muhammad is understood here not only as the Arabian prophet, but as the Nur Muhammad, the Light of Prophecy that shines through all prophets, both the essential name of the whole creation and the fullness of perfected humanity (as ahadith qudsi says: “If not for you, O Muhammad, I would not have created the worlds.”).

Some nondual teachers, however, seem to stop short of Shankara’s final affirmation:Brahman is the world. Especially in Hindu tradition, the message can seem to be simply the world is illusion, with the ultimate goal of moksha, or escape (this is not only the fault of the tradition, but is due, to some extent, to the lack of nuance—and simple misrepresentation—on the part of Western scholars). This insight, however, is a significant and necessary one, bringing disillusionment with the world around us and an awakening to the impulses and drives that we have been in unconscious obedience to. We begin to see the web of attachments that has made us selfish and self-centered, separating us from God and from others. We see that practically all of our relationships and actions are tainted with subtle (or not so subtle) traces of egoism. At this stage, we may begin to experience the world and its forms with a sense of disdain or even disgust, seen as so many traps and entanglements. Dissatisfied, we turn to God.

Now begins the work of seeing and cutting through the attachments that veil us from naked Reality. Classically, the Advaita Vedanta tradition has formulated this work in terms of “discrimination” (viveka), expressed through the phrase “neti, neti”, “not this, not this”—discerning and negating everything that is not God (that is, everything separating or egoic, temporal or finite). God is the all-embracing and eternal Reality; anything that is not That, is not God. This begins the awakening to Brahman alone is real, our encounter with the “oneness” just beneath the surface of ordinary experience. We touch the unchanging peace, stillness, and love that is our essence. Thrilled to have made the discovery of “what’s real”, we reject the surface and affirm the depth. We retreat to the Eternal.

For a truly nondual spiritual vision, however, we must make Shankara’s final leap, and affirm what Christian language might call radical Incarnation: Brahman is the world. But before arriving there, I want to look at some possible pitfalls along the way. As stated above, one serious error (we might even say spiritual pathology), is ending the spiritual journey at Shankara’s first or second statements, which at their worst can produce the kind of world-denying, dualistic Gnosticism that plagued the 2nd and 3rd century Christian church (or simply a disengaged quietism). But another, and perhaps more dangerous error in the context of contemporary culture, is attempting to start at the third statement (“Brahman is the world”). It is tempting to jump to this final insight from the get-go, but then it is held only as an intellectual concept, not a realization. As a realization, we begin to actually live from this truth, acting differently (that is, less egoically) in the world around us; as an intellectual concept, it is merely words, however lofty and seemingly beautiful. However uncomfortable, we are first required to pass through the necessary stage of negation (in Jesus' words, "the eye of the needle" and "the narrow way").

I give this point special emphasis, as there is a tendency in liberal Western Christianity (and Western spirituality in general), because of our history of negative attitudes towards sex and the body, to overcompensate with talk of “incarnational spirituality” and Ginsbergian shouts of “Everything is holy!” As a corrective to a pervasive negativity, this has its place (and at its best can be an authentic insight into Christianity’s nondual core). In the context of spiritual work, however, it is extremely important to recognize what level of realization we are speaking from when we make such claims. The purified ego can truly recognize the inherent holiness of everything, but a person operating from a lower level of consciousness development will happily (and probably quite unconsciously) use such claims to justify any manner of behaviors, under the guise of “It’s all holy” (perhaps most clearly seen on the level of egoic sexual expression).

Advaita Vedanta, Sufism, and mystical traditions in general, put great emphasis on the place of detachment and renunciation in spiritual life—words that are not generally favored in our contemporary spiritual climate, as they are often heard as world- or life-denying. What is being renounced or detached from, however, is egoism and clinging, which lead to a contracted and selfish life. Renunciation, in its fullest sense, expands life. “Incarnational spirituality”, on the other hand, is too often an excuse for spiritual laziness and a way of baptizing our impulses towards egoic experience (“God’s in everything, it’s all holy!”).

We see this attitude expressed in phrases such as “My life is my prayer.” Indeed, to live a life of prayer is the end goal of all spiritual activity—that we would enter into St. Paul’s “prayer without ceasing.” But this is the end goal, not the starting point. Only the great saints can truly say “My life is my prayer”, because they are always in remembrance of God, seeing only that One Face. Most of us are simply striving towards that state, and to claim it prematurely may actually serve to inhibit our spiritual progress. A more honest statement would probably be: “Sometimes, when I'm lucky, my life is my prayer.” To truly awaken into a greater and more constant state of prayer, disciplined practice is needed. There is little instant gratification on the spiritual path (until we see that it’s all instant gratification), although the work can be joyful. Certainly, in the end, life itself will bring us all of the lessons that we need, and practices and awakening will come as we’re ready. But now is always the moment that we can begin the work of letting go.

With these dangers set aside, the final circling back (or rather, spiraling forward) toBrahman is the world (or Muhammadan rasulullah) is the full expression of the nondual vision of Reality. We neither remain in the negation of the world, nor the simple affirmation of God. Having negated all that is impermanent, and having experienced and affirmed the Eternal, we now come to see everything previously negated in new light. All is the manifestation of Divine Reality. Everything that had veiled us from God is now seen to be simply the expression of God. There is only Kali dancing on Shiva, the Divine Attributes dancing in the Divine Essence, Shakti and Brahman, the Relative and the Absolute, a single Reality. There is only Christ, incarnate, crucified, and ascended; judge, savior, and saved. There is nowhere to go, nothing to escape, only God; perfect freedom, total service, One Face.

The world is illusion. Brahman alone is real. Brahman is the world. La ilaha illallah Muhammadan rasulullah. God became humanity that humanity might become God.

