Tag: Catholicism

• How to Deal with Catholics Who Disapprove of Centering Prayer

  A reader of this blog named Pawel writes:

  Hi Carl, What would be your advice for someone returning to Catholic faith through a practice like Centering Prayer (having been immersed in Eastern traditions for many years), but coming up against objections when trying to start with the “basics”? For example, I was looking for a good Bible study and came across The New Adventure Bible and the podcast by Fr. Mike Schmitz which look great, but I was dismayed to learn that he doesn’t approve of the practice of CP (https://bulldogcatholic.org/2016/05/12/centering-prayer/). This makes me frustrated. Or should we somehow try to not expect teachers and guides to understand it, and ignore their objections and focus on the good parts of their teachings? Many thanks, Pawel

  Thanks, Pawel. I looked at the link you provided, and from the very first sentence on, it misrepresents Centering Prayer. It betrays a disturbing lack of understanding of the history of Christian spirituality, coupled with a kind of theological xenophobia that is very much inconsistent with the spirit of Vatican II, which is to say, it’s outside the mainstream of Catholic spirituality. But, alas, this anti-Centering Prayer movement, part of a larger anti-interfaith dialog and even anti-contemplation movement, gets plenty of oxygen online, especially thanks to the ultra-conservative Catholic media empire EWTN.

  But you asked for advice — and clearly, my first suggestion is to recognize that hostility to Centering Prayer is based on bad theology, a poor understanding of history, and spiritual xenophobia. Just as it is important to recognize that the people who believe in QAnon and believe that the 2020 election was fraudulent are placing their trust in bad information, likewise Catholics and other Christians who attack Centering Prayer for being “un-Christian” are likewise either acting in bad faith or have been misinformed.

  Unfortunately, understanding this does not make their criticism go away. And just as we now live in a democracy where the poisonous actions of a small group of people has threatened the entire structure of our governance, so too the unfortunate ideas of a minority of Catholic chauvinists continue to circulate online, causing many sincere but uneducated Catholics (and other questions) to unnecessarily fear a beautiful and ancient form of Christian prayer.

  Now, before I go deeper with my “advice,” let me make a fairly strong disclaimer. I think the most important words I can give you (or anyone) who is thinking about becoming Catholic — or making any other significant change in religious identity — is to trust your own heart and your own inner wisdom. Don’t change your religious identity to please anyone but yourself – and to foster your relationship with God. If you sincerely believe that your relationship with God can be better nurtured as a Catholic, then be Catholic. But if Catholicism proves to be an impediment to your faith development, then please (or stay) go where you can grow spiritually. I think God is far more glorified by vibrant, healthy Protestants than by frustrated, ill-at-ease Catholics — just as I think God is more truly glorified by happy Buddhists than by miserable Christians. And if it makes me a bad Catholic or a heretical Christian to think this way, then so be it.

  So, my first suggestion to you, Pawel, is to take the time to truly understand what is driving your return to Catholicism. If it’s mostly about Centering Prayer, do you really need to be Catholic? Many non-Catholics (even some non-Christians) are dedicated practitioners of Centering Prayer. I do think it’s beautiful to embed a stable Centering Prayer practice in a sacramental faith community, but strictly speaking it’s not absolutely necessary. So take the time to consider if you are simply trying to deepen your Centering Prayer practice or if you are, in addition, truly discerning a desire to participate in the sacramental life of the Church.

  Here’s a good thought experiment for this: would you still want to return to the Catholic Church even if Centering Prayer were no longer part of your spiritual practice? To be clear, I’m not suggesting that you need to “give up” Centering Prayer, no matter what those who are hostile to the practice might think. But if you could (or could not) imagine finding fulfillment as a Catholic even without Centering Prayer, that can be a helpful way of discerning what you truly want, regarding the Church.

  So now, let’s say you discern that you truly want to be a practicing Catholic, regardless of the role that Centering Prayer plays in your life. Whether we like it or not, in a church as big as Catholicism, there will be theologians, bishops and teachers who say things that we conscientiously disagree with. It’s a reality, and to think otherwise is to fool yourself. There is a lot of pious nonsense in the Catholic world about the church’s custodianship of the one true faith, implying that there is only one correct way of thinking about any given issue. But in fact, throughout history there has been just as much conflict and disagreement in the Catholic world as in any other human organization. Becoming a Catholic is not about conforming ourselves to a narrow, rigid, this-is-the-only-truth kind of doctrine. Rather, it is about immersion in a vibrant community of faith where there always has been, and continues to be, a variety of theological, moral and spiritual perspectives on many aspects of Church teaching, theology and spirituality. This is okay. What it means, however, is that we all have to find peace with the fact that we are members of a church where some people will bitterly disagree with us about many things.

  To me, this diversity of thought and theology and practice is part of the glory of Catholicism, even though it means I have to deal with the messiness of being in communion with people like all the misinformed Centering-Prayer-haters. It also means I have to take responsibility for my own spiritual health and well-being, by nurturing relationships with intelligent, informed Catholics who are well educated and have a good grasp of history and theology. I won’t agree with those Catholics on every point either! But at least I can trust that their views are thoughtful, informed, and conscientious. I don’t mind disagreeing with people, even people I break bread with on Sunday mornings. But I do think we all owe it to each other to be conscientious about the ways in which we disagree.

  So. If you are joining the Catholic Church, do so because you truly want to be Catholic, and not just because you are drawn to a single aspect of Catholic Culture (like Centering Prayer). And if you do decide to become a Catholic (or, indeed, to affiliate with any religious community), be at peace with the fact that you will sometimes conscientiously disagree with other members of your community — or even your leaders. A wise priest once told me that disagreeing with the Church does not make one a bad Catholic. But to be a happy and effective Catholic, even when you disagree with the Church or with many members of the community, requires a firm grounding in the love of God, the humility to accept that disagreement is normal, and the compassion to find ways to live peacefully even with those who are your ideological opponents.

  If all of the above seems impossible, then you’re back to square one: maybe God is calling you to a different path. And that’s okay too!

  I hope this is helpful, and I wish you many blessings on your journey!

   

  September 26, 2022

  Catholicism, Centering prayer, Church

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• Catholic Spirituality versus the Institutional Church: Navigating the Choppy Waters

  A friend on Instagram wrote this to me recently:

  Hello, Carl! I have become so drawn to the Catholic Church and I don’t know what to do. I am an LGBTQ+ Christian, and I have to admit, the sexual-abuse scandals in the RCC plus their stance on female clergy and birth control REALLY hold me back from going forth and becoming Catholic. And yet… I cannot seem to shake the desire to become Catholic. I would love any insight you might have. I feel such a need for Mary, for instance, but I feel so weird praying to her and other saints when I’m not officially Catholic… Thank you for your time. Blessings to you and your family.

  This is an important question that cannot be reduced to a simple soundbite answer.

  At the risk of misinterpreting, it seems to me you are saying this: “I am drawn to Catholic spirituality but I feel repelled by the institutional church. I don’t know how to make sense of these competing forces in my heart.”

  First: you are not alone. Many people struggle with precisely these issues.

  I know more than one LGBTQ+ person who is deeply in love with Catholic spirituality but simply won’t go near the church-as-institution, knowing not only that the church’s official teachings still leave no room for loving gay relationships, but also intuitively aware that homophobia is alive and well in the catholic world — even though church teaching insists that gay and lesbian persons be “accepted with respect, compassion, and sensitivity.” Unfortunately, because the church maintains that same-sex love is a sin, too many Catholics take that as implicitly permitting them to treat queer folks with animosity, hostility and disgust, oblivious to how contrary that is to Jesus’s mandate to love!

  The other issues you bring up: the prohibition on women in ordained ministry and the prohibition against artificial contraception, also scandalize many people both inside and outside the institution. Inside the institution, the fact that some Catholics embrace these teachings (and tend to react with hostility to those who disagree) does not make things any easier. And while there are many Catholics, including practicing Catholics, who conscientiously disagree with official church teaching in each of these three concerns, the fact that the institution itself remains so entrenched in its views offers little comfort to those who pray for change. Indeed, just a few weeks ago the Vatican announced some revisions to Canon Law, including stronger language opposing the ordination of women — and threatening sanctions against any bishops who attempt to ordain a woman.

  Ironically, those same canonical revisions also toughen the church’s stance against clerical abuse — a long overdue revision, and perhaps still not near enough to protect children in the future as well as to restore trust in the organization that has betrayed so many.

  Institution: No! Spirituality: Yes!

  In the midst of these issues, many people, including my correspondent, nevertheless feel drawn to the mystical beauty, poetry, and promise of Catholic mysticism and spirituality. Which, to me, witnesses to just how beautiful Catholic spirituality is, that it can speak to people despite the horrendous flaws on the part of the organization that is meant to safeguard this spirituality!

  But this leads to the easiest thing for me to say to my friend. When she wrote, “I feel such a need for Mary, for instance, but I feel so weird praying to her and other saints when I’m not officially Catholic,” my response: let go of those weird feelings, and pray.

  You don’t have to be “officially” Catholic in order to pray to Mary and the saints. You don’t have to be a member of the Catholic Church (practicing or otherwise) to appreciate the beauty of Catholic spirituality, or to go on retreats at monasteries or retreat houses, or to read the saints and mystics and learn from their wisdom. Most Catholic spiritual directors are happy to meet with non-Catholics and guide them in their spiritual lives. And you are always welcome to attend mass or other functions at most parishes.

