Over the past few months I have had the good fortune to be the guest on a few podcasts. Perhaps you might enjoy listening to them. If so, check the episodes out below…
First up is “The Wisdom’s Table” podcast with Philip Averay, an Anglican priest based in Wales. We spoke about “The Treasures of Christian Mysticism.”
My dear friend Kim Martin interviewed both me and Fran (my wife) for two episodes of her “How Now” podcast. In the first episode we talk about the spirituality of long-term caregiving, based on my book Unteachable Lessons. The second part of the interview is a more general discussion of the spirituality of prayer. It was a delight not only talking with Kim, but also having Fran participate in the interviews!
Another conversation about Christian mysticism, this time on the “Inner Peace with Dr. Reese” podcast.
My good friend and co-conspirator Debonee Morgan interviewed me about Ken Wilber’s Integral Theory for an upcoming course I’m teaching with the organization she shepherds, Zeitgeist Atlanta.
Ignatius House is the Jesuit Retreat Center in Atlanta (and one of my favorite places). They host a regular Facebook Live program called “People of Hope,” and recently I was asked to share my thoughts on the joy of the season of Lent.
Last, but hopefully not least, is a podcast of nature sound recordings that I released recently on the Encountering Silence podcast. So instead of an interview, I get to share with you some of my favorite ambient recordings, mostly from nature. Enjoy!
CONTEMPLATION: 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 (2628, 2715).
Remember, this is a Christian understanding of contemplation. In a secular sense, you could define the word as simply “thoughtful observation” or “full or deep consideration; reflection” — as found on the dictionary.com website.
While contemplation in its secular sense is simply a type of mental activity, in its Christian or mystical sense it is a dimension of prayer.
What is prayer? The quickest answer would be “communication with God.” There are many ways to pray; indeed, when Franciscan Media Publishers brought out a book called Prayer in the Catholic Tradition, it was over 600 pages long, with 45 chapters written by different people to describe different types and forms of prayer. So contemplation, mystically speaking, is one type of prayer. And the Catechism definition gives us a pretty good way of understanding this unique dimension of communication with God.
First, it is wordless. Right away this blows people’s minds. How can prayer be wordless? Isn’t communication, by its very nature, word-full? Ah, but we know that so much communication happens on a non-verbal level; what is true between human beings can be just as true between humans and the divine. God communicates with us at a level “too deep for words,” and our heart has the capacity to do the same in return. I love it that the Catechism suggests both mind and heart are engaged in contemplative prayer: it’s a wordlessness that is not just an affective experience, but can also be a kind of cognitive silence. Indeed, this wordless prayer, more than anything else, is a silent prayer. Even if we are filling our minds with rote prayers (like the liturgy), repetitive prayers (like the Rosary) or even just the occasional rhythm of a Centering Prayer sacred word — contemplation takes place in the silence between and beneath the words.
The Catechism goes on to say that contemplation is a focussed prayer. It’s not the same thing as a kind of objectless meditation. Now, some teachers of contemplative practices might take issue with this point; Cynthia Bourgeault in her insightful book The Heart of Centering Prayerspeaks of the objectless nature of that particular prayer method (interestingly, though, Centering Prayer is described not as contemplation, but as a method of prayer that prepares us for contemplation — a subtle but important distinction). Here’s how I make sense of this: in a Christian context, contemplation always assumes the immersive presence of God. That presence could be experienced as an object of our focus, or simply recognized as existing at a level deeper than our cconscious awareness. But you don’t have prayer without a deity to pray to, and in Christian understanding. that’s the trinitarian God.
“Affective, loving, adoration.” Is it clear that the heart of this prayer is love? Again, it’s not love thought about so much as simply love embodied. Deeper than thought, deeper than language or words, possibly even deeper than feelings or awareness.
At the end, the definition offers a Christ-centered summary: to look on Jesus… with faith and love. Here we see the gaze (observation, consideration), faith (the impulse to pray) and again, love (that deeper-than-words, embodied encounter).
Practically speaking, contemplation is a prayer of depth: deeper than words, deeper than thoughts, deeper than experience. Like so many dimensions of mystical spirituality, it resists being pinned down by the poverty of human language. To truly attempt to grasp contemplation, it might be wiser to set aside the endless merry-go-round of language and instead look for ways to enter into prayerful silence. Centering Prayer is a good place to start, so is the kind of Christian meditation prompted by the World Community for Christian Meditation. The Jesus Prayer (prayer of the heart) from the Eastern Churches is another entry. Whichever of these methods you might explore, seek to rest in the silence that you find in the prayer. This, more than anything else, is the pathway to contemplation.
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.
Last month I was invited to participate in a panel discussion with several contemplative leaders here in the Atlanta area, under the topic “2020 Vision.”
This delicious pun invites us to reflect on how the challenges and opportunities of the year 2020 have contributed to our capacity to see clearly, especially in light of contemplative practice.
What are you seeing that you did not see before the pandemic? How is your vision changing and what might else look different after the pandemic ends?
These questions were featured on the flyer promoting this event, And so in preparing for the talk, I realized these were questions worth reflecting here on my blog as well.
Clearly, my “vision changing” makes sense only on a spiritual level — but I think it makes sense that events in the course of history will alter how we see the world, or circumstances in our lives.
For me, three ways in which my vision has been changed in 2020 have to do with: 1) The pandemic and our response to it; 2) Social media’s power to shape public discourse and the way we perceive the world, and 3) The necessity for finding new avenues of hope in terms of politics and our shared community life.
Let’s look at these one by one.
The Pandemic, Masks, and The Mandate to “Judge Not”
My wife and I live in the metro Atlanta area, in the shadow of Emory University and the CDC. Because of this, the coronavirus — and the steps we need to take to lessen its toll — got onto our radar in January of last year. I remember vividly having a conversation with a former student who is a physician at the CDC, talking about the importance of social distancing, wearing a mask, washing hands for 20 seconds — all topics that became part of our national conversation several weeks later.
Maybe it’s because I heard these guidelines from a real human being I trust, rather than just a political or media figure. But I simply accepted that this is what we all need to do.
Never in my wildest imagining did I think there was anything “political” about responding to the coronavirus. So imagine how dumbfounded I have felt, for months now, as I’ve watched how public health has become politicized. Or, should I say, more politicized than ever before?
