Volume 23, No. 1-Winter, 1999
Table of Contents
Finding Spiritual Freedom
by Susan Gaumer
Spiritual Community as Intercessory Prayer
by Rose Mary Dougherty
The Joy of Giving
by Carolyn Stevens
The Mystery of Shared Intent
by Gerald May
On Pilgrimage
by Doris Froelich
Reflections on The Anti-Gospel of Our Time
by Shalem's 25th Anniversary Event with Richard Rohr
The Ceremonial Mirror
by Tilden Edwards
Finding Spiritual Freedom
by Susan Gaumer
It had been a "long damned run," but something siginificant had changed, a polar shift, so that it all felt different now and tears of relief and gratitude filled her eyes. It had begun for her in childhood, an idyllic upbringing until a move to a more isolated location indicated there were harder parts of life to accomodate; she was more on her own.
At age 13, Jane (a pseudonym) met Jesus for the first time and fell deeply in love. But emotion and personal disclosure about religion were frowned upon in her family. Not knowing what to do with the experience, she buried it deep within herself, internalized it to the point its power became manageable outwardly, while inside she ran farther and farther away from those she knew wouldn't understand. She became quieter, obsessively withdrawn, intellectual, different. In her later teens, a friendship developed with the new Episcopal rector, but trying to enter a religious conversation with him, she was humiliated by her father, upon whose ecclesiastical turf she had trod. She learned then that it was inappropriate for women to speak of such things. Her reserve deepened and held fast through college, a year of seminary, marriage, raising children, and years of teaching.
But Jane's love of Christ never waned, though she could barely speak of it and could not express feelings easily with anyone. With passion locked in for so long, she had become lonely to the point of desperation. Questions began to surface, a dream unfulfilled cried out for attention. She sought direction despite fearing pressure to speak of those things she could not speak about. Attatchment to the fear which manifested in her silence had become so central to her that it was terrifying to consider letting it go. And yet it wasn't who she really was, because she wasn't free and she knew it.
In two years of direction with sacramental confession and regular contemplative prayer, burying that self who had fallen in love with Jesus became a less viable option, and one day she saw an important truth about herself: She did not shut out people because she was incapable of loving them but because she loved them so much. There simply wasn't enough of her to reach out to all of them in all their wounded-ness, which so reminded her of her own pain. For Jane, the "long damned run" of isolation was ending, and as her spiritual guide, I was overcome with awe at the enormity of what God was bringing about in her.
I'm still shaken-not only with the transformation in Jane, but with the fact that God has used something in me to help bring this about. I discovered that I just "knew" some things about Jane before she did. The first was that she has long carried a buried vocation to the religious life. The second was the realization that Jane seems to be a "natural" contemplative. As she began to talk more deeply of her prayer life, a pervasive sense of her awareness and apparent ease of yielding in the presence of Christ emerged. Since contemplative prayer does not come easily for me, I felt a little like a good music teacher must feel in the presence of a prodigy. I also became aware that her words, "long damned run," resonated so deeply that I knew they spoke a truth about myself.
What begins as a natural defense can, in time, turn into an encrusted defensive habit, intended for survival but, in fact, inhibiting growth. Silence is often the survival method of choice for people in long-term abusive situations, particularly women, and it dawned on me one day that my own silence was not the valuable strategic posture I had construed it to be; rather it was an attempt to cultivate a sheltered self that was too strong to be vulnerable and too good to need God very much. Silence can be an ego-driven run with the ball of one's own desire, an attachment, and it can lead away from growth of the true self and intimate engagement with other people. Ultimately, such reticence can also cause real difficulty relating to God. In Jane's case, letting go of her attachment to fear seems to have freed her for deeper encounter with God in prayer.
Although I share with her a background of deeply felt vocation and sustaining relationship with Christ maintained through years of silence, I have had much more difficulty with surrender, with letting go of my own ego-driven "stuff." I struggle with this, in some ways, more now than before I was ordained. It has taken me so long to realize that the real question is about who I am in God, and that has far less to do with the influence of my surroundings than I once thought.
Trying so hard for so long, the "long damned run" reinforces the ramparts of maintaining self-image and willful personal achievement. The ever-present content of my struggle with the Church presents a challenge to a strong ego like mine to get in touch with my own brokenness and to admit the defeat of all my pretensions before God. It is during such times that quiet awareness emerges, not the defensive silence, and I can come to be at one with the One who loves me unconditionally.
