Changed by Silence - 2

There are many methods to enable the process of stopping the flow of uncontrolled thoughts and enable some amount of mental silence. Each has its advantages and limitations. I will not even try to list them.

Whichever process or methods a person chooses to use, there are a variety of challenges. To start, you must turn-off and turn away from all of the visual, musical, verbal, and other media that are omni-present as background stimulation and distraction. It is the first step to interior silence because all of those external distractions are designed to intrude and interrupt your thoughts. For persons who have grown to need multiple sources of stimulation, choosing to turn-off and turn away is a radical, counter-cultural act. It probably will be hard to do. Your natural resistance to change will urge you to quit, to return to the familiar. Making a commitment to a trial period, like silent prayer for five minutes a day for two weeks, may be a good strategy.

Without the external noise, you will become aware of whatever inner thoughts, feelings and images you have. If this is your first time to focus on interior experiences, you might be surprised by the amount, loudness and persistence of all of the thoughts. This is what the Buddhists call “monkey mind.” Picture a group of monkeys swinging around in the trees, making all kinds of noise, and doing nothing in particular. That is what all of those thoughts are doing – often circling around, not accomplishing anything, chattering away.

In Arm Chair Mystic: Easing into Contemplative Prayer, Mark E. Thibodeaux offers some very good advice about dealing with monkey mind distractions:

My anxiety, distress, guilt and anger about the distractions are far more detrimental to my prayer than the distractions themselves. The most effective way to diminish the distractions, then, is not to worry about them at all. (p. 120) 

If you are looking for an easy-to-read, simple and clear guide to moving into silent prayer, I highly recommend this book.

As you become more experienced with silence in your interior landscape, and the surface chatter quiets down, deeper thoughts and feelings begin to emerge. These appear from under the surface because there is now the interior space for them to emerge. These thoughts and feelings present a different challenge, often involving remembering and re-experiencing unresolved, and often deeply painful, memories or fears. They are different than the chattering, and the content may become so powerful that it needs separate attention through specific therapeutic or spiritual work outside of the prayer time. It may be important to explore this material outside of your time of prayer.

I have been scanning through my journals from the last 12 years, and have realized how significant writing in a journal has been in exploring my own interior landscape. It has allow me to move into silent prayer in various ways. Writing all of the chatter in my mind onto paper honors it, while allowing me to leave it behind. Writing also allows me to work through the dark material, the emerging memories or fears, and lets me decide what I want to take to therapy or my spiritual director for further exploration. And there are many times when writing in my journal is itself a form of prayer.

Enough for now – I hope to continue this later. 

Mysteries of the Jesus Prayer

The Mysteries of the Jesus Prayer: A Pilgrimage to the Heart of an Ancient Spirituality explores sites sacred to Eastern Orthodox Churches where the Jesus Prayer that as been taught and shaped the spirituality of people across the centuries. The Jesus Prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner,” has been universally used by these people and communities on the three continents visited in the journey.  I received an early release of the DVD, and I am excited to be reviewing it.

In one way, this video is a travelogue starting in Egypt with the earliest Christian monasteries, then going to Greece, Romania, Ukraine, and finally Russia. Churches where photography is forbidden to the usual tourist are not only videotaped, but selected parts of services are filmed. The producers provide an experience of places that are never opened to the everyday traveler.

They interview a wide range of monastic men and women, allowing an opportunity to understand their spirituality. Often speaking in their own language, with English subtitles, they explain their practice of unceasing prayer through the Jesus Prayer.

The travel begins in Egypt with the earliest monastery of St. Anthony and a visit to the cave where he lived for forty years. Then driving onto the Sinai Peninsula, they explore the treasures of St. Catherine’s monastery and show monks celebrating parts of the liturgy at dawn. Flying to Greece, they visit the Vatoped Monastery on Mount Athos, though only allowed to take still pictures and sound recordings of that 10th century complex. Driving back, Greek monasteries built in the 13-14th century on top of mountains to escape invading Turks are visited, although they are mostly museums.

