“I’m speechless,” remarked Brother Elias Marechal, OCSO, after a congregation of several hundred young evangelicals vigorously applauded his visit to their worship service last month. But then he quipped, “We don’t talk in the monastery much.”
Brother Elias Marechal, OCSO speaks with Carl McColman at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit (photo by Rosary Mangano).
Grace Fellowship in Athens, GA (home of the University of Georgia) recently invited this deeply contemplative Trappist monk to come and speak to the congregation, comprised mostly of students. Grace’s pastor, John Raymond, has for the past decade received spiritual direction from Elias. When he led his young congregation on a program for deepening their inner prayer life, he invited the monk to come visit. Monks rarely leave their cloister, but Elias got the approval from his superiors to visit this congregation and spend about a half hour offering insight and instruction in prayer. Thankfully, Grace Fellowship runs a podcast, and recorded the talk so we can all enjoy it.
The first eight minutes of the podcast consist mostly of introductory remarks by Raymond, along with affectionate reminiscences of how the pastor and the monk first met — it turns out Elias knew Raymond’s mother when she was pregnant with him! But beginning at the 7:49 mark, the conversation turns to the topic of “the inner life” — and for the next half hour Elias discusses the Desert Fathers and Mothers, Jesus’s paradigm of radical inclusivity and equality, the importance of cultivating inner silence, the true meaning of Christian love, and several practices for fostering a contemplative prayer discipline. He packs a lot in to this brief audio recording.
Elias’s voice is soft and gentle, and just listening to him speak is itself an invitation into contemplative stillness. But his stories about the fruit of prayer — from his own initiation into silence as a freshman at Notre Dame, to anecdotes about others whose lives have been changed by silence and compassion — make this podcast come alive.
Tears of an Innocent God
You’ll want to listen to it more than once; I know I did (and I’m familiar with Elias and his wisdom).
When I first became interested in Buddhism, a friend of mine took me to the Tibetan Buddhist monastery here in Atlanta so I could hear a “real dharma talk” from a Tibetan monk. Well, Christianity doesn’t have a “dharma talk” tradition, but if we did, I suspect it would sound a lot like this talk from a Trappist.
For if there is no dark night of the soul anymore that isn’t lit with the flicker of the screen, then there is no morning of hopefulness either.
The above quotation comes from a fascinating, and I believe vitally important, article by Andrew Sullivan, called I Used to Be A Human Being. Originally published in New York magazine, it’s long for an internet article (7000 words) — but read it anyway. Take the time. Savor the beautiful language, the keen insight, but most important of all, it’s vital and challenging message.
This is a topic that has been on my mind for a while. I have a commitment to daily silence, which by the grace of God I manage to observe. But I’m also in the thrall of my iPhone, let alone my MacBook Pro. And I’m increasingly aware of the disconnect between these two behaviors.
I’m not a luddite, and I don’t think we need to take sledgehammers to our technology — at least, I haven’t gone there yet. But Sullivan suggests that many people are now spending upwards of five hours online every day. Five hours! Every day!
What would it look like if instead of spending five hours online — and just ten or twenty minutes in a kind of hazy, distracted silence — we decided to divide the time up more evenly: no more than two or two-and-a-half hours online, with just as much time given to silence and/or lectio divina and/or liturgical prayer? Would we really miss those extra three hours online? Would we really miss the ranting about Trump or Clinton or Pope Francis, or for that matter, the silly cat videos (yes, I love those too, but really, they’re just little moments of amusement, necessary to help us deal with all the ranting)? Do we really need to see everyone’s vacation pictures on Facebook? Does it really matter that Brad and Angelina are getting a divorce, or that Jimmy Fallon ruffled up the Donald’s hair?
What if we just slowed down — I’m not saying eliminate, just slow down — the rate of our online consumption of “content,” and gave that time to prayer, to contemplation, to silence instead?
This is something I am seriously praying about, and I invite you to pray along with me. For me, it might mean less new posts on my blog, and more reliance on automated services to keep Twitter and Facebook happy in my absence. It might mean a “technology Sabbath,” where one day a week all the electronic devices remain dark for twenty-four hours. It might mean using the feature on Scrivener to block social media for several hours at a time so I can remain more focused, more present, as I write — whether for online publication or for a forthcoming book.
Each one of us has a different relationship with the online world — and with silence. I’m assuming if you are reading my blog, you, like me, are drawn to both. So be it. But here’s my question: what would life look like, if we made a radical commitment to a 50/50 split: for every minute we spend online, on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, Youtube, Huffington Post, or wherever, we devoted the same amount of time each day to silence, to prayer, or to lectio? Not in a juridical sense, but in a spiritual, life-giving way: a generous commitment to prayer that matches our online-content-consumption.