This was brought home to me just this past week, when Fran and I went to stay at a friend’s beachfront condo in Florida. It was our first time away from home since March. We were stunned — simply stunned — by how few people were wearing masks in public, even though COVID-19 rates are continuing to rise.
What, then, am I seeing clearly? First, I must acknowledge my own capacity to judge — to be judgmental. While I was in Florida, I had to keep reminding myself that people who choose not to wear masks are, in most cases, those who get their news from different sources than I do. If you trust pundits who are telling you the pandemic is either a hoax or has been blown way out of proportion, then naturally you aren’t going to take seriously the mandate to wear a mask or practice social distancing.
Don’t get me wrong: I still consider it foolish and inconsiderate to go without a mask in public. But I know that judging someone as “bad” because they have made a different decision than I do will not help anyone.
Part of what I am seeing here is just how deeply divided our nation is. It’s no secret that we are divided in our politics, or in “big” issues like how best to protect the environment or what needs to happen to dismantle systemic racism. But the mask issue makes me see clearly that our divisions are much more pervasive than I previously would have guessed.
It seems we are so divided that we literally have two entirely different narratives — stories — that define who we are and what we need to do to live well.
And this brings me to my second point.
Social Media and the New, Corporate-Engineered Tribalism
I have long had a rather complex and uncomfortable relationship with social media. I first began to us MySpace (remember that?), followed by Facebook and Twitter, and then LinkedIn, Instagram and Pinterest, primarily for professional reasons. These days, publishers pretty much insist that authors not only have a social media presence, but are actively engaged in connecting with their social media “tribe.”
I love how social media has enabled me to stay in touch with family and friends, as well as to reconnect with people who I haven’t been connected to in ages — like a cousin who I last saw in person in the mid-1970s; he now lives in New York and is about as deeply involved in both Christian contemplation and interfaith spirituality as I am. Who would have guessed?
But I have long been troubled by how social media seems to function as an echo chamber for our most divisive and inflammatory political opinions, creating the conditions for people to be truly hostile to those who disagree with them, without much opportunity for reasoned, thoughtful discourse or debate — in other words, shedding much more heat than light. I see this problem defining not only the way we talk about politics online, but also spirituality.
In September 2020 the documentary The Social Dilemmapremiered on Netflix. If you haven’t watched it, I encourage you to (and if you don’t subscribe to Netflix, try to find a friend who can host a socially-distanced watch party so you can see it). It’s a movie that examines how the social media providers, in order to make money off their advertising, have created platforms that work to keep us focussed on content that reinforces our existing beliefs — because we’ll pay more and longer attention to content we “like,” which in turn makes us more valuable consumers to advertisers.
In other words: social media is actually engineered to reinforce our political, social and spiritual prejudices. Instead of helping us to find consensus and common ground, social media actually contributes to us, as a society, becoming more polarized.
So no wonder we can’t even figure out a common policy about wearing masks.
Where Do We Find Hope?
The pandemic helped me see more clearly how divided we are, and The Social Dilemma helped me to understand some of the forces that work to keep us divided.
So — where do we find hope?
I’m reminded of a passage I often quote on this blog, from the former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams. Here’s a snippet:
Contemplation is … the key to the essence of a renewed humanity that is capable of seeing the world and other subjects in the world with freedom – freedom from self-oriented, acquisitive habits and the distorted understanding that comes from them… To learn contemplative practice is to learn what we need so as to live truthfully and honestly and lovingly. It is a deeply revolutionary matter.”
Our political, religious, and business leaders cannot (or will not) do what is necessary to help us overcome our divisions. Mark Zuckerberg will not save us; neither will Joe Biden or Franklin Graham. We may be divided at the top, but I believe our only hope for unity comes down at the grassroots.
I could see the value of wearing a mask because someone I trusted at the grassroots explained it to me. I believe we need to do all we can, individually and collectively, to restore the capacity of speaking — and listening — to each other, not on social media, not on some global scale, but in the ordinary channels of our lives.
But this is going to require qualities like a basic humility, a capacity to listen, and a willingness to see with unprejudiced eyes. Qualities, in other words, that contemplative practice helps us to cultivate.
As Archbishop Williams points out, contemplation is about learning to tell the truth and to be loving. It’s about learning to see with the eyes of freedom. It’s about learning to trust.
Is contemplation a panacea? Not hardly. It needs to be joined together with learning skills for effective communication, and with a lot of soul-searching, at the national level, about what we understand regarding truth, and science, and the rules of civility and compassion. The divisions we experience will not be healed over night, and they cannot be healed as long as we try to maintain systems of economic and social privilege in our society.
In other words: we have a lot of work to do.
So here’s the question: when we learn to see clearly (something contemplation can help us to do), are we willing to do the hard work necessary to make our world a better place? I believe anyone who is serious about contemplative practice will answer that question “Yes” — even though the task is mighty and the work is sure to be a challenge.
But it’s work that needs to be done. That much is clear.
Contemplative spirituality has its own jargon, and this “language of prayer” evolves over time. Nowadays you’ll find students of the mystical path speaking about meditation, nonduality, mindfulness and heightened consciousness, whereas a century ago you’d be more likely to encounter terminology like mental prayer, unitive life, recollection and rapture.
Sometimes words themselves evolve in how they are used: when Evelyn Underhill spoke about the prayer of rapture, she was not talking about the idea of mass ascension taking place at the end of time, such as you will find in some corners of the evangelical world. Rather, for Underhill, rapture referred an ecstatic transformation of consciousness, available in the present to anyone to whom God might bestow such a grace. Likewise, meditation used to imply any kind of thoughtful reflection as prayer, whereas we now tend to use the word to describe a practice of silent attentiveness.
So part of the challenge of exploring contemplative spirituality is learning how the language of the interior life has evolved over time.
With this as our backdrop, here is a guided meditation I recorded several weeks ago for an online program I directed. I was introducing the participants to the spirituality of Evelyn Underhill, and so I wanted to offer them a spiritual exercise based on Underhill’s teachings. Drawing primarily from her books Mysticismand Practical Mysticism, this recording invites you into prayer through silence and relaxed attentiveness. I hope you’ll give it a listen and take the time to rest prayerfully in the silence.
