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.
Dear Carl, I read your Big Book of Christian Mysticism a few years back, and it was very helpful for me in my understanding of the interrelation between the different “types and sorts” of mysticism. And you yourself have a pretty big inroad into different mystical communities, I know. How have you seen the gospel of redemption go forth into these communities?
An interesting question, so let me try to take it apart.
I’m not quite sure what the questioner means by “different mystical communities.” Christian mysticism has typically flourished more in communal settings rather than in solitary states, although there have certainly been Christian mystics who lived solitary or eremitic lives (i.e., as hermits). Julian of Norwich is perhaps the most famous example, but she’s hardly the only one. However, most followers of Christ recognize the point made by St. Basil the Great: “If you live alone, whose feet shall you wash?” So community is pretty much hard-wired into Christian spirituality, at least for most people.
But what “mystical communities” are available to us today? For some seekers of the mystical life, such communities are found by becoming monks or nuns — or joining some other type of intentional community. But for most of us, we balance our desire for a contemplative community with the ordinary demands of secular life: having a family, a career, a home, and perhaps membership in a local church. Often, local churches are not particularly congenial to the mystical life! Therefore, many people choose, in addition to or instead of membership in a local church, to become involved in organizations like Contemplative Outreach, the World Community for Christian Meditation, Shalem, the Living School, Wisdom Schools, and/or lay associate communities affiliated with religious orders, such as Benedictine Oblates or Lay Carmelites or Third Order Franciscans. Such “para-church” communities often have an explicit orientation toward contemplative spirituality, and therefore are much more congenial to those who feel called to intentionally pursue the mystical life.
I’m saying all this to respond to the question above: that “mystical communities” come in many shapes and sizes — just like Christianity in general, which can be expressed in Orthodox, Catholic, Anglican, Protestant, Reformed, Evangelical or Pentecostal ways.
So to answer this question: How have I seen the gospel of redemption go forth into mystical communities? My first response would be that it really depends on the community.
Generally speaking, the more theologically conservative communities tend to place more of an emphasis on redemption, because such communities are more concerned about traditional theological teachings — such as humanity is sinful, and Christ came to redeem us.
By contrast, communities that tend to be less oriented toward traditional theological ideas would place less emphasis on redemption — not because they are opposed to the Christian ideas of redemption but rather because they consider it more important to emphasize prayer and spirituality over propositional doctrines and dogmas.
Once again: not because they reject such doctrines, but simply because they would suggest that thinking the right thoughts about God or Christ is less important than engaging in the spiritual practices necessary to foster a living relationship with God.
I know a Jesuit priest who would be more interested in whether or not you have ever felt or experienced a sense of being redeemed — to him, that would matter more than whether or not you were able to explain the theology of redemption. That might not win him any awards from the Society for the Preservation of Orthodox Doctrine (which, to the best of my knowledge, doesn’t exist), but it does make him an effective pastor and insightful spiritual director.
Seekers and practitioners of contemplative and mystical spirituality tend to have a very pragmatic approach to doctrine and dogma. Anyone can learn how to explain the intricacies of dogmatic formulas — but how has this teaching changed your life? If you believe Christ is your redeemer, then how does having a redeemer make a practical, real difference in your life and your relationships, right here and right now?
In the title to this blog post, I rephrased my reader’s question like this: Do Christian mystics believe in redemption? And the answer, based on my knowledge and experience, is of course they do. For some, doctrines like the redemption matter more than others. But even those who rarely or never talk about redemption are not in any way opposed to it. It’s a pretty universal Christian idea that humanity suffers from both an innate and a freely-chosen tendency to resist or reject love. Whether you call this sin, or depravity, or woundedness, it’s a pretty easily observed quality of the human condition. And since this universal tendency to resist or reject love causes so much suffering, naturally we want to do something about it. Christianity teaches that the spiritual healing we so long for comes through Christ. He is our redeemer.
Again, there are many different ways in which Christ’s redeeming action is understood. For example, the medieval mystic Julian of Norwich has a beautiful theology which sees the redeeming work of Christ as purely an expression of Christ’s love — and joy. Others, of course, emphasize ideas such as “paying a debt” or a “substitutionary atonement.” Since mystics and contemplatives tend to have such a strong theology of God as Love, I would imagine that many are more comfortable with the idea of redemption-as-expression-of-love rather than redemption-as-paying-off-a-debt. But I certainly can’t speak for others, and I’m sure that if you interviewed a cross section of contemplative Christians you would find many different perspectives on the theology of redemption — just as you would find many different perspectives on redemption if you just talked to all Christians, in general.
So yes, mystics believe in redemption; but many of them probably don’t place a lot of emphasis on it. They are less quick to emphasize doctrine and much more inclined to emphasize spiritual practice. Pray, meditate, contemplate, and open your heart to the Holy Spirit in silence. Do that every day for a while, and you will discover God’s redemption at work in your heart. You may not be able to explain it to the satisfaction of some academics. But you’ll be living it: embodying Christ’s redeeming work in the world, bringing healing both to your own heart and to the hearts of those whom you joyfully serve.
As someone new and aspiring to find a more contemplative lifestyle, I’m curious of one thing. Is there a critical difference between sitting time and ‘observing silence, acknowledging God is present’ versus ‘meditating on God, whether through a holy text, your experiences with God, or other characteristics of God’?
Thanks for your question. And the short answer to it is “Yes”!
You are describing a basic difference between meditation (as it has traditionally been understood in Christian spirituality which looks different from the popular/secular ideas of what meditation means) and contemplation (which, again, means something different in a Christian context than in a secular understanding).
Hopefully, by understanding the Christian meaning of these words, it will be easier to recognize how they are distinct in a person’s prayer life.
Christian Meditation
To understand Christian meditation, let’s begin with a different word: pondering. To meditate on God, or Christ, or one of the mysteries of the Christian faith, has a quality of pondering about it. Now, pondering (‘to ponder’) comes from the same root word that gives us pound, as in a pound of weight. To ponder something is to weigh it. That can be meant literally (as in weighing something in scales), but it has a psychological sense of weighing something in our minds. So the Oxford English Dictionary says, “To consider, meditate, reflect; to think deeply or seriously on, muse over.” Notice meditation is part of that definition. [pullquote]To meditate on how much God loves me is something different from simply observing silence, which takes us to a place deeper in our awareness than mere thought or feelings.[/pullquote]
So we ponder God, or Christ, or the mysteries of the faith, by musing on them, thinking over them, considering them. There is engaged mental activity at play. Not necessarily a lot of words: we can ponder something in an emotional or “affective” way, as in feeling appreciation for God’s forgiveness or having a sense of love welling up in our hearts.
But the key to this kind of meditation is a process of cognitive, mental engagement. To meditate on how much God loves me is something different from simply observing silence, which takes us to a place deeper in our awareness than mere thought or feelings. And that leads us the Christian understanding of contemplation.