Julian of Norwich counsels us to be generous in prayer, and generous in trusting God. Can we trust God — and life — enough to limit our online consumption, so that we can be truly generous in the time we give to prayer?
Will you ponder this question with me? And share your thoughts, if you are so inclined.
What is the relationship between prayer and joy? If we enjoy our prayer, does that mean we are avoiding the hard work of spirituality (which, at least in Christian terms, is meant to make us holy, not to entertain us)?
I had an interesting little exchange on Facebook the other day, when a reader, who is a priest of the Church of England, took exception to the headline of my post from last year, called Five Ways You Can Enjoy a Deeper Personal Prayer Life.
Reacting simply to that post’s headline, he wrote:
I haven’t read this article, because the title put me off! It smacks of the Protestant Individualist and Consumerist approach to faith, as in so many contemporary traditions, and it turns me off, I’m afraid. 🙁
I wrote a rather lengthy reply in which I suggest that the article certainly is not “individualist” or “consumerist” and if the headline seems to suggest that it is, well, isn’t that better than a headline that would come across as judgmental or self-righteousness?
To which he had this to say:
It’s also I guess a cultural thing about the language in which we couch things. Because from across the Pond it was very off-putting to this Anglican. But I’m not looking for a judgemental article or headline; just one which focuses first on the worship of God rather than the individual’s (consumerist) enjoyment.
At that point I let the thread go (my wife and I were on vacation at the time). But I’ve been thinking about this exchange for the past few days, and am fascinated by the commenter’s equating enjoyment with consumerism.
We live in a culture geared toward entertainment and consumption (if you doubt this, just look at the front page of Yahoo — it’s filled with stories about actors, musicians, professional athletes, reality-TV personalities, and others who make their living primarily by entertaining others). I suspect that my Anglican friend and I share a similar concern that the culture (cult?) of entertainment and consumption has negatively affected how many of us, perhaps most of us, engage with the teachings and practices of Christianity.
In other words, because we are so used to living in a society which focusses on entertaining us and selling us consumer goods, we (perhaps subconsciously) approach religion with a cultural bias: we want to be entertained. In other words, we want and expect God to amuse us.
This is one of the reasons why I have become increasingly uncomfortable with the notion of “experience” as an element of spirituality. When we talk about a “mystical experience,” are we talking about something that transfigures us (in Christian terms, it makes us more humble and holy), or are we talking about something that merely makes us feel good? If experience changes us — makes us more deeply repentant, more humble, more compassionate and loving, more merciful and forgiving, more profoundly worshipful and awe-struck by God’s glory and splendor — then it’s an experience worth having. But if it merely makes us feel pleasure, or a sense of special-ness or some other self-focused emotion, then I worry that such an “experience” may actually be a problem, not a blessing.
I haven’t yet asked my Anglican friend on Facebook, but I suspect his discomfort with my use of the word “enjoy” is related to my discomfort with the word “experience.” It reminded him of “consumer spirituality” which is a distraction from the more demanding (and God-centered) character of authentic Christian spirituality.
Fair enough.
But this begs another question, which is really the purpose of this blog post: Is it okay to enjoy prayer?
Here’s the crux of the question: if we pray only to feel God, that’s a mistake (at least in terms of Christian spirituality). But if we pray to worship God, isn’t there a place for joy in that approach to prayer?
I believe so. And I base it on the simple fact that joy is the second of the fruit of the spirit (Galatians 5:22); right behind love and just before peace. Joy is an essential element of Christian spirituality. St. Paul instructs us to rejoice in God always (Philippians 4:4; I Thessalonians 5:16). Therefore, if our spiritual practice is not fostering joy, perhaps something is out of joint.
The key to joy — holy joy, not consumerist joy — lies in our intent. If we pray to find joy, we are indulging in a kind of entertainment-spirituality. But if we pray to find God, we may expect joy to come as a gift from God. “Seek first the kingdom [of God] and God’s righteousness and all these things will be given you besides.”
True joy is like happiness or fun or even love. Such blessings rarely come to us directly. Rather, they emerge through caring for others, living in the present, and practicing virtues like generosity or kindness. Likewise, we enjoy prayer not as an end to itself, but as a by-product of the heart of prayer: growing ever-more deeply responsive to the love of God.
So yes, it’s okay to enjoy a deep prayer life! It’s okay to want joy in our lives. But the best way to do that is to seek not joy, but God. And of course, sometimes the joy will come in the midst of challenges, or suffering, or the hard work of slowly allowing God to heal us of our sin and narcissism. That’s not always fun! But I believe it’s never without joy — because God is a God of joy. And that’s something worth enjoying.