Sophia ~ Wisdom

2010-11-22T11:27:00.000-08:00

Hagia Sophia

Thank-you, Gail Wiggin, for the following contributions. I pass these on here in the interest of widening the network of information available to seekers:

When one comes into contact with a teaching that comes from a particular psychological [spiritual] place, that has been reached by others who have laboured in the past, then if the teaching is valued and followed it leads to that place where, on the way, one begins to get help. Another reality and another meaning begin to show through what one has hitherto taken to be the only reality and meaning. Every form of inner teaching is a way to a place. For example, Christ calls himself a Way. Only when it is followed to the end can a person be transformed into a Christian. Yet people begin by imagining they are Christians. -- from the Psychological Commentaries on the Teaching of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky by Maurice Nicoll, p. 997

The mind, which we call in religious language the Almighty, and in mystical terms the divine mind, is the depth of life, the depth of activity, with which all activity and every activity is connected. Therein lies the whole of religion. The mystic's prayer is to that beauty, and his work is to forget the self, to lose himself like a bubble in the water. The wave realizes, “I am the sea,” and by falling into the sea prostrates itself before its God. As it is said, “Be ye perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”-- Hazrat Inayat Khan

EVENTS OF INTEREST

Wisdom School with Rev. Cynthia Bourgeault and Father Richard Rohr, Ghost Ranch, Albuquerque, New Mexico
May 1-5, 2011
There are still a few openings so don’t
miss this opportunity! Apply now: http://www.cacradicalgrace.org/conferences/2011/wisdom/reg.php

If Christianity is to emerge as the path of mystical illumination and compassionate action that it truly can be, it will be through the courageous commitment of those willing to follow the call to the next level of conscious evolution. This Wisdom School brings together Cynthia Bourgeault and Richard Rohr (who will join us for the first 2 two days), both gifted teachers in the ancient wisdom ways of contemplative prayer, particularly as it supports the emergence of non-dualistic thinking and action. We will work with the core Christian practices of contemplative prayer and lectio divina, but add to them the specific wisdom methods of self-observation, conscious work, and sacred gesture, in order to facilitate the opening of what is classically known as “the third eye,” or non-dual perception. The goal is not only to deepen our personal spiritual lives, but to raise human consciousness, leading to the ultimate transformation of society.

Rabbi Rami Shapiro on Wisdom in the World’s Religions, Wisdom House, Litchfield, CT

March 11-13, 2011 Lady Wisdom has taken on many faces in many cultures throughout history. In this exploration of wisdom spiritualities, we will meet many of Her forms and study many of her teachings. Rooted in the texts and teachings of many faiths, this workshop will challenge you to step beyond religious ideologies to hear the words of Lady Wisdom in your way for your own life.Cost: $190 shared room, $230 private room For more information: http://www.wisdomhouse.org/program/calendar.html
register here: http://www.wisdomhouse.org/forms/formRS3-1113.html

Francis and Clare: The Eye of the Heart

2010-09-03T11:08:00.000-07:00

The Omega Point is Love

Returning home renewed and restored in Love.
The greatest gift I received from a pilgrimage to Assisi is this:

To absorb the greatest teaching of St. Francis and St. Clare--
the teaching of the path of conscious love.

To hold precious and yet not to cling.

To restrain the lower self for the sake of allowing
the higher self to blossom forth and radiate this love.

To render oneself obedient to this love
and let nothing and no one
distract nor derail love.

To give freely and completely of oneself
and to hold nothing back.

To entrust oneself to a higher vision
engendered by this love.

To remain poor in spirit
and make space for this love
to infill, make whole, and make holy.

To seek union in the new intensity.