  Really, the only barrier for non-members is to the sacraments. And, to be perfectly candid, you can find priests who play fast and loose with that rule too (keeping in mind that technically, that is something that could get the priest in trouble with his bishop).

  So if you are drawn to Catholic spirituality, I encourage you to drink deep from the well. The Holy Spirit will meet you, and Mary and the saints will be praying for you.

  Now… does this mean that sooner or later you “should” become Catholic? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say, “no, not necessarily.”

  Inside the Church… and Outside

  The Catholic Church has an old teaching, ex ecclesiam nulla salus — Latin for “there is no salvation outside the church.” It’s an amplification of Jesus’s challenging statement as quoted in John 14:6: “No one comes to the father except through me” (click here to read my interpretation of that verse). Yes, there are some hard-line, traditionalist Catholics who love this teaching, not for charitable reasons, but to shore up their prideful insistence that Catholicism is “the only way.” I think we can ignore such fundamentalist thinking. Fortunately, mainstream Catholic teaching has for decades now interpreted this principle in a spiritual sense: ecclesiam understood as the “mystical” church (the invisible community of those who follow Christ), rather than the institutional church. With this in mind, clearly one does not have to become a “card carrying Catholic” in order to experience salvation — or meaningful intimacy with God.

  So you may spend your entire life enriched by Catholic spirituality, nurturing a lively relationship to Mary and the saints, and allowing the wisdom of the Catholic mystical tradition to illuminate your prayer life — and then, you may or may not ever become an “official” member of the institutional church.

  For those people who conscientiously disagree with church teaching on contraception, gender and sexuality, choosing to become a Catholic will probably require finding a way to be at peace with that profound disagreement. Practically speaking, it probably also means needing to find other Catholics with similar views with whom you can be in meaningful fellowship. Unfortunately, that’s not always easy.

  I myself am a practicing Catholic, and I am sympathetic to all the concerns you’ve raised. For me, it’s a matter of living with the unresolved tension. But I am also aware that, as a man in a male-female marriage beyond childbearing years, these issues have little direct impact on me, so it’s probably easier for me to live in that tension than it would be for other people. All this to say, each person has to be true to their own conscience: and just because I (or anyone else) can function with that tension, doesn’t mean that anyone else can (or should).

  I know this was a lengthy answer, and I know that it will likely leave many people with more questions than answers. And there will be some (on both “sides”) who will vehemently disagree with some of what I’ve written here. So be it. I’m trying to be as honest as I can, given my own conscience and my own understanding of the challenges involved in balancing a beautiful spirituality with an organization that frankly leaves a lot to be desired. There’s no one right way to navigate these choppy waters. Each of us must be in discernment, listening to God’s call in our own hearts.

  June 18, 2021

  Catholic spirituality, Catholicism, controversial issues

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• How do I choose a contemplative lay order? And do I have to be Catholic to do so?

  A reader recently wrote to me:

  Dear Carl, I grew up as a Protestant, but as I’ve journeyed into Contemplative Christianity over the last while I’ve become more amenable to Roman Catholicism. I have been wondering about lay orders and how to connect with the contemplative tradition through a lay order. I was wondering if you could shed some light on which lay orders there are (main ones) and what the main focus is in each one, and specifically which one, if any, “carries the most weight” of the contemplative tradition. I should note that I have a particular affinity for St. Francis of Assisi. I just read Chasing Francis and am captivated by Francis!

  Thanks for your message.

  As you know, there are many lay communities within the Catholic world, some but not all associated with the historic religious orders. Benedictine oblates, Lay Carmelites, Secular Franciscans, Lay Cistercians, Lay Dominicans… along with groups that may not be as well known but offer other opportunities for lay Catholics to associate, serve, learn and worship together, including Focolare, Society of Our Lady of the Holy Trinity (SOLT), and of course, the notorious Opus Dei. Some of these  groups are for lay people specifically, while others offer membership to both lay, ordained, and consecrated religious Catholics.

  So there are many groups to choose from! Each group has its own charism or identity based on the group’s gifts or mission or history. To put in more down-to-earth language, some groups are more conservative, others more progressive, others more charismatic, others more apostolic (service/outreach oriented) and so forth. You describe yourself as on a journey “into contemplative Christianity” (which is beautiful) and I think it’s important to consider that not all Catholics (or Catholic groups) consider contemplation a priority. Some groups are even hostile to some forms of contemplative practice, like Centering Prayer, which they see as too interfaith-friendly.

  Complicating matters further is that groups or fraternities within lay orders are like parishes — each one has its own identity. I’m a Lay Cistercian and I can tell you after more than 13 years of involvement (and getting to know Lay Cistercians across the country and even the world), different LC communities have each their own “personality” and some are more contemplative than others, some more academic/theological, some more devotional, etc. So it’s not just about getting to know the overall charism of the order, but also getting to know the character of your local fraternity or group affiliated within that order.

  For what it’s worth, in the past few years I’ve become active with Contemplative Outreach, which of course is an ecumenical group dedicated to learning and practicing Centering Prayer. I find that it is a much more supportive and formative environment for my own contemplative practice. That may just be because my “home” Lay Cistercian community is, in all candor, not as contemplative as I would like it to be (our founding monastic advisor was a lovely old monk but much more charismatic than contemplative in his spirituality, and of course his personality put its stamp on the group at large). But my point is that if you want contemplative community, perhaps your first priority should be to look at specifically contemplative organizations, even if they are not necessarily structured as lay orders.

  And I think it’s important to keep in mind that even if a lay group has a historical tie to some of the great mystics (for example, Lay Carmelites can claim Teresa of Ávila and John of the Cross as “their own”), that does not guarantee any particular commitment to contemplative practice or immersion into mystical theology on the part of the group. The group will be more shaped by the personalities of its current leadership than by the profile of its historical saints.

  Which leads us to your interest in Franciscan spirituality. I’m not a Secular Franciscan but I have led retreats on Franciscan spirituality and for Franciscan groups. I find Franciscan spirituality to be very rich and beautiful, a healthy integration of both down-t0-earth and contemplative/mystical strands of spirituality. So I do hope you will explore them. Furthermore two of the most helpful contemplative writers active today are Franciscan: Richard Rohr and Ilia Delio. Historically, in addition to St. Francis and St. Clare you’ve got great mystics like St. Bonaventure, Angela of Foligno, John Dun Scotus, and Thea Bowman. So there is plenty of rich material that your local Franciscan fraternity can draw on.

  Now, you mentioned being raised Protestant and becoming “more amenable” to Roman Catholicism, but  you did not specify whether you actually have become a Catholic or not. That of course is a very personal decision that can often have big consequences (families and friends often can be unsupportive of such a move). I bring this up because the Franciscans, in particular, have grown beyond the confines of institutional Catholicism — this is true of some of the other orders as well: you can be a Protestant and still become a Benedictine Oblate or a Lay Cistercian, depending on the customs of the local monastery or community — some welcome non-Catholics, some don’t. So you would need to check out the culture of your local group or monastery.

  But back to the Franciscans: there are, in addition to the Secular Franciscan Order within Catholicism, two other groups worth knowing about: an Anglican Society of Saint Francis, and the Order of Ecumenical Franciscans. Neither of these groups require you to be a practicing Catholic in order to join (SSF might want you to be an Anglican, though — I’m not a member so I don’t know for sure, but you can see what they say if you contact them). I’m not trying to dissuade you from becoming a Catholic, but I do think it’s good to know that there are opportunities for groups like this beyond the institutional boundaries of Catholicism. In my experience, non-Catholics who explore contemplative spirituality (whether through Contemplative Outreach, a lay order, or just privately) tend to appreciate the good and beautiful dimensions of Catholicism, even if they remain primarily anchored in a non-Catholic faith community. That kind of ecumenical friendliness is, it seems to me, the work of the Holy Spirit!

  So, to summarize:

  • There are many different lay orders within Catholicism, and even extending beyond the boundaries of the institutional church;
  • Each order as a whole has its own personality or “charism”; furthermore, individual fraternities or groups within each order has its own character as well;
  • Some groups are more contemplative than others, and some might even be biased against some forms of contemplative practice;
  • If your main goal is a contemplative community, consider explicitly contemplative organizations like Contemplative Outreach or World Community of Christian Meditation, both of which have Catholic roots but today are ecumenical in their scope;
  • Because of your interest in Franciscan spirituality, consider exploring one of the non-Catholic Franciscan communities;
  • Try to see the decision whether or not to become Catholic and the decision whether or not to join a lay order as two separate matters. You can do one without doing the other.

  I hope this is helpful. Please let me know if you have further questions.

  Featured photo by Hudson Hintze.

  December 14, 2020

  Catholicism, community, Contemplation, Contemplative Outreach, Lay Cistercians, lay orders, Secular Franciscans

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• What’s the Best Church for Contemplative Christians?

  A reader writes:

  Carl, do you think the Catholic Church has more scope to welcome contemplative Christians?  I attend an Anglican church and I’m very high Anglican in my thinking. A friend calls me a secret Catholic.  I’m growing weary of the evangelical fundamentalist direction of the church… I’m a bit lost to be honest.

  I’m sorry you feel lost, and I think it’s not unusual, especially when someone discovers contemplative spirituality, to feel a bit out of place if your local church does not have a contemplative culture. And unfortunately, that’s true of most churches.