Christian Contemplation
Contemplation has been described as gazing wordlessly on Christ with love. That’s a pretty good definition, although I would suggest that the emotional awareness of love is still a meditative experience. But maybe it’s helpful to remember that meditation and contemplation are like two ends of a continuum: there is no hard and fast distinction separating them, although they are different. Think of it this way: in meditation, there comes a point when the pondering stops, and the focus of your awareness shifts from your thoughts and feelings to a more vast, luminous recognition of silence, within and between and beneath all your thoughts and feelings. At this point you are transitioning from meditation to contemplation.
In contemplation, we seek to make ourselves radically available for the presence of God. The key Biblical verse is Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am God.” The stillness is not primarily a physical stillness (it’s possible to be contemplative while walking a labyrinth or along the seashore), but an interior stillness. Now, I should hasten to point out that we never find complete interior stillness — at least, not while we are alive! So it’s a misunderstanding to say contemplation is about “emptying the mind.” Think of it rather as “allowing the mind to rest” or slowing down the flow of thoughts and feelings so that we can begin to discern the silence that is always there, like the screen behind a film or the page beneath the printed word.
There is a strong Biblical mandate for accepting silence as a foundation for intimate prayer: in addition to “Be still and know that I am God,” there is “For alone my soul in silence waits” (Psalm 62) and “The Lord is in his Holy Temple, let all the earth keep silence before him” (Habbakuk 2:20). For Christians, our bodies are “the temple of the Holy Spirit” so I like to point out that we need to find the silence in our hearts since our own bodies are God’s temple!
Back to the Original Question
So… back to the original question: “Is there a critical difference between sitting time and ‘observing silence, acknowledging God is present’ versus ‘meditating on God, whether through a holy text, your experiences with God, or other characteristics of God’?”
I hope that you can see a distinction between Christian meditation, or pondering “whether through a holy text, your experiences with God, or other characteristics of God,” and a more contemplative practice which involves “observing silence, acknowledging God is present.” Now, for the final nuance of my reader’s question: is there a critical difference between the two?
Here’s how I understand this: is it important for everyone do include both of these types of prayer? Or is it okay to just do one or the other? Remember my point about meditation and contemplation being on a continuum. Just as there is no hard and fast distinction between these two approaches top prayer, likewise there is no hard and fast rule about what any one person should do in regard to these two practices.
I very much try to have both meditative and silent prayer on a daily basis. But I am blessed with the ability to find meaning and enjoyment in both kinds of prayer. Some people may find that one form of prayer really appeals to them, while the other is a real struggle. This reminds me of an old saying, “pray as you can, not as you can’t.”
So I don’t think there is anything wrong with recognizing that you naturally prefer meditation over silence (or vice versa). But I would caution anyone against being too rigid in their prayer practice: in other words, if you find you don’t like meditation, it’s okay to focus your prayer on a contemplative practice like Centering Prayer or the Jesus Prayer. But leave open the possibility that, at a future point in time, you may feel called to do something more meditative, like the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises or lectio divina. Always be open to the possibility that your prayer life might evolve over time.
[pullquote]Remember, the purpose behind prayer is to grow in intimacy with God, not to master a method or technique.[/pullquote]Because of that continuum, you might even find that you move from meditation to contemplation (or vice versa) in a very gradual manner, over time. Remember, the purpose behind prayer is to grow in intimacy with God, not to master a method or technique. Always keep your focus on that relationship, and the methods or styles of prayer that work best for you will sort themselves out organically. Of course, if you are having a challenge figuring out your best prayer style, find a spiritual director or soul friend with whom you can discuss your prayer life. Having another person join you in listening for how the Spirit is leading your prayer can be a true help as you seek to grow closer to God.
I am emailing to ask you what particular practice of prayer you would suggest to someone starting out on the mystical path?
I have a little experience of Zen sitting meditation and have tried to practice with the Jesus Prayer. There are differences between Centering Prayer (Keating) and Christian Meditation (Main). What do you suggest I start with?
Over the years I have done several of the meditation weekend programs offered by the local Shambhala Center. Shambhala training, for those who don’t know it, is essentially a program for learning Buddhist meditation practices but without a lot of Buddhist doctrine. It’s built on the idea that, for many people especially in places like America, learning a spiritual practice (in this case, meditation) is more beneficial, and often more easy to accept, than getting caught up in propositional doctrines, teachings and dogmas.
So each level of the Shambhala training involves a different exercise in meditation practice, and so the participant eventually learns a variety of approaches to meditation. The person who completes Shambhala training might not know anything about the Four Noble Truths or the Eightfold Path, but at least he or she knows how to meditate (and hopefully is actually doing so).
I have long felt that Christianity needs its own equivalent to Shambhala training: a curriculum that focusses on spiritual practice rather than on religious doctrine. Thus, this reader’s question: What is a good spiritual practice for someone just beginning to embrace Christian mysticism?
What complicates this question is two facts — one cultural, one doctrinal — that separates Christianity from most other forms of spiritual practice.
First, the cultural issue: Christianity does not have a tradition of teaching specific “methods” of contemplation. Even the methods my reader mentions: Centering Prayer and the John Main method of Christian Meditation — are both very much shaped by eastern practices (Centering Prayer is based the spirituality of The Cloud of Unknowingbut through a method similar to transcendental meditation, while John Main’s form of meditation is based on the Hindu practice of mantra recitation).
This leads us to the doctrinal issue: for Christian contemplation — even when influenced by eastern practices — really is different from other forms of meditation, for a very simple reason: Christian spirituality is fundamentally relational — it is built on the desire for intimacy with God. At its core, Christian mysticism is not a program for attentiveness, or mindfulness, or dismantling the ego, or raising consciousness, even though I would argue that eventually Christian mystical practices support us in all of the above.
But the core, the foundation, of Christian mysticism is building a relationship with God through prayer. We embrace the mystical life not to enhance ourselves, but to respond to God’s call. Whatever blessings or transformation mysticism gives us is a consequence of deepening intimacy with God — and not the other way around.
So: if Christian mysticism is based on establishing or deepening a relationship with God, and historically there is no particular method or technique of Christian prayer or meditation, then what advice do we give to the beginner?
The important thing is not to think much but to love much; and so do that which best stirs you to love.
So. We lead with love. Which means, that as important as a disciplined practice like Centering Prayer or Christian Meditation might be, they need the foundation of love in order to be beneficial.
If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
You could paraphrase it like this: “If I practice Christian Meditation so that my mantra becomes the perfect center of my attention, but do not have love, I am just a bamboo flute playing the same four notes over and over again. And if I practice Centering Prayer to the point where all thoughts and distractions drop away and I rest in pure silence, but do not have love, I am nothing but a quiet ego.”