Recently I awoke early in the night to a cacophonous peal of bells-three octaves at least-filling me with riotous sound. I could not open my eyes, and the darkness was frightening and impenetrable. Yet the sound had a light to it, and I began to "see" the sound of the bells and to know that it held for me a beauty, even in its apparent disorder and lack of pattern. I knew it was a gift from God, and I've found comfort in recalling the experience. I have since imputed an "All will be well; all manner of thing will be well" message to the midnight vision, and though I don't pretend to understand it, I have found myself more relaxed in recent days, better able to maintain some detachment from both the negative encroachments of my environment and my own defensive tendencies; more open to the moments of grace each day.
Susan is a graduate of Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program, Class of Winter 1998. This article is taken from one of her program papers.
Spiritual Community as Intercessory Prayer
by Rose Mary Dougherty
The topic of spiritual community has been an interest of mine for many years. I remember writing about it in the newsletter when I first came full time to Shalem. I think I was trying to articulate something of what I was learning from Shalem's regular program participants about the value of a spiritual community as support for one's "hanging in there" with practice and prayer.
About six years after that, in attempting to bring together my learning and convictions about group spiritual direction in written form, I found that the very first topic I wanted to address was that of spiritual community, because it was pivotal to my understanding of spiritual direction and thus group spiritual direction. I wrote about what I learned from those in group spiritual direction of the value of spiritual community. I described spiritual community as the person or group of people with whom my desire for God comes alive and through whom I am supported in honoring that desire. I talked about the differences between spiritual community and others kinds of community where like-minded personalities, a common mission/task or support for the successful managing of life are often the norms. I suggested that it was possible to be in spiritual community with people I didn't particularly like or didn't even know much about in terms of the human specifics of their lives; I also suggested that the very structures which ensure the success of other kinds of communities could militate against spiritual community. They could divert attention from a group's reason for being together. I suggested that potential spiritual communities look together for the structures which would honor and reflect their reason for being together.
At the end of my book, Group Spiritual Direction, I wrote about what I sensed was the value of spiritual community beyond itself. I spoke about how our presence together with God for one another could effect change, not only for ourselves but for our world. I truly believed that when I wrote it, but I hadn't really appreciated it until I came to participate in group spiritual direction myself.
After completing my book, I was so inspired by what I wrote about the value of group spiritual direction that I decided it was time for me to be in a group. I prayed about the possible members for such a group and kept coming up with three other people, two of whom I knew only minimally from a gathering we had been in together. I was sure I was "tuned into the wrong station" when I got these names. From what I knew of us, we couldn't have been more different, not only in denominations but also in personalities, interests, and work. As I thought about the likelihood of our "succeeding" as a group for spiritual direction, I questioned my good sense in even attempting it. But it really seemed right to try. So I called these people. All three said in different ways that they had been feeling the need for something like this for themselves. All felt the need for some support for living our groundedness in God. This is what we shared in common. Our diversity, though in the beginning a challenge as we struggled to hear one another in the varied expressions of our life with God, became the lens through which we would appreciate the uniqueness of God's dealings with each of us. Sometimes I couldn't really understand what someone was saying about his or her particular life circumstances or work, and I suspect that was true for others, but that didn't seem to matter. I felt a deep affinity in prayer. I sensed that in some way I was joining God's caring love being manifest by the others in the group as I prayed for their mission in that love. They brought me in touch with situations and people I might never have prayed for on my own.
We stayed together for three years. When two people left the group, two others joined. Though it took us a little time to share at a deep level, we settled into prayer together easily. We used the format of group spiritual direction to guide us through our sharing, allowing time for attention to each person in the group. Then at our December meeting, after eighteen months of being together, we found ourselves being drawn into a new way of being together. We set aside, at least for that meeting, our usual format.
It was the week after the Clinton impeachment hearings had ended. After a time of silence, one person began to share something of the pain of her own heart in the awareness of her self-righteousness and anger. She spoke of her need for forgiveness. What followed was not so much a dialogue but a ritual of confession. Each named for all of us our part in the divisiveness of our country as we experienced the divisiveness of our own hearts; each spoke of both personal need for reconciliation and the sense of invitation to be part of the healing of our nation. None of us knew what that would look like for us individually; we named a sense of helplessness in figuring that out. One person said that the people he needed most to be reconciled with he never had contact with. We prayed for mercy and guidance. We prayed the question, "Where is God in this, for ourselves, for our nation?"