  There are several ways to respond to your question. First, the question of which expression of Christianity is the most “welcoming” to contemplatives. Related to that, you are specifically asking about Catholicism. But then you also bring up the question of fundamentalism, and how fundamentalists in your church leave you feeling weary and lost.

  So let’s look at each of these in turn.

  Is Catholicism the Most Contemplative-friendly type of Christianity?

  First, a disclaimer. I myself am a Catholic Christian, having converted to Catholicism from Protestantism about fifteen years ago. So my answer to your question may be a bit biased. But I’ll try to be honest with you, and in all honesty, I think when it comes to contemplation, there are both pros and cons to being a Catholic (as opposed to other forms of Christianity).

  First, the pros. Since Catholicism celebrates the entire 2000 year history of Christian spirituality, many Catholics are comfortable turning to the great saints of the past (like St. Teresa of Ávila or St. John of the Cross) to learn more about the spiritual life. By contrast, many Protestant churches have a much narrower approach to tradition: basically, they only teach out of the Bible. Now, the Bible does have a contemplative dimension, but much of the truly deep wisdom of Christian contemplation comes from centuries after the last books of the Bible were written. Generally speaking, Catholics are more open to applying the wisdom of the saints to their spiritual lives today.

  Likewise, most Protestant churches do not have monasteries, and may even be biased against monasteries as an expression of Christian discipleship. Since for many centuries the contemplative tradition of spirituality was passed down by monks in the cloister, it’s harder for Protestants to relate to the wisdom of monasteries since it is not part of their culture. That’s not true across the board, of course — as you know, there is a monastic tradition in Anglicanism. But many other Protestant and Evangelical churches might regard contemplation as “too Catholic” because of its roots in the monastic world.

  Finally, it’s significant to note how many contemporary teachers of contemplative Christianity are Catholic. Thomas Merton, Thomas Keating, M. Basil Pennington, Richard Rohr, John Main, Laurence Freeman, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Mary Margaret Funk, Bede Griffiths, Sarah Grant, Wayne Teasdale, Caryll Houselander, Ruth Burrows, Bernadette Roberts… these are just some of the many Catholic spiritual teachers of our time or the recent past. Clearly, there seems to be a deep affinity between Catholicism and contemplation.

  But now for the cons. Unfortunately, many Catholics regard contemplation as something only monks and nuns do. Often the local parishes are much more focused on simple devotional practices like the Rosary or Holy Hours, with very little emphasis on contemplation at all. In fact, some Catholics, basing their idea that contemplation can only be a grace — a gift from God — regard it as presumptuous for ordinary people to try to cultivate contemplation on their own. So it’s important to remember that the bias against contemplation that you can find in some Protestant churches, unfortunately, can be present in Catholic Churches as well.

  I’ve lived in Atlanta, Georgia for going on 30 years now, and I’ve never been to the Atlanta zoo. I’ve been to zoos in other cities, but not the one here! My point is, sometimes we take for granted what’s in our own back yard — and I think Catholics can sometimes have that attitude toward contemplation. Since it is very much part of Catholic culture, ironically that makes it less appealing for many Catholics! They are more likely to want to visit “the zoo in another city” — i.e, practice charismatic prayer or zen or something like that — than to really get to know the treasure in their own back yard.

  For me, becoming a Catholic was a great way to integrate my love for contemplation with my conviction that spirituality ought to be sacramental in nature. So I think that would be final word of advice about Catholicism: don’t join the Catholic church just because you have a romantic idea that it might be “more” contemplative; I’m afraid you’ll find in some ways it is, in other ways it isn’t. But if you are drawn to Catholicism for other reasons in addition to your love of contemplation, then I would encourage you to explore it further. At the end of the day, there’s only one reason to join a church: because you believe that church will help you to follow Jesus better. If that’s not your conviction, then all the other reasons for joining the church probably are not that important. Ask yourself, “Where do I believe Jesus wants me to be?” and let that be your guide.

  If Not Catholicism, What Then?

  So maybe like me, you’ll find becoming a Catholic truly makes your soul sing. But if you really don’t feel drawn to becoming a Catholic, trust your intuition. Remember, God loves everybody, not just Catholics!

  But what should someone do, who wants a more contemplative-friendly church? I think there’s two answers to this question. First, we have to accept that the perfect church (including the perfect contemplative church) simply doesn’t exist. Then it’s a question of finding the best church for you — and your family, if you have one.

  When I was thinking about becoming a Catholic, more than one person told me to visit different parishes. Each one has its own personality, its own focus on this or that aspect of faith and practice. Some parishes are more devotional, some are more activist, some are mostly focused on education, others have a strong interest in evangelization (what Protestants call “mission”). And yes, once in a while you find a parish that has a truly prayerful, contemplative personality.

  This is true, whether or not the church is Catholic. In fact, if you exchange the word “congregation” for “parish” in the above paragraph, you’ll see that it just as much applies to Protestant and Evangelical churches as to Catholic ones.

  There are some truly contemplative-focussed churches here and there. I know of at least two here in Georgia, where I live. One is Catholic, the other is Episcopalian (Anglican). But they tend to be only a fraction of the overall number of churches, and if you don’t happen to live close to one, you are more likely going to have to make do with the local church, no matter what its “personality” is like.

  So here’s what I would say: visit nearby churches — regardless of their denominational affiliation. When you visit, read their bulletins. Check out their websites. Check to see if the church sponsors a Centering Prayer or Christian Meditation group. See if they have upcoming retreats planned at a nearby monastery or Jesuit Retreat House. You may not find the perfect church, but it’s still possible you can find the “good enough” church.

  Then, no matter how good (or bad) your local congregation or parish is at welcoming contemplatives, take responsibility for finding contemplatives outside your local community. Make retreats at a monastery. Take a course online. Join a contemplative Facebook group. Get involved with an organization like Contemplative Outreach or the World Community for Christian Meditation. It’s easier to find your “home” as a contemplative if you don’t expect the local parish/congregation to meet all your needs.

  But this leads to your third, and perhaps most important question.

  What About the Fundamentalists?

  Somebody once said, “Mysticism is the antidote to fundamentalism.” Unfortunately, I think that works the other way around: when there are too many fundamentalists gathered together, the mystics (and contemplatives) have a tendency to go elsewhere.

  Once again, bad news and good news. First, the bad news: fundamentalism is everywhere. Yes, there is even such a thing as fundamentalist Catholics. In fact, the book Catholics and Fundamentalists: Understanding the Difference has a chapter in it about fundamentalist Catholics. So it’s possible to find, in every church, people who have an authoritarian, legalistic, narrow/rigid understanding of faith, one that sees God as angry and demanding rather than loving and kind. Some human beings just tend to be authoritarian, rigid, and legalistic — it’s a personality type. So they will show up anywhere.

  You talked about “the fundamentalist direction” your church is taking. That makes it sound like the leadership of your church tends towards fundamentalism. If that’s the case, it may be time to find a new church, whether or not you change denominations. But remember, fundamentalism is everywhere, so wherever you go, you’ll have to deal with it.

  Here’s what I think is important to keep in mind: fundamentalists follow a spirituality of fear, rather than of compassion. Because they see the world through fear-tinted glasses, they tend to be fearful (suspicious) of people who are different from them. It’s hard to not to feel judged when someone views you with suspicion. But I think it’s really important that we try to remain grounded in the love of God. Our job, as followers of the compassionate Christ, is to meet their suspicion with kindness, their fear with compassion, and their judgment with non-judgment.

  This doesn’t mean we have to acquiesce to their way of seeing things. We can disagree, and we can remain true to our own conscience. But we don’t have to be unpleasant to others in the meantime.

  As for me, I try really hard not to get into debates or fights with fundamentalists. I just tell them, “We see things differently, and I don’t want to discuss it.” Sooner or later, they get tired of hearing that and they walk away. Some of the more toxic ones might get belligerent and threatening (“If you don’t repent, you’re going to hell!”) but once again, the best response is, “I’m sorry, but I see things differently. And I don’t want to discuss it.”

  The main thing that I do to keep fundamentalists from bugging me is this: I am proactive about finding friends who share my spiritual and theological views and I turn to them for spiritual and emotional support. I can worship with people with whom I disagree, I can do volunteer work with them, and serve on committees with them. But when it comes to who I socialize with, that’s when I am more choosy about who I send time with. And it’s okay to set boundaries like this.

  So the best way to deal with fundamentalists is to find a church (again, it could be any denomination) where there is an emphasis on kindness, compassion, a scholarly approach to scripture and theology, and a recognition that we don’t all have to think alike in order to worship together. Such churches do exist, although they’re probably easier to find in big cities. If that’s just not possible (no such church exists near you), then the ideas I shared above, about learning how to get along with fundamentalists (a mixture of being kind and setting good boundaries) may be your only strategy.

  A Final Thought

  It’s not easy to find a truly nurturing church home. It’s like finding a husband or wife: sometimes we have to kiss a lot of toads in order to find that prince (or princess). And it’s not easy to deal with people whose way of being Christian is narrow-minded, mean-spirited, legalistic, or excessively authoritarian. But in both these scenarios, having a commitment to contemplative practice — daily silent prayer — can be a huge help. Taking time to rest in the love of God is an excellent way to cultivate your own spirit of kindness and compassion; and it’s a great way to fortify yourself for the perseverance necessary to find, and become connected to, the church that is right for you. But good luck! Trust that God has a place just for you. And prayerfully give yourself to the adventure of finding that place.