So a beginner needs to begin with love. But what does that entail? Well, Jesus mandated four dimensions of love: love for God (Mark 12:30), love for neighbor, love for self (Mark 12:31), and love for enemies (Matthew 5:44). G.K. Chesterton once quipped that we are instructed to love our neighbors as well as our enemies because they are often the same! But all joking aside, I think love your neighbors/love your enemies is a way of saying “love without distinction or duality.” We are called to be love: and to share that love with others, regardless of whether the “other” person loves us back or not. Even the person who actively wishes us harm deserves love — even if we have to express that love in ways that are safe and respectful of all our other love commitments (i.e., it’s not wise to passively let an enemy hurt you, that just inhibits your capacity to love others).
It’s hard to love your enemies; it’s even a challenge merely to pray for those who dislike you. So let’s not start there. Let’s start with learning to love God — and ourselves. Back to Teresa of Ávila, who recommends in her book The Way of Perfection a simple approach to prayer: that whenever we pray, even in the humblest of ways (like reciting the Lord’s Prayer or thanksgiving before a meal), combine the words of the prayer with an inner sense of love and adoration for God.
In other words: pray, and love God. Make that your practice. It doesn’t matter if you read prayers out of a book (like the Psalms or the Liturgy of the Hours) or if you pray using your own words. But pray. Talk to God. And cultivate a loving heart while you do that.
But what about meditation?
Yes, silence is important too. Yes, methods such as using the Jesus Prayer and reciting a prayer word are excellent for learn to “be still and know God.” But the question was specifically what would I recommend for beginners — and I believe learning to pray and the love should come first, and only then does it make sense to talk about what’s the best way to embrace interior silence.
Because, in a Christian context, methods like Centering Prayer matter not because there’s anything particularly special about the method but rather because of where the method takes us: into silence, a silence that we believe is given to us through the love of God. We are silent before God because even silence itself is a way to praise God, love God, and respond to God’s pre-existing love for us.
Silence is essential to the mystical and contemplative life. But it must be a silence grounded in love.
Okay, I can hear people say now, “But you still haven’t answered the question!?!” In other words, what method do I recommend for beginners — assuming the beginner is already at work cultivating a daily practice and a heart centered on love. What then?
Let me finish this by quoting from a book called The Philokalia and the Inner Life. This is a commentary on The Philokalia, the massive five-volume anthology of mystical writings collected for Orthodox Christians (but really for all Christians). The author of the commentary makes this interesting observation:
The Philokalia is not a uniform collection of texts that have been edited so as to be in complete agreement with each other, but rather they provide a variety of views around a central concern with the purification, illumination and perfection of the Christian soul.
In other words, part of the power of a collection of mystical writings like the Philokalia comes precisely from the fact that it does not just present “one” way to become a mystic or a contemplative. There are a “variety of views” and a variety of practices and exercises. What works for me, as a 50-something, married, American, college-educated Catholic layperson, might not be helpful to somebody whose life circumstances or personality is different from mine. And this is a good thing.
There’s no one way to fall in love. There’s no one way to write a poem. Likewise, there are many ways to embrace contemplative practice and the mystical life.
I think both the John Main method of Christian meditation, and Centering Prayer, are excellent methods of entering into silent prayer. Frankly, I would recommend either one, based on this factor: do you know someone who can teach you, or direct you in one of the methods? Is there a group dedicated to one of these methods that meets at your church or another church near you?
Christian mysticism is relational — and that means not only does it focus on relating to God, but also that it encourages us humans to build community, friendships, and other loving relationships. So when it comes to practices like prayer and meditation, what matters the most is if you have access to friends or mentors who can teach you and support you on your ongoing, day-in-day-out practice.
So if there is a Centering Prayer group at your church, go with that. On the other hand, if there’s a Christian meditation group that meets in your neighborhood, that might be your best bet. If you are lucky enough to have both types of groups meeting in your community, visit them both and decide which one you are more likely to commit to, and go with that one.
Silence is silence. Prayer is prayer. Love is love. There are different tools available to us, spiritually speaking, to help us grow in love, to become regular people of prayer, and to begin to explore the mysteries of silence. The right “tools” for a beginner are the ones that he or she is most likely to use — and keep using.
Hope this is helpful!
Some of the resources and authors mentioned in this post:
I’ve been leaning into a contemplative way of life for a couple of decades now… I’ve settled down into a daily pattern of Examen, Lectio Divina, and Centering Prayer.
Along this way, I’ve used Daily Office or Liturgy of the Hours. But I moved on, as they were “busy” and “noisy.” Every now and then, especially when I’m on a multi-day silent retreat, they feel appropriate. But not during my normal daily life. (I’m a parish pastor. And I appreciate a devotional pattern outside my work of the Sunday lectionary!) My current pattern of Examen, Lectio, and Centering Prayer continues to “work” for/on me. Yet, I periodically wonder if I should also practice the Daily Office? As a discernment pondering, I wonder if this is an escapist diversion or a calling. And I wonder if the Daily Office is especially appropriate for the First Half of the Christian journey, as Richard Rohr puts it, providing a grounding for the Second Half, which becomes quieter?
This in an open question for me. What are your reflections?
It’s a great question, and of course there is no one right answer.
Many monastic or cloistered writers, such as Teresa of Ávila, suggest that praying the Divine Office — also known as the Daily Office or the Liturgy of the Hours — should remain a central part of a person’s spirituality throughout their lifespan, even if they become dedicated contemplatives who devote significant time to silence. The Office is meant to be formative — the words, the rhythm and cadences, and the practice of slow/mindful praying, all help to shape a contemplative spirit in the heart of the person doing the praying.
Catholic priests, deacons, or members of religious orders or congregations have a commitment to pray the daily liturgy, either communally or privately (individually) that is mandated by their diocese or religious community. But once you get outside the Catholic or monastic worlds, then the liturgy is simply a devotional practice, and not a part of one’s vowed religious identity.
From this we can discern a couple of useful principles. First, that the recitation of the Liturgy of the Hours has as much meaning in terms of community identity and belonging as it relates to fostering a deeper relationship with God. In other words, if I as a Lay Cistercian pray the office every day, I have two reasons to do so: first, because it nurtures my relationship with God, but second (and I would argue just as important) it helps to strengthen my bond with the Lay Cistercian community — and by extension with Cistercians and other monastics the world over.
This is similar to how Muslims pray five times a day — specific prayers that Muslims memorize and recite, whether alone or in a group, as an ongoing expression of their identity as Muslims. So when a Muslim prays, he or she is doing it not only as an expression of devotion to Allah, but also as an expression of shared identity with Muslims the world over.