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!
St. Catherine’s, one of the oldest Christian monasteries, is in the Sinai desert where monks have prayed for some 1500 years.
A friend of mine posed the following question recently on Facebook:
You may have written about this before but how about dry times in prayer? What to do? Does it really mean anything? Can we have an impact on it or do we patiently wait it out?
The fancy term here is “aridity.” I suspect anyone who has attempted a sustained, daily (or at least regular) practice of prayer encounters this sooner or later. A sense of dryness, as if our prayers are parched. If we pray with words (whether our own or someone else’s), it seems as if the prayers are bouncing off the ceiling. If we choose instead to settle into the silence of a more contemplative form of praying, all we encounter is fidgetiness and restless, random thoughts. “Distracted from distraction by distraction,” as T. S. Eliot put it.
So it’s a universal aspect of prayer, or at least it seems to be. The only way to dodge aridity is, well, to stop (or never start) praying. But I’m assuming anyone who is reading this blog is at least somewhat committed to prayer, so quitting is not an option.
To repeat my friend’s questions: what does this mean, and how can we respond to it?
I think the first important point is to acknowledge just how common, perhaps even universal, aridity is. What this means is that if you are experiencing dryness in your prayer, that’s a good sign — a sign you are making progress in your spiritual journey.
Think of it this way: for Moses and the Hebrew people, the path to liberation from slavery in Egypt took them through the desert. Elijah’s vocation as a prophet began with a sojourn in the wilderness. Likewise, Jesus’s earthly ministry began with his 40 days in the desert. And the very headwaters of the post-Biblical tradition of Christian contemplative and mystical spirituality began… in the desert — the deserts of Egypt, Syria, and Palestine.
If you want to be physically fit, you got to work out. If you want to master a musical instrument, it takes hours of dedicated practice. And even though spirituality is always shaped and surprised by grace, there is still a “practice” element to it — in other words, if we want to grow in our response to the love of God, our path will take us through the desert.
The Burren in Ireland (photo by “Fish Cop” — public domain)
My second thought is to recall that even the desert has its own austere beauty.
I remember the first time I travelled around Ireland, and came to a region called the Burren — the closest thing Ireland has to a desert. It’s a windswept wasteland covered by limestone which looks like what I imagine the surface of the moon to be. It’s a stark contrast to the lush, verdant landscape that we normally associate with the Emerald Isle — and yet, in its own stark way, the Burren is lovely.
I was stunned at how beautiful it was. I expected, after seeing so many picture-postcard scenes of the Irish countryside, that the Burren would just feel empty and sad. But that was not the case at all. Yes, it was empty, and I suppose it even had a sadness about it. But it was a lovely sadness, a gorgeous emptiness.
The lesson here for us as we encounter aridity in our prayer is that such times of dryness may actually be invitations to find beauty and meaning even in the emptiness, the austerity, the sense of aloneness or the sense of fidgetiness and distractedness. Most important of all, is to discover that God loves us just as we are: desert-like warts and all.
God is not just interested in a never-ending succession of happy times, where we put on a brave face or our party hats and approach prayer as just another way to greet life with a smile, no matter what’s going on inside. God wants our hearts, not our masks! God wants us precisely when we are bored, or fidgety, or restless, or distracted, or unhappy.
God wants to pour God’s love into us in whatever state we may find ourselves in. Aridity in prayer is a gentle invitation to bring our lives in their messy imperfections to the God who so dearly loves us.
Of course, part of the challenge of dryness in prayer is that we don’t feel anything — so if God is loving us through the aridity, it seems like we are the last ones to get the memo. But what we lack in awareness, we more than make up through growing in faith. Faith, by its very nature, requires times of darkness, or unknowing, or dryness, in which we get to “work out the faith muscles” — and just like a physical workout at the gym, we experience it as painful, or difficult, or fraught with resistance.
But at a level deeper than our awareness, our muscles are growing. And so it is with faith: the “resistance training” that aridity or other times of darkness or unknowing bring to us, allow our faith to grow, even at a level deeper than our conscious awareness.
So what, then, to do? When I am waist-deep in the sands of the desert, what should be my response, my “prayer game plan”?
My friend is right: the key here is patience, perseverance, and I would add, trust. Part of what makes the dry times so unpleasant is the fact that we can’t fix or manage it. So we’re invited to respond not with our American “can-do” mentality, but with something much more primal: the opportunity to simply trust in God, God’s presence, God’s work in our hearts below the threshold of our awareness.
Such trust works best when we approach it mindfully. In other words, when our prayer takes us into the desert, pay attention to the fact that you have hit a dry spell. Don’t try to fix it, or wish it away, or pray it away (as if you could). But don’t ignore it, either.