  February 20, 2020

  Anglicanism, Catholicism, Contemplation, Contemplative Christians, evangelicalism, fundamentalism, Protestantism

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• Between Shambhala and the Catholic Church: On Being a Contemplative in Imperfect Institutions

  I sure know how to pick them (he says, ruefully).

  The two organizations that I have turned to for contemplative formation over the past decade — the Catholic Church and Shambhala Buddhism — have both been rocked by abuse and cover-up scandals.

  Since 2004 the Catholic Church has been my spiritual home. I was confirmed as a Catholic at the Easter Vigil in 2005. Over the past fourteen years I have gone from being a timid student of Catholicism, to immersing myself in the world of Trappist monasticism, eventually becoming a life-professed Lay Cistercian — and then, to bring things full circle, since 2016 my wife and I have co-directed the RCIA program in our parish, which means we now assist others who are considering embracing the Catholic faith as adults.

  Meanwhile, I have been a strong proponent of interfaith dialogue and interreligious spirituality throughout my adult life — really, ever since I read Autobiography of a Yogi in high school and discovered that mysticism knows no bounds. In the years since becoming Catholic, however, most of my interfaith exploration has been confined to my long-standing interest in Buddhism, which for the most part meant taking classes and meditating at the Buddhist center closest to my home, the Atlanta Shambhala Center — part of the Vajrayana (Tibetan) Buddhist community.

  Earlier this year, the Shambhala community acknowledged multiple allegations of sexual abuse by its leader, Sakyong Mipham, the son of Chögyam Trungpa — who himself had a reputation for sexual misconduct.

  Meanwhile the American Catholic community has been reeling from allegations that Cardinal Timothy McCarrick, had for years been abusing both teens and adults, primarily targeting seminarians (men studying for the Catholic priesthood) — followed by the August release of a grand jury report in Pennsylvania detailing allegations of abuse of over 1000 children and youth, by over 300 Catholic priests — a decades-long culture of abuse that was systematically covered up by the church hierarchy.

  As the political slogan says, “If you aren’t outraged, you aren’t paying attention.”

  Not only outraged, but sickened. Appalled. Horrified. Devastated.

  Contemplation and the Toxic Institution

  I am a student of both Catholic Christianity and Vajrayana Buddhism because they are both ancient spiritual paths combining a rich wisdom tradition with a strong emphasis on contemplative practice and mindful living (yes, I know many Catholics have no sense of contemplation or mystical spirituality, but it’s there for those who look for it).

  But — both Catholicism and Tibetan Buddhism also have strong patriarchal, hierarchical cultures, where spiritual leaders, whether bishops and priests, or lamas and rinpoches, are treated with deference and obeisance — which is a ripe culture for abuse to flourish. Abusers can take refuge in the hierarchical system, and many others (both above them and below them in the power-structure) can conspire to shield them, all in the name of protecting the institution.

  I suppose a psychoanalyst would have a field day with me, trying to figure out why I have participated in two contemplative institutions that have turned out to have widespread abuse problems. But let’s set aside my personal neuroses for the moment, and ponder this question:

  What should a sincere student of contemplation do, when facing the fact that the institution(s) where we have studied have turned out to have significant problems of internal corruption?

  We could phrase this question another way. I’m hearing it more in the Catholic world, but that’s the world I am more fully immersed in. But I bet Shambhalians are asking the same question.

  And the question is simply this: “Why am I here?”

  Discernment, or, in the words of The Clash: “Should I Stay or Should I Go?”

  I am convinced that the vast majority of Shambhala Buddhists and of contemplative Catholics are truly good-hearted people who have affiliated with these institutions because we want support in our own spiritual growth. But I think it would be irresponsible not to ask the question, “Should I leave this damaged, toxic institution?”

  Each one of us will have to answer that question in an individual way. Some people have been so hurt (directly or indirectly) by the institution, that they need to leave. I hope that such persons will find the succor and healing that they deserve, wherever that might be.

  Others may feel so angry, so betrayed, or so devastated by the organization’s failings that they are no longer capable of relating to the organization except from a place of deep anger, deep grief, or deep bitterness. At this point, the relationship is like a marriage that has become toxic (for whatever reason). Again, they may need to leave. But if they choose to stay, I hope they are staying for the right reasons.

  A toxic marriage needs either to be healed or to be ended, hopefully in a compassionate way. But just persevering in an unhealthy marriage without doing the hard work to heal it is like taking a little bit of poison every day — it may not be enough to kill, but it sure is diminishing your life.

  This brings us to this question: “can I stay in this relationship and work to heal it?” That, to me, is the only sensible reason why anyone would want to remain a Catholic, or remain a Shambhala Buddhist. It’s saying, “I have seen first-hand how much good there is in this tradition’s ideals and teachings and culture. Of course, now I know just how much toxicity there is, as well. I’m willing to fight for the good, but that means I have to fight against the bad.”

  

  Contemplation Does Not Exist in a Vacuum

  In our day, many people have rejected any kind of institutional religion — whether or not the organization has been accused of covering up abuse. To such people, staying in an institution in the wake of such allegations just makes no sense.

  But those of us who choose stay are not staying because of the institution. No, we stay because of the wisdom, because of the community of people who share our desire to grow spiritually. And for Catholics, we stay because we love Christ.

  As repellant as abuse or cover-ups are, I cannot deny how much Buddhist and Christian wisdom has meant to me. I continue to find nurture in the wisdom of Buddhist contemplatives like Pema Chödrön or Christian contemplatives like Martin Laird, Mary Margaret Funk, or Thomas Keating. I continue to be inspired by virtuous activists and advocates like Gregory Boyle, Simone Campbell, and James Martin.

  I continue to find that the centuries-old wells of wisdom continue to inspire me, form me, and teach me — and that I need living teachers and companions to help me understand and interpret that great figures of the past like Meister Eckhart, John Ruusbroec, Julian of Norwich or Teresa of Ávila. Most important of all, when I am engaged in the church, I have ways where I can be of real service to people.

  Because it’s the people that matter — not the institution, not the power-structure, not the hierarchy. The people.

  Contemplation, and contemplative living, does not occur in a vacuum. We learn contemplation from others, and we live out the contemplative life (even if we are “mixed” contemplatives-in-action) in relationships with other people. We learn and we teach, we study and we instruct, we are nurtured and we serve.

  Saving the Burning Building

  Many people are cynical about hierarchical institutions like the Catholic Church or centralized organizations like Shambhala. “Lay people have no power,” they say. “Change will be too little, too late.” “You can’t undo problems that were centuries in the making.”

  I understand where those thoughts come from, and I don’t mean to minimize the barriers to change that currently exist. But I don’t want to give way to defeatist thinking.

  These kinds of statements rightly challenge those of us who choose to stay in the toxic organizations. We cannot be complacent or hide our heads in the sand, hoping that the problems will just go away. In the Catholic world, this means: we cannot rely on the Vatican to solve the problem, and we most certainly cannot rely on the Bishops. It’s up to us lay-folk to lead the way.

  Here’s how I see it. The Catholic Church is like a burning building. Most people will sensibly want to stay as far away from the danger as possible. But if we all walk away, the building is doomed. Some of us need to be fire-fighters, and work to limit the damage and extinguish the flames.

  That’s dangerous work. To do it you have to go into the building. You better have on the right protective clothing and be carrying the right equipment. You need lots of water or chemical retardants. It’s going to be hard work, but if the building is worth saving, then you’d better get busy.

  The “building” is not the institutional church, but rather the wisdom tradition. That’s true for both Catholicism and Vajrayana. The building is not the hierarchy, but the community. That’s what is worth saving.

  Jesus did not cause the fire; nor did the Gospel. Nor did the contemplative and mystical tradition.

  The fire was caused by toxic systems of power, outdated ideas about gender and sexuality, and a hierarchy that dominates rather than serves. That’s what us firefighters must work to extinguish.

  And, frankly, I believe contemplative practice is just the kind of “protective gear” that we need, those of  us who are choosing to remain in the burning buildings to fight the fire. And the “water” we need to extinguish the flames? Well, that “water” is simply the ability to tell the truth.

  What Needs to Change?

  For this final section of this very long post, I’m only going to talk about Catholicism, since that is my primary community of faith. But I think the points I make here could be applicable to Shambhala Buddhism or any other organization with a toxic hierarchy. And of course, for those who conscientiously believe it is best to leave toxic institutions, what follows may not seem too relevant. I’m writing for those who, like me, choose to remain within the burning building (and fight the fire).

  I love the spirituality of Catholicism, and I am committed to “on-the-ground” Catholicism, whether that means the local parish, the local monastery, the local retreat center, or the local soup kitchen.

  I remain committed to learning (and teaching) sacramental spirituality, mystical theology, and the ethics of life and justice. I continue to love the great art and culture of the Catholic tradition.

  But I realize that I cannot remain in the church and pretend that I am not profoundly convinced that our entire structure of governance must change. I have tended to shy away from speaking my mind about church politics, mainly because I’ve wanted this blog to be a “contemplative safe space” where people of all political and theological persuasions can come together to pray and to reflect together on what unites us spiritually.

  I still think it’s important to be inclusive as possible for anyone who claims to follow Jesus or to practice Christian contemplation. But I’m beginning to recognize something. When we refrain from speaking our conscience, we are abdicating our responsibility to fight the fire.