But the second principle we can discern is this: when it comes to devotional practices, we must recognize that tremendous diversity can be found within the Christian family. You mention the Examen, Lectio Divina, Centering Prayer and the Divine Office. But other options exists, from Ignatian prayer, to the Rosary, to the Labyrinth, the Jesus Prayer, charismatic prayer, fasting, and then such things as art-as-prayer, service-as-prayer, that sort of thing.
There really is no consensus as to what constitutes the “gold standard” of Christian spiritual practice.
That problem is not unique to Christianity. If you want to explore Buddhism, your experience will be very different based on whether you affiliate with insight meditation (Hinayana), zen (Mahayana) or Tibetan (Vajrayana) practices. Communities in each of these three “vehicles” have different cultures, different practices, and different philosophies. And even within the same basic “faction” you’ll find diversity: the Nyingma, Gelug, and Kadampa “schools” all approach the dharma in different (and to some extent contradictory) ways.
So. What to do, then? Pray the Divine Office or not? How can one decide? For while the author of my question reports that he finds the office “busy” and “noisy,” could that just be his resistance, and not a meaningful assessment of the practice? In other words, any practice we undertake, sooner or later we will resist — because authentic spiritual practices tend to undermine narcissistic and egoic strategies of control; and when the ego feels its control is being threatened, it doesn’t go down without a fight!
But you can just as easily frame this question another way: am I resisting a practice because it’s not a helpful practice (at least, not for me), or am I resisting the practice precisely because it is helpful, but therefore I find it threatening on an egoic level?
Once again: there is no one right answer.
I think this question points not so much to the importance of the Liturgy of the Hours per se, as it shows us how essential it is to work with a spiritual director. Remember, it seems pretty obvious that the value and meaning of the Liturgy is found in community. Even my reader acknowledged that he still found the liturgy meaningful when on a retreat (and, presumably, his prayer is part of a larger praying community). For anyone who is not a life-professed member of a religious order or congregation, community is something that they must foster for themselves. For most Christians, the simplest way to form a meaningful community of prayer is to engage in an ongoing discipline of meeting with a spiritual director.
Thus, the question “Should I pray the Divine Office or not?” is best answered in a shared discernment process, with one’s spiritual director. So even a “community of two” might find the Liturgy really important as a way to prayerfully be united to one another, on the days between meetings.
This implies, of course, that both the directee and the director are engaging in a similar (or the same) discipline. In other words, I don’t think it makes sense for a spiritual director to insist that his or directees recite the liturgy, unless he/she is doing it as well.
Does this mean you shouldn’t pray the Liturgy if your spiritual director doesn’t? Not necessarily, for we are always free to go “above and beyond” what our personal rule of life mandates. Like I said, the Liturgy has tremendous devotional value. But if someone is praying it strictly as a personal devotional practice, I think he or she should still discuss it with his or her spiritual director. It is too easy to become obsessive/compulsive about a practice like the Daily Office. Maybe that’s a bit of the “noisy” or “busy” vibe that my reader was picking up on. Praying the Daily Office because one feels that one should or must pray it can be a short path to the liturgy being less about prayer and more about a ritualistic behavior designed to assuage anxiety or bolster one’s ego — precisely the opposite intent of the actual liturgy.
So, in a nutshell: I think the Liturgy of the Hour is a treasure for Christians. I think its beauty and power is truly discovered when it is prayed in community. For Christians who have a formal relationship with a monastic or religious community, following the community’s rule is simply what one does. But for those without that kind of a formal community, a “community” must be formed in order to meaningfully pray the Liturgy, and the easiest way to form such a community (of 2) is through spiritual direction. So one is only “obligated” to pray the liturgy if it is an agreed-upon practice shared by both director and directee. Otherwise, it can be used as a private devotional practice (or not) — but if a person prays it devotionally, he or she should take care to make sure that they are motivated by a genuine desire to grow in prayer, and not by a more compulsive motivation (like “I’m doing this because I should do so.”)
So often, it seems to me, that people who are drawn to the Christian tradition of mysticism and contemplation are eager to learn practices like Centering Prayer or the Jesus Prayer — but they are far less enthusiastic about some of the less “glamorous” Christian practices, like participating in the Mass or the Liturgy of the Hours (also known as the Divine Office or the Daily Office).
I confess that this has been true for me. If you invite me to deepen my breath, relax, and practice a discipline of letting go of my thoughts so I could be still and know God, my response would be, “When do I start?” But when it came to gathering with other people to pray out of a breviary (or, even worse, picking up the breviary by myself and praying in solitude), I simply failed to see the point behind it. It was so formulaic, so repetitive, so… rote! How could this be spiritually formative?
Getting to know contemplative practitioners from other faiths, however, has forced me to reevaluate my bias against the liturgy. First (as I recount in Unteachable Lessons), I became friends with a Sufi, a Muslim who prayed five times a day, no matter what — typically reciting the same passages from The Qur’an, day in and day out. Later, I spent some time meditating daily with a group of Buddhists, who began their morning meditation with the same few chants — day in and day out. They had other chants for the evening, again, the same words each and every day. I began to think that I was spoiled: at least the Christian Liturgy changed from day to day, based on the readings and whether it was Lent or Easter or some other time of the year.
So why do it? Why pray out of a book, prayers that consist of Psalms and canticles and other Bible verses — and even if they aren’t the same day in and day out, they do follow a rhythm, and over time you keep praying the same words over and over. Why do it?
I’ve written about this before — see Seven Reasons to Pray the Divine Office: the Divine Office provides us with a language for prayer, it teaches us who God is (and who we are in response to God), it helps to form our identity as people of prayer, and so forth. Today, however, I’d like to share another reason for praying the Liturgy of the Hours, that comes to me from an Anglican Benedictine monk, Holy Cross Father Aidan Owen, OHC. Brother Aidan is the Guestmaster of Holy Cross Monastery in West Park, NY, and recently he sent out an email newsletter to friends of the monastery; in that newsletter he offered the following reflection, which he has given me permission to quote here on the blog.
I’ve found myself reflecting a lot on the place of the Monastery in today’s chaotic and violent world. I have friends — many of them among our guests — who are, so to speak, on the front lines, bringing God’s message of hope, love, and justice to those at the literal and figurative borders of our world. We monks are not, largely, those people. And yet, I firmly believe that the witness of prayer we offer is essential to the greater flourishing of God’s Word and God’s Love in this hurting world.
I’m reminded of a conversation I had with Br. Ron before I entered the Monastery. I asked him what it was like to pray the Office day in and day out for over forty years, worrying, I suppose, that it must get a bit boring. He surprised and delighted me by saying that it was like staring out into eternity. There is so much space and no hurry at all.
It strikes me that that window into eternity is what the Monastery offers as gun violence, white supremacy, environmental degradation, and consumerism wreak havoc on God’s people. Each time we pray the Office or celebrate the Eucharist or sit in silent prayer, we return to eternity, where God always lives, and we allow God to remind us that God’s peace and justice and love are already right here and right now, even as they are not fully visible or manifest.