The pilgrimage then turns north, following the paths of Christians fleeing Constantinople in 1453. Our guides explore several painted monasteries in Transylvania, closed during the communist rule of Romania. At the monastery of St. Ana in Rohia, we see some of the morning liturgy. At Voronets Monastery, a UNESCO World Heritage site, is the fresco of the Last Judgment and the first woman monastic is interviewed. At Agapia Monastery in Neamt County, Romania where one thousand nuns live, a women’s choir sings delightfully. At Varatec Monastery we are allowed to view the private home of one nun who explains her icons.

Continuing on to Ukraine, is Pecherskaya Laura, Kiev which was central in the development of the Jesus prayer. A new community was established in 1988 at the end of communist rule, as also in St. Jonas Monastery located within the city. At the nearby Zverinetsky Caves, there is a visit to 11-12th century relics which give off a perfumed oil, considered indicative of a holy saint and used for healing. The final place in Kiev is Pokrovsky Monastery which bakes the sacramental bread used by many churches.

In Moscow, the first visit is the Tretyakov Gallery to view important icons. The largest monastery in Russia with 300 monks is Trinity Lavra of St. Sergius, in Posad. St. Sergius is the most beloved saint of Russia, similar to Saint Francis for the Western Church. The Patriarch of Moscow and All Russia conducts the liturgy on Pentecost Sunday and parts of the three hour service are shown.

This video is so richly packed with art, music, and spiritual wisdom that it is overwhelming at times. In parts, one has to choose whether to focus on what is being said or seen or heard. In the sections with English subtitles, the reading of the words doesn’t allow time to view the icons, paintings or architecture.

The DVD I received does not include a menu or table of contents, so it is difficult to jump to a specific place or interview. This is a major flaw for me since I would like to use different sections for class or small study groups, but there is no quick way to find anything.

I know I will watch this many times, to learn as much as I can about a part of the world and a spirituality that are so unknown to me.

  

No Chocolate in Lent

Regular readers of the blog (I know there are at lest a few of you!) will notice a new website listed under my "favorite websites" list.  It is "No Chocolate in Lent," which is a blog I started for the Middleham and Saint Peter's Parish. 

There are several of us who will be writing articles during the 2011 season of Lent.  We want to explore our various experiences and perspectives about Lent.  We found that many come from backgrounds where they had little or no exposure, and those of us who had grown up with Lent had very different expectations.  So, if the blogging seems to be getting sporadic, check out No Chocolate.  But as I say in the first article, I don't think it is necessary to give up chocolate for Lent!   

Alone in the Presence

I had seen it several times during the Spiritual Director’s International Conference at the end of March. It is one of a series of Prayer Vessels by Monica Armstrong, who had liberally spread her art throughout the meeting rooms. Titled Alone in the Presence, Monica honors the spiritual wisdom of Julian of Norwich.

Julian was an anchoress in 14^th century England, which means that she lived the last decades of her life in a small cell with the door locked so she could not go out nor others come in. Her cell had a window into the church from which she could hear the Mass and receive the sacrament. There was a second window on the outside wall where anyone could come and talk to her and ask for her advice.

The prayer vessel represents Julian’s ministry of prayer, contemplation and spiritual guidance. She lived her life physically in the middle, between the church and the world. While observing the daily offices, she was not cloistered from the world but available to any and all who passed by. The prayer vessel creates a similar physical inner space of prayer and meditation, a part of the world while apart from it.

Julian was a holy woman who experienced visions from God and took twenty years to write her understanding of them in Revelations of Divine Love. Her non-punitive understanding of sin was radically different from the Church of her time. Also, Julian often used feminine images of God, even describing Christ as “our mother.” Her sense of the inclusiveness of God’s complete love led her to state: “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Alone in the Presence provides a striking contrast to Monica’s other vessels in bowl or bottle shapes which are traditionally seen as feminine forms. It stands tall and narrow as a tower, strong and visible, which is a traditionally masculine shape. While I am not privy to Monica’s vision for her artwork, I can speak to my response. It illustrates one medieval woman’s ability to stand, separate and tall, independent in an age when a woman’s independence often meant ostracism or death. She wrote and spoke God’s truth as she knew it, opposing the fear and turmoil of those days when the plague or violence from other people could strike anytime.

