Volume 29, No. 1-Winter, 2005

Northeast Regional Gathering Reflections
by Kathryn Booth

Grounding in Clouds
by Martha Campbell

The Quality of Not Knowing
by Carole Crumley

A New Language of Prayer
by Ann Kline

Prayerfulness at Work
by Gerald May

What is Spiritual Direction?
by Ann Kline & Shalem Senior Staff

Northeast Regional Gathering Reflections

by Kathryn Booth

I am just back from the Shalem Institute's First Regional Gathering, Deepening the Spiritual Life of Spiritual Leaders, in Holyoke, MA, and will attempt to put into words what was in great part "too deep for words." It was a five-day conference-retreat, attended by sixty intrepid pilgrims from six states and as many denominations. It was a sparkling embodiment of what lives at the heart of Shalem-a gentle, prayerful commitment to what is, and what is coming into being. It was also an embodiment of that "fearful hope for society" about which William Stringfellow writes. Shalem brings its heart to these gatherings, and in so doing, helps "rebuild the world's heart with love" (a line from Nan Merrill's translation of one of the Psalms).

In the middle of our extended silence during the retreat, I found myself sitting on a bench near the seven-circuit labyrinth wondering, "How does Shalem do it?" How can over sixty spiritual leaders (men and women, old and young, urban and rural), live, eat and speak together for five days without, as far as I could see, a single polarizing theological dispute, diminishing word of intolerance, or ego-driven act of one-up-man-ship? As an inveterate student of new forms for the very old work of transforming the world with love, I realized that Shalem offers an unusual gift. A training that does not rely on personality or ego, that is applicable to every form of social, cultural, political, economic, spiritual, educational environment imaginable. It goes something like this:

Begin by sitting in a circle around a candle in silence.
Have shared leadership that models openness, receptivity, and trust in Spirit's ability to guide and inform human encounters.
Build silence and prayer into sharing times so the grip of reactivity is lessened and participants can learn to hear one another without falling headlong into sympathetic or antipathetic responses.
Blend plenary sessions (lecture, exercises, inspired conversation) with smaller group activities.
When small groups break off for more intimate discussion, have shared leadership and some basic guidelines for conversation, grounded in silent appreciation and listening.

Through using and trusting these simple and profound practices, I experienced a gradual slowing down or contracting of the collective experience of overwhelm, fear and doubt that shadows me in the world these days. In its place we began to embrace and trust the inspiring, guiding and expanding power of silence and prayer. We began to see, feel and know the possibility of another way of Being. For me, this was a reassuring experience of community: we can live together when we are tethered to the same radical root-prayer and self-overcoming.

Working with these guidelines, the all-conference conversations we had were simply inspiring. During one, we used Tilden Edwards' three qualities at the heart of spiritual leadership (being independently engaged, discerningly flexible and an innocent artist!) as a jumping off point for a group exploration. One by one, participants offered up increasingly deep and paradoxical images and experiences of spiritual leadership, until we sat in beatific silence as we all imagined what a new, hopeful and hope-filled church we could be! In these conversations we were able to hear (with an unusual degree of equanimity) quiet doubt and sorrow about the institutional church as well as deep, abiding commitment to be part of renewing and reforming that body. We heard important truths: from the danger of self-congratulatory leaders to the deadening effect of slow-burning despair. We explored the "always we begin again" nature of the spiritual life, and many of us experienced anew the power of honesty and vulnerability to bring new growth.

Shalem quietly asserts that there is a place (indeed a radical, fundamental place) in this world for prayerfully grounded, open-hearted, rigorous, open-minded, disciplined, wildly inclusive, and simply delight-filled Being(s) to take root. Shalem offers an alternative Way, a "spiritual artistry" (as one participant put it in the closing circle), to bring about the transforma-tion for which all creation is groaning. It was a privilege to be part of the seeding of their work into our own geographic area and to imagine and pray for what fruits will come.

Kathryn is a graduate of Shalem's Clergy Spiritual Life & Leadership Program, Class of 2003, and a UCC Pastor.