As you listen to this recording, you may notice that the instructions for practicing the prayer of recollection are very similar to the guidelines for Centering Prayer or for other forms of contemplative practice. This is because, while different “methods” of prayer might have slightly different instructions — for example, the Jesus Prayer involves reciting the name of Jesus or a short prayer in a repetitive way, while Centering Prayer involves each person choosing their own sacred word to recite — the essential components are the same: entering into silence in a devotional, prayerful spirit, seeking to place our relaxed attentiveness into the silence where we trust God to be present.
The Prayer of Recollection reminds us that these kinds of silent methods of prayer are nothing new. It’s been over a century since Underhill described this way of praying, and she in turn was drawing on the wisdom of the mystics of past, like St. Teresa of Ávila (16th century). The ways in which we describe silent forms of prayer may change over time, but the essential elements of this kind of prayer — restful silence, relaxed attention, a word or icon on which we focus our intention to be present to God — have a long history indeed.
Hope you enjoy this recording. I’ll be releasing other recordings of meditations and prayer practices in the future.
I’ve been refurbishing my office over the past few months, and so one of the tasks I’ve taken on is reviewing my old journals. Most of them I’m content to simply leave tucked away in the corner of the closet where they’ve been sitting for a while.
But the other day I came across a journal I kept from November 1985 to December 1986. I was 24 when I began it, and had just turned 26 when I wrote the last entry. So basically, a record of my 25th year. At the time, I was learning the basics of contemplative spirituality from working with my first spiritual director and taking several classes from the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation.
I don’t think there’s anything earth-shattering here; most of the journal entries display the kind of immaturity one might expect from a spiritual beginner in his mid-20s. Still, I was delighted at how self-aware some of my entries were, and how even at that young age I was already aware of the mystery at the heart of silent prayer.
So, this may be entirely self-indulgent, and if so, please forgive me. But if you’d like a glimpse into the mind of an aspiring contemplative from nearly 35 year ago, here are some posts for your consideration.
November 16, 1985
Chanting in a community takes me out of myself. I feel part of a greater whole, as my voice unites with the voices of everyone in the group. Music operates in the same way — instruments combine so that the symphony is great than all its parts.
Music, at its finest, points directly toward Joy — and through music I’ve experienced some of my clearest apprehensions of Joy. During my first year of college, listening to the Fantasia on a Theme by Tallis, my room — a drab cinderblock chamber — suddenly contained all eternity.
November 23, 1985
Rootedness — Radical
Silence is the only soil in which my spiritual formation can take root — or at least the primary soil — yet silence is so elusive, so shy and difficult to simply be in… Either Teresa or John of the Cross said that, in fifteen minutes of prayer, fourteen minutes were spent in distraction — certainly my experience also!
Yet — that silence is so precious — so fruitful — that the fourteen distracted minutes proves a small price to pay.
Images — cataphatic experiences — can be exciting, consoling, affirming — yet the apophatic way is the more nurturing path. Silence and emptiness: radical.
November 24, 1985
Silence is a presence; and in silence is the presence of God.
Silence as presence can be explored in a variety of ways: through chanting, the use of a mantra, concentration on breath, or — as I practice tonight — the simply deliberate clearing of verbal thought from the mind — without even closing my eyes.
Silence’s depth is subtle, filled with nuances and divers tints. The more I explore silence, the more vital, real, nurturing, it becomes to me.
Someone once said that death is the greatest silence. But even the silence of death screams when placed alongside the silence of eternity… a silence we can begin to explore right now.
November 25, 1985
“In Silence and in Trust is your Strength.”
These words of God to Isaiah are a marvelous example of how upside down the pursuit of spiritual formation can be. In a competitive, nuclear-powered world, who could ever equate silence and trust with strength?
Yet evidence of the wisdom of these words begins here and now in the “real world.”
The technological world is a world filled with stress; silence is a deep, holistic, creative response to stress. Silence is for the mind what a massage is for the body.
Plus there are spiritual benefits but those are subtle. I’ll let them describe themselves, organically, over time.
From September 28 through November 9, 2020 I’m leading a program called “Contemplation and Practice” through Zeitgeist Atlanta. Here are some of the meditations that participants will have access to.
On this page I’m listing books that may be of interest to persons taking the course — or to anyone else interested in exploring meditation and contemplation from an interfaith/interspiritual perspective.
All of these books are optional reading — since the heart of this course is practice rather than study. Still, for anyone who’d like to learn more about the spiritualities of meditation and contemplation that we will be exploring, these resources can be helpful.
Also, for each topic I’m providing an audio guided meditation, inspired by the tradition it represents. The word “inspired” is important — I make no claims to be a teacher or expert on any of these traditions, with the possible exception of Christianity, where the meditation I present (Centering Prayer) is a method I have been trained to present. All the other meditations should be understood as general spiritual exercises, inspired by — but not necessarily representative of — each tradition.
With what is going on in the world, how do we as contemplatives take care of our spiritual health? I find it more challenging to sit now as there are a lot more distracting thoughts than normal. I’m not anxious about the virus — more about how we are managing it. I get frustrated and really hate the scare mongering by the media. I feel a lot of things are out of my control. I think contemplative practice can help immensely here. What are your thoughts?
My first thought is, you are not alone.
I certainly have noticed that my prayer time seems more distracted than normal — and I tend to be distractible under the most ideal circumstances. I have a feeling I’m not alone. There’s a reason why Buddhists refer to the human mind as a “monkey” — like simians, our egos tend to chatter a lot and swing from tree to tree — i.e., from thought to thought, from idea to idea. It seems that consciousness is like a kaleidoscope: lots of thoughts and feelings and images and memories, jumbled together in an ever spinning wheel of changing awareness.
Silence, in prayer, is a way to pay attention to the spaces between our thoughts and feelings and images and memories, where we hope to obey the invitation of Psalm 46:10: to “be still and know” the God who is present in our hearts (Romans 5:5).
But like Allen, I too “find it more challenging to sit now as there are a lot more distracting thoughts than normal” — and again, I bet I’m not the only one. Indeed, the US Center for Disease Control has a webpage acknowledging that this time of pandemic can be stressful for people, which can include increased feelings of anxiety or exacerbated mental health issues such as depression.
Interestingly, among the many helpful suggestions that the CDC offers for coping with stress and anxiety during these troubled times, one of the suggestions is to meditate.
Which brings us back to the question: “how do we as contemplatives take care of our spiritual health?” To help answer that question, I’d like to turn to two voices in the Christian contemplative tradition, one from the fifteenth century (St. Ignatius of Loyola) and one from the 20th (Kenneth Leech).