To plant in the cosmos
and reap in the Aeon.

~~~

Meditation on Assisi by Gail Wiggin

2010-08-28T20:48:00.000-07:00

I thought Gail's observations were so profound that I wanted to share her short essay with you:

There’s a great deal to share about our trip but a highlight was the visit in Italy to Monte Subasio -- a few miles outside the walls of Assisi— where Francis (1181-1226) and his followers established their first home in caves on its slopes. Throughout his life, Francis apparently returned often to those graceful heights on foot (despite his many illnesses) to pray and contemplate (if so inclined, you can get a sense of the place here: http://www.sacred-destinations.com/italy/assisi-eremo-delle-carceri). A few of us chose to walk back down the mountain to our retreat house, Oasi Sacro Cuore. Now THAT is a walk that every person on the planet should experience. How does one describe the profound pleasure of being dwarfed by a landscape? The Umbrian valley spreads out as far as the eye can see, in beauty and abundance as melodic counterpoint to this rock, this foot, this olive tree, this specificity.

As Christians, we are taught that a similar sacred vastness lies within each of us — however difficult to comprehend-- in the form of our capacity to love. It seemed quite clear that the perspective and fecundity of this landscape, their home turf, deeply informed Francis and Clare in their ministries. At every bend in the road down that mountain, one could almost taste afresh the certainty with which they abandoned themselves to God. Although a photograph can’t begin to capture the nature of the experience, it’s impossible not to give you just a hint of it.

Blessings to you this day,
Gail

Assisi, Italy 2010

2010-08-19T08:51:00.000-07:00

Return of the Prodigal Son, a Sermon

2010-03-14T15:38:00.000-07:00

The Prodigal Son

The Rev. William Redfield

Trinity Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, NY

The Fourth Sunday of Lent—Year C—March 14, 2010

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."

So Jesus told them this parable:

"There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands."' So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' But the father said to his slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe--the best one--and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.

"Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.' Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, 'Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!' Then the father said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.'

Let me review the territory we have covered so far on our Lenten journey. We started out by leaving everything that was safe, comfortable, and predictable in order to seek out the desert wilderness. Out here we have not only been confronting the dangers around us (the world around us that threatens our very existence), but we have also been facing up to the demons within us. This started out on Ash Wednesday by our facing our own mortal existence and the reality that these lives of ours in this dimension have a beginning and an end.

But rather than leading to some sort of depressive morbidity, we are finding that, if we take this confrontation far enough and deep enough, it surprisingly leads to a greater freedom and lightness. It opens us up to a surprising sense of aliveness. Incredibly, those ashes on our foreheads turned out to be not signs of death, but signs of greater life!

In this journey we are also learning how important it is to let go. Our model, of course, is Jesus. Even as he has begun his own experience of suffering, in taking it all the way and in holding nothing back, whatever divine entitlement he might have tempted to cash in on and whatever very human fear he might have harbored have bloomed into a flowering of deeper love and compassion. He is living from that eternal wellspring of Spirit. Yes, he has hit the mother lode!

And then last week we began to see how the exercise of true forgiveness fits into this whole picture. This, too, is part of dying before you die. More than a path of moral uprightness, this is a way of intentionally and humbly stepping down from any presumed moral high ground. As we release the built up resentments and hurts of a lifetime, like Jesus, we become freer and lighter and able to love like he shows us. Eternal life flows into us and through us.

One of the methods I introduced last week in assisting us to move from conditional forgiveness to unconditional forgiveness involves stepping deliberately onto the level playing field of human life and entering into a more deeply shared life with the rest of humanity. One way we do this is by seeing that, as much as anyone else, we have fallen short of the mark ourselves.

And today in our Gospel reading the story of the Prodigal Son suggests another way to get to this real forgiveness—and that has to do with opening ourselves to the infinite yet unmerited love from the Father. When we open ourselves to the full realization that we are loved beyond measure, we begin to realize that it is no longer either important or necessary for us to count the costs. If God is not keeping score, it is pretty unreasonable for us to do so.

And so the story…

Although the parable has been called the story of the Prodigal Son, it is so much more the story of a father’s steadfast love (so perhaps it should be called the story of the Prodigal Father!). Told in a culture in which the father was the representative of the law, this father instead disregards his own rights and honor in favor of his enduring and uncompromising love for his two sons.

You have just heard the story. The younger son, feeling the ache to see and experience the big wide world out there, asks his father for his share of the inheritance. This, in that society, he is technically entitled to do. But it is then the duty of the sons to set aside enough in resources to provide for the father in his old age.

Well, the younger son spends the whole wad in riotous living and finds himself one day in the pits (literally as well as figuratively). Feeding pigs in a foreign country has got to be about as low as you can get for a Jew in those times. So he figures, even as a hired servant for his father, he could do a lot better.

But how will he be able to face the judgment and retribution of his father? How can he possibly soften his heart? The younger son begins to rehearse in his mind a repentant sounding story that might possibly open his father’s door.

But no story—rehearsed or otherwise—will be necessary. The father, it turns out, has been watching the road and waiting and longing—yearning, really—for his son’s return. And before he can even get to the property line, the father throws all dignity to the wind and runs out to meet his long lost son. Runs! No self-respecting elder in this society would surrender his dignity and run—unless, that is, his uncompromising love was bursting from his heart and so greatly overshadowed his need to preserve his own dignity.

Before the son can get a word out of his mouth to express his shame and remorse, the father throws his arms around his son and kisses him. Again, this behavior was very much out of character for an elder in such a patriarchal society. Stunned, the son tries to mutter a confession, but the father hardly seems to be paying attention. The father is much more interested in expressing the joy he feels in the son’s return. He calls for the finest robe (probably his own) and sandals for his son’s feet as a sign of his full restoration of honor back in the family. Then the party begins!

But here, as you know, is where the story gets juicy. The older son, who just happens to be working hard out in the field, hears the merrymaking and inquires of one of the servants what is going on. The report of the forgiven return of his self-serving little brother cuts like a knife into his heart. He cannot abide this gross unfairness. He shames his father by refusing to go in and join in the merrymaking. And when his father graciously comes out to explain the situation to him and to encourage him to join in, the older brother dishonors the father by insulting him.

Now many of us—especially the prodigals among us—might judge the older brother harshly. But before we think of this elder brother as a stuffy old stick-in-the-mud, let’s just think about it.

The younger brother has all but wished his father dead and expressed this by leaving with half of all the inheritance. This is the money that was supposed to take care of the father in his old age. That meant that the older brother had to care for the father out of his half of the inheritance. And now that the reckless younger brother has returned, he too must live off his older brother’s half since he has squandered his own.