Grounding in Clouds

by Martha Campbell

"All is fleeting.
God alone is unchanging." -Teresa of Avila

Every day as I show up for prayer my desire is to be really present to God. This has been very challenging in that I've hardly been physically present in one place for very long. During these past four years, I have moved my home five times. And yet, in the midst of these repeatedly uprooting experiences, I have known God to be present and active. The words of Teresa of Avila have become my mantra attesting to my experience of change, "All is fleeting. All things are passing."

As I re-located this past summer, I realized that God was teaching me now through this most recent transition. I came to see that my natural response to so much change was resistance and in my persistent effort to resist, I became weak and vulnerable, vulnerable to God.

Weariness set in--physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally. I was drawn away from any effort in prayer because all effort was tiresome and fatiguing. Slowly, I found myself praying in a new way. I became more relaxed, open, simple in my attitude toward God. I "let go" and fell into a new place.

Each morning, in my weariness I opened in prayer to God's presence. Gazing out an east window, I observed the clouds, the fingers of sunlight crossing the sky, the change from darkness to light, dawn to day. I slowly awakened to the fleetingness of these formations. Just being there, just open, I was drawn to just be present to these shifting cloud formations. I was effortlessly present, open, willing and awake. I was not rejecting nor was I clinging to anything. I was just with and I was simply letting go into the present moment. This learning occurred in some deep experiential place, a place beyond words, a place where I was coming to know the passingness of all things and at the same time I was growing in an awareness of a certain constancy and the grounding of myself in that constancy, forever present.

I began to observe this sense of gentle resting in the present moment as it spilled over into my day. I was more attentive to a peaceful appreciation of people, events, nature, even frustrations. I was more accepting, less driven, less resistant, more peaceful.

Reflecting now on this experience, I recall the Buddhist teaching that attachment causes suffering and that "impermanence" as an accepted reality alleviates suffering. Embracing impermanence, rather than resisting it, is to find a way to peaceful acceptance, to mindfulness, to living in the present moment. Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist teacher, writes, "Impermanence teaches us to respect and value every moment and all the precious things around us and inside us. When we practice mindfulness of impermanence, we become fresher and more loving.

If we practice the art of mindful living, when things change, we don't have any regrets. We can "let go" because we have enjoyed every moment. We have to nourish our insight into impermanence every day. If we do, we will live more deeply, suffer less, enjoy life more. (The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching, pp. 132-33)

I am learning that embracing change becomes an opportunity to be more grounded. As I sit and ponder this experience of clouds, of life and the grounding in God that impermanence evokes, several insights have occurred to me:

This not-lasting nature of the present moment lasts forever.
The constancy of the fleetingness of all present moments becomes a reality.
I am woven into the fabric of this fleetingness.
I experience the manifestation of God and me-in-God in this fleetingness.
This realization is not a principle that I must adhere to. There is nothing to prove, nothing to defend.
This experience of constancy and fleetingness (impermanence) is beyond what my ego concerns itself with.
This experience is a visceral certainty, an inner-like clarity about what I know for myself to be true.
I have experienced this constancy and fleetingness again and again and I have come to realize God's presence in it.

Grounding in clouds, constancy in fleetingness, present in the Presence--I begin to know there is tranquility in the midst of change.

Martha is the Director of Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program.

The Quality of Not Knowing

by Carole Crumley

"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart...
try to love the questions themselves..." -Rainer Maria Rilke

The month of January begins the Epiphany season in the liturgical calendar of many churches and is a reminder to me that I was ordained to the priesthood twenty-eight years ago. This came after much anguished debate in the Episcopal Church over the ordination of women and several years of my own wrestling with/discernment about the rightness of an ordained vocation. During that time, much of my support came from my seminary mentor and first spiritual director, Emma Lou Benignus.

Later on Emma Lou would complete Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program, join our Board of Directors and then our Advisory Board. But at that time, she was part of INTER/MET Seminary here in Washington, a bold experiment in theological education that served Protestant, Jewish and Catholic students. At the age of 63, she had startled friends and colleagues by leaving a tenured position on the faculty of Episcopal Divinity School to cast her lot with this upstart, fledgling, untried organization. As Tilden Edwards said about that decision, "She just took off, risking everything, stepping out into the who-knows-what-ness of life."

