Changed by Silence

(This post was originally published at No Chocolate in Lent? blog on April 4, 2011.  I will note sadly that I have not been able to delve more deeply into the material in the intervening two months, but I hope to get back to it soon.)

During a young adult retreat session, one person asked me about the point of meditation and being internally silent. I would paraphrase the question as “What’s the point of turning off my thoughts when I have so much I need to get done?” At the time I found myself inarticulate, fumbling for an answer, knowing that the question is very important.

Another person suggested that it is like pushing the reset button, clearing out the garbage and starting over. That analogy does capture one aspect. A constant stream of thoughts keeps us stuck in one place, limiting our ability to see alternative perspectives or opposing ideas. So by letting go of old thoughts, new ideas and perspectives can emerge. The image is a garden choked with weeds; once the weeds are cleared out and the soil is loosened up, new plants can grow and flourish.

But there is something left of out by that explanation when the spiritual dimension is considered: God. How do the ways we pray crowd out God rather than open up to God? Using that garden metaphor, what might grow up in the soil if we kept cleaning out the weeds? If our prayers are full of our words, chattering on about our concerns, hopes, fears or thanksgiving – all important and valid topics of prayer, I will hasten to add – do we allow God to reach out to us? Changing metaphors, when do we let down the wall of words or open a door in that wall to let God sit with us, be with us, listening for what God may have to say?

Sarah Coakley describes how she was changed by the silence, in her article Prayer as Crucible, in the March 22 issue of Christian Century. Professor Coakley has an impressive resume as an academic and theologian, but risks an intimate glimpse into her spiritual life by explaining she continues to be radically changed by silent prayer. Since there is a strong taboo in the Anglican/Episcopal churches against talking about our individual spiritual life and experiences, much less by an academic theologian, her revelations are powerful. Her experiment in her 20’s with Transcendental Meditation (TM) meant

a seismic shift of seemingly unspeakable proportions began to afflict me. Whatever was going on here was not only "transcendental" but severely real. Clearly I was going to have to make some metaphysical choices, and fast. 

While ancient Christian forms of meditation and silent prayer were yet to be rediscovered, she turned away from TM and stayed within a Christian perspective. She describes the experience of an

extraordinary sense of spiritual and epistemic expansion—of being taken by the hand into a new world of glorious technicolor, in which all one's desires were newly magnetized toward God, all beauty sharpened and intensified. Yet simultaneously all poverty, deprivation and injustice were equally and painfully impressed with new force on my consciousness.

And

Lest this seem like a claim to some special supernatural encounter, I hasten to add that the daily practice of silence itself was usually more like the tedious quotidian discipline of brushing one's teeth than anything else. It was the effects outside prayer . . . that were initially hard to quantify and yet palpably transforming of all my previous theological assumptions. 

So, I would like to thank Professor Coakley for articulating what I could not on that Sunday morning. However, I am hesitant to recommend her article because her use of the technical language of her academic field makes it a challenge for even a partially trained person like me. I will continue to read, mark, and inwardly digest my copy, and will report back if anything articulate emerges.

Prayer, Walking, and Labyrinths

(This essay first appeared at the No Chocolate in Lent blog I managed for the Middleham and St. Peter's Parish on March 31, 2011. I have revised it slightly with experiences that occurred since the original posting.)

During the recent Middleham and St. Peter’s young adult and family retreat, I introduced to the adults the spiritual practice of walking prayer. It is a practice I use regularly since I have great difficulty in sitting in one place and meditating. But if I am able to move, to walk while also quieting my thoughts, I find it easier to reduce the constant chatter for longer periods of time. It is even better if I can walk in a labyrinth.

Every month I try to go to the Cathedral Crossroads at the National Cathedral on the last Tuesday evening of the month. Among other activities, they spread out two canvas labyrinths, one in each transept, to allow for prayer through walking. There is always a musician, often a harp and Native American flute player, providing soft music that echoes the length of the nave. Everyone walks in their socks, to protect the canvas pattern from wear and dirt.

Every time is a different experience. Sometimes it is crowded, so we need to share the paths and figure out how to get around each other. Sometimes I am alone, or there are only one or two other persons. At the end of the evening, everyone still in the Cathedral is invited to join in the service of Compline, a corporate closing for the day.

Sometimes, as I walk, I become calmer, less anxious, more able to get on with life when I am done. Letting go of my thoughts helps to let go of negative feelings accumulated over the day. Sometimes, new perspectives or insights will emerge from the quietness. Occasionally I sense a presence that might be the Holy Spirit. Even those all to frequent times when I feel like I didn’t get much out of the walking, I know I need to do it anyway. I cannot predict or control what will happen, but I need to show up and walk if anything is going to happen. That is true of all spiritual practices.

If you have never tried it, my only advice is to ignore whatever anyone says you are supposed to do. Just start walking at whatever pace feels right, and see what happens. Oh, and do try to stay on the path, though I have seen persons make their own path. Many people, like my Mom, never could figure out why anyone would want to do it, though she was willing to try it once. Each person is different.