  I can’t do that any more. And that might mean that I will lose a few readers. Well, so be it. I’m sorry. Contemplation does not exist in a vacuum. If we want to talk about contemplation we also have to talk about the difference between healthy spirituality and toxic religion.

  So let me be perfectly clear.

  We need to dismantle clericalism in the church. We need to renounce any theology that even hints at “ontological difference” between the ordained and the laity. We need full accountability and transparency, all the way up the organizational ladder. We need to ensure that our teachings about gender and sexuality are healthy and consistent with the full scope of human knowledge. We need to dismantle mandatory celibacy and the barriers that keep women out of ordained ministry. Most of all, we must eradicate the culture of power and privilege that has shielded abusers and their enablers from accountability.

  We need an empowered laity, with a robust theology of the priesthood of all believers and the full engagement of laypersons in all aspects of church governance, oversight, finances, and discipline.

  Ultimately, we must denounce the kind of authoritarian thinking that has made the privileged hierarchy possible in the first place. Authoritarianism and systems of privilege are contrary to the Gospel and to any form of contemplative spirituality.

  This is just a first step. There’s much more to say, but this post is already far too long. If you have read (or skimmed) this far, I thank you for hearing me out. I promise I will get back to writing about contemplation with my next post. I know that readers of this blog come here for contemplative writing, and not for commentary on Catholicism or any other institution. But I realize that at moments like this one, I have to speak as my conscience dictates. And I hope that I will be more candid going forth, as well.

  As always, I welcome your feedback, comments, and insights. But, I should mention, trollish comments that dogmatically reject Catholicism altogether or dogmatically reject conscientious calls for reform will either be ignored or deleted, depending on how offensive they are. You’ve been warned.

  August 27, 2018

  abuse scandals, Catholic Church, Catholicism, Contemplation, Shambhala Buddhism, Shambhala Center

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• Why Experience Is Not the Foundation of (All) Spirituality

  I’ve been reading a book by William A. Barry, a Jesuit priest who is an authority on spiritual direction. The book, Finding God in All Things, is a companion to the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. If you’re not familiar with it, the Spiritual Exercises are the foundation of Ignatian (Jesuit) spirituality, which emphasizes fostering a loving, intimate relationship with God as the principle and foundation of a mature and healthy spiritual life.

  In chapter two of his book, Fr. Barry talks about the importance of a meaningful and life-defining experience that can orient our lives toward — to use traditional language — knowing, loving, serving and enjoying God. He notes that such an experience must be real — not an abstract idea or figment of the imagination — and universal enough that it is a common experience for all humanity.

  

  He goes on to describe a variety of authors, both spiritual and literary, who describe such experiences. This does not have to be explicitly religious, which is to say, an “experience of God” — it could be an experience of life-defining love, or a sense of meaningful longing for “I-know-not-what,” or even just a profound intuition of the basic rightness or goodness of things.

  On the surface, I can relate to this idea: that experience is the foundation of spirituality. After all, I had one such experience when I was sixteen years old, at a Lutheran youth retreat — it was a profound, life-altering sense of God’s presence and infinite, unconditional love (you can read about it here). Based on conversations I’ve had with therapists, it’s my understanding that such “mystical awakenings” are not that uncommon, particularly among adolescents.

  So I understand how this emphasis on a life-defining experience of God can seem really important to people seeking a meaningful spiritual life. Indeed, it is almost a commonplace to say, “I don’t want dogma, I want an experience of God.”

  Alas, this emphasis on experience flies in the face of my formation as a Lay Cistercian — and, indeed, of my knowledge of a major stream in the history of Christian mysticism.

  Not All “Experiences” Are Created Equal

  If we base spirituality on experience, then this is the question that keeps nagging at me: what about all the people who don’t have (or even who just can’t recall) such “unitive” experiences?

  

  I think it’s dangerous to say that experience should be the necessary foundation for spiritual growth, because if we do, where does that leave a person who doesn’t have such an experience? Are they just out of luck, spiritually speaking? Should they just “imagine” it? Or pretend? I think trying to force an experience of God is a trap — and the great medieval manual of contemplation, The Cloud of Unknowing, even suggests that people who try to “manufacture” religious experience are “the devil’s contemplatives”!

  Here’s the crux of the matter. The apophatic (image-less) tradition of Christian spirituality — also known as “negative mysticism,” the tradition exemplified by Pseudo-Dionysius, Meister Eckhart, The Cloud of Unknowing and John of the Cross — emphasizes the hiddenness and unknowability of God, the mystery of God, the fact that it is far easier for human beings to say what God is not than to say with any finality what God is.

  So the apophatic tradition takes as its “principle and foundation” not an experience of God, but rather an acknowledgement of God’s essential mystery. God’s hiddenness, if you will. This is why Saint Paul says we are justified by faith — not by “experience.”

  After all, experiences can be absent, or can be deceiving. An experience of God may be nothing more than an overactive imagination, or it might even be a projection of one’s own ego ideal onto the heavens — an experience of a “god” who is really just my ego, writ large across the cosmos! Of course, we can hope that effective spiritual direction would help a person to recognize when a purported spiritual experience is actually ego-driven rather than God-inspired. But that still leaves unanswered the question: what about people who simply do not have (or do not recall having) such powerful, experiential encounters with God?

  Even though I myself had quite a remarkable “awakening experience” as a youth, subsequent to that I became involved in evangelical/charismatic spirituality. In the circles I moved, there was tremendous emphasis on experience. To be saved, you had to have an experience of accepting Christ as your personal savior. To be considered baptized in the Holy Spirit, you had to have an experience of receiving charismatic gifts, particularly the gift of speaking in tongues.

  I discovered, to my dismay, that people would actually coach newcomers on how to speak in tongues. If it were a genuine gift from God, wouldn’t a person simply receive the gift — and not have to be coached on it? And if it really were meant for everyone, is it fair to call it a gift? To hear my charismatic friends describe spiritual experiences, it sounded like something people felt entitled to receive. And what is to be done about the persons who “fake” the experience, just to fit in with the tribe or to feel good about themselves?

  So back to Ignatius and the Spiritual Exercises. I recognize that experience is a key element of Ignatian spirituality. But I think I’m going to hold on to my monastic recognition that sometimes God meets us in the lack of any discernible experience. That leads to the dark night of faith — the cloud of unknowing — and it has its own treasures (and its own challenges). I do not write this to attack Ignatian spirituality, but rather simply to acknowledge that every system of spirituality has its limitations — which would explain why, over the centuries, God has graced the human family with many different approaches to spiritual formation and spiritual living.

  October 5, 2017

  Catholicism, Finding God in All Things, Ignatian Spirituality, William Barry

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• How Should A Christian Respond When a Friend Becomes Interested in Witchcraft and Magic?

  As long-standing readers of this blog know, I have not always been a Catholic; I embraced Catholicism in 2004 after a Protestant upbringing and then about a seven-year stint in which I followed a neopagan spiritual path. Indeed, I wrote a number of books about paganism, a fact I discussed in an earlier blog post, You Wrote Books About Paganism? These days, my work as a writer is primarily geared toward Christians, but I do not consider myself hostile to paganism (the Catholic tradition has always taught, even before Vatican II, that Catholics should respect what is good and true and beautiful in other religious traditions).

  But just because I am not hostile to paganism, does not mean that I do not have opinions about paganism — including some criticisms. Today’s post, inspired by an email I received from a reader recently, looks at some of those criticisms. The reader wrote to me because a friend of hers, who is a Christian, is exploring magic and witchcraft, and she is not sure how to respond to this. So she turned to me for my thoughts on that question.

  The Reader Writes:

  I have a dear friend who is a follower of Christ and also has a fascination with magic and witchcraft. At this point, they have not pursued their interest but I know it continues to be a draw for them. I was just wondering if you have any concerns, thoughts, or wisdom to share concerning whether or not a Christian should pursue the magic arts. I personally don’t have any experience with this and feel it would be helpful to seek wisdom from someone who does. I care about this person deeply and don’t want them to get hurt. Thank you for your time!

  My response:

  Thanks for reaching out. Many Christians find magic and witchcraft interesting or appealing. I imagine there are many reasons why this is so. By the same token, other Christians are drawn to explore Hinduism or Buddhism or other traditional religions. All of this falls under the umbrella terms “interfaith dialogue” or “inter-religious dialogue” or “interspirituality.” I do believe God calls some of us to function like bridges between the different faith traditions, in the interest of promoting understanding and unity as much as we are able. There are very real cultural and values differences between the different faith traditions, that should not be glossed over. Even so, it’s important to remember that we are all human beings, we share the same planet, and it is important we learn how to love one another, without violence and without constantly trying to control or change each other.

  But to your specific question. I think the first question your friend needs to wrestle with: are they thinking about leaving Christianity altogether? It’s one thing to be a Christian with a lively interest in another tradition (like I described above), and another thing to change one’s spiritual path altogether. I think having clarity about their intentions (which may mean doing some deep inner work, so that they are aware of what is driving them, even subconsciously) is really important. God loves us whether we remain Christian or not, but of course the decision to change one’s spiritual path should not be made lightly, as it can have real repercussions with one’s family and social network.