You might find yourself in a place where lamentation emerges from your heart and your lips. Alleluia! Lamentation is such a beautiful way to pray and something that our culture often forgets (because we are so busy reassuring God that we’ve got everything under control, even when all hell is actively breaking loose).
So I would recommend to anyone struggling along the path of aridity to keep these three key elements in mind:
Trust that God is in control, that aridity is a normal aspect of a mature and serious prayer practice, and that beneath our conscious awareness, the Spirit is using such dryness to help us grow in faith and love;
Attentiveness to the fact that what arises, arises; by being present to the darkness or dryness or distraction or unknowing, our prayer is authentic even if it doesn’t necessarily “feel” good;
Lamentation — or whatever else arises — recognizing that God desires us to be authentic and honest in our prayer, so praying into the dryness and unknowing is perhaps the most direct path through it.
I hope this is helpful!
Do you have any suggestions for how Christians can deal with dryness or aridity in prayer? If so, please leave your thoughts as a comment to this blog post (or share with me on Facebook or Twitter). Thank you!
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 to God — some of it (for example, the canticles of Zechariah and Mary) is language about God. 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 human in 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, dailiness of 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!
If you are active in a church or other faith community, and you are drawn to (or practicing) silent prayer, if you talk about it with others you will likely, sooner or later, hear somebody say something along these lines:
“Isn’t meditation Buddhist? Or Hindu? Christians don’t need to do that sort of thing.”
“Sitting in silence? It’s just a waste of time. We are called to be serving others, not avoiding them.”
“Contemplation and mysticism aren’t in the Bible. Therefore, they aren’t for me.”
“Centering prayer is a Catholic practice, not appropriate for Protestant/Reformed/Evangelical Christians.”
Objections like these can be disheartening. Readers of this blog and others I’ve met at conferences and retreats around the country have told me a lot of sad stories. Lots of folks have told me they couldn’t share their love for contemplation with members of their churches — or even their pastors — because of objections like the ones above. An Episcopal priest told me that the Senior Warden of her church refused to let her begin the Vestry meetings with five minutes of silence, because they had “too much to do” (i.e., it’s a waste of time). I myself once had a priest tell me he wasn’t a “spiritual” person, he was a “practical” person (he’s a bishop now).
If you’ve been discouraged by nay-sayers and contemplative critics, take heart. The church has had a non-contemplative status quo for centuries now. Those of us who are seeking to restore the contemplative heart of our faith will naturally meet with resistance from others who, consciously or subconsciously, want to defend the status quo. Our job is to respond to such persons with kindness and understanding, while not backing down.
To those who worry that contemplation seems too “Buddhist” or “Hindu” or “New Age,” remind them that Christianity has a long tradition of saints and mystics who advocated silent prayer as a way to grow closer to God. From Evagrius Ponticus in the fourth century, to Richard of St. Victor in the twelfth century, to The Cloud of Unknowing in the fourteenth century and The Way of a Pilgrim in the nineteenth, Christian history is replete with teachings and instructions for the practice of silent, contemplative prayer.
Granted, many Christian contemplatives do engage in interfaith dialogue or interspiritual practice. That is true. But you can be a Christian contemplative without being involved in interfaith dialogue, and vice versa.
To those who object that contemplation, or mysticism, are too “Catholic” for Protestant or Evangelical Christians to accept, remind them that Catholics and Protestants share the same books of the New Testament, the practice of Baptism and Communion, and the writings of all the great Christian teachers and leaders for fifteen of the last twenty centuries. We worship the same God, trust in the same savior, and are inspired by the same Holy Spirit. Yes, there are real differences between these branches of Christianity, but contemplation, with its emphasis on silence, is perfectly suited for anyone who seeks a closer walk with God.
Often, remaining silent is better than getting into a pointless debate.
When someone insists that contemplation isn’t in the Bible, you can agree that the word itself is not in scripture. But silent prayer is all over the Bible. “For God alone my soul waits in silence” (Psalm 62:1); “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10); “In returning and rest you shall be saved, in quietness and trust shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15); “The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him!” (Habakkuk 2:20); “There was silence in heaven for about half an hour” (Revelation 8:1); and my personal favorite, which only makes sense when the original Hebrew is translated literally: “To you, O God, silence is praise” (Psalm 65:1). When Elijah encounters God, he encounters “a still small voice,” or “a light silent sound” or “the sound of sheer silence” (take your pick, these are different translations of I Kings 19:12). Scripture affirms silence as a way to relate to God. There is no Biblical reason for a Christian to avoid silence in prayer.
