I’m so happy to share this segment from a recent episode of the PBS News Hour with you. It features the monks of the Monastery of the Holy Spirit — the monastery of which I am a Lay Associate. The topic is about how the monks are getting vaccinated to protect themselves from the coronavirus, but of course it’s also a wee glimpse into the world of the cloister, a world of prayer and meditation — even during a pandemic.
Since I haven’t been to the monastery in over a year, this was a treat for me, and I’m happy to share it with you. Many of these monastics are dear friends of mine. A few highlights:
0:32 — the monk to the right (in the center of the screen) is Brother Elias, author of Tears of an Innocent God;
0:42 — Father Augustine Myslinski, the abbot of the Monastery;
0:55 — Mugging for the camera: Father Matt Torpey, one of the monks now in their 90s;
1:16 — the organist, Father Gerard Gross;
1:25 — Brother Callistus Crichlow;
1:32 — the Abbey Store, where I used to work;
1:49 — Sr. Beatrice Potter (no relation to Peter Rabbit); who is not a Trappistine nun, but a vowed solitary who lives in a hermitage on the Monastic grounds;
2:45 — Abbot Augustine offers a wonderful, succinct statement as to what faith has to say to science.
3:29 — In the center (of seven monks praying), Father Cassian Russell, the monastic advisor of the Lay Cistercians.
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.
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.
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!
I met a woman once, many years ago, who taught writing in a prison. She had the inmates read The Rule of Saint Benedict. She encouraged them to use the spirituality and culture of Benedictine monasticism as a way to reflect on their experience of incarceration.
She certainly wasn’t the first — or the last — person to see a correlation between the cloister and correctional facilities. In her fascinating book Silence: A Social History of One of the Least Understood Elements of Our Lives, author Jane Brox tells the story of a penitentiary in Philadelphia that was designed with monastic practices in mind.
I am writing these words just days after the World Health Organization declared the spread of the infectious virus COVID-19 a global pandemic. Many schools and businesses are closing; many restaurants are only preparing food for takeout or delivery, and many grocery stores are running out of staple items like bread and canned goods, as members of the public prepare for a period of voluntary self-isolation and social distancing. No one wants to get sick, and a disease with a mortality rate higher than influenza and no vaccine currently available has gotten the attention of many people — not just those who are particularly vulnerable because of age or underlying health issues. Even a robust person who would likely survive a bout of the coronavirus doesn’t want to pass it on to others, particularly those who might not fare so well.
Stay indoors. Limit errands to those that are truly necessary, like quick visits to the grocery store or pharmacy. Use your smartphone or laptop to take classes, participate in public worship, or stay in touch with loved ones. We are all familiar with the technological tools available — at least to those who enjoy a certain level of economic affluence. In other words, we know what to do to remain connected with the world at large, even in the privacy of our own homes.
But whether we are rich or poor, whether we are active users of the internet or those who rarely get online, we all have one thing in common: we are not used to the idea of being confined to our living space, even if voluntarily.
We are not convicted criminals, sentenced to an institution where our freedom is stripped away. We are in home-based quarantines or domestic isolation by our own choice — as conscientious citizens.
But that won’t make it any easier. There’s a reason why terms like “stir-crazy” or “cabin fever” exist. Even if the confinement is of our own choosing, we naturally rebel against any infringement on our movements.
Many people live alone, which means that their apartments or homes are suddenly becoming “hermitages” — even when they live in the midst of a large city. Others, who share their living space with family or friends, are suddenly in a living situation not unlike that of a small monastery or convent.
Granted, most people do not want to be monks or nuns. But I believe most people want to be happy. And nuns and monks have shown that even a cloistered life can be a happy life.
So if you are feeling just a bit hemmed in by the restrictions you’ve taken on in response to the pandemic, perhaps a bit of advice from St. Benedict will help see you through.
Frankly, even if you are reading this at some point in the future when no one is worried about a pandemic, I believe the wisdom of St. Benedict can still help anyone who, for any reason, is living a confined or stationary life. It’s wisdom that can help us to be at peace with the circumstances of our lives, and to transcend whatever limitations our lives impose upon us, to find a great freedom — within.
Of course, St. Benedict assumes that everyone who comes to live in a monastery or convent is there for spiritual reasons. They want to give their lives to God. Obviously, not everyone who is isolated in today’s world has such spiritual motivation in their heart.
So first, I would like to suggest that it helps to have a spiritual orientation to life.
I know not everyone is a Christian, or even a believer in God. But for the sake of this blog post, I’m going to set those conditions aside. After all, many people who reject a religious belief-system (like Christianity, or theism in general) still adhere to a spiritual approach to life, affirming that life is good, meaningful, and that love and kindness and compassion lead to a happier and healthier life.
So, no matter what belief-system you do (or don’t) accept, the first key to finding happiness even in an enclosed, cloistered situation, is a commitment to a spiritual orientation to life.