Knowing the impetuousness of his younger son, one wonders why the father would have given him his share of the inheritance. He must have guessed his son would squander and lose it. He was certainly not obligated to give him his share at this time. It must be that the father valued his son’s freedom more than his own security. Or maybe security was of no real value for him at all.

All that is bad enough. But when the older brother sees the extent to which his father is celebrating the other son’s return and how quickly he has forgiven his brother’s grievous sins and reckless behavior, he is understandably upset. And the frosting on the cake is that the father is giving that profligate one the party that he has never given him, the dutiful one. The father has simply relied on him to always do the right thing without ever such a demonstration of acknowledgment or support—let alone a party.

At the very least, the older brother is looking for conditional forgiveness. He would at least have the younger brother pay back what he has lost and given some sort of provisional status in the family until this whole thing gets sorted out. He’s counting the costs, and he’s going to make him pay. But because the father’s love overshadows all other concerns, there will be no conditional forgiveness here; the father’s forgiveness is immediate and completely unconditional.

So here in this story we can see and identify with part of us that so often and egregiously screws up and misses the mark; we are, in other words, the profligate younger brother. Here too, though, we can also see and identify with the part of us that would prefer to stick to the moral high ground and express our self-righteousness in conditional forgiveness that would require some real conditions before reinstatement could place. This, of course, is the part of us that is constantly counting the costs and keeping score. Yup, we’ve got that part too.

Perhaps you had thought that the father in this story represents the unconditional love of God the Father. Maybe. But maybe that’s just the door to something deeper. Maybe the father presents the wellspring from which we too are invited to drink. Maybe the father is the picture of aliveness that reveals our essential nature when we are willing to take it all the way.

Take it all the way? Yes, maybe this route to the father’s unconditional love and unconditional forgiveness requires that we be willing to claim those profligate parts of ourselves as well as those self-righteous parts of ourselves.

Perhaps we never quite completely leave behind us the part of ourselves that is subject to the whims of self-indulgence and thinks it can get away with murder. Perhaps also we never completely leave behind the part of us that keeps drinking from the poisoned well of the need to be right and in control and takes refuge in some imagined moral high ground.

But maybe we are invited to take it all the way such that a deeper part of ourselves will refuse to get provoked or misdirected by our own waywardness, our own self-righteousness, or even our own self-judgment. You see, we are not forgiven because of our repentance. Nor are we justified by any dutiful obedience or hard work. The deeper part of ourselves knows that eternal life is not the denial of these parts of ourselves. It knows that these parts—the parts represented by the two sons—are only partial and conditional identities that are simply hiding our deeper identity in God.

And here’s the secret—once they are identified and claimed, they be seen for what they are—partial and conditional identities; they can be held more loosely; and gradually over the course of a lifetime, they can be let go of. This is precisely what delivers us to an existence that is both freer and lighter.

Indeed, three weeks from now this will be the resurrected life we will be claiming and celebrating. But just to give us an advanced peek—this will not just be the resurrected life of Christ. I suppose that might be miracle enough. But it will go beyond even that. We will be celebrating and claiming our own resurrected life, and it is here prefigured in this story and seen in the person of the father.

We are being invited to drink from the eternal wellspring of divine love. And as the father in the story illuminates, the nature of this love is that it is always being given away—whether it is recognized or not, whether it is responded to or not. Neither our own foolhardiness (represented by the younger son) nor our own self-righteousness (represented by the older) can stifle or suppress it.

Thanks be to God!

Peace on Earth

2009-12-24T08:57:00.001-08:00

And to celebrate the season:

I arise today
Through the strength of Heaven
Light of sun
Radiance of moon
Splendour of fire
Speed of lightning
Swiftness of wind
Depth of the sea
Stability of earth
Firmness of rock

I arise today
Through God’s strength to pilot me
God’s eye to look before me
God’s Wisdom to guide me
God’s way to lie before me
God’s shield to protect me
From all who shall wish me ill
Afar and anear
Alone and in a multitude
Against every cruel
Merciless power
That may oppose my body and soul

Christ with me, Christ before me,
Christ behind me, Christ in me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise, Christ to shield me

Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me
I arise today.

The Days Are Surely Coming...

2009-12-01T18:02:00.000-08:00

The Days Are Surely Coming…

The Rev. William C. Redfield

Trinity Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, NY

The First Sunday of Advent—Year C—November 29, 2009

Three weeks ago for our confirmation class I showed a 20-minute You-Tube clip of Jill Bolte Taylor and her very personal description and lucid explanation of a stroke that she had survived several years ago. A Harvard-trained and published neuroanatomist, she watched her mind completely deteriorate to the point where she could not walk, talk, read, write, or recall any of her life. Fortunately, because of excellent medical care and the loving support from her family, she survived. (You can see her short account by going to You Tube and writing in, “stoke of insight.”)

Jill Bolte Taylor has now written about her experience in My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist's Personal Journey. There, beyond just telling her story in vivid detail, she also shares the insight she gained into the unique functions of the right and left halves of her brain. You see, during her stroke Jill lost the categorizing, organizing, describing, judging and critically analyzing skills of her left-brain. Along with its language centers and her ego center, her left-brain became disengaged. Thus, during her stroke her consciousness shifted away from her normal, everyday ways of seeing and evaluating things. In the absence of her left brain’s dominance, her right brain had the opportunity to become fully engaged, and her consciousness shifted into full present moment awareness, whereby she experienced herself “at one with the universe.”

This kind of language links us to the realm of religious experience and spiritual transformation. And while it doesn’t necessarily mean that spiritual awareness can be explained away by brain function, it does perhaps give us a greater understanding of these two types of thinking and awareness in our own minds. And it does, in other words, remind us of that ever present dividing line between two very different ways of understanding our life in this world—the deliberate focus of the left brain which would have us operate out of a rational and linear understanding of life, and the right brain awareness which senses and intuits things in timeless intensity and opens us up to our inherent connection with the divine.

This, I believe, is the same line that runs through our Christian tradition and separates the more obvious and institutional and historical expression of our faith tradition from the more hidden, mysterious, and contemplative part. Jesus, as the founder of our faith, seemed equally balanced between these two halves of life. While he lived in the world and fully accepted the frailty of his human condition and marched inexorably in time toward his fate in Jerusalem, he also lived in full, deep, and timeless communion with God the Father. In other words, while living fully on the horizontal axis of life, he also and simultaneously lived fully on the vertical axis of life. The way our tradition expresses this is that Jesus was fully human and fully divine.

In the early decades of the young church there seemed to be an effort to express both sides of this equation in the tradition, although some groups and communities expressed one side more than the other. Some groups emphasized a coherent and rational belief structure that would further the institution of the church and bring faith and belief into greater uniformity. Other communities, on the other hand, were more engaged in the mystical side. But in those early years there seemed ample room for various expressions of faith in Jesus without one side having to defend its existence at the cost of eliminating a side that understood things a little differently. Consequently, one could speak more truthfully about various and complimentary Christianities rather than one uniform and thoroughly defined Christianity.