Finally, the person who insists that silent prayer is a waste of time, or is an indulgence that Christians cannot afford, is using the same argument that Judas used when criticizing Mary’s anointing of Jesus (John 12:1-11). There is always the temptation to assume that spirituality and practicality are at odds. But Jesus didn’t see it that way. Taking time (and expensive ointment!) to care for him was, in his mind, a worthy pursuit. Likewise, as people of faith we need to take time to rest in the love of God, with no agendas, no to-do lists, nothing other than our desire to love and worship the God of Love.
Of course, no true contemplative would say that we should remain silent at all times and simply abandon the commandment to serve others. But the key here is balance. Too much “practicality” can lead to burn-out and bitterness or resentment at how things don’t always go the way we plan them. But when balanced with deep and meaningful contemplation, our efforts to put our faith into action emerge out of a deep place of profound trust in God.
I’ve written this post not to help you change peoples’ minds, or to win debates, or to score points. In fact, as a general rule I think it’s best not to get into arguments with those who see things differently. In fact, the main purpose behind this post is to remind us contemplatives that we have sound reasons for our prayer practice, even when others criticize it. Remember, there is a hidden reason why otherwise well-meaning Christians object to contemplation: usually, they are just too invested in maintaining the status quo. We don’t have to change their minds. But neither do we have to let their objections get in the way of our intentional silent prayer.
I have been reading and tried to practice the way of a contemplative life although poorly I believe. But my hunger for anything on the topic of contemplation continues. Recently I have also been enticed into “mindfulness” practices. Now what or how do you relation contemplation and Mindfulness? They’re beginning to sound that there is a correlation? Thank you!
Thanks for your comment. First of all, we are all “poor” when it comes to contemplation; it is the human condition to have distracted minds, unruly emotions, and fidgety bodies; our fast-paced, hi-tech, entertainment-besotted culture generally makes it worse. So please be gentle with yourself. When you enter your time for silence in the presence of God, seek to be gentle, to relax, to rest in the unseen presence.
Allow every distracting thought and emotion which arises within you to be simply another reminder that you seek the silence and the rest which lies deeper within. There’s an old joke that the princess has to kiss a lot of frogs before she finds her prince — likewise, contemplatives have to gently turn away from many distractions before we find rest in the silence.
Mindfulness comes from a Pali word, sati, which means “mindfulness” or “awareness” and points to an important concept within Buddhist meditation practice — indeed, “right mindfulness” is the seventh of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path. So in a general sense, mindfulness (awareness) is simply a foundational element of a meditation practice: awareness, clarity, attentiveness, these are the core elements of mindfulness.
It implies waking up from the web of distractions that normally cloud human consciousness, so that we may engage with life from a place of intentional, “being present” to what simply and truly is, rather than remaining lost in the funhouse of our never-ending internal commentary and criticism of what we experience.
So, while it has a Buddhist provenance, mindfulness in this sati sense is simply a positive quality that emerges from any kind of disciplined meditation practice (and Christian contemplation or silent prayer does qualify as a meditation practice). But I suspect when you speak of mindfulness, you may be referring to the secularized meditation/wellness practice called “Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction” or MBSR, which was developed by Jon Kabat-Zinn at the University of Massachusetts Medical School in the 1970s.
Kabat-Zinn is a student of Buddhism, but it’s my understanding that MBSR explicitly intends to be a non-religious practice, aimed at mental and physical well-being. I’ve only taken one MBSR class, and was taught several practices, including a generic type of meditation, some gentle yoga postures, meditative walking, and “body scanning” (a relaxation technique involving paying attention in a gentle way to each part of the body while sitting or lying down). It’s my understanding that this has become a hot topic in research circles, looking for measurable benefits that MBSR practice can provide to people who suffer from chronic pain, anxiety, depression, or other concerns.
There’s a kind of trendiness to mindfulness practices. And naturally, that has led to a bit of backlash, too. The Spectator in the United Kingdom recently ran an article by Melanie McDonagh called Mindfulness is Something Worse Than Just a Smug Middle Class Trend. It’s well worth reading. Here’s a snippet for you:
An important element of the practice is to eschew judgmentalism; to observe and accept ourselves and our surroundings with compassion. Which sounds dandy, except that there are some things about ourselves and our situation which we jolly well shouldn’t be non-judgmental about, which we should be trying to change… This brings me to what really annoys me about being mindful, which is that as far as I can gather, it’s Mostly About Me. Sitting concentrating on your breathing is a good way to chill out and de-stress, but it’s not a particularly good end in itself. Radiating compassion is fine, but it doesn’t obviously translate into action. Where’s the bit about feeding the hungry, visiting the prisoner, all the virtues that Christianity extols? Where in fact is your neighbour in this practice of self-obsession? … Mindfulness may be the new religion — but it’s no substitute for the old one.