David and I have been building a garden around a simple five circuit labyrinth in our yard, combining my interests of gardening with labyrinths. The photo on the left is from last May shows the grass paths that run among the flower beds.  Each week you can read about what is blooming and see pictures at Labyrinth by the Bay. If you are ever in the neighborhood, please feel free to stop by and walk the paths with a view of the Bay.

More information about labyrinths can be found at the Grace Cathedral, where the current awareness of use of labyrinths was started by Dr. Lauren Artress. I attended a workshop by Dr. Artress during the recent Spiritual Director's International conference, and her approach is direct and simple.

The Labyrinth Society has a worldwide labyrinth locator, so when you are far from home, you can find a place to walk a labyrinth.

Being Compassionate about Compassion

Before attending the recent Spiritual Directors International conference with its theme of “Cultivating Compassion,” I was anxious about how the conversation would go. I have had a fairly negative attitude toward the word “compassion,” based in part upon one person telling me how she “felt compassion for me” while reeking of paternalism and projection.

One dictionary definition of compassion is “sympathetic concern for the suffering of another, together with the inclination to give aid or to show mercy.” That definition well describes my concerns. “Sympathy” often connotes a superiority to the one offering the sympathy. Even when sympathy is offered without that connotation, it still leans toward the passive, such as the “inclination to give aid” rather than a more active response. The word “mercy” carries a judicial tone since it is often used in the context of courts of law.

So, with the dictionary confirming my nervousness, I noticed that the conference brochure had most of the workshops labeled with “compassion.” I carefully registered for those sessions that didn’t use the term. But there was no avoiding the plenary sessions.

Fortunately, Janet Ruffing was the main speaker at the plenary sessions, and she is one of the most articulate and well-grounded experts in spiritual direction in the U.S. Soon after she began speaking, I could feel myself relax. She quickly banished my fears that she would offer vague platitudes about compassion. She began by examining the “radical convergence” of the significant role of compassion among the Jewish, Christian and Buddhist faiths. As Ruffing delved into each one, she deeply explored the ways the word is used, considering nuances of languages, and using stories and illustrations from each tradition.

Selecting a few of my notes, Ruffing reflected upon the perspective of God, acting compassionately to the cries of God’s people by bringing them out of exile in Egypt. The people of God responded by betraying the trust God had put in them, building their own god in the form of the golden calf. Ruffing marveled at the “divine compassion that survives the anguish of betrayal, returning again and again to a relationship of love” with the chosen people. This is a courageous compassion, that is not shallow or passive, but moving through pain with deep commitment and forgiveness.

Later, she described how Christians picked up the Jewish experience of compassion, noting that “God’s compassion is unconditional and inclusive,” and “compels us to action.” My notes continue further to say that God cultivates compassion in us, with “God as the source, flowing into us, which we offer to the world.” The sense of the movement, an animating presence from God, leading us into the world is, once again, a very active and engaged perspective on compassion that as new for me. Finally, “compassion grows in us as we grow in God.”

This was brought home quite dramatically this last week when one of my directees was talking about life and what is going on. She described how she has become aware of the fact that she could not come up with compassion out of herself; it was not something that she could create in any way. She was becoming aware that any sense of compassion was coming to her from God, and in her awareness of God’s compassion for her, she was then able to be compassionate for others. I almost jumped out of my chair shouting “Yes!” Fortunately I was able to restrain myself, but I did tell her how she had echoed what Janet Ruffing had described at the SDI conference. It was a deep learning for both of us.

So, I am able to be much more compassionate about compassion, but I am not sure about two more years of conferences with the repeated theme of “cultivating compassion.”

Men's Heart Work

During the recent Men’s Institute, after the recent Spiritual Directors International conference in Atlanta, a dozen men explored the contours of men’s hearts. It was clear from the early conversation that most in that hotel conference room were ready to take risks and move to deep levels.

In the initial exercise of Exercises of the Heart, we paired up tell each other “What makes your heart sing?” Then new pairs were formed for new questions such as “Describe a time when your heart was hurt or broken,” and “What hardens your heart?” As the questions were answered, we continually found common experiences and shared struggles with other men from around the U.S. and across the globe. Our differences in home town, church tradition, or age fell away.

I was somewhat surprised with the level of openness and vulnerability happening; men are stereotypically hesitant to talk about heart matters. Yet, considering the preceding three days with most programs designed by women for women, we all desired an alternative, masculine perspective and connection, and were willing to do what we needed to make those connections with each other

The next experience, the Grieving Heart, was a role play involving one man visiting another dying in a hospital bed, and required volunteers. While there was anxiety in the room and clear struggles about whether or not to take the chance, two pairs of men took the courageous step. In the first time through the play, we saw the love and respect one man has for his close friend and mentor. It made visible men’s hesitancy to thank and honor men who have given support and guidance. At least one man noted his intention to initiate that conversation with an elderly man before the opportunity was lost.