When I first read that, I had a “wow” moment.
Praying daily prayers, even the same daily prayers you’ve been praying for forty years, is like a window into eternity. Not that eternity is some faraway place: on the contrary, it is closer to us than we are to ourselves. The beauty of daily prayers — even daily prayers recited from a book — is that they remind us that eternity is here, now; and they help us to see what is right in front of our noses — and in our hearts — but that we all too often fail to notice.
As you explore the path of Christian mysticism and contemplation, make the effort to balance your daily practice of silence with prayers that you sing or say. Prayers that come out of the tradition, like the Psalms or other Biblical passages — which of course are prayers that the great mystics and contemplatives throughout history have prayed; especially the Psalms, which Jesus himself prayed.
Will you ever get bored with the Daily Office? Of course: don’t we all get bored with the quotidian tasks of our lives? But as much as we can remember that our common prayers give us “space and no hurry at all” to gaze into the silence of eternity, hovering in and between the words we offer to God — then even the most mundane words we pray will shimmer with the light of grace.
I am writing these words on a Monday morning following two mass shootings that occurred on the previous weekend — one in El Paso, TX, and the other in Dayton, OH. These two events left over thirty people dead and many others wounded, both physically and emotionally. Like many Americans, I am alarmed at what seems to be an escalation in mass violence. Statistically speaking, mass shootings are only the tip of the iceberg of the many social problems facing our society today, including not only gun violence, but also racism, economic inequality, environmental degradation, and widely divergent values in our country regarding how we respond to refugees, to immigration, to religious liberty, sexual and gender diversity, and reproductive rights.
I am not a politician, nor a political pundit. I write about mystical spirituality. Naturally, given the many social and political conflicts facing our world day, someone might ask this question: “why should I waste my time thinking about spirituality and mysticism, when there are crying issues of injustice and oppression and suffering, that require a political, rather than a mystical, response?”
Christ of the Breadlines (by Fritz Eichenberg)
It’s a fair question. To answer it, let me begin by suggesting that mysticism and spirituality are like vitamins or nutrients. If you are an athlete preparing for a triathlon, you need to spend time every day training. You need to be lifting weights, riding your bike, hitting the treadmill or the pool, day in and day out in order to reach and maintain your peak performance.
But you had better be eating properly as well. You don’t win a triathlon on doughnuts and potato chips. You need both a quality diet and an effective training regimen in order to prepare for your race.
Dealing with the many crises facing our world today requires us all to be engaged with the issues at hand. We need to be activists in some form — maybe not everyone is on the streets fighting for change, but there are other ways to be engaged: we need to be informed on the issues, we need to support organizations that advocate for change in a healthy and responsible way, we need to volunteer our time to alleviate the suffering of those who are hurt by current injustices. No one person can do it all, of course. But everyone ought to be doing something to alleviate suffering and to work for peace and justice, reconciliation and wellness.
So if I’m devoting X number of hours each week to political or social engagement, how can I justify spending an hour or two each day on practices like meditation, contemplative prayer, lectio divina, or liturgical prayer?
Perhaps the better question is this: given that these contemplative practices are like “mystical vitamins” necessary to maximize our spiritual health and wellness, how can anyone justify not doing these things?
For centuries now, critics of mystical spirituality have insisted that contemplative practice is a form of escapism, a navel-gazing activity that leads to narcissism and withdrawal, rather than to a renewed or healthier activism and engagement. And to be fair, plenty of mystics over the ages have called for withdrawal rather than engagement. That’s evident in Theravada Buddhism or in early Christian monasticism. But it’s not fair to attack mysticism because it can sometimes go off the rails. Any human activity has a shadow side. The proper response to escapist-mysticism is not to reject mysticism, but to reject escapism.
How can mystical spirituality help us to deal with our social and political challenges? Here are a few thoughts.
Mysticism fosters humility and an ability to listen. The heart of contemplation is learning how to listen: to listen to the silence of God, to the chaos in our own hearts and minds, and to the subtle leadings of the Spirit in our lives. This same skill can be a necessary tool for anyone working for reconciliation or healing between conflicting parties.
Mysticism reminds us that God created and loves everyone, not just the people on “our” side. In the midst of political conflict it is so easy to simply see our adversaries as “the enemy.” We want to defeat them, decisively. But this is the path that leads to violence and (on a national level) to war. Conflict is inevitable and it is necessary to fight for what is right. But if we strip our opponents of their humanity, we are no better than they are (and perhaps even worse). The Buddha taught that only love can overcome hate; Christ was equally blunt: “Love your enemies.” A mystical approach to politics always looks for creative solutions where the dignity and humanity of all involved parties must be safeguarded.
Mystical practices teach us how to think creatively. Somebody once said that “You cannot solve a problem from the same level of consciousness that created it,” which means that any real solution to the social or political problems of our time must involve a creative approach to new ways of thinking, of seeing, and of en-vision-ing. Contemplative practices — particularly meditation and contemplative prayer — are excellent tools for fostering the capacity to see and think from new perspectives. While the heart of such practices is spiritual — learning to see through the eyes of God and think with the mind of Christ — the skills, themselves, naturally can be applied to our down-to-earth problems that require political or social engagement.
Mystical living helps to foster compassion, forgiveness, and healing. So many of the issues we are facing involve trauma. Whether it’s the physical trauma that gun violence or racial profiling engenders, or more subtle (but no less real) traumas associated with discrimination, sexism, homophobia, and religious intolerance, countless people suffer and are hurt because of our divided society. We need to learn how to love again, to forgive, and most important of all, to help those who suffer to heal. Mystical practice have been called a “School of Love.” This could just as easily be called a School of Compassion, or a School of Reconciliation, or a School of Service. However you approach it, the energy you invest into your contemplative practice will help you to be a better person dealing with the most mundane challenges of your life.
To conclude this post I’d like to refer to one of my favorite passages from one of my favorite authors — Kenneth Leech, the Anglican priest who was both a profound teacher of Christian mysticism and also a tireless activist working on behalf of homeless youth, victims of racism or religious discrimination, and those whose lives were shattered by addiction. Leech understood perhaps better than anyone else what true mysticism and true political activism need each other. I’ve written about this quote many times; if you’ve read it before, try to read it with fresh eyes, because the message is more urgent than ever. (This passage is taken from Leech’s book The Social God, and is also excerpted in Prayer and Prophecy: The Essential Kenneth Leech:
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 waste 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.