St. Ignatius of Loyola
St. Ignatius on Dealing with Times of Desolation
St. Ignatius of Loyola is the author of the Spiritual Exercises, one of the founders of the Jesuits, and probably the principle architect behind what has come to be known as Ignatian Spirituality. One of the hallmarks of Ignatian Spirituality is that it offers plenty of practical advice related to discernment — spiritually informed decision making.
Ignatius invites us to recognize that, in prayer, we can experience times of consolation and of desolation. This is not just a matter of happy feelings and sad feelings, or of feeling close to God compared to feeling far away. Times of consolation are best described as times when we sense ourselves moving closer to God — so therefore, times of desolation are times when it feels as if we are moving away from God. What matters is not the feeling so much as the process that seems to be at work in us. Consolation implies we are growing in grace, in virtue, in a desire for God or for more consciously responding to God’s love. Desolation, by contrast, implies that we are nurturing fear, resentment, cynical or bitter feelings of victimization or unhappiness, or simply a kind of selfish self-involvement.
Most of us mere mortals tend to be a mix of consolation and desolation much of the time. We can be moving toward God in some ways and away from God in others. We can get lost in a “two steps forward, two steps back” treadmill. If we persevere in prayer and our hunger to calibrate our lives toward the love of God, that can turn into “two steps forward, one step back” — but if we aren’t careful, we can get lost in desolation and it ends up being “two steps forward, three steps back.”
I bring all this up because, during times of stress or anxiety or excessive mental chatter, we might feel like we’re stuck on a treadmill — or slowly losing ground. It’s possible that, on a very deep spiritual level, we are slowly and steadily growing in grace. But if it feels like we’re moving in the wrong direction, we have to deal with those unhappy feelings.
St. Ignatius has very simple but explicit advice for when we feel like we are stuck in a time of desolation — and I think his advice makes sense whether the “desolation” is just an unpleasant feeling or truly a time of withdrawal from God. In either case, Ignatius’s advice is worth considering: he insists that times of desolation are not times to make a change, especially if it involves abandoning a commitment we made during our happier times of consolation (Spiritual Exercises #318).
With this in mind, my first recommendation for managing prayer and spiritual health during this difficult time is to persevere in the spiritual practices you adopted before the pandemic. If you were practicing centering prayer on a daily or twice-daily basis, do the best you can to maintain that kind of a regular practice — even if your mind and heart seem more distracted than ever. It’s not about doing it “perfectly” but about being as faithful as possible, even given how messy and crazy and imperfect our spiritual efforts may seem.
It’s important to remember that spiritual practices yield blessings over time. Spirituality rewards perseverance — it’s for the “long haul” or as Eugene Peterson so eloquently described it in the title of one of his books, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.
Which means that, even though it feels unpleasant for our efforts to be still and silent before God to be met with a mind that is more frantic and frenetic than ever, it’s helpful to remember that these are extraordinary times and to be gentle with ourselves. After a time of illness, one does not waltz back into a gymnasium and begin working out like an olympic champion. It takes time to get back into peak performance. We call spiritual practices “exercises” because in some ways they’re very similar to working out. Just as nutritionists and therapists are encouraging people to be more forgiving of themselves if they gain weight during the pandemic, so too we need to be gentle with ourselves if our prayer is more scattered than normal. Allow it to be imperfect. Be forgiving of that reality — but try to be keep “showing up” for prayer anyway. If not every day, then at least as often as you can, with God’s help.
Kenneth Leech
Kenneth Leech: Contemplation’s Context
For our second insight into how to care for our spiritual health during these challenging times, let’s turn to the English contemplative author Kenneth Leech, who just died about five years ago. I quote from Ken on this blog all the time, and the following quotation is my favorite words of his, so if you’ve been reading this blog for a while you’ve probably seen these words before. But they’re worth reading again and again. They come from his book The Social God.
Contemplation has a context: it does not occur in a vacuum. Today’s context is that of the multinational corporations, the arms race, the strong state, the economic crisis, urban decay, the growing racism, and human loneliness. It is within this highly deranged culture that contemplatives explore the wastes of their own being. It is in the midst of chaos and crisis that they pursue the vision of God and experience the conflict which is at the core of the contemplative search. They become part of that conflict and begin to see into the heart of things. The contemplative shares in the passion of Christ which is both an identification with the pain of the world and also the despoiling of the principalities and powers of the fallen world-order.
Ken wrote these words in the 1980s, and if anything they are more relevant than ever, almost 40 years later. And I think they can be very helpful for navigating the pandemic.
We live in a time of chaos and crisis. Contemplation now, like always, does not exist in a vacuum. When you seek to be still and silent before God, you are bringing your mind and heart and body to God, just as it is, right here, right now. Which means, you are bringing the context of the pandemic, of our political polarization, our widespread social unrest, our economic insecurity, our collective fears and anxieties and grief and depression with you into your prayer time.
Is it any wonder that many of us are finding our prayer time more distracted or jittery than ever?
Ken’s words seem to be saying this: don’t be surprised you have a monkey-mind. Lean into it. Pursue the vision of God right in the midst of your distractions and scattered feelings and memories. Experience the conflict — it is at the core of your search for God, for it is at the core of what it means to be human today. Try to make sense of your jangly, unsettled mind as a subtle way in which you identify “with the pain of the world” but also as a sign that, by praying, by seeking God’s silence and stillness even in the midst of these challenging times, that you embody the very movement of the Spirit toward healing and toward greater intimacy with God.
It’s not easy when you are in a noisy place and want nothing more than to be silent. But that desire is the golden thread that will lead you, sooner or later, out of the chaos and into the quiet.
To Summarize
Just the simple fact that Allen is asking these questions tells me that he is already committed to nurturing his soul as best he can during these challenging times. And if you’ve read this blog post this far, that’s a pretty good sign that you want to take good care of your spiritual health, too.
Let’s trust the subtle movements of the Spirit in our hearts. We desire silence and stillness, peace and gentleness, the inner spaciousness that only reveals itself when we pay attention to the gaps between our incessant thoughts and feelings. Those gaps are always there, because the silence and the stillness is always there, resting beneath the turbulence of our surface consciousness.