But that all began to change when certain church leaders grew more intent on building uniformity instead of unity. This gradual shift toward getting all Christians in line with one another was accelerated in the fourth century with the dramatic growth of the Church and its acceptance as the state religion of the Empire. More and more the Church became entwined with the State and more and more involved in the worldly issues of power and control. Over time the leaders of the Church became convinced that in order to continue to flourish and succeed, there must be greater uniformity of belief and practice. Sometimes violently, sometimes brutally, the Church at that time rooted out minority opinions and practices in order that the dominion of Christendom could prevail. The minority opinions were then pronounced heretical, and these parts of our tradition were thoroughly and sometimes viciously rooted out.

If we make the analogy of brain physiology, we might say that the Church’s left-brain accomplished full domination of its right brain in order to do what it thought it needed to do to survive. But this “survival” was only the limited vision of what the organizational side of the church with its own resources could conceptualize. The left-brain had dominated. But what was worse, it cut off its mystical side to its own great detriment. It didn’t and couldn’t see the full picture because what it was destroying held the other half of the equation of fullness and wholeness.

I mentioned heresy. Heresy is the term given to the loser of a theological and doctrinal conflict. Orthodoxy, on the other hand, is the term we give to the winner. The problem was that the Church at this time didn’t just consolidate the faith (for that might have been a very legitimate undertaking); rather it set out on a trajectory of power and control in order to extend its influence far and wide. Would this be considered the call of Christ? Is the job of Christianity to convert the rest of the world? These are good questions, but they are hard questions. The institutional and left brain side of our tradition might answer them one way, while the mystical and right brain side might answer them another way.

OK, enough with brain physiology and function and the development of the church doctrines of orthodoxy and heresy. It’s Advent—thank God—and a time to wait and watch and pray. As the long season of Pentecost has come to a close and the season of Advent has commenced, the Scripture lessons turn to the end of time and the ultimate and final coming of Christ. And so we might think that what we are watching and waiting for is something that is about to take place in time. It seems that we are invited and encouraged to wait and watch for something that future time will deliver.

Oh dear, I’m sorry. I need to go back for a minute to brain physiology and function. Remember, the left-brain operates linearly—that is, it sees the life through the unfolding of the sequential movement of time. It goes from the past to the present to the future. So much are we immersed and even controlled by our left-brain thinking that we don’t even question that. We think that that’s simply the way life moves—through time. Scriptural tradition calls this chronological time or chronos.

But we must remember that there is another, perhaps deeper way of understanding life’s unfolding, and it is measured, not in terms of the linear march of time, but in terms of developmental readiness or kairos. It is only our right brain that can grasp this wondrous sense. Instead of moving laterally across the horizontal dimension of life, the kairos trajectory of life moves toward depth.

So, what are we waiting for in Advent? Are we looking for something to happen in future time? Or, are we looking for the unfolding of meaning in terms of readiness, ripeness, or depth? Well, of course, we mean both. When we say “thy kingdom come,” we mean that the Reign of God that will come in both time and in depth. The kingdom, Jesus said, is around you, but it is also inside you.

Perhaps the best unifying metaphor for this complex reality is pregnancy—which is what this season of Advent is really all about. When a woman is pregnant, she is more than a little aware of her baby’s full term—the nine long months her body will experience these dramatic changes. Because of all of the difficult and demanding bodily changes, most women I know can’t wait for those nine months to be over and done. But at the same time, the movement through pregnancy can at the same time be experienced as something moving toward ripeness and fruition—something that cannot be grasped or measured only by time. There is another scale altogether on which something is forming and building and deepening. And, yes, it takes the full nine months, but there is something timeless in this as well.

My dear friends: These are the awe-filled days of Advent. We are called to watch and watch and pray. But that for which we wait, watch, and pray is not only coming in time; it is also coming in depth and fruition. The story highlights one woman—Mary—who is to give birth to a special son. Instead of getting all tied up in historical accuracy of this truth, we must remember that its meaning is also timeless. And rather than just something we think about having happened in time way back when, its truth is both timeless and unconstrained. Simply stated, there is a divine movement toward depth and fruition, and it has to do with you, and it has to do with what is happening in you right now, in the ripeness of this present moment. More than life in just Mary’s womb, there is something growing and forming in you—in the womb of your heart. Never mind how irrational that may sound. Even if your mind cannot grasp it, your heart can. This is the call of Advent.

And so we are called to live the full life of historical time (or chronos) as well as the timelessness of eternity (or kairos). We are perched at the point of the cross—the cross that brings together the horizontal axis with the vertical axis. We need both kinds of understanding. The trick is to stay soft and flexible and open. The trick also is to stay awake and present in the moment. But know beyond all doubt that there is a something stirring in the depths. There is something groaning to come to fruition and be born. And it has everything to do with you.

Wait, watch, and pray. Preparation and readiness are imperative. But the time is now.

The Benedictine Rule of Life

2009-10-29T14:54:00.000-07:00

Some words don’t age well. While they may once have been acceptable, even foundational, they are now laden with associations that require us to approach them apologetically. We utter certain words with defensive explanations because of the negative connections that people associate with them. Mention the core Benedictine value of humility and be ready to provide a spirited justification to show that humility doesn’t celebrate groveling or cringing behavior and that it is a most remote cousin to humiliation. In a culture of multi-tasking across nano-seconds, patience is a bit suspect and waiting a thing to be avoided.
Though we study The Rule of St. Benedict, rule is a tricky term for modern non-monastic people. The old monastic rule is one thing, but it gets trickier when we consider a working rule for our own lives. In a discussion with the Benedictine spiritual community at the Washington National Cathedral, a participant said she hadn’t made much progress creating a rule of life, partly because she associates rules with things she shouldn’t do.
A more promising way to start might be to think of the activities, places and practices that make us feel more possible, more at home, more knit into our own place in the web of creation. A rule of life should be built around such elements. A rule can provide advance permission to do what we most want and need to do. If we are to become more human and whole when we spend a silent evening with the dog or reading a great book, we should give that activity a respected place in our rule of life. This may sound self-indulgent, but if an activity helps us find our place in a loving universe, we should not trivialize by calling it an escape from the real challenges of living. Benedictine balance will ensure that we won’t spend all day sitting in our favorite arm chair!
What of the unhealthy and unhelpful things we wish we didn’t spend so much time on? Rather than rule them away with prohibitions, we might diminish their place in our lives by more fully embracing the things that are life-giving. Smokers have greater success quitting when they increase the role of exercise in their lives. Working only on not doing something is much more arduous.