St. Benedict makes it clear that he finds spiritual growth and meaning in relationships — in other people, but also in the cultivation of interior virtues and values such as humility, kindness, generosity, meditation, a strong work ethic, and choosing to see even the most ordinary elements of life as sacred.
In other words, even in the most constricted of life situations, any human being can still devote time and energy and effort to interior growth and development.
The old proverb applies here: bloom where you are planted. A plant has to be healthy and at some level of maturity before it blossoms. So finding happiness and meaning even in the most confined situations means taking responsibility for both growth and health.
I may not be able to choose to go wherever I please, but I can choose to eat a healthy diet, to get enough sleep (or at least rest), and to orient my awareness toward positive thoughts and affirming beliefs and ideas. No one forces us to be cynical — or optimistic. No matter how bad our circumstances or debilitating our life challenges might be, we always have the possibility of making choices that can make things better, even if just one step at a time.
Much of The Rule of Saint Benedict is devoted to prayer — which, once again, may not appeal to those who don’t believe in God. If you not a theist, then think in terms of meditation as an alternative to prayer. If you are a theist, I invite you to have an expansive understanding of prayer that includes meditation.
Benedict makes it clear: daily prayer is as important to spiritual well-being as daily hygiene is to physical health. The take-away is clear: no matter how constrained your life might be, you can find a way to orient yourself toward prayer and/or meditation, even if only for small moments in the day (spoiler alert: I believe people who sincerely pray or meditate every day, even if just for a few minutes at a time, find themselves naturally gravitating toward a more intentional — and lengthy — practice of daily meditation. It will grow naturally, because you will naturally want it to grow).
Prayer and meditation, by themselves, do not guarantee happiness or inner peace. Some people can even find deep interior work to be particularly challenging because it can involve facing our inner wounds and shadows. But if we anchor our prayer and/or meditation in an overall commitment to positive-self care and to life-positive spiritual values, then a daily practice of interior exploration can be profoundly rewarding — and suddenly, the “prison” (or “quarantine”) of our lives simply becomes much less of a problem — or even no problem at all. For when we enter into the spaciousness of prayer or meditation, we are free — even if our physical body is anything but free.
Even in a long blog post like this, I cannot fully exhaust how the kind-hearted and hope-filled spirituality of Saint Benedict can offer an optimistic sense of freedom that stands as a dramatic alternative to the cynicism and anxiety that characterizes so much of life today. If you want to learn more, go to the original source — or even better yet, read a good commentary on the Rule, such as Wisdom Distilled from the Daily by Joan Chittister or How to Live by Judith Valente.
A Final Word
I’ve aimed this blog post at someone who may be coming to the wisdom of St. Benedict for the very first time. But I want to finish by saying a word to readers who are familiar with my work, and who share my interest in Christian contemplation and mystical wisdom. I think it’s important to remember that so many of the greatest contemplatives and mystics in the Christian tradition were cloistered nuns or monks. They embraced the highest transformations of consciousness while leaving in the most confined of earthly ways. If it worked for them, it can work for us as well. If your life is shaped by some sort of external limitation — particularly something you cannot change — the path of contemplation and mystical spirituality reminds you that you can still love well, and happily, and perhaps even joyfully. Your external limitations do not need to constrict your inner freedom. You can always find the vastness of divine freedom within — and it can lead you to limitless joy.
And if you have external limitations that can and should be changed — for example, systems of injustice or oppression that harm you — doing this work will not make you passive, but if anything, it will energize your efforts to create a better life circumstance. Set your heart free, and your mind — and body — will follow.
Featured image: empty shelves at the Kroger Supermarket in Decatur, GA, March 16, 2020, as the public prepares for an indefinite period of voluntary isolation and social distancing. Photo by Carl McColman.
Anyone who spends time on this blog knows that I love Julian of Norwich; just as John Ruysbroeck was Evelyn Underhill’s favorite mystic, Julian is far and away my favorite. You can read a few of my previous posts about Julian here, here and here.
Today I was prepared to write something about St. Patrick, given that tomorrow is his feast day, but — since we are now dealing with the COVID-19 Pandemic, the first global pandemic in a decade (since the H1N1 “Swine Flu” pandemic of 2009-2010) — I thought maybe Julian deserves a bit more attention.
Julian lived from 1342 to approximately 1416; which means that she survived one of the most storied and terrifying pandemics of western history: the Great Pestilence, what we now call “the black death” — during which the bubonic plague ravaged England between 1348 and 1350. It would have come to Norwich when Julian was still a child; her older contemporary in the mystical tradition, Richard Rolle of Hampole, died young around the year 1349; scholars speculate that he may have been a casualty of the plague.
It is believed that approximately one-third of the population of England may have succumbed to the plague — and in Norwich, the death toll may have been even higher, claiming up to one-half of the city’s thirteen thousand inhabitants. And if that first devastating pandemic wasn’t bad enough, England suffered additional outbreaks of the plague at least four more times during Julian’s life.