During these troubled times, let’s allow our prayer time to feel a bit more unsettled or distracted than normal — but let’s keep praying. And when we notice just how chaotic or conflicted our awareness seems to be, let’s remember that this is just a symptom of the world at large, and when we enter into silence, no matter how imperfectly, we are praying not just for ourselves but for the entire world. So let’s offer that inner turmoil to God, just as it us. And trust that the Spirit will love us and guide us and lead us by the right road, even though we “may know nothing about it” (as Thomas Merton once prayed).
Let us pray for one another. Let us pray for the world. Let us pray for our nation and for the healing of our political divisions. Let us pray for the triumph of justice and peace, and especially for those who are vulnerable, sick and in need. And finally, let us pray for an end to the pandemic and for a more hopeful tomorrow.
Brother Elias Marechal, OCSO is a Trappist monk of the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, Georgia. He is the author of a luminous book on contemplative spirituality, Tears of An Innocent God: Conversations on Silence, Kindness and Prayer. If you don’t have it, do yourself a favor and get a copy.
The book is filled with many gems of wisdom and insight. Here is one example:
At times it may feel as though nothing is happening in that vast silence. And yet so much is happening!
In the endless region of our inner landscape, bit by tiny bit, we are transformed into the likeness of Christ, as we are changed by waves and waves of Silent Mercy; so that gradually we come to speak, think, and love as Christ does: gently, without fuss, in a marvel of beauty.
If you have any experience with silent forms of prayer, you understand what Brother Elias is talking about. It’s so easy — and tempting — to conclude that sitting in silence, merely repeating a prayer word or a Bible verse or a classic prayer like “Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me,” is just a colossal waste of time. Nothing happens — except for maybe incessant feelings of boredom and restlessness.
Not to mention the incessant, ongoing drama of mental chatter that seems to blather on endlessly, jumping from distraction to distraction, chasing after thoughts and feelings like a magpie on the hunt for yet another shiny object.
Twenty minutes a day, repeating a prayer word and struggling to remain attentive while the mind chatters on — just how is this “prayer,” exactly?
Thank God for sending us wise teachers and guides like Brother Elias, who help us to see beneath the surface of our ordinary, everyday consciousness, to begin to recognize and appreciate the hidden (mystical) action of the Holy Spirit in our hearts.
To be sure, silent prayer does not make God love us any more than God already does. By itself it is no guarantee of holiness or of mystical union with God. But if silent prayer doesn’t change God’s relationship with us, it certainly can change how we relate to God. It is a response to repeated injunctions in both Jewish and Christian scriptures to practice silence in the presence of God:
Be still and know that I am God. (Psalm 46:10)
To you, God, silence is praise. (Psalm 65:1)
The Lord is in his holy temple, let all the earth keep silent before him. (Habakkuk 2:20)
Learn to love and honor your interior silence. (I Thessalonians 4:11)
In addition to the Biblical call for silence, saints and mystics throughout the history of the Christian faith have also commended silence as the foundation of any contemplative practice.
“Silence is God’s first language; everything else is a poor translation.” Thomas Keating
“The Father spoke one Word, which was his Son, and this Word he speaks always in eternal silence, and in silence must it be heard by the soul.” St John of the Cross
“Trinity! . . . lead us beyond all knowledge and light, to the highest summit of your mystic Word, where your simple, absolute, and changeless mysteries rest hidden in the luminous darkness of your silence.” Prayer of Dionysius the Areopagite
But immersing ourselves in prayerful silence is more than just a way of conforming to the spiritual precepts of the past. It brings its own reward to us today… only it’s not usually a reward we can easily discern, especially while we are praying.
“You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles?” This teaching from Jesus is the key to understanding the blessings of a sustained practice of silent prayer. The graces of silence are revealed over time, just as a tree takes time to grow, mature and bear fruit.
It is the fruit of silent prayer that shows us how worthwhile an activity it is.
But what “fruit” can we expect from prayerful silence?
Back to Elias’s insightful comment: “In the endless region of our inner landscape, bit by tiny bit, we are transformed into the likeness of Christ, as we are changed by waves and waves of Silent Mercy; so that gradually we come to speak, think, and love as Christ does: gently, without fuss, in a marvel of beauty.”
Silent prayer invites us into the long, slow, formational journey of becoming more and more Christlike.
But what does that mean? I don’t think it has anything to do with the signs and wonders attributed to Christ; I, for one, don’t know of anyone who can walk on water or multiply loaves and fishes. I think the promise of silent prayer is more humble: it invites us to manifest the mind of Christ — to take on the personality and psychology of the incarnation of Love.
This means: becoming more loving (more patient, more kind, more humble, more trusting, more hopeful, and so forth — see I Corinthians 13 for a few ideas). It also means embodying the fruit of the Spirit: not only love, but joy, peace, faithfulness, gentleness, etc. (Galatians 5:22-23). And it means beginning to behave like we see Christ acting in the Gospels: more merciful, more forgiving, more prayerful, more compassionate.
Once again: this is a slow process, a process of restoring the very image and likeness of God within us. It doesn’t happen in a day, or a weekend or maybe even a decade. But it does happen. I’ve noticed slow and gentle changes in my own heart — and others have seen it in me as well. I’m calmer, gentler, and more capable of chuckling at my own foibles.
Did silent prayer “cause” these positive changes? I wouldn’t go that far — I think grace is caused by the action of the Holy Spirit in our hearts. But I do believe that silent prayer is a way of making myself more available for the Spirit’s hidden work in my life.
I’m assuming if you’ve read this far, you are at least interested in the spirituality of silence, if not already practicing a daily discipline of silent prayer. I encourage you to begin or to persevere, and I wish for you many days of joy and a quiet sense of your relationship with God deepening as you pray.
But we’re all human, so I know you will be like me, and have days when prayerful silence leaves you feeling restless and wondering “Why am I doing this?” Be gentle when those days come. Be gentle — and remember these wonderful words from Brother Elias. Beneath your surface-level restlessness, the Holy Spirit is washing you with wave after wave of silent mercy — and this cleansing process will foster Christ-like love within you, love that will blossom in your life “in a marvel of beauty.”
Amen! May it be so.
I’ll finish this blog post with one more picture of Brother Elias and me… showing that we really do know how to “go within”:
Hello. I have your book Answering the Contemplative Call, which I will be reading shortly. Which other books do you recommend for someone who attends silent retreats?
I started reading Thomas Merton’s The Seven Story Mountain — what commentary book would you recommend on Merton? Likewise St Theresa or maybe I should pick a different mystic for starters after Merton?