As we reflected on our time together, each of us voiced that the conversation we had had could not have happened anywhere else. We said that, in other settings where we had talked about the impeachment proceedings, we and others had been too filled with our private agendas to even listen. We recognized that something very profound had happened among us, had been given to us. We sensed that our commitment to meeting month after month, our prayer together over the months, had prepared us to receive the gift that had been given. It had deepened our trust, not in one another, but in God's presence among us. It was this trust that freed us to receive and to participate in the gift of healing. We began to sense that this healing was not just for ourselves, but in fact, it was God's way of drawing us into the healing of our nation.
The Quaker, Marious Grout, once wrote, "If contemplation, which introduces us to the very heart of creation, does not inflame us with such love that it gives us, together with deep joy, the understanding of the infinite misery of the world, it is a vain kind of contemplation; it is the contemplation of a false god. The sign of true contemplation is charity. By your capacity for forgiveness shall I recognize your God and also your opening to all creation."
His words apply aptly to spiritual community. If such a community, which is meant to introduce us to the very heart of our oneness with God, does not inflame us with such love that it gives us, together with deep joy, the understanding of the infinite misery of the world, it is not a spiritual community; it is a narcissistic gathering. True spiritual community is an expression of a contemplative heart. It expands beyond itself to embrace all humanity. The essence and the fruit of true spiritual community is an intercessory stance for our world.
The Joy of Giving
by Carolyn Stevens
The marvelous dynamic of joyful giving permeates my life. In my career, I work with not-for-profit institutions to help them strengthen their fundraising, communications, and leadership, so that they can bring their missions to life. As a Shalem volunteer, I work with a talented, devoted staff and team of volunteers along the same lines.
It is our joyful duty to tell the story of Shalem to those who may thirst for its myriad programs and services and to invite all of Shalem's thousands of friends to give to advance this institution's precious mission and vision.
In my professional and private life, therefore, I am blessed to live in a gentle, flowing abundance. I get to watch the process of grace-filled giving and receiving unfold from every angle.
As a partner in communications with other volunteers, I hear the group's urgent desire that those who are ready and looking for contemplative prayer find us before them, standing out like a bright penny in a gray gravel path, the moment the seeker realizes the desire for another way to God. So we put ourselves before the world in many ways- this newsletter, program guides and brochures, invitations to events and open houses, advertisements and announcements, and, perhaps most effectively, by word of mouth.
Thanks to Jerry May's leadership, Shalem has a Website (www.shalem.org). I love to turn over in my mind the wonder-ful juxtaposition of the ancient, intimate practice of contemplative prayer with the instantaneous, vast community of the Internet. Now hundreds of millions of people can find a source for the single most important relationship of their lives and souls. Log onto God. It's a hoot! And it is a gift.
As a partner in fundraising with other volunteers, I share the fear and wonder of the annual campaign. We come together in the fall for the first meeting of the new campaign. We celebrate the achievement of the year before, praying our thanks-giving for the thousands of individual acts of love and generosity that once again brought Shalem the resources it needs to thrive and be a living guide to God. And then we take up the new year's goal. We begin again at zero-a silent, spacious number if there ever was one-and scale the chart of needed gifts.
It must be how the first west-bound settlers felt when crossing the Rockies: up one mountain, only to find the next, looming even larger. We climb as a team, giving thanks with each step for each person who responds, offering our prayer that their gifts bring them joy. We come back after Shalem's fall board meeting and find a great leap forward toward the goal. Then the responses to the letters Tilden sends to every friend of Shalem begin to cascade in, and we rise, and rise. Throughout the fall and winter, dozens of people close to Shalem are in touch with one another again. Calling, writing, reconnecting, all around prayerful consideration of making a financial gift to reflect the love they feel emanating from Shalem in so many ways.
As a donor, I am reminded of all the times I have urged the board members of my client organizations to honor the importance of their board service in their giving, to make their largest personal gifts to the organizations where they serve as leaders. Considering the scope and power of Shalem's gifts to me, I am-as always- awestruck. It was on the path Shalem opened for me that I first believed God loves and accepts me fully, just as I am. It was here that I began to find the stillness within where God's love and will live and speak. It was through Shalem that I first touched that rare, ineffable sense of endless peace, through Shalem that I learned how to find a place where joy and peace cascade from within like a tropical waterfall unbound from gravity. Here I have found the most beautiful people- generous, loving, gentle, joyful, brilliant, humble, grateful, grace-filled.