  If your friend is clear that they want to remain Christian, but still wants to learn more about magic and witchcraft, then I would recommend reading a few books on the topic. Ronald Hutton’s The Triumph of the Moon is very important; it’s academic but easy to read, and it is the most balanced and in-depth history of modern witchcraft and paganism that I have come across. So I think that is a “must read.” Another classic is Starhawk’s The Spiral Dance, which looks at witchcraft from a  feminist perspective. Finally, at the risk of a bit of shameless self-promotion let me suggest my own When Someone You Love is Wiccan, which I wrote back when I was still a practicing pagan. In fact, that might be a good book for you to read, especially if your friend does go ahead and begin to practice witchcraft.

  

  These books are all sympathetic to witchcraft and magic. To try to keep things balanced, normally I would also recommend one or two books that take a more critical view, but unfortunately most of the anti-witchcraft books, at least that I know of, are very poorly written, usually from a fundamentalist Christian perspective. I think anyone with an open mind who reads those books would think “gee, witchcraft sounds better than Christianity!” Fundamentalism is NOT the answer to magic or witchcraft.

  So maybe I should give you (and your friend) just a few thoughts to be able to think about magic and witchcraft objectively. In writing this, it is not my purpose to gratuitously attack or denounce paganism. Rather, I am trying simply to be honest about my own concerns. I think anyone who explores the topic needs to have a balanced perspective, and so I offer these points in the interest of that balance.

  My Honest Concerns

  First of all, I would caution anyone interested in magic to think carefully about the basic premise: that you can use spiritual power to attain your goals. On the surface, that sounds like a good thing: after all, isn’t the purpose of life to be happy and make the most of it? My question would be: where is the balance? If my life is all about just making myself happy, isn’t that ultimately rather narcissistic? Isn’t love more important than wish-fulfillment? For example: let’s say I want a new lover, so I cast a love spell to get that person. They show up. I may have a torrid love affair but in the back of my mind I’ll always be wondering if the person really loves me, or if they are just bound to me by the spell. In other words, if I hadn’t cast the spell, would they have still come into my life? If so, then the spell was unnecessary; but if not, then that means the “love” is not real, it’s just a product of the spell.

  The story of King Midas applies here. Magic promises to make us happy, but it seems there is always a catch. And I think the “catch” ultimately is this: that getting our wishes fulfilled is not the ultimate path to happiness. That path is the path of love, not power.

  There are all these spell books on the market, filled with spells to lose weight, make more money, become more attractive, get a lover, get lots of lovers (!), find the perfect job, boost self-confidence, etc. etc. etc. At the end of the day, it seems like “it’s all about me.” That’s why I think it’s narcissistic. Love, on the other hand, focusses not on how to make myself happy, but rather how to build happy relationships, which means balancing my own needs with the needs of my friends, my spouse, my neighbors, co-workers, etc.

  So I came to see that magic is really unnecessary, as long as I have dedicated my life to becoming a more loving person. When I realized that, that’s when I started to let go of witchcraft and return to Christianity.

  Now, some people will say that witchcraft, and especially paganism, is more about spirituality than magic. It’s about reverencing the earth and the Divine Feminine (the Goddess). And I think for some people this is really true. And I think Christianity, historically, has done a poor job at acknowledging that God encompasses both masculinity and femininity — the Goddess in many ways is a “reaction” against the hyper-masculinity of traditional Christian ideas about God. Likewise, I think because Christianity has tended to emphasize heaven above earth, paganism’s emphasis on venerating the earth is a similar reaction agains the excesses of Christianity.

  But here’s my question: if witchcraft/paganism venerates the Goddess and the Earth as a reaction against Christianity’s emphasis on the Father God and heaven, doesn’t that make modern-day paganism simply a protest movement against Christianity? And if that’s the case, perhaps what Christians need to be doing, instead of becoming witches, we need to be cultivating a healthier form of Christianity: one that acknowledges that the earth is good (but without worshipping it), and that acknowledges that God ultimately is our Mother as much as our Father.

  What is most important, for you and your friend, and really for any Christian who feels drawn to magic or witchcraft, is to remember simply this: that God is Love, that God loves us very much and wants what is best for us. I think many Christians turn to magic and witchcraft because they have been hurt by Christianity or have found Christianity to be boring and stifling. That certainly happens. But I believe when Christianity fails to live up to its own mystical beauty, the answer is not to abandon Christianity for another path, but rather to discover the beauty and wonder that lives at the heart of true Christian mysticism.

  I’ll keep you and your friend in my prayers. Please pray for me as well.

  A Final Word

  Finally, here are a few thoughts specifically for the reader, and for anyone who is facing a situation where a Christian loved one is turning away from Christianity to explore a different religion or spirituality.

  It can be scary when a friend or loved one explores a new or different religious tradition, and even scarier if he or she abandons their old faith to embrace something new. Christians sometimes feel as if their friend’s soul is now in eternal danger, and therefore may try to dissuade the friend from their spiritual exploration. But such efforts often backfire: they too easily come across as fear-mongering and controlling, if not judgmental.

  If your friend thinks you are trying to frighten or control them, they may cut off your friendship. So I think it’s important for Christians to focus on loving our friends, which leads to a delicate balancing act. Sure, it’s only fair that we express our misgivings when a friend abandons Christianity: but we need to own that this is our misgivings. “It saddens me to think that you and I will no longer be doing ministry together, or going to church together, or studying the history of Christian spirituality together.” Maybe even take it further: “It even scares me a little to think of you embracing a different type of spirituality.”

  Always finish with: “But I want you to know that I love you and I want us to remain friends, and I hope you’ll feel like you can talk to me without judgment or condemnation. And if I say or do anything that seems to be judgmental, please call me on it — after all, I’m only human!” I think what people who abandon Christianity need from Christians, more than anything else, is love — we need to be conduits of God’s love and grace to the world, which is after all our mission as people who recognize we are created in God’s image and likeness.

  So if you feel sad, or afraid, because someone you love has embraced a non-Christian form of spirituality, own your feelings as your feelings. And then take a look at your own relationship with God. Do you harbor any secret fears that God will reject your friend now that they’ve changed paths? Do you see God primarily as wrathful and judgmental? Or do you recognize that God is love, which means that even when someone says “no” to God (directly or indirectly), God still loves them, unconditionally? Those are good questions for Christians to explore; as we become more secure in God’s love, we become more capable of relating with compassion and clarity to those whose spirituality is different from our own.

  ---

  August 15, 2017

  Catholicism, Christianity, Magic, Paganism, Wicca, Witchcraft

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• “You Wrote Books About Paganism?!?”

  The late Kenneth Leech used to tell the story about giving a lecture at a seminary in America on the topic of race relations, and afterwards a seminarian seemed surprised to learn that he was the “same Kenneth Leech” who wrote books on spirituality. Apparently, the mind of this seminarian couldn’t equate a social-justice Christian with a contemplative-prayer Christian.

  But yes, Leech-the-expert-on-racism and Leech-the-expert-on-mysticism were one and the same.

  I often have a similar conversation with people who read my writing or attend one of my talks or retreats. These days, while I do some interfaith work, most of my writing and speaking is meant for Catholics or mainline Protestants. I write and speak about topics like Christian mysticism, contemplative prayer, monastic spirituality, and Celtic Christianity. But it doesn’t take a lot of digging on the Internet to discover that I didn’t always write or speak on these topics.

  “Are you same Carl McColman who…?”

  I know what’s coming when someone says, “When I heard you were going to lead our retreat, I googled you.” That usually leads to some variation of this question: “Are you the same Carl McColman who writes books about Paganism?”

  

  The conversation generally goes like this:

  “Well, it’s more accurate to say I used to write Pagan books — the last one was written in 2004 and published in 2005. I haven’t written books specifically for Pagan readers since, well, I left the Pagan world to become a Catholic.”

  “So you used to be a Pagan.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You were into Wicca, Druidism, shamanism, Goddess worship, all that stuff?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But isn’t that stuff evil?”

  “I think it’s dangerous to apply stereotypes to entire groups. Not all Christians are good, for example.”

  Most people get this, and will acknowledge that money-grubbing TV preachers or clergy who abuse children are just two examples of Christians who undermine the integrity of our faith.

  I go on. “You could say the same thing about Muslims, or Jews, or Buddhists. Remember the Buddhist who shot those people at the DC Navy Yard? Human nature being what it is, you find good and evil in all walks of life, all groups of people. So, yeah, there are some Pagans whose behavior I consider to be unethical, if not sinful or evil. But many other Pagans are dedicated to good things like building community or fostering environmental sustainability. So I think we need to avoid using simplistic labels.”

  “Well, if it’s not evil, why did you leave Paganism?”

  “After exploring Paganism for a number of years, I realized I didn’t belong there. My heart belongs to Jesus Christ. I made a mistake when I turned my back on him to pursue a spirituality that regarded him as just one among many spiritual teachers. By returning to Christianity and becoming a Catholic, I profess Jesus as the Second Person of the Holy  Trinity, which is to say, a unique expression of God’s love.”

  

  “What’s a nice Catholic like you doing in the interfaith world?”

  Sometimes the conversation will focus not just on my Pagan past, but also my interfaith work, which has continued to the present day. “I saw online that you also do interfaith work.”

  “That’s true. And out of that work, I remain deeply respectful of other faiths — all other faiths. Judaism and Buddhism, Hinduism and Islam, Wicca and Taoism, Sikhism and Shinto — as a Catholic Christian, it is my duty to be respectful of all religions, to respectfully criticize what I think is wrong or misguided but to just as respectfully affirm all that is good and true and beautiful. In every faith. And incidentally, the Catholic Catechism supports this perspective.”