You have many retreats but for a beginner which ones again would you recommend?
As for your book Christian Mystics, I only have the Kindle sample— could you just briefly touch on the 108 mystics?
Thanks for these many questions! Let me take them one at a time, not necessarily in order.
Recommended Retreats for Beginners
You know, I am still adapting to life during the pandemic, when so many retreat house and monastery guesthouses are closed to the public, so most retreats are now being offered online. It gives us a new opportunity to have a retreat experience even from the comfort of our own homes. St. Ignatius of Loyola pioneered the idea of a “retreat in everyday life,” when he suggested that the Spiritual Exercises could be done on a 30-day, dedicated retreat — or as a daily prayer commitment of 60-90 minutes each day, over about an eight month period. That’s how I did the Spiritual Exercises, and it was truly a meaningful experience.
But back to your question: what retreats are best for beginners? You asked about my retreats specifically, but let me answer in more general terms. Christian spirituality is a wisdom tradition and it is also a way of life. I think it makes sense to participate in retreats that emphasize both of these dimensions (or, balance your diet between retreats that emphasize one or the other).
“Wisdom Tradition” retreats emphasize what we can learn about spirituality: they focus on the Bible, the great mystics of history, or ways to integrate spirituality with science or spirituality with social justice. These are the “theory” retreats and they can help us to have a more expanded understanding of what it means to follow Christ and embrace a spiritual way of thinking and seeing.
“Way of Life” retreats emphasize how we put our spirituality into practice. These include retreats that teach us how to pray, that emphasize the practice of meditation and contemplation, that integrate yoga or tai chi or walking a labyrinth or other embodied practices into spirituality, or that help us to appreciate the liturgical year by focussing on the themes of a given moment in time (Advent Retreat, Lenten Retreat, etc.). If the Wisdom-oriented retreats teach us a new way of seeing and thinking, these Way of Life retreats teach us how to embody and live a more deeply spiritual life.
My retreats tend to fall more in the “Wisdom Tradition” category, although I have led some prayer retreats in the past and hope that I can do so again. I’ve done several retreats that are specifically designed for beginners in mind. This fall I’ll be leading a World Mysticism seven-week course through the Zeitgeist Center in Atlanta (but offered online, so it’s open to everyone), and then in January a four week course on the Wisdom of the Christian Mystics offered through Columbia Theological Seminary’s Center for Lifelong Learning. Both of those would be excellent for beginners. The Zeitgeist course is an interfaith program, whereas the Columbia Seminary course is centered on Christian spirituality. Naturally, some people will be more interested in one than the other (although it’s okay to take both!).
I do have one more “practice” oriented retreat in the works as well: a two-day retreat on dealing with distractions during centering prayer. For more information, click here.
The bottom line is that most retreats are offered with an eye to both beginners and more seasoned practitioners. So there’s not really any specific order you need to follow. Find the retreat topic(s) which interest you, and take those retreats. Let your interests guide you.
Recommended Books for Retreatants
“So many books, so little time!” There are so many good books on the topics of Christian mysticism and contemplative spirituality that it’s hard to know where to begin. The person who asked the question is going to read Answering the Contemplative Call which was written with beginners in mind. Three other books that I think are especially helpful for newcomers to the spirituality of silence would include:
Into the Silent Land: A Guide to the Christian Practice of Contemplation by Martin Laird. Probably the best single “introductory” book on contemplative (silent) prayer that I’ve ever read. And I’ve read a lot! But this book is simple, down-to-earth, steeped in the teaching of the saints and mystics, and universal in scope: the material that Martin covers applies equally well to centering prayer, Christian meditation, and the Jesus prayer.
Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening by Cynthia Bourgeault. Thomas Keating is the acknowledged “master teacher” of Centering Prayer, and his books are important and worth reading by anyone on the spiritual path, even if you aren’t a Centering Prayer practitioners. But Cynthia’s book is so warmly written and accessible, and does such a good job at orienting beginners but also illustrating just how deep this prayer practice can go, that I think hers is the single best book for beginners.
The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics Seeby Richard Rohr. This gentle, informally written book does a wonderful job at making mysticism accessible to ordinary folks like you and me. Richard is one of the most popular spiritual writers alive today, and this book shows why. He’s taken a difficult and imposing topic — Christian mysticism — and shown how everyone can be nurtured by this way of spirituality. Of course I recommend you follow up with The Big Book of Christian Mysticism, but read Richard’s book first to get oriented.
There are many other worthy books. If you want to consider some other titles, check out my Recommended Reading list.
Thomas Merton, St. Teresa (or Other Mystics Worth Reading)
I would suggest that the best way to get to know Merton is just to read his own works. The Seven Story Mountain is a literary masterpiece but it is spiritually immature. So follow up with one or two of his later, more practice-oriented books like New Seeds of Contemplationor The Inner Experience. Or get Thomas Merton: Spiritual Masterwhich is an anthology that provides a nice overview of Merton’s entire body of work.
Now, as for Saint Teresa of Ávila: is she the best mystic to begin with? Probably not. Like so many of the great mystics who lived before the year 1600, she writes with a voice and a sensibility that in some ways is very removed from our own. Plus we’re reading her in translation, which adds another layer of distortion. Don’t get me wrong: she’s brilliant, and her books — especially The Interior Castle— are luminous. But if you’re just getting started on your exploration of Christian mysticism, let me recommend five books to get you started.
Evelyn Underhill, Practical Mysticism— Also a dated book, but it’s just over 100 years old so it’s much more accessible than older books on the subject. Underhill offers a gentle and simple introduction to the most important topic of all in mysticism: how mystics pray.
Bernard McGinn (ed.), The Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism — This brilliant and comprehensive anthology offers a great “big picture” view of the literature of mysticism, but what really makes it shine is McGinn’s insightful introductions to each of the mystics and their writings. This book is a great litmus test: if you can make it through this 500 page tome and enjoy doing so, you’re ready to read the mystical classics.
Carl McColman (ed.), The Little Book of Christian Mysticism— McGinn’s anthology is scholarly, mine — based on short mystical “soundbites” — is more devotional in its aim and purpose. Read it and let it accompany you in your daily prayer time: and the mystics will become your guides in prayer.
Anonymous, The Cloud of Unknowing — Especially in the accessible translation by Carmen Acevedo Butcher, this is a great book to start on your journey of reading the mystics. It’s a bit heady and the language can be stern, but it’s very practical and beneath the toughness is a truly warm invitation into contemplation.