A true contemplative — a true mystic — finds that his or her spiritual practice does not lead to escaping the world’s traumas, but actually impels the practitioner to become ever more engaged with the challenges of the world in which he or she lives. That will like different for every person, of course. Some of us are called to be political activists, marching in the streets. Others are called to do vital work behind the scenes. Some of us are fighters, some are healers, some are teachers. Some of us raise money for the cause and others write stirring letters to the editor. There’s no one “right” way to be an activist, just like there is no one “right” way to be a contemplative. But one thing is for sure: a true contemplative is called to love: to love God, to love neighbors as yourself, even to love your enemies. Out of this love, you will be called to act in some form or fashion. Pay attention — and respond to your call.
A reader named Connie wrote to me and asked the following question:
Is there a mystic/al church? What would it look like? Does such a thing exist in your experience?
It’s a great question. I imagine anyone who truly learns about the spirituality of Christian mysticism can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be part of a neighborhood church that took contemplation and mystical prayer seriously.
I wish I could say all Christian churches are mystical. I personally believe all Christian churches should be mystical, and that they would be, if they took the Bible’s teachings on prayer, silence, and union with God seriously. But we live in an imperfect world. So as we all know, many Christian congregations have very little (or no) knowledge of contemplation at all, it is never mentioned in sermons are in classes, and sometimes churches are even hostile to this topic.
I remember an evangelical friend telling me, when I was a youth, to stay away from mysticism. “It begins in mist, ends in schism, and has “I” rather than ‘God’ at the center!” That was the warning.
Unfair? Of course. But it shows how many Christians are uncomfortable with the spirituality that is actually a part of our heritage.
What Would a Contemplative Church Look Like?
If you join or visit a Buddhist sangha (community), you will find that the heart of their community is practice — they don’t just talk about Buddhism, they live it. And the heart of their practice is meditation.
In a similar way, I believe a truly mystical or contemplative church will emphasize practice as well — and the heart of Christian practice is prayer. Prayer in many forms: from “saying prayers” to chanting the psalms to fixed-hour prayer at different times during the day, to the kinds of practices typically associated with mysticism: meditation and contemplation.
So, a truly contemplative church will emphasize prayer, meditation and contemplation. Depending on the church’s denominational affiliation, it might also emphasize other practices traditionally associated with contemplation, such as Centering Prayer, lectio divina (meditative scripture reading), working with a spiritual director, making retreats, studying the wisdom of the mystics, and putting the contemplative life “to work” by engaging in a social ministry such as feeding the homeless or supporting refugees.
A truly contemplative, mystical church will still have plenty in common with other churches: including Sunday morning worship, study of scripture, small prayer groups, opportunities for fellowship and service, and making a commitment to stewardship as a spiritual practice. And because Christian spirituality at its best is inclusive rather than exclusive by nature, a truly mystical church would still be the kind of place where people who do not feel personally called to study or practice contemplative forms of prayer would still feel welcome and at home.
Some Churches Are More Mystical Than Others
There are certainly individual churches here and there where the clergy and/or the church leadership, are very open to contemplation and mysticism. I know of several off the top of my head: Grace Episcopal Church in Gainesville, GA; St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church in Woodstock, NY; Queen of Peace Catholic Church in Gainesville, FL; Haw Creek Commons in Asheville, NC; The Portico in Tampa, FL; and the Church of Conscious Harmony in Austin, TX. Certainly there are others. But what is true of all these communities is that they serve a variety of people, so not every member of all these churches thinks of themselves as “mystics” or even as contemplatives.
Contemplatives, it seems have to learn how to live in a world where only a few people seem to be called (or accept the call) to live a truly contemplative life.
But if truly contemplative-friendly churches are still in the minority, how can you find a church that is open to nurturing the mystical life? Here are a few thoughts.
Check out the Quakers. Quakerism has given us a long lineage of Christian contemplatives, from George Fox to John Woolman to Rufus Jones to, in our time, Parker J. Palmer and Richard Foster. Because Quakerism stresses silent prayer, meditation, and learning to listen to the leading of the Spirit within, it is perhaps the most “mystical-friendly” of all the Christian denominations.
Look for churches that host Centering Prayer or Christian Meditation Groups. Sometimes even if the congregation as a whole is oblivious to mysticism, you can find people committed to the contemplative life by joining a local group dedicated to a practice like Centering Prayer of the World Community of Christian Meditation (WCCM) method of Christian Meditation. Visit the Contemplative Outreach or WCCM websites to see if there is contact information for a group near you.
In the Catholic world, parishes that are served by Jesuit priests, Franciscans, Carmelites or some of the other religious orders can sometimes be very contemplative-friendly. Not always! It really varies from church to church. But it’s worth looking into.
Finally, I think what many people who are drawn to contemplation and mysticism do: find a Centering Prayer or similar group, and/or become affiliated with a monastery or retreat center where you can meet like-minded people, who are interested in contemplative practice and learning the wisdom of the mystics. On a more personal level, many people cultivate their desire for contemplative support by working with a spiritual director or guide. In fact, I would argue that anyone who is serious about daily prayer ought to have a spiritual guide anyways! If you are interested in learning more about one-on-one spiritual guidance, visit the website for Spiritual Director’s International.
You Can Make a Difference
But what if you just don’t have any luck finding a contemplative church, you don’t live anywhere near a monastery or retreat center, and even finding a spiritual director or centering prayer group seems to be impossible?
In this scenario, I would encourage you to pray about whether or not you could start your own group, either at your neighborhood church or even in your own home.
There are some interesting resources for people who want to start or develop a contemplative church. I wrote a blog post called Nine Ways to Foster a Contemplative Church — perhaps you could share that with your pastor or other elders in your congregation, or invite a group of like-minded persons to read this with you and pray over it to see how God might be leading your church to become more contemplative. For a more in-depth resource, consider reading Contemplative Church: How Meditative Prayer and Monastic Practices Help Congregations Flourish by Peter Traben Haas. It’s a book that makes the case for why it is a good idea for the neighborhood church to become more contemplative. Once again, consider sharing it with your pastor and/or starting a group to read it together. And then see where the Spirit leads you.
You could also contact WCCM or Contemplative Outreach to see about starting a contemplative prayer group in your church.
Good luck! I hope everyone who would love to be part of a contemplative or mystical church will have the opportunity to do so: either by joining an existing congregation that is mystical-friendly or else helping to start such a community in your neighborhood.
A post on this blog received the following comment yesterday:
Having been with the Catholic Church and seminary trained for all my 71 years of life. I am naturally contemplative . But I do now believe practising formal meditation/contemplation is false . Aren’t we missing the point if we try and set time aside for contemplation?
Surely if we are made in Gods image we are already suffused with Gods holy grace and we are divinised, so if we are living in Christ what’s the point in pretending to get closer to God when He’s already there? The very air we breathe is holy .
A religionless Christianity is for me. There is now no need for a Church, priests, bible, sacraments, prayer.
My parish is the world wherever I am.