  “So let me get this straight. You wrote Pagan books, but you are no longer a Pagan. You realized Paganism wasn’t right for you, and that you love and follow Jesus Christ, but you don’t run around calling Paganism bad or evil because you believe it’s important to respect other religions, even minority religions like Paganism.”

  “That’s correct. Mind you, I don’t believe ‘anything goes.’ I think it’s wrong to force women to wear birkas, or to practice animal sacrifice like in Santeria, or any other practice that is unjust, exploitative, or abusive. But to the extent that religions provide people with positive meaning, purpose, and ethical guidance, I believe as a Christian it’s my job to be in dialogue with such faith, not in hostile opposition.”

  “Do you believe in the devil?”

  “Evil is real. Just ask any slave, or abused child, or victim of trafficking or corruption. Whether ‘the devil’ is a sentient being or a mythical embodiment of evil, is, to my mind, irrelevant. We must fight evil either way. But I also think we need to be careful to avoid stereotyping groups of people as ‘good’ or ‘evil’ — instead we should simply oppose evil in whatever form it takes or whatever context it arises, and likewise we should support the good that can be found in whatever context or setting we find it.”

  “Well, I have to admit, this all makes me uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sorry if it bothers you that I wrote books about non-Christian spirituality over ten years ago, or that I remain committed to positive dialogue between faiths. My exploration of Paganism was a chapter in my life, and I’ve met many Catholics and other Christians who also explore other faiths, for a season or a decade. It’s something many people do. Nowadays, I only talk about Paganism or interfaith dialogue when I am asked to do so by the sponsors of my retreats or classes, and I always do so from the perspective of a committed follower of Jesus Christ. Even when doing interfaith work, I strive to keep my theology, ethics and beliefs well within what is generally accepted as orthodox Christianity. I myself have a spiritual director, a confessor, and numerous teachers and mentors within the Christian world.”

  The Main Question

  “As a Christian, why should I trust you?” This, really, is the main point behind conversations like this. It’s a great question, and perhaps one that readers should ask of all writers.

  Here’s how I answer it:

  “As to why you (or anyone) should trust me, what matters more to me is that you trust yourself. If you do that, then you can evaluate my work fairly. I believe that my current work speaks for itself. Read my blog. Read my books published since 2010. And when you attend my retreats or classes, listen to what I have to say with a discerning mind. Frankly, I think we should always practice discernment when listening to any teacher or speaker — even the ones we do trust! Even the best teachers make mistakes, and even the worst teachers come up with good ideas now and then.”

  I always try to finish the conversation on a positive note.

  “I know that not everyone is drawn to the topics I explore in my work: contemplative prayer, monastic spirituality, Christian mysticism, or Celtic wisdom — and, of course, interfaith dialogue. That’s fine. If this isn’t your cup of theological tea, then please find teachers more to your liking. But I hope you will be able to see that my intention is to promote authentically Christian, while interfaith-friendly, expressions of spirituality, mysticism, and wisdom.”

  Generally, a conversation like this satisfies most people. Sometimes I run into people who are so genuinely frightened of interfaith dialogue, or of Paganism, that they simply cannot accept me, even now as a committed Christian. That saddens me, of course. But whenever possible, I like to talk to folks who are willing to hear about my spiritual journey. I love to share my experience: that a lively interest in the wisdom of other religious and philosophical paths, far from lessening my faith in Christ, helps me to become even more devoted to him. And I believe that can be true of anyone who approaches interfaith dialogue with a loving heart, a discerning mind, and a grounded commitment to your own faith.

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  To learn more about my spiritual journey from Paganism to Catholicism, read After the Magic, originally published on Beliefnet in 2005.

  To learn more about my Pagan books, check out Eight Pagan Books (By a Christian Author).

  To learn more about my Christian books, check out Books by Carl McColman.

  December 1, 2016

  Books, Catholicism, Christianity, interfaith dialogue, neopaganism, Paganism, Wicca

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• Thoughts are to Contemplative Silence like a Monstrance is to the Host

  The Catechism of the Catholic Church defines contemplation like this:

  A form of wordless prayer in which mind and heart focus on God’s greatness and goodness in affective, loving adoration; to look on Jesus and the mysteries of his life with faith and love.

  I emphasized “wordless prayer” because that is often what people struggle with the most. Critics of contemplation attack it because they see it as “emptying the mind” which they think makes it too similar to eastern meditation (which is an erroneous idea — eastern meditation is actually about mindful awareness more so than emptiness, whereas self-emptying or kenosis is very much a Christ-like act), or worse, that it leaves us vulnerable to demonic attack (also erroneous: from the desert fathers and mothers on, the Catholic tradition has always maintained that temptation comes to us through our thoughts, not through silence!).

  

  But for many people, the problem with wordless prayer is much more prosaic: we struggle with it because as soon as we enter into silence, we encounter an endless array of inner distractions: images, ideas, feelings, thoughts. How can we enter into wordless prayer when our minds and hearts are, well, so wordy?

  Here’s one way that Catholics (or any Christians comfortable with Eucharistic adoration) might approach this question. Our conscious awareness is continually bombarded with thoughts, ideas, imaginations, daydreams, etc. But silence is always present, within and between all of our thoughts. So why not think of silence as that always-present place within us where we “focus on God’s greatness and goodness in affective, loving adoration” — and our thoughts and other distractions function as the “container” in which our silence is held?

  In other words: thoughts are to contemplative silence like a monstrance is to the Host!

  Thoughts are like a monstrance. Silence is like the host. All our thoughts contain silence within them, and the silence contains the presence of God. When we seek to be present to God in silent prayer, we need not be troubled by our thoughts. We can appreciate them, the same way we appreciate a beautiful monstrance. However, the point is not to be distracted by the monstrance, but to keep returning our attention to the host in the center. Likewise, in prayer, let us not be distracted by our random thoughts, but keep returning to the silence at the center of every thought, for it is in the silence where we meet the wordless loving presence of God.

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  Featured photograph by Francesco Alberti.

  November 23, 2016

  Catholicism, contemplative prayer, Eucharistic adoration, host, monstrance, silence

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• John Cassian: The Leap Year Contemplative

  February 29 is the feast day of St. John Cassian — who, in addition to being a “leap year saint” is also one of the most important early contemplatives in the Christian tradition.

  

  Cassian (ca. 360-435) brought monasticism — and, therefore, contemplative spirituality — from the deserts of the Middle East to Western Europe. His birthplace is uncertain, but by the 380s he was living in a monastery in Bethlehem; subsequently he left that location to travel the deserts of Egypt, where he and his spiritual friend Germanus received spiritual direction from the desert fathers.

  The story of this journey, along with the wisdom the two young monks gleaned, is recorded in Cassian’s The Conferences, one of two important books he wrote toward the end of his life, after he settled in Europe (near Marseille) where he established what is generally regarded as the first European monastery. His other book, The Institutes, concerns the administration of a monastery and the “spirits” of deadly sins such as gluttony, avarice or anger.

  As a record of instruction from several of the desert dwellers of the fourth century, all of Cassian’s writing is priceless, but two of the conferences specifically deal with instructions on prayer, providing one of the earliest written records of meditation instruction in the Christian faith.

  

  Cassian reports that Abba Isaac taught him and Germanus both the importance and the manner of contemplative prayer. “The end of every monk and the perfection of his heart direct him to constant and uninterrupted perseverance in prayer,”¹Cassian, John Cassian, the Conferences., p. 329. declared the old man. Abba Isaac saw perpetual prayer as the result of a tranquil mind that has been liberated from earthly passions. He discusses different forms of prayer, including supplication, vows, intercession, and thanksgiving.

  But beyond these forms of vocal prayer, “a still more sublime and exalted condition follows… fashioned by the contemplation of God alone and by fervent charity, by which the mind, having been dissolved and flung into love of him, speaks most familiarly and with particular devotion to God.”²ibid., p. 340. Abba Isaac goes on to point out that true prayer arises from the love of God (who first loved us) and leads to union — not only with God, but also with all others who share our devotion to Christ.

  Everyone “who longs for the continual awareness of God should be in the habit of meditating on it ceaselessly in his heart, after having driven out every kind of thought”³ibid., p. 379. — a sentence which reveals how the ancients saw thought as emanating not from the brain, but from the heart.

  But how does one “drive out every kind of thought” in order to meditate and cultivate an ongoing awareness of the presence of God? Cassian reports that Abba Isaac recommends using a verse form scripture as a continual prayer word, to be repeated continually: “O God, come to my assistance; O Lord, make haste to help me.” (Psalm 69:2, Douay-Rheims Version).⁴Most Protestant and newer Catholic Bibles number the Psalms differently than the Douay-Rheims version. In such versions, this verse is Psalm 70:1.

  This simple meditation practice — of reciting a scripture verse repeatedly as a way to train one’s attention on God rather than on extraneous distractions — became the foundation of the Orthodox “Jesus Prayer” discipline (as celebrated in The Way of a Pilgrim and The Philokalia) and also can be seen as the earliest form of contemplative practices such as promoted by The Cloud of Unknowing or the modern-day centering prayer movement.