Julian of Norwich, The Showings — Like The Cloud of Unknowing, this book was written in Middle English in the late 1300s. Both are mystical classics, but they present radically different approaches to spirituality: The Cloud is stern, prosaic, and practical; Julian’s writing is deeply poetic, filled with ringing affirmations of Divine Love, and profoundly imaginative. Read these books together to get a rich introduction to the “yin and yang” of contemplative spirituality. Mirabai Starr’s translation is probably best for beginners.
After these books, then I would say it’s time to read some of the more challenging or philosophical mystical writings. Key voices to explore include St. Teresa of Ávila, St. John of the Cross, Meister Eckhart, John Ruusbroec, Simone Weil, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, and Ramon Panikkar — among many others!
Christian Mystics: 108 Seers, Saints and Sages
Finally, I was asked to comment briefly on my book Christian Mystics: 108 Seers, Saints and Sages. It was written as a companion volume to my previous book, The Big Book of Christian Mysticism, so I would say to start with that one. But when you come to Christian Mystics, you’ll find that it is a book designed to help you get to know many of the great mystics — and to appreciate the diversity of their gifts. When I wrote this book I was worried that if I arranged it alphabetically it would read like an encyclopedia, and if I arranged it chronologically it would read like a history book — and while there’s nothing wrong with either encyclopedias or history books, I wanted to create a resource that was more spiritually useful. So this book is intended not only to introduce you to the great mystics, but also to encourage the reader to pray about, and discern, how you are being called to respond to God’s love. I do believe we are all called to be mystics, but not all of us are called to be philosophers or poets or memoirists or theologians. So when you read this book, don’t just see it as a collection of facts to fill your head with. Rather, I hope you’ll approach it as an adventure in getting to know the tremendous variety of mystics who have graced the earth over the centuries, and then to pray this question: “God, what kind of contemplative am I called to be?”
I hope all this is helpful. Thanks for reading and retreating with me!
Maybe those questions were big for Twitter, but I appreciate you asking them. Let me reflect on them here.
Does contemplative practice bring uniques gifts/experiences, beyond protecting us and teaching us how to tell the truth?
What does a contemplative practice do — not only for those who engage in the practice, but for all people?
Since this question is being asked in response to my previous blog post — about my decision to remain a Catholic even though I am heartbroken at the church’s ongoing struggle with its history of abuse — I’m going to answer it from this angle: how does being a contemplative help me (or anyone) function in an organization/institution (religious or otherwise), and how does it benefit the organization, even beyond those who are contemplative practitioners?
Put another way: if I engage in contemplative prayer as a Christian, how does it benefit me, but then how does it benefit all Christians (whether they are contemplative or not), and how does it benefit all people (regardless of religious identity, whether they are contemplative or not)?
It’s a great question, so let’s explore.
How does being a contemplative help me to function in organizations — even dysfunctional organizations? Every informed, honest person knows that the Catholic Church (and many other religious bodies as well, like Shambhala Buddhism) has made terrible choices at the institutional level, choices that hurt some of the most vulnerable members of society. I completely understand why so many people must in good conscience leave such a dysfunctional system. Those of us who stay, stay not because of the church’s dysfunction, but in spite of it. We remain, in part, because we hope that good people can influence the organization in good ways. In other words, desire all its toxicity, we believe there’s something worth saving in the organization.So how does contemplation help me to do this? Just a few thoughts, off the top of my head. Contemplation keeps me anchored in God’s silence and God’s love. That anchor allows me to understand that my loyalty to the church only makes sense in the light of my higher/deeper loyalty to God. In other words, I remain a Catholic as part of my commitment to God. Contemplation teaches me to value everyone — not just people who think like me, talk like me or look like me. The deeper I go in contemplation, the more I recognize that we are all one family, all one tribe. This recognition helps me to serve those in need, to challenge those who are unjust, to support those who are doing good work. Finally, contemplation helps me to stay connected to God’s love and God’s joy. This is essential, especially when dealing with human conflict, human brokenness, and human sin. Pay too much attention to human sin and it’s easy to become angry, vengeful, and judgmental. This is why political revolutionaries so often end up being just as oppressive as the people they overthrew. Only by remaining anchored in Divine love, Divine compassion, Divine mercy, and Divine forgiveness, can we hope to meet human brokenness — in others, or in ourselves — with Divine love rather than human hate.
How does being a contemplative help others — even extending to those beyond my tribe or organization? I am convinced that prayer changes things, even if the only “thing” it changes is the consciousness and heart of the person who is praying. Even that solely-interior change can be enough, a “butterfly effect” that can eventually change the world. God gave all of us free will, so there’s no magic at play here, as if logging enough hours in silence will necessarily change other peoples’ hearts and minds. But I do believe logging enough hours in silence will change my heart and mind enough that this, in turn, will change how I deal with others, and all of our relationships will begin to have an impact on other peoples’ hearts and souls — and the process continues from there.Contemplation changes the world slowly. This drives many people mad, people who are angry or passionate and who insist that we need radical change now. Of course we need radical change now: we have needed radical change now for centuries. But when such change is sourced out of hearts and minds that belong to ideological anger rather than contemplative compassion, the end-result is predictably the same: a shift in the balance of power, but always somebody with more power hurting somebody else with less.
The reality is, contemplative change is radical, and it is happening right now: only in very slow and non-dramatic ways. The more of us who commit to such change, the more hope there is that such change will be systemic, sustainable, and truly anchored in love.
How does contemplative practice do these things?
If the first question wanted more insight into the theory (or theology) of contemplative practice, this second question is more praxis-oriented — in other words, how do we engage in contemplative practice in such a way that it achieves its full potential?
First, I think it’s important to point out an essential distinction. Contemplation does nothing in itself: it is the Holy Spirit who “does these things” — who changes our hearts from narcissism to compassion, who changes our minds from judgment to forgiveness, who changes organizations from wielding toxic power to embracing humble service.
So the question really should be, “How does the Holy Spirit do these things?” Through the hearts of contemplatives who, by tending to silence, are actively opening our hearts and minds to be guided and led by that very Spirit, the Spirit of love and mercy and compassion.