St. Benedict teaches that a balance of prayer, work, study, recreation and hospitality are the best practices for most people, but his Rule is filled with exceptions and nuances that recognize our unique individuality. Hospitality for a raging extrovert might mean setting out a groaning buffet table for friends once every ten days. For someone more introverted, hospitality could mean engaging in a brief but genuine encounter with the grocery clerk or a homeless man. The other practices have similar levels of variation. Recreation includes the jogging trail and the sofa, though it needs to be free of striving or scoring; as empty of purpose as our work life is full of purpose. I play tennis regularly, with effort and score-keeping, but I almost immediately forget who won and don’t much care, otherwise it would a form of unpaid work not recreation.
The elements of Benedict’s Rule are enhanced by their interconnections. A Study in the Harvard Business Review shows that when work teams took predictable time off during every work week (and this had to be forced on many in the study), they worked more effectively within teams, communicated better, and planned and streamlined their work. A time of honest toil enhances the rest or recreation that follows it. The interconnections between prayer and study each deepen the other. The great contemplatives like Thomas Merton attended scheduled times of corporate worship, but it is unclear exactly when their prayer began or ended. In living under a rule for a long time, it may be that the rule’s elements gradually merge with one another.
If nothing else, writing a rule of life can be a way of learning more about what lifts our ordinary lives out of rote action, humorless drudgery or pointless accumulation. A rule can direct us to where the music is playing in the lives we’re already living.

In peace

– Tim Carrington

Tim Carrington is the Chairman of the Board of The Friends of St.
Benedict, 5150 Macomb Street NW, Washington, DC 20016, and the above article
will appear in the Fall issue of Regula, the Friends newsletter, coming out in November.
More information is at www.benedictfriend.org.

That of which nothing greater can be thought

2009-08-31T20:00:00.000-07:00

In answer to the question, “What can Christians learn from other religions?” on ExploreFaith.org, Rev. Lowell Grisham writes:

From Buddhism I have learned a sense of the interdependence of all life and the non-dual oneness of the contemplative experience.
From Hinduism I have learned the richness of a mythology that is embracing and inclusive of the complexity of human experience, while honoring the divine in the midst of it all.
From Jainism I have learned the ideal of Aahisma– nonharming– that challenges my violent and power-based cultural norms.
From Islam I have learned the power of disciplined prayer and surrender to God through faithful daily acts of devotion.
From Judaism I have learned to delight in vital and living conversations with ancient holy texts interpreted through the centuries.
From Native Religions I have learned the holiness of nature and the revelatory wonder that is the living breath of our mother earth.
From Zen I have learned the limitations of the rational.
From Catholicism I have learned the power of the sacramental presence of the divine within the created. From Protestantism I have learned the passion of a personal relationship with God.
From Science and Humanism I have learned of the exquisite order and relationship of all creation and the responsibility of human beings for the welfare of this fragile earth.
From Christianity I have learned that every creature is blessed by the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ and that wherever there is “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, [or] self-control,” there is God’s Spirit. “There is no law against such things.” (Galatians 5:22-23)

A Gentle World

2009-03-06T13:33:00.001-08:00

This is a poem by Parker Stafford,
a fellow pilgrim, who was kind enough
to give me permission to reprint it here.

A Gentle World

As the fingers of fortune
release us from what was once assured
a gentle world comes blowing over waters
deep and still
changing our metre and tune
to one more true
like a promise made
beyond memory

Golden light that swells
speaks in rhyme
as we, witness to the great wheel
of time
turning us
turning us
forward and back
as some greater providence
grants us this one moment
like sunlight arcing across the green green grass
as dreamers we are,
touching the stars
remembering how free and ageless we really are.

So let me always remember you
in every form that I take
for this great ocean
that calls out my name
may not know the voice with which to speak
and this heart
whose tuning turns in countless ways
but always back
to that place
we call Home.

Let me always know the song of your soul
and remember more than just dim visions
suspicions
that I am not alone,
but know with absolute certainty
so that just when the time is right
relase my heart like wild upon wild
across the sunlit grass
as dreamers we become
touching stars
bearing the boundless joy
to our world of wonders.

-March 2006

An Advent Message

2008-12-01T08:21:00.000-08:00

Cathy Ayers, a member of our church, sent me this message the other day,
and I post it here with her permission:

I have been reading about the Mayan Prophecy--wonderful words about transition and transcendence-- and one point resonated deeply. The idea that the Holy Spirit is the feminine balance of the Celestial Father. I found many references to the Holy Spirit as feminine energy:

In ancient writings of the Bible and also Gnostic records, the energy now known to many today as Kundalini energy is called by various names such as: Sophia, Life, Mother of the living, or Wisdom. This force called Wisdom is likened to a feminine energy, and even has a feminine personality, known as "She". In these writings, the words "She", "Her" "Wisdom" and "Holy Spirit" are used interchangeably to refer to this feminine aspect of the Divine, also known in both Old and New Testament texts as the "Holy Ghost", "Comforter", "Counsellor" and "Redeemer".

From the ancient Wisdom of Solomon (Ecclesiastes, Proverbs) written some 2500 years back we read in Chapters and 7:

6.12: "Wisdom is radiant and unfading and she is easily discerned (recognized) by those who love her, and is found by those who seek her."

6.13 "She hastens to make herself known to those who desire her"

6.16: "She goes about seeking those worthy of her, and she graciously appears to them in their paths, and meets them in every thought."

7.22-24: "For in her there is a spirit that is intelligent, holy, unique, manifold, unpolluted, distinct, invulnerable, loving the good, dynamic (keen), irresistible, beneficent, humane, steadfast, sure, free from anxiety, all-powerful, overseeing all, and penetrating through all spirits that are intelligent and pure and most subtle."

I am a devout Episcopalian. I attend church every Sunday. I have studied the teachings of Mohammad, Buddha and Thic Nhat Hanh. I find the teachings of Jesus move my heart. In the words of Joseph Campbell, I "follow my bliss" with Jesus' teachings of compassion, joy and abundance of life. I have spent many happy hours in contemplation of the Old Testament Bible stories...Adam and Eve and God's gift of choice; Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his long awaited son Issac out of love of God; Joseph betrayed by his brothers and through that act the source of their survival; Moses and the Israelites, cleansed of Egypt's influence in their pilgrim's walk through the desert; young David the giant slayer who was the center of a great nation, wholely flawed and loved by God; and Jesus, the innocent baby who was the vessel of the very presence of God. It is story of Jesus the baby that brings me back to my theory of the feminine nature of the Holy Spirit:

Both scripture and tradition say that the Holy Spirit appeared to Mary to tell her of God's plan. God desired that Mary be the woman to bring Jesus into the world; to bring the living presence of God into God's creation. The Holy Spirit appeared personally to Mary, told her of God's plan, and overshadowed her. Through the Holy Spirit, God was born into the world as man.

Now, let us think about the idea of the Holy Spirit being feminine.
Image this: the Annunciation....the angel of god appears to the woman Mary...
the Holy Spirit ...feminine...one women talking to another women...
"Here is the plan; I will be with you always...What do you think?"
Woman to woman...bring the savior...change the world...a pure act of creation, birth, and new life.

This theory works for me, and makes the "overshadowing" and virgin birth easier to contemplate.

--Cathy Ayers
Parishioner
Episcopal Church of the Redeemer
Bethesda, Maryland

The Luminous Gospels

2008-07-18T12:03:00.000-07:00

Reprinted from the Oriental Orthodox Order in the West blog.