The second role play involved a man and his father, a relationship filled with conflicted experiences and emotions. The visible anger being expressed by the son in the role play was disturbing, yet was also understood by many men in the room. Discussing the role play, a number recognized how men’s grieving first shows itself in other emotions such as anger.

While the role plays illustrated two different responses to grief and death, the process dynamic illustrated the significance for men judging how safe the situation is before making a decision to commit and risk. When volunteers were requested, when each volunteer started playing his role, when talking about the experiences each person had in participating and watching, all of the men were constantly choosing when to risk or not, what to risk, and how to respond to another’s risk. We were assessing how safe the situation is before we were willing to speak out.

In the final section, How Do We Open Our Heart to Another, began with individuals pondering when we have opened our hearts to others, and the attendant fears and hopes. Then, in small groups, each person described and expanded upon his thoughts and listened to responses from the other men. The time together closed with the whole group beginning to apply what was learned to our lives and work as spiritual directors.

This time for individual reflection and looking towards next steps was deeply personal, so there is little that can be reported for the whole group.

The value of the time was not dependent upon the exercises done or questions asked, even if I think the three of us leaders did a great job of that. The value was in the gathering of men together, our ability to feel safe with each other, which allowed for a vulnerability rarely seen in groups including women with men. There is a bluntness and directness unique to a gathering of men, which is refreshing and also challenging.

I find myself inarticulate in describing what changed for me, but I left the event a different person.

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!   

Climbing Mount Horeb

One of three peaks in the Sinai mountains, Mount Horeb has been believed to be a place of significant biblical events for over seventeen centuries.  At its base is the well where Moses helped the daughters of the priest of Midian (Exodus 2:15-21).  The burning bush was encountered on its side (Exodus 3).  Later, when Moses brought the Israel tribes out of Egypt,  Moses climbed it to receive the Ten Commandments (Exodus 19-20).

So, while not officially on a pilgrimage, the group of Episcopal priests, deacons and family touring Egypt shifted into pilgrim mode upon arrival at the base of Mount Horeb. As many thousands do each year, we intended to climb or ride a camel up the lower portion of the trail, then continue up the "steps" to the top.  It was not going to be easy, and the bus arrived much later than planned.  The sun was already low behind the mountain we were climbing.  We probably should have chosen to start the climb in the middle of the night to watch the sunrise.  But we didn't.

I chose to walk the broad, rocky, steadily rising trail, rather than ride a camel.  I have climbed many mountains over my life, and enjoy the challenge.  This time was different, because we were racing against the clock, the quickly arriving sunset.  I focused on climbing, not looking around to experience the bare granite mountainside or views out across to other ranges. I held onto the hope that I would be able to see the sun drop behind adjacent peaks.  So I did not pace myself, but kept pushing hard to keep moving.

The few times I did stop to look around and take pictures, the view was awesome.  The bare granite mountains were as alive with colors as they were devoid of any plant life.  They continue as far as the eye can see, with no plants to soften their edges  There is no protection from the heat during the day or the cold at night.  The Bedouin people lived along the trail in low buildings with rock sides and flat wood roofs.  The camels slept on the bare ground where they were tied up.

After passing the final stop for the camels, I started the steep section referred to as "the steps."  There was nothing regular, level or consistent about them.  Many places it was hard to see a good place to put your foot down.  My legs were sore and no longer solid under me.  Forty feet or so up the trail, I stopped to rest, and turned around to look. This is what I saw:

The last of the sun was at the tops of the peaks behind me, and the guide said it was another 30 minutes to the top.  Even with the flashlight in my pocket, it would be difficult to know how to climb down section I had just come up.  Once the sun was gone, night and dark would be arrive in minutes.  I turned around, disappointed but clear it was the right choice.  There would be no pictures from the top.  I joined a group at the Bedouin hut at the base of the steps waiting for the rest of the group to return.

After waiting over an hour in freezing temperatures, the five of us started down, without the group climbing to the top. We tried to join another group going down, but they were much younger and faster.  Soon, we were on our own.  David was the scout in front, calling out loose rocks or tricky spots.  I was in back, shining my flashlight forward, to highlight the roughness of the trail.  Two of the group were walking slowly, tentatively, setting the pace for the whole.  We knew we needed to travel together.  I invented silly lyrics to familiar tunes, so we could laugh.  Twice we stopped to turn off the flashlight to look up at the half-full moon and stars in the sky.  Over those two plus hours walking down, we became a community with a common purpose - caring for each other, being aware of the dark rocky desert around us, and walking safely down the mountain of Moses. 

I could not know when I started that afternoon that the place I would encounter God upon his mountain in the Sinai desert would not be on the mountaintop.  God joined the five of us, loving and journeying together in the pale light of the guardian of the night, a pilgrimage of grace I will never forget.  Thank you Susan, Hyacinth, Masud and David.