Contemplative practice is the practice of self-emptying (kenosis) and self-forgetting (humility). Most of us are very imperfect in both of these gestures. But the Holy Spirit has a long track record in working with imperfect beings. We enter into silence and pray silently because we know this is a gesture of consent, a willingness to relinquish control and invite the Spirit in to do the work that only the Spirit can do, at a level deeper than the threshold of our conscious awareness.
As Thomas Merton said, “you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.”
Of courses, we are still responsible for what we do know: we know to behave compassionately and kindly, to forgive seventy times seventy times (in other words, without limit), to struggle for justice and peace and fairness and the protection of those in need while calling to account those who wield power inequitably. But it is because we are immersed in the silence of contemplation that we have any hope of doing any of this with a measure of God’s grace in our hearts.
In Conclusion
Contemplation is not a panacea, it is not a cure-all. It is simply a way of praying that its long-term practitioners report help the individual to slow be more and more conformed to the image and likeness of God in their hearts; and therefore, because it changes us as individuals, it can also (by grace) make a difference in our social structures and institutions.
We pray because we love God. We love God because God first loved us. We struggle for justice or fairness or a more equitable society because we love our neighbors, and we love them because God loves them — and because God first loved us. Love, really, is at the heart of all things. And contemplation, as a gesture of praying that relaxes the mind and opens the heart, is simply a way of making ourselves available to more fully receive the graciously given love that can change us and change the world.
It’s been over a month now since the World Health Organization has acknowledged that COVID-19 is a pandemic. As of today (4/13/20), over 22000 Americans and 116,000 people worldwide have died from the virus; and those numbers will certainly rise in the days and months to come. While this is not the plague (which decimated over a third of Europe’s population in one terrible four-year period), it’s far worse than the ordinary flu or even the swine flu. Almost everyone’s lives have been affected, many people have lost their jobs or seen their income drop, and many others are struggling with the fear and uncertainty that any pandemic can bring.
For many of us, restricting our mobility and maintaining social distance is the most practical thing we can do to help slow down the spread of the disease. On the surface that sounds like a small thing to do, and yet in reality it is difficult. Some people have unhappy or unhealthy home environments due to toxic relationships in their lives; some live alone and are dealing with profound feelings of isolation and loneliness; and even those who are blessed with happy marriages or families or other relationships may feel the stress of confinement and a sense of not being in control.
I’m certainly not the first person to say this, but perhaps those of us who already are interested in contemplation and mystical spirituality can use this time profitably as a kind of “ad hoc monastery,” a temporary cloistered environment where we might find time to read, reflect, pray, meditate, and embrace silence.
With this in mind, I thought it might be interesting to consider the spiritual writings of several great mystics of the past, all of whom lived during times of epidemics or pandemics. I’ve pulled figures from three periods of history: first, from those who lived in mid-fourteenth century Europe and so would have experienced, or at least had knowledge of, the horrors of the plague. The second group lived during a later plague epidemic, what Daniel Defoe called “the plague year” of 1665-1666 in England; and finally, a group of twentieth century mystics, all of whom lived during the deadly Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918-1920.
Julian of Norwich, Survivor of the Plague.
In drawing together this list of mystical writers, I think it’s important to note that they do not write about their experience living during a pandemic. In fact, to the best of my knowledge (I could be wrong), none of those writers really address the question of how to survive/thrive during a pandemic. Which of itself might be instructive: there is more to life than protecting ourselves against infectious diseases, important though that most certainly is.
It seems to me that if we could gather these twelve folks together and ask them, “What advice to you have for surviving a pandemic?” They would say things like, “Trust in God, be careful, pray daily, live humbly, be kind to others, strive to manifest the fruit of the spirit.” We can add the wisdom of our age, including shelter in place, maintain social distance, and wash your hands for 20 seconds!
There’s more to embracing the mystic life than just reading the mystics. But hopefully these folks can be an inspiration for us during this extraordinary time (or any time).
John Ruusbroec (1293-1381), author of The Spiritual Espousals and Other Works. This Flemish priest wrote highly evocative, radical reflections on how the practice of contemplative prayer leads to a sense of embodied union with God.
Gregory Palamas (c. 1296-1359), author of The Triads. Eastern Orthodox authority on hesychasm — the mystical practice of entering contemplation through the recitation of the Jesus Prayer (“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me”).
Anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing and The Book of Privy Counsel (c. 1375). Perhaps the most important western medieval document on the practice of silent prayer: Centering Prayer is based on teachings found in this book.
Walter Hilton (d. 1396), author of The Scale of Perfection. A brilliant psychologist of the contemplative life; Hilton instructed his reader (a cloistered nun) to persevere in prayer so that God may restore the Divine image and likeness in her.
Julian of Norwich (1342-c. 1416), author of The Showings.This masterpiece of the mystical imagination reveals how Divine Love infused Julian with a spirituality of unshakeable optimism. “All shall be well,” wrote this woman who lived through the worst visitation of the plague.
George Fox (1624-1691), author of The Journal of George Fox. Founder of the Quakers, George Fox proclaimed a spirituality of deep equality, radical nonviolence, and encountering the Divine within through the communal practice of silence.
Thomas Traherne (c. 1636-1674), author of Centuries of Meditation. Best known as one of the metaphysical poets, Traherne also wrote a collection of meditations in which he celebrates God “perfecting and completing our bliss and happiness.”
Evelyn Underhill (1875-1941), author of Practical Mysticism. An important voice in 20th century spirituality, Underhill advocated the mystical life for all people, not just monks or nuns or priests. She saw contemplation as an art we can all enjoy.
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881-1955), author of Hymn of the Universe. Renowned Jesuit scientist, Teilhard wrote eloquently of the interbeing of science and spirituality. “The Mass on the World” reveals how nature is the ultimate altar.
Edith Stein (1891-1942), author of The Science of the Cross. Stein survived the years of the Spanish flu but was killed by the Nazis. A philosopher by training, she embraced the Carmelite mysticism of St. Teresa of Ávila and St. John of the Cross.
Howard Thurman (1899-1981), author of With Head and Heart. An African-American, Baptist mystic who deserves far greater recognition than he has received. His work is poetic, deeply contemplative, and seamless integrates spirituality and action.
Caryll Houselander (1901-1954), author of The Reed of God. This salt-of-the-earth British Catholic mystic created the ultimate book for Advent in her meditations on the spirituality of Mary. Read it now as we await the end of the pandemic.
I hope you enjoy these books. But remember: don’t just read about meditation and contemplation. There comes a time when you need to put the book down — and pray!