Julian’s cell has not survived and the church was destroyed by a bomb during World War II. However as the first woman to write a book in English, her words continue to inspire many who continue to learn from her vision over six hundred years ago.

Alone in the Presence now sits where I can see it while I provide spiritual direction, a reminder of Julian who preceded me in listening to others on their spiritual journeys.

Walking Prayer and Community

Walking a labyrinth always seemed to be a solitary and internally focused time. When encountering others on the path, one or the other of us would step aside with a simple nod, quickly returning to internal focus. We would be polite to each other, but distant, not wanting to intrude into other person’s prayer time.

That changed one evening in early July walking the gravel and stone labyrinth at the Mercy Center in Burlingame, CA. The participants in the Internship in the Art of Spiritual Direction met in silence at the outdoor labyrinth. One at a time we entered the labyrinth, walking as individuals into the center, pausing for varying times, then back out. As people finished, they sat in the grass on the side, watching until the last person was done.

Starting the walk, I was hoping for the sense of centering and quiet. As I walked, I became very aware of who was around me, their names and what I knew about them. I noted in my journal “what an entirely different feeling it was for me – I was excited to be joining in with all of the others in walking . . . . it is big enough that most of the group fit into it easily. Some greeted me as they went by, others did not.” (July 5, 2006)

I felt connected with each one. There was new kind energy in sharing prayer together, an experience of God’s presence in community prayer rather than personal prayer. In a synergy of spirit and respect for everyone, the feelings stayed with me through the rest of the training program.

During the middle ages, the faithful would walk together in a line or dance in labyrinths. We know this from church documents which record church officials denouncing the activity and forbidding it. I have wanted to experience it, so at the end of the workshop at Mercy Center, I invited the others to join me in walking the labyrinth in a line.

Several gathered at the appointed time at dusk and we walked into the center with one hand on the shoulder of the person in front. We used a simple pattern of three steps forward then one step back, then three more steps forward and one back, over and over. Late arrivals joined the line on the way, until we were circled around the center.

Walking out, we held hands and walked naturally as the darkness was settling around us. “It was quite fun and playful coming out, and fun to see the line of more than a dozen of us stretched out around one side of the labyrinth. The most fun was when we were three to four layers deep near the center.” (July 23, 2006) One person began singing “We are walking in the light of God,” and soon we were all singing it loudly.

Those experiences changed me, and led me to become more attentive to what was going on while I was walking the labyrinth.

A few months ago at the National Cathedral, a several men were all walking one of the labyrinths at the same time. That is unusual, since there are many more women who walk than men, so I became very alert. As I approached the center, I was the second man to enter it. Then three more men entered. I wrote later:

For several minutes there were five of us men in the center – just amazing! I have never seen that many men walking before, much less to all be in the center at the same time. I was aware of all of us, praying that all could share with the others, and that God touch all of the others the way I was being energized by it. (October 30, 2007)

That small group of men, sitting together in prayer, touched me with an unexpected sense of community, even though there was no conversation and we did not even know each others names.

Now, whenever I begin each new walk through a labyrinth, I wonder if I will again sense the community of God.

Walking Prayer

Many of us were taught as children to pray by pressing our flattened hands together, holding them up in front of our chest, bending our heads down, and closing our eyes. We were supposed to stay in place, whether we were sitting or standing, and not move. Finally, no peeking was allowed.

If you ask adults to get ready to pray, they usually adopt a similar pose. They move into a similar body position with eyes closed or downcast, hands held in a particular way, and stop all movement in their limbs. It is an introspective position in which distractions are reduced and busy-ness is stopped, though as squirming children testify, not always successfully.

But as my radical Second Grade Sunday School told me, that is not the only way to pray. She told the class many years ago that prayer can be done with our eyes open, walking down the sidewalk and our hands at our sides. It so startled me at the time that I still remember that class even if I have forgotten her name. I thank her for that gift of a broader understanding of prayer.

So why did it take decades for me to adopt walking a labyrinth as a form of prayer?