Is she being a bit unfair? You can decide for yourself. But I can tell you, she’s not the only one who worries about this. In fact, I first ran into criticism of the mindfulness movement from Buddhists, who were concerned that it was a “dumbing down” of Buddhism that gave consumeristic Americans a handy little practice for feeling good, but without the ethical and transformational demands of the Buddha’s teachings.
Christians, likewise, recognize that silent prayer needs to be embedded in an entire life oriented to being more Christ-like: in other words, the proof of our spiritual maturity lies not in how good our silent prayer is, but in how good our actions are.
But let me hasten to say that I am hesitant to simply say I agree with McDonagh and that the mindfulness fad is bad news. I don’t go that far, because I do believe MBSR really does have health & wellness benefits. Here’s how I see it: secular mindfulness practices are good, Buddhist and other eastern meditation practices are better, and theo-centric (God-centered) contemplative practices (like Christian silent prayer) are the best of all.
Why do I make this claim? In silent prayer, we seek not only wellness (the purpose of MBSR) and enlightenment (the aim of eastern meditation), but also intimacy with God.
Granted, I am writing as a Christian, with a Christian world-view, and others are free to disagree with me. But what I love about Christian spirituality is that I’m never alone: I’m always invited into the presence of Unconditional Love, who is not just a “force” but a Person. I enter silence because God loves me and because intentional, prayerful silence is a way to respond to that love (Psalm 46:10) and even a way to praise that love (Psalm 65:1).
It’s also about becoming a more Christ-like person, which means a holy person, or at least someone who seeks to be holy. It means self-emptying, or kenosis. It means entering silence not merelyas a means of self-help or personal growth, but in the interest of an ever-deepening relationship — with God, with Love.
But wellness is good, and MBSR is a wonderful way to use meditation and other relaxation/awareness practices in the service of wellness. Likewise, the quest for enlightenment or illumination is good, and eastern spiritual practices like shamatha or zazen are great tools in the service of that kind of spiritual growth or even liberation. What I love about Christian silent prayer — contemplation — is that it includes all of the above, but goes even further, in that it is grounded not just in wellness or in personal enlightenment, but in union with God — union with Divine Love. That’s what keeps me returning to the silence every day.
Saint Benedict, author of the most widely used rule in western Christianity
I bet if I took a poll, almost everyone who reads my blog would agree with this statement: “I want to grow spiritually.”
Readers of spiritual blogs want to grow in their faith and practice the way that readers of marketing blogs want to expand their business, or the readers of investment blogs want to make more money. It’s part of the nobility of being human: we see areas in our lives where we want improvement, and we try to gain more knowledge, more skill, more discipline in order to reach our goals and make those dreams come true.
We see this dynamic at work in scripture, where people who encounter Jesus say things like “I believe, help my unbelief!” or “Lord, teach us to pray.” We turn to God, hoping for help or a blessing when it comes to, well, turning to God.
So many people find prayer to be challenging. Either we never manage to find the time to do it, or when we do finally open up twenty minutes in our busy schedule, we try to pray only to find our minds besieged by an army of distracting thoughts. Worse yet, we feel so scattered or distracted that even simple practices like praying the Divine Office seem to be meaningless or just a rote exercise.
We all want to pray. And we want to pray better.
But here’s the thing. Prayer is not a contest or a performance review. It’s not like going out on a date where we feel the need to be fun and interesting, or else the person we’re with will not want to go out again. Spirituality is not a test. God’s love is unconditional. There really is no “goal” or “objective” in the spiritual life.
Nevertheless, those of us who read (or write) spirituality blogs often feel some sort of tug for “something more.” If we pray once or twice a week, we yearn to do it daily. If we manage ten minutes for silent contemplation, we realize that we’d love to give twenty. If we succumb to the screeches of the monkey mind, we know that we wish for the monkey to take a nap, so we can taste God’s loving silence more deeply.
Previously I have written about writing and keeping a personal rule of life, which is a great tool for fostering a more disciplined approach to daily spirituality. If you haven’t read that post, please check it out. But today I’d like to focus on the relationship between spirituality and discipline.
Discipline is the practice of orienting (and re-orienting) our life toward what we most truly want. We want to lose weight more than eat lots of candy bars. We want to save for retirement more than going out drinking with friends every night. We want to pray every day more than just watching endless cute cat videos on Youtube.