Part of my struggle with ordination was around wanting to make the right decision, know answers, figure out what would happen, how it would be. After hours, weeks, months of listening and praying with me, Emma Lou finally said, "Oh Carole, you have prayed and prepared. Why don't you just go ahead and see what happens?" In other words, why not trust God's presence and action more than my own need to know.

This was the final nudge I needed. Her simple encouragement, permission really, to go ahead not having all the answers, not knowing how it would all work out, allowed me the freedom to proceed. Instead of holding back, I could step out into the who-knows-what-ness of ordination and trust God for the future. Instead of demanding answers first, I could simply stand in the Mystery and allow the next step to happen.

In Shalem's recent workshop, Richard Rohr suggested that there are different needs and kinds of support necessary for the two halves of life's spiritual journey. The wanting to know answers and direction characterizes the first half. He calls this a management and control spirituality believing that the more you know what you are doing, the better off you are. Perhaps, he suggests, we need to go through the first half. But as we become more open to recognizing intimacy with God, of God within us, then we become softer, more willing.

With the second half of the spiritual journey comes the realization that knowing more is not the answer and probably never was. If we think we know, then we are too likely to take off with this knowledge and leave God behind. So God takes away some of that intellectual grasping/comprehension way of knowing. As one longtime spiritual director described her spiritual journey, "In my beginning practice of contemplative prayer my goal was to have a quiet mind. Now it seems more true to have a 'don't know' mind and allow everything to belong."

Rohr suggested that our churches and religious institutions, really our whole American culture, are geared towards the work of the first half of the spiritual journey: certainty, security, giving answers, figuring things out, knowing about life with God. Little or no attention, however, is given by these same institutions or our culture to supporting seekers in the work of the second half of the spiritual journey, embracing the unknown-ness of life, radical trust in God, moving from intellectual knowledge about to a direct experience of God's loving presence.

Eighteenth century French Jesuit Jean-Pierre de Caussade in his Sacrament of the Present Moment tries to describe how people who are wholly given to God can never explain or justify their actions in normal ways. They are unable to say anything except "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Whether deciding what book to read or choosing one action rather than another, there is no advanced knowledge or planning. So much of our Western culture expects and sometimes demands that we know, have rational goals and logical reasons. Bowing to cultural demands, we have no way to justify this quality of not-knowing.

A college senior wrote recently that she was in turmoil because, she said, "I feel like I don't even know what I want in life. I don't know who I look up to or admire. I don't know what my goals are for the future... I know God is going to reveal to me, maybe, what His plan is for my future...'cause I kind of need to know what it is by May. I don't know...I'm just getting nervous."

Part of me wants to take this young woman by the hand and walk with her through all the uncertainties and questions. Help her find the answers. Certainly we want our young adults to take next steps, make a living, figure things out, have goals. Yet another part of me wants to say to her that not-knowing may not be an all bad thing. It may have its own special gifts. Instead of wrestling with the not-knowing, perhaps she could make it her friend.

Portions of this article are from my tribute to Emma Lou Benignus who died of injuries sustained in a car accident December 2004.

A New Language of Prayer

by Ann Kline

We are going to have to create a new language of prayer. And this new language of prayer has to come out of something which transcends all our traditions, and comes out of the immediacy of love. -Thomas Merton

I love the word "radical." It speaks to me of a kind of dramatic force that overcomes resistance with its sheer audacity and undeniable truth. Not surprisingly, I am attracted to the idea of radical prayer, prayer so powerful that I am fundamentally changed by it. Heaven knows that kind of radical grace is the only way real change in me is going to happen. Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote that true prayer is subversive, overturning our limited sense of ourselves and transforming us into partners with God's vision for the world. That kind of prayer speaks deeply to me.

What is the language of radical prayer? When Thomas Merton wrote about a new language of prayer, I do not think he meant something the world had never heard before. In fact, I think the language of prayer he points to is quite old. A clue to what Merton may have meant can be found in the words he wrote in a letter to Heschel, where he spoke about his "latent ambition to be a true Jew underneath his Catholic skin." The kind of conversion that Merton suggests was not one of religion; Merton's Catholicism was not in jeopardy. What I hear in those words is a desire for a conversion of heart such that each tradition could hear the deeper language of prayer they already share.