This has given me much food for thought. I promised the person who made this comment I would reply in a new blog post. So here goes. I’m writing this as a direct response to the author of the comment; hopefully it will be of interest to others as well.
Thank you for your comment. It’s wonderful that you have given your life to contemplative spirituality, to the point now where “the world is your parish” and you don’t even see a distinction between a prayer practice and living a prayerful life.
Indeed, the very air we breathe is holy!
So is the ground we walk on, the bodies we inhabit, the relationships that shape and form us every day. We are “all walking around shining like the sun,” as Merton put it. Most of us go through lives never realizing this, what a grace that you have a caught at least a glimpse of glory.
Saint Paul mandates that we “pray without ceasing” and I suspect that this means to do something similar to what Brother Lawrence calls “the practice of the presence of God” — which is to say, to reach a point of non-dual beholding where we find God in all things and all things in God.
“For the fullness of joy is to behold God in all,” as Julian of Norwich put it. Only you can say if you’ve actually reached this point, but your comment makes it sound as if you have.
I suspect that for many people, discovering the grace of “beholding God in all” includes a recognition that truly God is everywhere — not just in Church.
On a street corner in Louisville, one day Thomas Merton suddenly fell in love with everyone he saw. He realized there was greater dignity in being human than in being a monk. It was a major turning point in his life, with a rich lesson for us all.
Can We Dispense with Daily Practice (or the Church)?
When it comes to both the importance of a daily practice, or involvement in a faith community, I have a different perspective than you do.
I believe reaching the point of non-dual contemplation or “beholding God in all” renders Church and practice more necessary than ever. I’d like to share with you why I think so.
Let’s talk about daily practice first. You say:
I do now believe practising formal meditation/contemplation is false. Aren’t we missing the point if we try and set time aside for contemplation?
You give contemplative practice a label: “false.” Immediately I wonder if trying to put contemplative, or silent, prayer into words — calling it “true” or “false,” “meaningful” or “boring,” isn’t somehow missing the point.
That’s because the point of contemplative practice is silence. Not what we think or say about silence (or, for that matter, about the practice).
The point behind a contemplative practice (whether it’s liturgical prayer like the Daily Office, or a meditative exercise like centering prayer) is to dispose ourselves to silence: to a place beyond concepts like “meaningful” or “boring” or “joyful” or “false.”
We enter into intentional silence to remind ourselves to pay attention to the silence that is always, already there.
To me, the best analogy for a contemplative practice is physical exercise.
I personally don’t find a lot of joy in going to workout. I was never a jock and at age 55 I doubt if I’ll become one now! But I still try to faithfully show up at my fitness center several times a week to break a sweat.
Why? Because when I work out, I feel better the other 23 hours a day. And I know if I don’t work out, I start to lose energy, to lose muscle tone.
I believe that health is a gift from God. But if we don’t dispose ourselves to be healthy (through exercise, proper diet, enough sleep, and managing stress), then we are at risk of losing that gift.
The same goes with contemplative silence. It is a free gift from God, we can’t do anything to earn it.
In your words, “we are made in God’s image” and “we are already suffused with God’s holy grace… we are divinised.” Yes, absolutely! But are we mindful of this truth?
I believe the daily practice is essential for disposing myself to that mindfulness.
Perhaps you do not need a daily practice to maintain that level of mindfulness, of awareness, of practicing-the-presence. But I need it! For me, abandoning my daily contemplative practice would be like no longer exercising.
Maybe at first my health would stay strong. But if I stop working out, sooner or later, I’ll notice the loss.
If we are living in Christ what’s the point in pretending to get closer to God when He’s already there?
Well, yes, we are living in Christ. There’s no point in “pretending to get closer to God” — but if that’s your experience of contemplative practice, may I gently suggest that you might find it more satisfying if you think about it differently?
Contemplative practice is not about pretending anything. It’s about authenticity, about being who we truly are.
We need to let go of the internal commentary that says “this is a waste of time, this is just pretending, this is boring, you don’t need this, yada yada yada.” That’s what Buddhists call “the monkey mind.” Don’t try to argue with it, just gently let it go.
The point behind contemplative practice is to rest in silence. Whenever we think about it, or try to interpret it, we’re not doing it.
We don’t do this “to get closer to God.” That’s impossible, for already in God “we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). We make a practice of resting in silence to remember — to cultivate mindfulness, to exercise the gift that has already been given.
Sure, no one needs to practice contemplative prayer. Just like no one needs to go to the fitness center. But people keep going because realize that the workout is worth the blessings that flow from it. The same principle is at work in contemplative practice.
The Church and the Contemplative
The final words of your comment:
A religionless Christianity is for me. There is now no need for a Church, priests, bible, sacraments, prayer.
My parish is the world wherever I am.
To push my metaphor further: if contemplative practice is like a workout, then the Church is like the fitness center.
Some people can stay physically fit without membership in a fitness center. But that requires tremendous willpower, commitment, and resolve. For most of us mere mortals, joining (and using) a fitness center is essential for staying physically fit.
I think the same can be said of Church participation and “spiritual fitness.”
No, it’s not a Jedi temple! But Skellig Michael is evidence that even 1500 years ago in remote Ireland, hermit Christians formed community.
Now, I do believe that a small percentage of Christians are called to the vocation of hermit. If that is you, then of course I wish you well and much grace as you live into the calling you have received.
But even hermits need other people, just like a pilot needs a ground crew: the mechanic, the air traffic controller, the meteorologist, and so forth.
I think it’s important to remember that “Church” is just a fancy word for “community.” To say “I have no need for Church” is tantamount to saying “I have no need for other people.”
Now, I know that many people have had terrible experiences with their local church. People have been abused, exploited, oppressed by individuals and by the institution as a whole. The Church is made up of sinners, after all.
But when something is broken, you fix it. Human beings need community. If our communities are broken, the solution is to build better communities, not to give up on community altogether.
So I’m afraid I must disagree when you say “there is no need” for the Church, etc. That’s like saying “I’m physically fit. I no longer need the gym, or a trainer, or weights, or the treadmill.”
If you’re that good, then why don’t you help out some folks who aren’t as far along as you?
Which brings me to, what I suppose, is the main point of this long post. Maybe after years of contemplative living, you’ve decided you no longer need the Church (I disagree with you, but you’re entitled to your opinion).
But doesn’t the Church need you?
Again and again I get emails from Christians who struggle because their hearts have opened up to contemplative spirituality, and yet their Churches aren’t there yet. I feel their pain, because I’ve been there too.
I hear from clergy persons — priests and ministers — who feel this way. I also hear from laypeople in the same boat.
I believe the Christian Church (not just Catholicism, but all the denominations) is in the midst of a spiritual revolution, as the Holy Spirit calls more and more people to embrace contemplative prayer and practice.