If you want a detailed — and, frankly, terrifying — description of what the plague was like and the impact it had on medieval European society, read chapter four of Veronica Rolf’s Julian’s Gospel.
Julian herself does not mention the plague in her book of Showings. That, in itself, I find quite remarkable, but there is much about Julian’s own life that remains shrouded in mystery. Even her name is hidden from us; she is called Julian after her parish church in Norwich (it would be as if I were known as “Thomas More” because I’m a member of St. Thomas More Parish). Virtually all the personal details of her life were left unmentioned in her writing; she simply did not see the point of telling her own story.
A number of scholars and writers have done fascinating work speculating about the details of Julian’s life; two of my favorites are the aforementioned Julian’s Gospel and Julian of Norwich: A Contemplative Biography by Amy Frykholm. But ultimately we must be content knowing that for the most part we simply don’t know about Julian’s life — all we have is her brilliant book detailing the spirituality of her “showings” or visions/revelations of divine love.
But while Julian may have chosen not to write directly about her experience surviving multiple outbreaks of the plague, we can still read between the lines and discern some advice from this medieval mystic about how to survive the uncertainty that comes with an infectious disease pandemic. Indeed, I see four ways that Julian speaks to us even here in the 21st century.
Social Distancing is a good thing. While Julian does not write about her life circumstances, a colophon on her book, probably added by an unknown scribe, identifies her as a “recluse” or “anchoress” living in Norwich. In other words, she lived a life of intentional solitude, “anchored” to her parish church (St. Julian’s) by inhabiting an enclosed cell adjacent to the sanctuary. Julian very likely lived in such a hermit-like way for anywhere from 20 to 40 years, which means she probably survived at least two outbreaks of the plague by remaining in spiritual solitude. I don’t this means everyone is meant to be a solitary or a hermit! Clearly, for Julian, this was a religious vocation. But if 21st-century people have a hard time understanding why a healthy woman would have chosen a life of enforced isolation, perhaps “social distancing” is the clue that makes it easy to understand. Keeping a prudent distance from others helps to slow down the spread of the disease — and may well keep you alive.
Keep your distance — but stay connected. Julian never mentions it, but we know from the autobiographical Book of Margery Kempe that Julian, even in solitude, worked as a spiritual director. In other words, she remained in relationship with others, even if behind the safety of a screen. For that matter, going to the trouble to write her book — the first book by a woman in the English language — was another way that she endeavored to keep “in touch” — if not physically, then spiritually. Julian knew that human beings are meant for relationship, and in the challenges of a pandemic, we must be creative about finding ways to keep our relatedness alive and well.
Stay positive. Julian is renowned for her optimism and her faith in both God’s love and Christ’s saving acts. “All shall be well,” she proclaimed, earning her a spot in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotation and a shout-out in the luminous conclusion of T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets. But Julian’s soundbite is actually the cornerstone of her entire philosophical outlook — and what a positive outlook it was! She speaks repeatedly of not only God’s and Christ’s love, but also their joy, courtesy, and “homeliness” (what we might call their “down-t0-earth-ness.” Despite the fact that we live in a world marred by suffering, sin and death (infectious or otherwise), for Julian there was never a need to despair. Hope is the birthright of all people of faith. It sees us through the ordinary passage of our days, and it also is the beacon of light in difficult times as well.
Pray. Prayer has become a bit of a political hot potato in our culture, since it can be bandied about as a glib or even dismissive response to tragedy — does anyone really believe that “thoughts and prayers” is the only appropriate response to mass shootings? So I was a little hesitant to include this as one of the ways Julian advises us. But in the end it seemed wrong not to mention this, for it’s the truth — Julian filtered everything in her life through a vivid and generous prayer life — and it’s also clear that Julian kept prayer as an integral part of an overall mindfully-lived life. Prayer does not render prudence unnecessary: I pray for God’s protection, and I still lock my doors. Both actually go together well: the locked door is an act of prudence, and the prayer is an act of trust. Without locking the door, prayer is a form of escapism; but without prayer, the locked doors can become an expression of paranoia. Julian, as a woman dedicated to prayer, understood that isolating herself from infectious disease by itself was not enough. She had to balance her prudent actions with the generous gesture of trust. In this way, she was able to preserve both her optimism and her faith.
I hope we can all balance prayer and prudent action to remain both safe and faith-full during this uncertain time when we are not yet sure how dangerous or widespread COVID-19 will prove to be. Let us all pray for good health, for comfort and healing for those afflicted, and for the many women and men who are working hard to develop vaccines and otherwise take measures that will keep all people safe.
Featured image: Miniature by Pierart dou Tielt illustrating the Tractatus quartus bu Gilles li Muisit (Tournai, c. 1353). The people of Tournai bury victims of the Black Death. ms. 13076 – 13077 fol. 24v. Julian of Norwich image: Stained glass at Norwich Cathedral; photo by Ian-S; used by permission.