Our shared prayer language is the language of compassion. It is, to me, the true language of God. As Heschel wrote: "Who is God to you? There is only one answer that survives all the theories which we carry to the grave. He is full of compassion." Compassion is a dialogue of trust in our shared humanity, and in God's unifying presence.

The language of compassion is quite radical. It asks nothing less of us than a total conversion to God, to a unified vision of life. This is what I hear in Merton's words: "Love is my true identify, Selflessness is my true self. Love is my true character. Love is my true name." It is echoed in the words of Heschel, who called prayer "an invitation to God to intervene in our lives, to let His will prevail in our affairs; it is the opening of a window to Him in our will, an effort to make him the Lord of our soul."

We can see in the lives of Heschel and Merton how radical prayer was for them. It made them, as scholar Shaul Maggid put it, "heretics of modernity." Deeply committed to their religions, they challenged those traditions to address where adherence to tradition without heart had led to callousness, shallowness or hypocrisy. Critical of modern life and its temptations, they were also appreciative of all its potential.

The language of radical prayer moved Heschel out of his study and into the march for civil rights with Martin Luther King, Jr. It moved Merton to speak out against war and intolerance and, as a consequence, experience the censorship of his community. Radical prayer puts us at odds with whatever is complacent in us or society. Radical prayer is radical trust in a vision of a world overturned by reverence.

Heschel and Merton taught that there is only one way to develop this radical language of prayer: in silence. As Heschel wrote: "Our awareness of God is a syntax of silence, in which our souls mingle with the divine, in which the ineffable in us communes with the ineffable beyond us." In silence we find a way to touch the wellspring of compassion, the words that God speaks in us. In silence, we find the courage to speak these words in the ways we act in the world. Silence teaches us how to speak (H Nouwen).

Today we are struggling with the challenges of pluralism. We do not all believe the same way, look the same way, live the same way. As I watch and listen to events that increasingly polarize and divide us, I hear echoes of the past. As a Jew I am well aware of the ways fear can turn the heart of a whole nation to stone so that it can no longer feel a shared humanity. More and more I am convinced that the only thing that speaks to these times is radical prayer, radical compassion.

Radical prayer, as Merton tells us, "requires not talent, not mere insight, but sorrow pouring itself out in love and trust." The challenge and possibilities of this prayer fills me with "the fear of God." It is at once too big for me to imagine and something I can not turn away from. But slowly, breath by breath in the silence, I can feel my heart softening, strengthening, learning this new language of prayer. May we all take a deep breath, quiet our fears and begin to teach our hearts to speak.

Prayerfulness at Work

by Gerald May

And let the delight of the Lord our God be upon us; and establish the works of our hands upon us, yea, the work of our hands, establish it! -Psalm 90:17

Recently several people have asked me for suggestions about cultivating prayerfulness in the workplace. Here is a collection of suggestions from my previous writings and current inspirations:

I think people have two main reasons for wanting to enhance their prayer in the workplace. First, they desire their work, and everything else in life, to be inspired and guided by God. They do not want to take things into their own hands and forget the Living Presence of the Holy. Trusting that there is no place from which God is absent, they long to join God's dance in the workplace as well as in all the other places of their lives.

Second, sooner or later, people often become aware of a desire to nurture a contemplative attitude in work and in life. True contemplative presence always comes as a gift; there are no techniques or methods we can use to make it happen. But cultivating a contemplative attitude can enhance our appreciation of the gift-and perhaps even our receptivity for it. A contemplative attitude is an open, receptive kind of prayerfulness that is willing to be present and responsive to things just as they are in the immediate moment-seeing and accepting the situation fully without blinders or prejudice. It includes a willingness-even a longing-to be in mystery, trusting and praying for God to guide one's action even if there is no understanding or sense of direction. And it involves a deep radical trust that allows people to refrain from acting on their own initiative. It is like joining God's dance without having to know what the next step is.