  Prayer was not the only topic that Cassian wrote about. The Conferences include discussions of vice and virtue, spiritual knowledge, and friendship. In the conference on friendship, Cassian (quoting the desert father Abba Joseph) offers practical advice on the psychology and ethics of friendship, recognizing that true spiritual friendship must be grounded in the love of God, for God is love.

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  Today’s blog post is an excerpt, in slightly different from, from my book Christian Mystics: 108 Seers, Saints and Sages.

  February 29, 2016

  Catholicism, Contemplation, John Cassian, Leap Year

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• Seven Blessings of Silent Prayer

  Silent prayer — contemplative prayer, what the Catholic Catechism calls “wordless prayer in which mind and heart focus on God’s greatness and goodness in affective, loving adoration” — is an important element of a mature Christian spirituality. The Bible instructs us to “be still and know… God” (Psalm 46:10), and even promises us that “silence is praise” (Psalm 65:1, translated literally).

  I thought it might be helpful to reflect on the many ways that contemplation brings blessing into our lives. I’m a little hesitant about this, because I don’t think silent prayer is meant to be goal-oriented; it is not a means to an end. In a very real way, contemplation is its own reward, and the only reason to enter into prayerful silence is for the felicity of offering ourselves and our time to God, without any “benefit” or “advantage” coming from it.

  Nevertheless, in just a few minutes of reflection I came up with seven real graces that flow from a regular discipline of contemplative silence. So here is my life — but please read this with the understanding that there is only one real purpose of contemplation: to give ourselves to God. Everything else is merely a happy blessing — not a consequence, not a result — simply a grace that accompanies our response to God’s loving silence.

  1. Contemplation brings us into the mystery of God. The Bible acknowledges that God is a “hidden” God (Isaiah 45:15) — in other words, to the finite limitations of human mind, God seems shrouded in mystery. We can no more wrap our minds around the Holy One than an amoeba can comprehend a human. But where our logic and rationality ultimately fail us, our heart — our capacity to love and be loved — stands ready to encounter the Divine source of all Love. When we offer our prayer to God in wordless silence, we create the space within us for our heart to take the lead in prayer, receiving grace and offering adoration at a level too deep for words. We may not “understand” silence, but in our heart of hearts, we can know the God who comes to us in mystery.
  2. Silence teaches us to trust. It is human nature to want to be in control, in charge, on top of things. That’s certainly appropriate on a purely earthly level — but God is not subject to our management or direction. Yet how often, when we pray, do we in fact subtly try to bend God’s will to our own, rather than radically surrendering our will to God? The beauty of contemplation is that, by dispensing with words, we move into a place where we simply have no means to attempt to control God or shape our prayer to what we think is our best advantage. Stripped of all artifice of self-directed mastery, silence in prayer offers us only one option: to trust the God who loves us, hidden in the silence. We trust what we cannot see, may not feel, and certainly cannot manipulate. It’s hard, but it’s spiritually nurturing to do so.
  3. Contemplation allows us to pray when we have no words to pray. Christianity is a talkative religion, from the Bible to our endless lineage of hymns, sermons, liturgies, and inspirational books. But sometimes even the most eloquent person can’t find the words to express what’s going on in our hearts. Silent prayer releases us from the necessity to be “on ” all the time, to find just the right Psalm or devotional to recite, or (harder still) to be able to put into our own words what’s going on in the hidden places deep within our soul. With contemplation, we offer God our attention, our presence, our very self – without having to wrap it up in a lot of commentary. We simply rest in God’s presence, and that becomes the heart of our prayer.
  4. Silence helps us to imitate Christ. One of the loveliest passages in the New Testament recounts how Christ, “though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness…” (Philippians 2:6-7) — the Greek word for emptiness used here, kenosis, has become emblematic of Christ’s humble compassion in embracing humanity in the incarnation. How can we, who are already human, follow his example? In contemplation, we divest ourselves of our chattering minds, embracing silence as a kind of “emptiness” in which we make ourselves available for God. So in wordless prayer, we offer to God our desire to follow Christ in all ways — even in humility and emptiness.
  5. Contemplation undermines the idols of our culture. Dare I say it? Contemplation is countercultural — even (gasp) “subversive.” Our society idolizes the left hemisphere of the brain — linear logic, a way of thinking that judges everything in binary ways: this is good, that is bad; this is right, that is wrong; this is acceptable, that is forbidden. Such dualistic ways of thinking and judging influence the way we do business, politics, science, and even art and religion. Logic has its place, of course, but for society to be whole and complete, the stern judgment of abstract reason must be balanced by the holistic compassion of the heart. In silence, the heart communicates its way of knowing, and thereby prevents the black/white dualism of the mind from dominating our lives — and our faith.
  6. Silence is good for us, body, mind and soul. The mindfulness movement has offered a secular approach to this particular blessing. My first Christian meditation teacher used to say “meditation is something that is good for our body, our mind, and our soul.” Because in a faith context contemplation is prayer, naturally it nourishes the soul; because it invites us into a place of trust and nondual awareness (see #2 and #5 above), silence is good for our mind, and because it encourages deep relaxation and gentle awareness of our bodies, it is good for us physically as well. Indeed, this “prayer of the heart” is perhaps the most fully embodied way of praying within Christianity: a prayer where we offer our entire self to God — body as well as mind and soul.
  7. Contemplation fosters community. We often think of this prayer in solitary terms — “when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret” (Matthew 6:6). But in many contexts, from Christian monasteries down to the centering prayer groups our out time, we see that contemplative or silent forms of prayer thrive especially well in communal settings. This is because there is something profoundly intimate and bonding when we pray silently together. Just as Eucharistic worship and the Daily Office help to form community, praying together in wordless silence also helps to foster a sense of belonging to the Body of Christ. And this works both ways: when communities pray in silence together, it helps the individuals to have a stronger commitment to contemplation.

  As I said above, I drew up this list fairly quickly, and so I imagine there are other blessings that could be added to this list. Can you think of ways that silent prayer has blessed you? Please leave your thoughts as a comment here on this blog, or in social media. Thank you, and may your daily practice of silent prayer thrive in the light of God’s loving grace.

  February 17, 2016

  Catechism of the Catholic Church, Catholicism, Contemplation, contemplative prayer, silent prayer, wordless prayer

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• The Contemplative Story of Dear Prudence

  I love the Beatles, and like many Beatles fans, I think The White Album is one of their great masterpieces. And one of the best songs on The White Album is, without question, “Dear Prudence.”

  But did you know that the song was influenced by the music of the Gypsies, Transcendental Meditation, and the daughter (and sister) of Hollywood celebrities?

  “Dear Prudence” was written in early 1968, when the Beatles were in India, while John and George were studying Transcendental Meditation with the Maharishi Mahesh Yoga. It was written for a woman named Prudence Farrow (Mia Farrow’s sister) who was there meditating as well, and became so immersed in her meditation practice that she rarely left her room. Hence John Lennon wrote a playful song for her, where he sings, “Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play?” The music was inspired, at least in part, by a Gypsy style of guitar picking that John learned from the folk-rock musician Donovan, also studying with the Maharishi.

  

  While on the surface the song could be seen as a playful rebuke to excessive spirituality — Prudence, don’t waste your time meditating, come out to play! — at its heart “Dear Prudence” makes a powerful statement for an integral contemplative perspective: where Prudence (and by extension, anyone who listens to the song) is “part of everything” and is invited to “look around, round, round” and see the beauty in all things. The song is a reminder that there is really no line separating “spirituality” from the rest of life: it’s all connected. The point behind a contemplative practice, after all, is not merely to lose ourselves in meditation; but rather to find, through the disciplined attention of silent awareness, that we really are “part of everything” and it’s all beautiful — and so are we. In other words, contemplative practice fosters a contemplative way of life, in which we learn to see with, and through, the eyes of love at all times — not just when we are “sitting.”

  The Beatles eventually became disillusioned with the Maharishi and left India. Prudence went on to become a T. M. teacher, eschewing the limelight and devoting her life to the study and practice of spirituality. Fast forward to 2015, Prudence now is a Yoga and T.M. teacher based on the Florida Gulf Coast, and has written a memoir called Dear Prudence: The Story Behind the Song. I haven’t read the book yet, but the other day I stumbled across a wonderful recording of a recent interview with Prudence. It’s quite enjoyable — not only as a bit of Beatles trivia, but surprisingly rich in its spiritual insight as well. Clearly, Prudence is more than just a member of a Hollywood family with a Beatles song written about her — she is an articulate and insightful woman with a clear understanding of the value of meditation and spiritual discipline.

  In the interview, not only does Prudence talk about her childhood in Hollywood, but also recounts the Irish Celtic heritage — full of myth and folklore — that informed the life and spirituality of her mother, actress Maureen O’Sullivan. The interview also explores how Prudence’s childhood formation as a Catholic both inspired and challenged her when she began to explore eastern spirituality. It’s a delightful interview, a nice mix of Hollywood and Beatles lore, spirituality, and even some reflection on interspirituality. The book is now on my to-read list, but the interview itself is well worth the 45 minutes it takes to listen.

  Click here to visit the Prudence Farrow Bruns page on the 30A Radio website

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  And in case you’ve been hiding under a rock or in a monastery for the past 47 years and don’t know the song, here’s a little video featuring it.

  September 4, 2015

  Catholicism, Dear Prudence, Interspirituality, Prudence Farrow Bruns, The Beatles, Transcendental Meditation, yoga

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