But we’re at the cutting edge, friends. Many Christians still haven’t received the memo.
The Church needs contemplatives. The Church needs us to be contemplatives in the Church — even if all the other members of the Church don’t realize it yet.
I’m not saying we all need to go and start centering prayer groups, or teach a class on mysticism, or whatever. In many places, the last thing that is needed is another “program.”
In some places, though, that might be important. We all need to discern where we are called.
But I think in many Churches, we simply need to be present. We need to share with the clergy and other Church leaders that we are called to pray in silence. And then we need to do it. We need to be a contemplative presence in the Church.
Sometimes this might mean starting a program, or teaching a class. Or it might mean a ministry of spiritual companionship. Or it could just mean a daily ministry of intercessory silent prayer.
Every contemplative will have a unique calling. But I believe with all my heart that a central part of following Christ is washing one another’s feet.
And the Church is where we do that.
A Final Word
To my friend who left the comment: I do not mean to preach to you, and I have no interest in saying you are right or wrong. I trust you to follow God as best you can.
But I hope you can at least see, in this post, that there are some positive things to say about maintaining a committed daily prayer practice, and about being part of a faith community.
Commitment and community. They’re beautiful. Certainly not perfect. But necessary anyway.
Do you have a question about silent prayer, contemplative living, or Christian mysticism? If so, please leave it in a comment below — and I might choose it to feature in a future blog post. Thanks for reading!
Everyone knows that monks devote their lives to silence, but also to daily prayer and chanting. Monastic prayer occurs at fixed-hours throughout the day. The rota of Psalms, canticles, scripture readings, antiphons and other prayers that incorporate this daily liturgy is known as the Divine Office (or the Daily Office, or the Liturgy of the Hours).
Praying the Divine Office is central to monastic life, but even those of us who aren’t monks may find that this type of prayer is an essential part of our spiritual practice.
But it’s a huge commitment and many people might find it daunting to pray even part of the Divine Office on a regular basis.
If you’ve read Befriending Silence, then you know that I have a tempestuous relationship with daily prayer. In chapter 7, I make the following confession:
When I first became a Lay Cistercian, I struggled with the liturgy… My life was too busy, too unstructured, too freeform, and too spontaneous for me to be bothered by something like daily prayers. Or so I rationalized it to myself. I muddled along, praying from time to time and justified to myself all the days that I didn’t manage to pray.
In the book, I go on to talk about how forming a friendship with a devout Muslim, who prays five times every day, inspired me to take the Divine Office more seriously. I wish I could say that I am now a model practitioner of daily prayer, but the truth is, I still struggle with it.
Recently I met with one of the monks who guides our Lay Cistercian community, and we talked about the liturgy. He asked me why I find the Divine Office worth praying. Just off the top of my head, I came up with four reasons, and as I reflected on it, I thought of three more. So I thought I would share them with you.
If you pray the Divine Office, perhaps this will be inspiration to carry on. If you don’t yet pray it, or need encouragement to begin or (like me) to strengthen your commitment to regular prayer, then I hope the following reasons will be a help for you.
The Divine Office provides us with a language for prayer. Sometimes it’s hard to find the words for prayer. But in the Liturgy of the Hours we have access to wisdom that stretches back to before the time of Jesus. The Psalms, canticles, and other passages from scripture form the bulk of the Daily Office; in many ways, it is the Bible at prayer. But the liturgy also contains many other prayers that convey a range of feelings and concerns — it is a rich and nuanced vocabulary for prayer, that will deepen your ability to communicate with God throughout the day.
The Divine Office teaches us who God is, who the Church is, and who we are.What’s interesting about the liturgy is that not all parts of it are addressed toGod — some of it (for example, the canticles of Zechariah and Mary) is language aboutGod. But it’s still prayer — because prayer is more than just us talking to God, it’s God speaking to us. And throughout the liturgy, we encounter insight into God’s personality and character — along with similar insights into what it means to be humanin relationship with God, whether as individuals or as a community.
The Divine Office forms our identity as members of the Body of Christ.The liturgy does more than just describe who God is, and who we are. It also guides us to become who God wants us to be. Our faith is clear: we are created in God’s image and likeness, but we often behave in ways that fail to live up to who God calls us to be. We need guidance to be the people we are meant to be. The wisdom abounding in the Office shows us the path God calls us to follow. It’s not magic: we still need to respond to God’s call to become holy. But the liturgy is a trustworthy map.
The Divine Office helps us to pray at a level deeper than our feelings or experience. The liturgy is a daily commitment, not a “when you feel like it” commitment. It is meant to be offered to God on a regular basis, no matter what kind of mood you’re in or what’s going on in your mind. In that sense it is like marriage: a commitment of love, understanding that true love runs deeper than the emotions that ebb and flow from day to day or season to season. And while it is hard to keep praying during dry seasons or times of emotional turmoil, doing so is a powerful way to deepen your faith.
The Divine Office teaches us humility, obedience, fidelity, and patience.This is the other side of the previous point. We pray on a regular, daily basis, not because our mercurial emotions tell us to, but rather because we want to be faithful to God, obedient to God’s word, and committed to a trusting relationship with God built on eternal values like humility and patience. These are values at the heart of Christian spirituality — even if they are not always held in high esteem by our secular culture. But when we grow in these authentic values, we conform more fully to the image and likeness of the God who created us.
The Divine Office helps us to grow in intimacy with God.I’ve compared the liturgy to marriage, and it’s an appropriate analogy, because like marriage, the Daily Office is all about love. Too often we get unhelpful messages about God, not only from secular society but even sometimes from the Church. Too many of us have images of God that emphasize anger over love, judgment over mercy, sternness over tenderness. Yes, God is holy and just, that is true. But God is Love— and the promise of spirituality is to discover that Love and to become one with it. The Divine Office calls us to that graced discovery.
The Divine Office reminds us that every day is a place where we can touch eternity. I experience the liturgy in many different ways: sometimes it inspires me, sometimes it encourages me, and frankly, sometimes I argue with it or chafe against it. All this is okay. The liturgy speaks to us in the glorious complexity of our humanity, which means we will react to it in a variety of ways. But what is always part of the Divine Office is its orientation toward eternity: it is an invitation to see God, and life, and humanity, from the vantage point of heaven rather than just earth. It reminds us that communion with God isn’t just something that happens on Sundays or at churches or monasteries. The healing and life-transfiguring power of intimacy with God can touch (and transform) our lives at all times and in all places. The very regular, ordinary, dailinessof the liturgy helps us to keep this in mind.
I hope you find this list helpful — and may it be encouragement and inspiration for you as you continue your journey deeper into the heart of God.
Can you think of other reasons why it’s a blessing to pray the Divine Office? If so, please share your thoughts with me, either in a comment below this post or on social media. Thanks!