In college, I encountered walking meditation based upon Eastern religious practices, which were in vogue. The leader showed us how to slowly extend one foot, putting down the heel, shifting the body weight onto the ball of that foot, lifting up the other foot to extend it, and repeating the motion very slowly. We moved so slowly I was able to feel a anxious sense of imbalance at I lifted up the foot in the back to move it forward.

Surprisingly, that deliberate movement of my body led to stillness in my mind. It was easier to let go of the distractions in my thoughts and feelings than sitting meditation. It remained a singular experience, although never forgotten.

It was a Washington Post article in April 2003 that led me to walking prayer in a labyrinth at the National Cathedral. It was very crowded that evening. I noted in my journal, “There were so many people around – side stepping, passing by, stopping. Yet I felt alone on the path, by myself at my own pace, on my own singular journey, even in the middle of community.”

After my first walk that April 29th, wrote in my journal that I became achingly aware of strong emotions that had been pushed aside. “I was feeling sorrow come up from my center and tears come up, around my eyes, down my cheeks. . . .” Similar experiences have occurred during many other walks since that one.

Since then, I try to walk that canvas pathway in my stocking feet at the National Cathedral every month. Sometimes I am with a friend and other times alone. I like to arrive around 7:30, when it tends to be less crowded. After writing in my journal to clear out the distractions from the day, I often reread the starting lines of Psalm 62, “For God alone my soul in silence waits . . . He alone is my rock and my salvation.” Then I go to whichever of the two labyrinths seems less crowded.

As I walk in toward the center, I repeat those words of the Psalm whenever my mind wanders. When I reach the center, I sit down and try to relax into quietness. I sit there until I sense it is time to leave and start walking back out. Walking in the opposite direction is different, and often feels like I am leaving behind a place that is safe and comforting.

Each time has been different, each time a new experience. Sometimes there is a sense of movement, healing or new possibility. Sometimes there is only emptiness or distraction. Yet I know I will come back again to experience the walking prayer.

I often remember one experience of release and relief. In one section of the Chartres style labyrinth, the last two half-circle paths before starting the final steps into the center, I often remember a time of letting go of deep seated anger, and feeling myself soaring. I had stuck out my arms like airplane wings, and banked my wings into the curves, floating free of the pain and weight of that anger.

It is not something I do everyday, and is not my primary form of prayer. It doesn’t always “work” at leading me into a quiet contemplative place. It does continue to lead my claiming a deeper sense of God in my life.

Beginning the Journey

I am on a journey, seeking God in the everyday experience of my life, in relationships with diverse people, in prayer that is spoken and silent, in music brought to life through breath and spirit, and in Christian community gathered together in worship.

This will be a place to explore how my faith continues to grow, even though there are still times of fear and despair. While God seems to be more easily glimpsed in the rear view mirror of recent experience, there are brief moments of a sense of presence. I believe that times of skepticism and doubt are to be respected, in that they allow for clarifying beliefs and cleaning out clutter.

These ramblings will reflect the world I encounter; from workplace to church communities, from next door neighbors to friends scattered around the globe, from books and articles to thoughts emerging from prayer.

As a spiritual director, I listen to others explore their own spiritual journeys. In those times, I listen to hear where and how God is present in the other person’s life. I listen for the questions about God that are being asked in the events and experiences of another. While those stories, as well as the identity of individuals, are kept confidential, they often lead me down unexpected roads and open doors that have been closed. I hope to look behind some of those doors here.

As a person of prayer, I explore the methods of prayer that engage and support me. Since it is often resistance that leads to a growth, I hope to dance with that resistance, to see how a playful interaction can energize my life and my faith.

As a musician, the chatter of words in my head becomes silent as my mind coordinates my breath, my eyes, and my muscles to bring into life something fresh and transitory. Music feeds the spirit that is within and sometimes expresses that spirit.

Worship strengthens me through the words and action of liturgy in the presence of a gathered church community. The community draws me out of my safety while pointing me toward new possibilities. The shy intravert is swept up in the passing of the peace, and fed by gathering with others around the Eucharistic table. I am made whole again.

I invite you to join me on this journey.