Lynn Bauman, Abbott of the Order, announces the publishing of THE LUMINOUS GOSPELS:

The very first week of this summer, and the opening of the Wisdom Schools here in Texas, saw the publication of The Luminous Gospels authored by myself, Ward Bauman and Cynthia Bourgeault. This has been a years' long project to finally bring into being a text that contains three of the early Oriental Christian Gospels: The Gospels of Thomas, Mary Magdalene and Philip in a single volume. As part of a family of eastern (Oriental Christian) texts, these Gospels illustrate the stream of perennial wisdom that flowed from the teachings and tradition of Jesus; a stream that was subsequently lost or moved underground in the western worlds of dogmatic Christianity. These three Gospels live and breathe the world of images and imagining that come from the interior vision that formed in the Jewish, Semitic, Oriental worlds of the Christian East (East of Jerusalem). This volume of new texts invite us to begin a fresh dialogue with the roots of our faith that will balance the emphasis on exterior conformity to doctrine and creed in the West with the need to practice an interior realization of the singular Presence that is our true Source that was the vision of the East.

Copies of this text may be obtained from PRAXIS PUBLISHING online at praxisofprayer.com.

The Empty Boat

2008-01-14T19:11:00.000-08:00

I don't know the origin of this poem,
but it gave the group something to think about
this evening, so I thought I would post it here:

The Empty Boat

Who can free himself of achievement and fame
Then descend and be lost
Amidst the masses of men?
He will flow like Tao, unseen....
He will go about like life itself
With no name and no home.
Simple is he, without.
To all appearances he is a fool.
His steps leave no trace.
He has no power.
He achieves nothing.
He has no reputation.
Since he judges no one,
No one judges him.
Such is the perfect man.
His boat is empty.

"The Classical Monastic Practice of Lectio Divina" by Thomas Keating

2007-07-21T18:32:00.000-07:00

The following article is reprinted from the
Contemplative Outreach web site: http://www.contemplativeoutreach.org/lectio/lectio.htm

The classical practice of Lectio Divina--the prayerful reading of the Bible, the book Christians believe to be divinely inspired--is being rediscovered and renewed in our time. At the same time a number of ways of practicing it have sprung up leading to a certain confusion regarding its relationship to the distinct practice of Centering Prayer. A few distinctions may be helpful.

First of all, we need to distinguish Lectio Divina from Bible study, which is very useful at another time and provides a solid conceptual background for the practice of Lectio Divina.

Secondly, Lectio Divina is not the same as reading the scriptures for the purpose of private edification, encouragement, or getting acquainted with the many-sided aspects of revelation, and especially with Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Word of God. Lectio Divina is rather a way or formula for furthering these objectives.

Thirdly, Lectio Divina is not the same as spiritual reading, which moves beyond the exclusive reading of sacred scripture to include other spiritual books such as the lives and writings of the saints.

Finally, Lectio Divina is not the same as praying the scriptures in common, a contemporary development that is sometimes identified with Lectio Divina. The classical practice of Lectio Divina was done in private and consisted in following the movement of the Holy Spirit in regard to the time one might devote to each step of the process, as well as passing from one step to another during the same period of prayer. Following a particular structure, such as is required in all forms of common prayer, tends to limit spontaneity to the movement of the Holy Spirit, which is the heart of the practice.

Praying the scriptures in common might well be regarded as a kind of "Liturgy of Lectio Divina" or even better, as a kind of shared "Liturgy of the Word." With some variations, it usually goes like this: A passage is read out loud three or four times followed by two or three minutes of silence. After each reading the participants apply themselves inwardly to the text in specified ways. After the first reading, they become aware of a word or phrase. After the second they reflect about the meaning or significance of the text. After the third reading, they respond in spontaneous prayer. After the fourth reading, they simply rest in God's presence and after a period of silence, those who wish are invited to do a brief faith sharing on the text. In some cases there is a brief sharing after the third or fourth reading and period of silence. Praying the scriptures in common during weekly Centering Prayer meetings or at a separate time has proved to be a valuable experience and an occasion of bonding the members together in faith and love.

The classical practice of Lectio Divina can be divided into two forms: the monastic and the scholastic. The scholastic form divides the process into stages or steps in a hierarchical pattern. Following the reading of a passage of scripture, the first step was to allow a phrase or word to arise out of the text and to focus on it. This was called Lectio. The second was the reflective part, pondering upon the words of the sacred text, and was called meditatio "meditation." The spontaneous movement of the will in response to these reflections was called oratio, "affective prayer." And as these reflections and acts of will simplified, one moved from time to time to a state of resting in the presence of God, and that was called contemplatio "contemplation." This way of doing Lectio Divina developed in the Middle Ages at the beginning of the scholastic period with its tendency to compartmentalize the spiritual life and to rely on rational analysis in theology to the virtual exclusion of personal experience.

The monastic form of Lectio Divina is a more ancient method and was practiced by the Mothers and Fathers of the Desert and later in monasteries both East and West. It is oriented more toward contemplative prayer than the scholastic form, especially when the latter developed into what we call today discursive meditation, conceived as moving from one thought to another or as one stage in a series of steps. That method is a good way of praying provided you don't get stuck there and fail to move on to contemplative prayer. One of the purposes of the method of Centering Prayer is to help people to detach themselves from the exclusive use of discursive meditation, which became the predominant method of prayer in recent centuries, even in cloisters. Most Christians are trained to reflect and to multiply particular acts of the will in order to go to God and find it hard to imagine praying without following this procedure. Since praying the scriptures in common involves discursive meditation, it is normally more appropriate to have such a "Liturgy of the Word" after a Centering Prayer period rather than before. Above all, the two practices should not be combined because each has its own integrity and uniqueness.

In the monastic way of doing Lectio Divina we listen to how God is addressing us in a particular text of scripture. From this perspective there are no stages, ladders or steps in Lectio Divina, but rather there are four moments along the circumference of a circle. All the moments of the circle are joined to each other in a horizontal and interrelated pattern as well as to the center, which is the Spirit of God speaking to us through the text and in our hearts. To pay attention to any one of the four "moments" is to be in direct relationship to all the others. In this perspective, one may begin one's prayer at any "moment" along the circle, as well as moving easily from one "moment" to another, according to the inspiration of the Spirit.

Paul writes, "Know you not that your bodies are the temples of God and that the Spirit of God dwells within you?" (1 Cor.3:16). Suppose you were struck by that question as you are reading a section of your scripture reading for the day, say a dozen or so verses, and you felt nudged to let your attention linger over those words to savour them. The early monks read scripture aloud so they were actually listening to it. They would then choose a phrase, or a sentence at the most, that impressed them. They would sit with that sentence or phrase without thinking of stages or following some predetermined schema, but just listening, repeating slowly the same short text over and over again. This receptive disposition enabled the Holy Spirit to expand their capacity to listen. As they listened, they might perceive a new depth to the text or an expanding meaning. A particular insight might also be singularly appropriate for them in their particular life situation or for the events of the coming day. According to scripture, the Spirit speaks to us every day. "If today you hear his voice, harden not your heart" (Psalm 95). The monks listened not so much to understand the text, not to conceptualize or analyze it, but just to hear it. And to hear it without any preconceived purpose of what they were going to do with it.