I contemplate the magnificent scope of Shalem's gifts to me, and I am both humbled and filled with joy. I say thank you with the best and biggest gift I have ever made in my life and feel completely light and free, laughing out loud.
Hundreds of Shalem's friends have joined me in this joyful act of giving already in this program year. More will do so in the winter and spring. By the end of June we'll find the summit of our goal once again in reach.
Next fall, we'll begin again, our slow walk up the mountain of blessings Shalem's friends bestow. I like to think that for every giver, the gift is, like mine, just a tiny reflection of what we have received and a source of joy.
Carolyn is a Shalem Board member and current chair of the Development & Communications Committee. She is also a professional fundraising consultant.
The Mystery of Shared Intent
by Gerald May
In keeping with our 25th Anniversary theme of "Listening to the Spirit," we have been reflecting on what seems to have characterized Shalem over the years. One of the most enduring qualities for me has been the profoundly mysterious experience of what often happens in Shalem groups when we simply sit in silence around a candle. People have tried to describe it in many ways. We may say that meditation or contemplative prayer with such a group is "more powerful," or "more full of energy" than being on one's own and that sometimes there seem to be "waves of Presence" welling up within the group. In more recent years, we've compared this experience to what Quakers have called "gathered" and "covered" meetings. Fundamentally, though, the experience remains indescribable.
Years ago, Tilden applied the term "shared intent" to this experience. The phenomenon clearly has something to do with people coming together with a common longing, gathering around a Single Holy Center. But it has been very difficult to describe the object of the shared intent. Intent can be defined as the conscious claiming or owning of a particular desire. In other words, intention occurs when the will identifies a particular desire and chooses to seek or be open to its gratification. Intent, then, is not the same thing as desire; desire comes first, and intent is an act of will based on that desire.
In Shalem's early days, few of us were clear about exactly what we desired, and therefore our intent tended to be very vague. People said they were looking for "something more," something that seemed lacking or incomplete in their religious lives. They sensed the "something" was "spiritual," but could say little more about it. It was difficult enough to articulate for ourselves, and often seemed impossible to explain to others. This lent an almost inevitable sense of loneliness to the quest. Then, as now, there was very little support from the culture around us for such a vague mystical endeavor. Family members, friends, colleagues and religious associates would ask, "What do you really do at Shalem? What do you get out of it?" And we could not satisfactorily explain.
Initially, then, I think one source of the felt power of Shalem groups was the profound support experienced in being with others who shared the same inarticulate desire for "something." The simple experience of being together in silence was deeply affirming and was enhanced by working together at various practices, sharing our experiences, and uncritically listening to one another. Here was a rare situation in which we were all sharing a powerful desire about which we felt mutually ignorant and inarticulate. It was for many people a priceless experience to feel affirmed in this vagueness-to simply sit together with others who were similarly unclear about their intentions.
The power of this shared experience was, I believe, of massive psychological support and spiritual encouragement to many early "Shalemites." We also found support in the more apophatic spiritualities, which emphasize the mystery of the divine-those traditions of unknowing going back through Meister Eckhart and The Cloud of Unknowing to the Pseudodionysius.
Some of us also became enamored of the saints Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. In his Spiritual Canticle, John wrote the following:
Tell me a thousand graceful things of You;
All wound me more / And leave me dying
Of, ah, I-don't-know-what behind their stammering.
John and Teresa expressed a theology of desire, which held that one's deepest desires are beyond comprehension because they are, at their core, God's desires.
Looking back, it seems to me that what we felt was more shared desire than shared intent. For the most part, our desires were too ineffable, too "ah, I-don't-know-what," to be identified as goals or objectives for the will. What we could lay claim to, though, was the power of shared silence and the practice of particular disciplines. We could do such things as count our breaths, recite mantras, do bodywork, chant the Jesus Prayer-each of which provided a particular focus for our intention. And we could do these practices together.
From this perspective, it makes sense to me that there was, in the early days, a reluctance to over-specify any particular theological stance or faith tradition. In both Eastern and Western contemplative spiritual traditions we found affirmation that perhaps our inability to articulate our hearts' desires was a gift, an expression of mystical truth rather than a symptom of intellectual incompetence. So we were hesitant to try to put too much into words or to form overly specific intentions.