Your desire may be something like what I have described, or you may experience it quite differently. Regardless, I think the most important thing you can do is to identify your desire, claim it, and make it your prayer. In other words, if you want to be more prayerful in your work, pray for it.

There is a rhythm to every workweek, regardless of what the jobs may be and where the workplace is: home, office, farm, construction site, on the road. In all places there are times of activity and times of repose, pressured moments and spacious moments. One of the major risks we human beings encounter is to miss the times of spaciousness and rest. We are likely to see them as useless, and to fill them up with other activities. Here the ancient rhythm of Sabbath can help release us from such compulsions. Find your Sabbaths and claim them. Sabbath is normally seen as a day of rest, recapitulating the creation story in which God rested on the seventh day. Practice that Sabbath day as much as you can. Sabbath, however, can be found not only in days, but also in certain hours of a day, and in certain precious minutes within the hours. Pray to be aware of such moments and times when they are given, and savor them.

During your personal prayer/meditation times at home, or at other prayer times during the day, try experimenting with letting your eyes be open. If you're used to closing your eyes for prayer and meditation, go gently. At first, just let your eyes be partially open, not focused on anything. See if this seems to interfere with your inner sense of presence and openness. If it does, keep gently experimenting with eyes closed, eyes open. See if you can recover your prayerfulness with your eyes open. Remember times in the past when you've felt very prayerful with eyes open: in nature perhaps, or in worship, looking at a loved one, gazing at the sky, etc.

Keep experimenting with this until it becomes more comfortable. Then let your eyes come naturally open, looking around and at different things in your environ-ment. If you lose your sense of presence, close your eyes again and Keep experimenting with the transition until it feels more natural to have your eyes open. The idea is to let yourself be free to be prayerful regardless of whether your eyes are closed or open. Prayerfulness with eyes open becomes important, of course, if you want to be prayerful as you're working on different tasks. And if this is indeed what you want, don't forget to pray for it!

At the end of your more formal times of prayer and meditation, be very careful to make gentle, soft transitions into the next activities: no abrupt changes, no jerking yourself around. Instead, think of how painters "feather out" their brush strokes so they blend with one another. You can feather out your prayerful awareness in the same way. Let it flow into the next moment, and the next. Give this the time it needs. Move slowly. Stretch. Breathe. Begin the next thing slowly.

At the places where you do your work-e.g. desk, counter, meeting room, factory station, laundry, kitchen, garden-set some kind of reminder to help you recall your desire. This might be a candle, incense, a fountain, music, an icon or other holy image, a post-it note with a favorite quote or word, or any of a host of other possibilities. You might even consider making a tiny temporary tattoo with a pen on the back of your hand so you see it as you work with your hands. But keep it simple. One or two such reminders are usually sufficient at any given time; too many and they will lose their significance. Change your reminders as soon as you become accustomed to them or whenever they lose their freshness. You can also consider setting a watch or clock to periodically signal you to pause and breathe and touch back into your prayerfulness.

As you begin the work, or a new task, you can take another breath, say a little prayer, look around and open up to your immediate surroundings: sights, sounds, temperature, light, color, everything. In some settings it might seem right to sing a little chant or otherwise bless the area you'll be working in, with a brief prayer for yourself, your co-workers, the work and the workplace as a whole.

While you're working, try to remember to ease transitions from one task to another. Think "flow," and "smooth," and "gentle." If you notice that you're jerking yourself from one thing to another, it's time to pause and breathe and maybe pray for mercy. Let any change in the routine become another reminder; take a breath when someone comes in, when the phone or doorbell rings, when you hear someone talking or laughing, and when any sound, like traffic or air conditioning, starts or stops.

If you get a few minutes free, don't just rush into the next thing. Instead, take a little walk, say a little prayer, stretch your body, breathe deeply, then go back and gradually ease yourself into the next task.

Consider the possibilities of prayerful partnership. If there are one or more people around who share your desire, team up with them. You could consider meeting briefly at the beginning and the end of the day to touch in together and share your desires and reflections. Pray for each other. When you see each other during the day, ask how it's going.

Alone or with your partner(s), take a few minutes at the end of the day to reflect on how the day went: times when prayerfulness seemed especially graced, deep, or easy, and times when you felt you got kidnapped by something. A prayer will emerge quite naturally from this reflection.