The point behind fostering a disciplined approach to spirituality — which may include keeping a personal rule of life — is that we acknowledge both where we are and where we would like to be. It is natural that our reach will exceed our grasp. That’s okay. God loves us unconditionally, where we are today, and also loves the “future you” who will have grown to a more regular, more in-depth, more undistracted life of prayer. Discipline means living in the creative tension between accepting where we are today, and nurturing growth toward where we hope to be tomorrow.
Once again, let me repeat myself: we seek to grow in our spiritual practice not because we have a goal to reach or a test to pass. God loves us unconditionally, right here and right now. We seek to grow, to become more disciplined, to lovingly give more of our time and attention to God, simply as a joyful way of responding to God’s unconditional love. It’s the ultimate win-win: We have already won, through Christ’s passion, God’s unconditional love. And God invites us through the Holy Spirit to grow in grace, so that we will “win” tomorrow by responding even more fully to God’s love and God’s invitation into silence.
Disciplined prayer is never perfect. We will have “bad” days or even weeks or months when our discipline seems to be in shambles, our efforts to respond to God either messy or non-existent. That’s okay too — the point behind having a rule, or a discipline, is that when we fall down we allow the Holy Spirit to pick us back up, so we can keep going.
Do you have a particular way in which you would like your spiritual practice to grow? If so, pray about it, asking God to bless you with that deeper, richer, longer, more frequent, or more attentive prayer. If you’d like, leave a comment here or on Facebook, describing the way you hope for your prayer life to grow.
O Divine Beloved, you are the source of life and the fountain of all goodness.
In the mystery of your silence we recognize who we are, for we are created in your image. You are beautiful, for you are Love. You are wisdom, for you are Truth. We worship you and ask that you restore in us the fullness of your likeness. Forgive us for all the ways that we have failed to embody your love, and heal us so that we may bring your mercy to others.
Grant us the grace of discipline in prayer, that we may tend to you in stillness and silent praise, every day of our lives.
Grant us the grace of authentic humility, that we may truly know ourselves, with humor and compassion, and respond to your universal call to holiness.
Grant us the grace of deep interior silence, that our chattering minds and anxious hearts may rest in your limitless love.
Grant us the grace of quiet confidence, that we may fully trust in you and allow that trust to form us in joyful hope.
Grant us the grace of caring discernment, that we may avoid the temptation to judge one another and instead bring insight and compassion to all our relationships.
Grant us the grace to grow in the fruit of the spirit, so that love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and mindfulness may form the character of our lives.
And finally, grant us the grace to love you with our entire being, and to love our neighbors and our enemies as we love ourselves, so that in all that we say, all that we do, and indeed in the fullness of who we are, you might be glorified and adored, for truly your beauty is our joy, your heart is our love, and your silence is our peace.
All this we ask in the name of Christ, the savior of the world.
Amen.
Update, March 2018: I’ve written a new and shorter version of this prayer. Click here to see it.
A reader named Monika wrote the following comment and left it on one of my blog posts:
I recently lost my husband of 49 years to a sudden brain tumor. I sold our home and cafe for economic reasons. I always wanted to live in quiet contemplation when the right time came. I think that it is here and I have nothing but grief blocking any inner peace I am looking for. Where do I start?
All your posts seem so moving and joyful.
Thanks
Thank you, Monika, for your comment. I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your husband. And I suspect that selling your property may compound the feelings of disorientation and dislocation that are a normal part of grieving. I hope you can find the stability that is in God, who is the source of all our stability, no matter what we may be thinking or feeling or going through.
Allow the grief to be there. Try to welcome it, to offer it hospitality, as painful as that may seem. If you cry throughout your prayer, remember that the Desert Fathers and Mothers saw tears as a gift from God.
Whether we are sobbing disconsolately, crying quietly, or simply noticing the aching presence of our mourning, those of us who have welcomed grief into our lives know exactly what you mean when you say it is blocking the inner peace you seek. What is so frustrating about silent prayer is that almost anything that is going on inside us — any distracting thoughts, any tumultuous emotion, any deeply-seated passion — will likewise seem to block the peace we hunger for. I think this is why one of my favorite teachers, Kenneth Leech, says that contemplatives “explore the waste of their own being.” That doesn’t sound very inviting! But I think it’s honest. And I think honesty, authenticity, is so important in all prayer, including contemplative prayer. When we are grieving, we pray our grief, we pray through our grief. When we are joyous, we pray our joy. When we are fidgety and distracted, we pray through our fidgety distractions. And on it goes.
And once in a while, by the sheer grace of the Holy Spirit, we touch the peace we seek. And we realize that it is always, already there, hidden beneath and between all the static and noise of our ordinary awareness. What Buddhists call “the monkey mind.”