As time went on, however, and as spirituality became more popular in the general culture, we became more sophisticated in our knowledge of these mystical traditions. Along with this knowledge has come a renewed attempt to clarify our desires and to form more definable intentions. Mostly this has taken the form of Christian mystical terminology. We speak now of the power of "the Spirit" felt in gatherings, of "practicing the Presence," and of "being present to God." We refer more to "prayer" than to "meditation" and have defined more clearly what we mean by contemplation. We have written and taught about Christian contemplative spirituality, Christian discernment, and Christian spiritual direction.
I think most of us would be able to claim our intent fairly clearly now, but there has been a price to pay. As we have given more cognitive objectivity to our originally nameless unknowing desires, differences between us have surfaced and we've had to sacrifice something of the shared nature of our being together. One day we sat in a room, not knowing, groping for words, and were struck by the sheer power of being together. Now that we "know" more and have better words, the being-together is a little more fragmented.
But still, sooner or later in nearly every gathering, the mysterious power is palpable. Now, perhaps, it is not so much based on shared intent as on a mutually received gift. And that, I am quite sure, will forever be Mystery.
On Pilgrimage
by Doris Froelich
How does pilgrimage differ from sightseeing? My husband and I have close friends who traveled to Ireland and Spain the same summers that we were on pilgrimage in these places. They asked us how our pilgrimage differed from their trips. It was hard for us to put into words. We saw many of the same things, did many of the same things, but came away with quite different remembrances of our visits. Douglas Vest, in his book On Pilgrimage, expresses it well: "Pilgrimage has an avowed spiritual dimension. It is more than a physical movement away from home to new surroundings, for it is an inward journey as well as an outward journey, into the self as well as to new places. The path of pilgrimage offers new settings that can stimulate us, make us more alert and open to wonder, fascination, and awe."
The first time I left home to "go on pilgrimage" was in 1989. Shalem sponsored its first pilgrimage that year, with Tilden Edwards and Carole Crumley taking a group to Assisi, Italy, to walk "in the footsteps of Francis and Clare." After settling into our lodging in Assisi, we pilgrims gathered to introduce ourselves to each other and to answer the question: "Why are you here; what brought you to join this pilgrimage to Assisi?"
While I knew very little about either Saint Francis or Saint Clare prior to applying, the fact that my future husband and I had been introduced at a dinner party celebrating Francis' feastday created a desire in both of us to come and learn about this extraordinary man. We were not disappointed. The rhythm of the days, time together and time alone, the holy places we visited, and leaders' presentations and invitations to travel inward were richer than ever I could have asked for or imagined. They truly stimulated us, made us more alert and open to wonder, and helped us accept as gift the surprises each day might bring. The other pilgrims, too, were gifts; traveling prayerfully with people who are actively striving for a closer relationship with God added the dimension of comfort and "family."
I found, somewhat to my surprise, that I drew on my Assisi experiences when we were in the Holy Land and the Sinai Desert. Again, in Ireland and later in Spain, learnings from the previous pilgrimages were more fully appreciated and re-experienced in the new setting.
This learning from Assisi I will never forget: Tilden talked about St. Francis seeing a leper coming toward him and, after first turning away, Francis got down from his horse and embraced the leper. Tilden then asked us, "Is there something in your life today which is a leper for you? Can you embrace it?" For me, yes, there was something in Assisi which I needed to face and try to embrace. When I finally did, it was transformed into something very good and beautiful and made a wonderful difference throughout the rest of the pilgrimage. I have remembered this lesson and put it to work for me many times, both at home and on pilgrimage.
Vest also advocates advance planning, imagining the journey ahead of time and learning as much as possible about where you are going. In preparation for our next pilgrimage-back to Spain this July-we are in training to do something we have been yearning to do since the pilgrimage of 1996. We plan to depart for Spain two weeks before Shalem's pilgrimage begins so that we can walk a portion of the ancient Pilgrim Path to Santiago de Compostela which has been trod by millions since the Middle Ages. We are gathering information and communicating with people who have walked the Path in recent years, and our excitement is mounting. We go to the gym four mornings each week for weight training to strengthen all our muscles, and we take walks to increase our endurance. In the spring, we will add backpacks and increase our walks to ten miles a day on hilly terrain.