This is already a deep form of receptivity. Those who practice Lectio Divina in this way are already moving toward the fourth "moment" of this dynamic process leading to resting in God. In response to a new insight, they might be inclined to respond in thanksgiving or with interior movements of love, praise or gratitude. As this listening attitude stabilizes, they might experience moments of contemplative prayer in the strict sense, in which they are just present to God, or quietly engulfed in the divine presence. In this situation, one's attentiveness to God expands into the sheer awareness of the divine presence. For the moment, we break through the veil of our own ways of thinking. The external word of God in scripture awakens us to the interior Word of God in our inmost being. When that awareness dissipates, we may go back and read more of the text, provided of course, if we have the time.

This monastic way of doing Lectio Divina always begins with prayer to the Holy Spirit. The four moments along the circumference of the circle are reading in the presence of God, reflecting in the sense of ruminating (not in the sense of discursive meditation), responding with spontaneous prayer, and resting in God beyond thoughts and particular acts of the will.

By "ruminating" I mean sitting with a sentence, phrase or even one word that emerges from the text, allowing the Spirit to expand our listening capacity and to open us to its deeper meaning; in other words, to penetrate the spiritual sense of a scripture passage. This leads to the faith experience of the living Christ and increases the practical love for others that flows from that relationship.

As we repeat the phrase or sentence slowly, over and over, a deeper insight may arise. For example, take the words of Jesus, "I will not call you servants but friends." All of a sudden, it might dawn on us what it means to be a friend of Christ. Our awareness expands without our having done anything but allow the Spirit to act. It is a heart-to-heart exchange with Christ. We think the text but we do not think about the text. If we are thinking in the sense of reflecting, we are dominating the conversation. That can be done fruitfully some other time. Here it is a question of receiving and resting in Christ's presence as the source of the word or phrase.

Lectio Divina is a special kind of process, and to benefit fully from its fruits, its integrity has to be respected. The ripe fruit of the regular practice of Lectio Divina is assimilating the word of God and being assimilated by it. It is a movement from conversation to communion. It also enables us to express our deep spiritual experience of union with God in words or symbols that are appropriate. There is thus a movement not only into silence, but from silence to expression.

In the Trinity, the Eternal Word is always emerging from the infinite silence of the Father and always returning. The persons in the Trinity live in each other rather than in themselves. The Father knows himself only in the Son, the Son only in the Father and the Spirit expresses their unity, bringing together into One relationships that are infinitely distinct. The Trinity is the basis for the oneness and diversity that we see expressed throughout creation. In this way of doing Lectio, one is recognizing the presence of the Word of God in all creation and in every occurrence, experiencing what the author of John's gospel wrote in the prologue, "Without Him was made nothing that has been made." In contemplative prayer, we are in touch with the source of all creation; hence, we transcend ourselves and our limited worldviews. As a result, we feel at one with other people and enjoy a sense of belonging to the universe. The fullness of the Godhead dwells bodily in Jesus, according to Paul. The Divinity begins to dwell in us bodily in proportion to our capacity to receive it as we grow in union with the Eternal Word. This process needs to be nourished both by the interior silence of contemplative prayer and cultivated by Lectio Divina (in the sense of listening). The awareness of the divine presence will also begin to overflow into ordinary activity.

The scholastic method is a good way to learn Lectio Divina whether privately or in a group, but at a certain point when people have gotten the idea, we should carefully explain the monastic method which is oriented from the start toward resting in God by establishing us in a listening attitude. The dynamic interaction between those four "moments" of Lectio-reading, reflecting in the sense of ruminating on a particular word or phrase, responding in prayer, and resting in God puts us more and more at the disposal of the Holy Spirit.

Upanishads

2007-07-16T20:21:00.000-07:00

"He who is in the sun,
and in the fire
and in the heart of man
is One.
He who knows this
is one
with the One."

It was St. Francis...

2007-07-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

...who said:

"Preach the gospel always;
when necessary use words."

The Seventh Annual Wisdom Academy at Praxis Retreat Center

2007-07-16T18:17:00.000-07:00

Clarice Leslie and I recently returned from a week-long Wisdom School at Praxis Retreat Center in Elwood, Texas.

The teaching was led by Rev. Cynthia Bourgeault, who focused on the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. While the Gospel is a very fragmentary text from the Berlin Codex, she pieced together its relationship with the canonical gospels; a rich approach which bore much fruit.

We used a combination of the Jean-Yves LeLoup translation and Lynn Bauman's very recent translation of the text.
What emerged was very strong image of Mary Magdalene as the Apostle to the Apostles, and it was clear that she had done her inner work.

Most magnificently, through piecing together just the canonical gospel references, one is unavoidably struck by the following: Mary Magdalene offered UNBROKEN WITNESS to the crucifixion, burial, vigil, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

What also emerged was an impression that Mary and Jesus walked the path of conscious love together.

The teachings contained within the Gospel of Mary Magdalene grow more lucid when the Gospel of Philip and the Gospel of Thomas are brought in to fill out the whole zeitgeist of these three gospels: A dialogue running between them begins to emerge.

Cynthia interspersed these teachings with lively romps through the world of chant. At one point she even had us have a go at Sufi turning. I highly recommend her most recent book, "Chanting the Psalms" as a resource for learning the art of chant. She got our group up and running with the basics, which greatly enhanced the liturgy in chapel.

Lynn Bauman, the abbott of the Praxis priori, was our most gracious host. His cooking is fabulous and rivals his personal library in richness. Lynn has devised a wonderful system of team work, and this year there was a new team--the liturgical team, headed by Cynthia. Clarice was assigned to the kitchen team, while I worked on the outdoor team. Clarice took copious notes on Lynn's cooking techniques, which was international in its breadth, with a Mediterranean backbone. He indulged us with a Tex-Mex meal near the end of the week. I've never had such wonderful food in my life, bar none!
I ate without guilt, since I was working so hard on the great labyrinth and climbing rooftops to trim back trees.

Our days were highly structured, beginning and ending with services in the chapel, plenary sessions, meals, work hour, and afternoon break. Each day had a steady and peaceful rhythm, enhanced by periods of the Great Silence following evening chapel. In fact, Wednesday was a completely silent day in the Benedictine tradition.

The 7th Wisdom Academy group came to Praxis from all over the US and Canada, hailing from diverse denominations and backgrounds.

Recommended reading:
(books and essays cited by Cynthia Bourgeault
during the course of her lectures)

The Gospel of Mary Magdalene
trans. by Jean-Yves LeLoup

The Gospel of Mary Magdalene
trans. by Lynn C. Bauman

Journey of the Heart: The Path of Conscious Love
by John Welwood

The Annunciation
by Denise Levertov

The Elegant Earth
by Brian Green

The Knowing Heart
by Kabir Helminski

The Pearl
by Jacob Boehme

"The Virgin Point"
essay by Thomas Merton

Christophane
(dense book on the Trinity)
by Raymond Pannikar

Gospel of Matthew
19:3- high teaching on marriage,
the nature of mystical union

Grace and Grit
by Ken Wilber

Toward a Psychology of Awakening
by John Welwood

Letters to a Young Poet
by Rainer Maria Rilke

The Luminous Web
by Barbara Brown Taylor

The Mystery of Death
by Ladislaus Boros