And remember that we all have our thresholds. There are kinds and amounts of work, degrees of stress and conflict beyond which we simply cannot remain centered and open-at least not on our own. Because of this, we need to be especially gentle and compassionate with ourselves. Do not consider prayerfulness as something you succeed or fail at achieving. It is a gift, and all we can really do is claim our desire for it, pray for it, and seek to be as open as we can to the gift as it may be given. And when we do get caught up, realizing how far away we are from the way we desire to be, it's time for a prayer like Thomas Kelly's: "God, see, this is just how I am except it be for your grace."

What is Spiritual Direction?

by Ann Kline & Shalem Senior Staff

What do we mean by "spiritual direction?" What is the dynamic of a relationship where people expose to one another their intimate spiritual life? What is the "point?"

At the heart of all spiritual direction, by whatever name, is an individual's desire for God, or the Holy, or the Real. Each person is a "word of God" (Meister Eckhart), spoken with a depth of meaning that is unique to that individual and which finds its expression in the particulars of that person's life. This meaning goes through and beyond the more surface layers of need that we experience-physical needs for survival and well-being, psychological needs for functional engagement with others, emotional needs for love, appreciation and a sense of belonging. Underneath and entwined with these needs, which capture a significant amount of our attention, is another sense of ourselves. This sense of our being is not dependent upon the satisfaction of our needs and it transcends their fulfillment. It goes beyond the functional, to the essence of who and what we are and what we are called to become. It calls us to a larger sense of ourselves than what we need and what we do to fulfill those needs. As Abraham Joshua Heschel explained it, we go from God being a need of ours (to give us what we want, etc.) to us being a need of God's (to fulfill the promise of creation).

Spiritual direction is a place where we can "redirect" the focus of our attention from the more functional to the more-felt-than-known sense of a larger context for our lives. In this larger sense of relatedness to life there are no "problems to solve" or "decisions to make" although the content of our sharing may be about the difficulties, uncertainties and challenges we face. These problems, questions, or challenges become a part of this larger context of Being in which things are just what they are and so become a place of encounter with the holy. With our directors we take off our shoes and feel the ground of our life and longing. What we look for in spiritual direction are not answers or strategies-a little instruction book on how to live or pray-but a place to deepen our felt sense of that larger context where there are no answers or purposes, just life as it is. God as God is.

Spiritual direction is not about knowing ourselves better, living our lives more creatively, or engaging in life more fully, although all of these may be the fruits of the relationship. Ultimately, spiritual direction is not about us at all. It is about God. It is about turning to God and claiming our relatedness. It is about orienting ourselves to a desire in us beyond needs-to live the whole of our lives as a radically-involved dialog with the Holy.

This may not sound like much. It is, in fact, very simple. Its value cannot be quantified (although we may offer something to our spiritual directors for the gift of their time), its success cannot be measured (although we may undertake periodic discernment of the continued rightness of the relationship). Every breakthrough of understanding, awareness or openness can be accompanied by another experience of confusion, obscurity, and darkness. We never seem to "get" anywhere. That is because in spiritual direction there is, ultimately, nowhere to go. Rather, like the lines in a T.S. Eliot poem, we seek to come back (again and again) to where we are and know it again for the first time. Spiritual direction is a process of discovery and rediscovery of the basic mystery of our being: the wonder, the promise, the limitations and the losses and the miracle that is life itself. God as God would live in us. Love as Love would love through us. Letting go time and again of the old agendas that no longer give us a satisfying structure, the old stories that would trap us in who we were and blind us to who we are becoming. Spiritual direction helps loosen our grip on the side of the pool where we cling to avoid the deeper water of what our life is truly about.

The focus of the spiritual direction relationship is not what the director says. It is not even so much what the directee says, although hearing our words out loud can have its own power of prayer and provide some helpful clarity. It is what each hears God saying in the spaces between the words, in the quiet attentiveness to what lies beneath the words: a deep desire to sense God's presence, here and now, and find that to be a steadfast and trustworthy reality.

This article is taken from a longer Shalem monograph on spiritual direction.

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