In addition to the physical journey, there is always the spiritual journey- the spiritual deepening that happens through visiting various holy sites, the sharing and praying with fellow pilgrims, and the being open to the gifts and surprises God brings. And we try to prepare for this, too-by praying, reading about Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, and readying our hearts for the journey.
In many ways, we feel we have already begun this next pilgrimage and look forward to seeing and touching the places we are reading and dreaming about, to the deepening love of God that always occurs. On July 22, we hope to join the rest of the pilgrims to praise God in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela and to continue our inward and outward sacred journey in Santiago, Segovia and Avila.
Doris is a Shalem Board member and Shalem's volunteer librarian.
Reflections on The Anti-Gospel of Our Time
Shalem's 25th Anniversary Event with Richard Rohr
On October 29th and 30th, Richard Rohr visited Shalem for an evening lecture and an all-day workshop, speaking on the topic, "The Anti-Gospel of Our Time: The Need to Play the Victim and the Need to Create Victims." Rohr, a Franciscan priest, founded the Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque and is known for his work with contemplation and actions themes, men's spirituality and the enneagram. Following his visit, we asked several participants to reflect very briefly on what they heard.
In his recent visit, Richard Rohr seemed to be suggesting that by opening our-selves more fully to the contemplative mind within us, the mind rooted and grounded in God that most deeply reflects our authentic selves, we can bring more fully into the world the path of peace and love modeled by the crucified and risen Christ. He explained, with his words and outstretched arms, the power of this Christ to contain, rather than increase, the tensions, anxieties and hatred in this life, and he suggested that we can create a paradigm shift in our world by honoring more fully in ourselves and our culture the richness of the unitive contemplative mind. How promising it is to remember again that the mystery of Christ is deeply embedded within our thought processes and being, and that in this time that includes scapegoating, enduring hatred, oppression and persecution, there is also this constant opportunity for each of us to grow into greater consciousness of a more loving path of abundance and new life. -Liz Ward
Ideas touched down into the reality of our lives as Richard spoke. My memory holds up several as I bring back the experience of his visit. These include: the tendency to project our negative feelings about ourselves onto others and the possibility of allowing our contemplative minds to hold the paradoxes of life long enough for us to open ourselves to wisdom, doubt and love. One concrete example after another (like the belief that Jesus didn't seek revenge) built a solid bridge from my mind to my heart. Beyond and around the words, the energy he exuded carried his message into a room filled with people who were energetically listening, which sparked an enlivening interaction among us. This awakening energy created a lasting memory of the visit, an appreciation for what we had received, and a curiosity to delve deeper into the teachings of Richard Rohr. -Nancy St. Germain
Images from Richard: exposing as with a surgeon's blade the truth of our humanity, our inherent drive to deny responsibility, to accuse, to self-pity, to ego-self-preservation through blame of the other; evoking the cross; embodying Christ dangling between opposites before us, reconciling, offering to un-solder our hard-wired defense mechanisms; the challenge to embrace the gift and burden of contemplative living; feeling visceral resonance with every word and insight, reflexively uttering a silent Aha! and Yes! and You're so right! in response as he gave form to what is heart-felt but free-floating within. Are only a few ever meant to grasp the elemental Truth? Will humanity ever cut through its collective drivenness to see what is Real? Yet also there's hope, that for a few hours those who heard him somehow understood that in contemplative living the Spirit's will of unending prayer, joy and thankfulness are always available...and now more so from the gift of Richard's presence among us. -Bill Dietrich
What I heard is that there is a way out: a way out of the narrow idea of human justice. A way out of strangling perfectionism. A way out of the chasm between one person and another. The way is obvious, modeled for us by Jesus and made possible in us by the Holy Spirit. But while the path is clearly visible, we seem to forget to put our feet on it. Many seductive forces, within and without, keep grabbing at our elbows as we prepare to step out. With God's help, we can start again and again. In every moment we have the choice between contemplation and control. If we are aware, we can sometimes choose God's loving transformation, gently sidestepping (thanks to grace) the clutching anxiety that says we must be the masters of our fate. Something, Someone, greater awaits. -Connie Clark
Richard Rohr called for a change of consciousness, seeing Jesus' mission as that of healer and peacemaker. Jesus is to be my mentor as I become one of his "usable ones." My vocation must be contemplative/active. -Lois McGinnis
After all the notes taken of Richard Rohr's words, and all the special particles of truth underlined to be certain I'll remember them, and all the very special underlined Gospel truths marked with a star to make sure I incorporate them into my life-the page that keeps falling open in my hand says this: "Sooner or later, life will lead you to a dark place that you can't fix, that you can't control. And that's where transformation happens." All the underlines and stars over all the years make it perfectly clear that I hear the truth all the time, the truth that surely will bring about my transformation. And I do not change. That is the dark place that I can't control, the crucible of my own transformation. It seems, from what Richard is saying, that I must travel without the certainty of notes or even memory. Only when I can finally descend into wordless darkness will the mystery of that transformed soul begin to unfold. -Susan Burke
The Ceremonial Mirror
by Tilden Edwards
Last summer I returned to a holy place that I wrote about several years ago: the shrine at Chimayo, New Mexico. This is a beautiful, humble Christian church built on the site of an old Native American healing center. It attracts faithful, seeking people from all walks of life. People carry away small bags of dirt from a special hole in a very tiny side room as a visible sign of their faith in a divine healing presence.
When we arrived this time, we stumbled into a special outdoor ceremony for cultural and religious healing. It was a celebration and examination of the 400th anniversary of the coming of the first missionaries to the area. The missionaries brought the Good News of an inclusive, self-sacrificing divine love, but their spiritual immaturity and the pressures of the power-hungry Spanish authorities denied the full implications of that love, including a recognition of the grace and rights of Native American cultures. In the last century this denial to a lesser extent has been visited on Hispanics by the hegemony of Anglo-American culture.
The ceremony held up the Good News, but it also held up the need for mutual forgiveness and reconciliation. Every major group had a place in the ceremony. The Native Americans danced, the Hispanics sang, the Anglo Archbishop spoke, a Jewish Cantor sang, and a Protestant Minister prayed. At one point individuals representing various groups poured bags of dirt from their communities on the ground, until there was a mound of blended soil. At the end, people spontaneously came up and collected a bag of the blended soil to take back to their communities, as a way of visibly claiming their restored mutual belonging.
We all share the same earth, the same sky, the same Spirit-dust shaped into our unique forms. But our categorizing and confused minds can easily forget this, and we "fall apart" into overly-separated and mutually critical, fearful, competitive groups. In empowered contemplative presence, we realize the inclusive union that is ours with all of God's creation, amidst our differences. We realize Jesus' consciousness of One who amazingly forgives the past and loves the present and draws us all toward an active yearning for the fullness of shalom, the kin-dom of God.
But because of our forgetfulness and its fragmenting fruits, we need ceremonies to collectively rekindle the Good News that our spiritual hearts know in contemplative presence. We need gatherings that mirror this shared truth deeper than our differences. We need times to gather and claim that deep truth together and relinquish the build-up of resentments, fears, and hurts that reinforce the differences. Such times can help us be the spiritual community that at a deep level we know we are.
Those of us who have struggled with spiritual community in the church and in other gatherings know that the differences and hurts between us are real. The ceremonial times of gathering for Eucharist and other forms of prayer, I believe, help these differences keep their place in weaving a rich tapestry of challenging as well as supportive community, rather than leading us to war. In a prayerful, inclusion-oriented religious ceremony that honors our hunger for God as common ground, I find it easier to reverence those people with whom I don't feel an affinity and to forgive and be forgiven. At fully open times I sense that I am looking in a mirror when I see another person: s/he is in me, and I in them, and both of us are in a larger Body of Love.
True religious ceremonies make visible in words and actions the grace and shared hunger for community in God that often is invisible to the fragmenting mind. The visibly blended soil in that ceremony at Chimayo is a special example. In Shalem groups we often include simple ceremonial elements that connect with this need for collective expression, such as a chanted shalom with a bow and gathering in a circle holding hands and praying. Maybe we all need to be more open to ways that we can symbolically express what we know in our contemplative presence is true, in our families, congregations, workplaces, and communities. One of our staff imaginatively took some soil from Chimayo and sprinkled it on the four corners of her new home in a house blessing ceremony that brought people together from different traditions to celebrate the shared larger Presence there.
I don't think that our individual contemplative practice can be displaced by ceremonies without risking "empty ritual," but the unifying Good News given us in our practice needs collective visible expression for the sustenance and fullness of human community in God.