Prayer — all prayer, not just contemplative prayer — is a dance of attention and distraction. Sometimes our distractions are silly, such as when we keep thinking about a funny movie we saw last week. But at other times our “distractions” are really all about what’s going on in the deepest places in our hearts: our grief, our longing, our hope. And if that isn’t the heart of prayer, then I don’t know what is.
So pray your grief. Cry your tears. Keep breathing and try to find moments of silence and rest between the ache and the cascade of thoughts and images and feelings. If it helps, use a short prayer like the Jesus prayer (“Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me”) or a favorite Bible verse (“Be still and know God,” “God, come to my assistance; Lord, make haste to help me”) or, what The Cloud of Unknowingrecommends: a single, short word that in itself is a prayer: “God” or “Love” or “Grace.”
The prayer word or verse is helpful because it gives us a lifeline back to the restful attentiveness we seek to cultivate. When we get lost in the maelström of our grief or our distracted mind, then we return to the prayer as a way to return to the intention of simply resting in God’s silent presence. And when we relax into the deep silence that is there, beneath the chattering mind, beneath the passions of the heart, we can let the prayer words go too, and simply be still. And know.
You asked where to start. Start where you are. One day at a time. But I recommend making space in your life every day for silence, even if it’s just a few minutes. At first, the dailiness matters more than how long you sit. So give it five or ten minutes. When you hunger for more, you can give it more. But start with making it a daily practice.
I like to begin and end with a brief prayer, like the Lord’s Prayer, the Glory Be, or this lovely prayer from Julian of Norwich:
God, of your goodness, give me yourself, for you are enough for me. I may ask nothing less that is fully to your worship, and if I do ask anything less, ever shall I be in want. Only in you I have all.
Of course, if you have another favorite prayer go with that, or even pray briefly in your own words.
Allow your prayer time to be imperfect. Prayer is about love, and love is always messy and imperfect. Love flows best when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, so we have to learn to be vulnerable in prayer, too. Fortunately, God is safe, and it really is okay to be vulnerable in God’s presence. Even to the point of crying or sobbing.
I hope some of this is helpful for you, Monika (or for anyone else who is seeking to pray through powerful emotions). Thank you for the privilege of reflecting together with you on the mystery of prayer. Please let me know how it’s going.
Ss. Teresa of Ávila and Brigid of Kildare, St. Joseph’s Catholic Church, Macon, GA. Saint Teresa and Saint Brigid were two great contemplatives engaged in making the world a better place.I am troubled by the idea that it’s harder to be a child today than it was when I was young. Is that just my personal angst, the anxiety of someone moving rapidly through midlife? Or is there some truth to my worrisome intuition?
Well, consider the following sobering statements, all culled from recent articles on respectable news websites.
It is reported that one in three children is the victim of bullying at school, and with a growing number of young people online today, cyber bullying is enabling the terror to continue outside of school and into the night. (Source: Yahoo News)
One in four girls is sexually abused before the age of 18. The global market for child trafficking is more than $12 billion a year, with more than 1.2 million child victims. More than 100,000 children are currently involved in prostitution in the U.S. (Source: Wellspring Living)
The higher the level of income inequality in a county, the higher the reported rate of maltreatment of children tends to be. That is true no matter what the average family income happens to be. (Source: Journalist’s Resource)
In the United States alone, childhood lead poisoning costs an estimated $50-billion (U.S.) a year, while methylmercury toxicity alone costs $5-billion… The vast majority of the more than 80,000 industrial chemicals in widespread use in the U.S. have never been tested for their toxic effects on the developing fetus or child. The real impact on children’s health is just beginning to be uncovered. (Source: The Globe and Mail)
A total of 13{b583bb596bb2c84984aee1f32e70a80b80285001a0226212b58cbda01f2115e7}–20{b583bb596bb2c84984aee1f32e70a80b80285001a0226212b58cbda01f2115e7} of children living in the United States experience a mental disorder in a given year, and surveillance during 1994–2011 has shown the prevalence of these conditions to be increasing. (Source: Alternet)
Some might argue that these statements are overblown. I’m not knowledgeable enough to be able to make a definitive statement for or against any of these statistics. But it seems to me that even if these statistics are exaggerated — which I have no reason to believe they are, but just for the sake of argument — even so, I think most reasonable people will agree that ours is a seriously toxic culture. And it seems to be getting worse, not better.
While we worry about the size of our television screen and how many gigabytes of space our electronic devices contain, our children and youth are suffering. We debate endlessly about how we perceive colors in a photograph of a dress on the Internet, while our kids are killing themselves or interacting with their peers through bullying and hostility.
What are we doing about this?
There’s a great slogan: “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.” It’s a call to action, of course. But it’s also about being a contemplative as much as about being an activist. The truth is simple: we live in outrageous times. We have so much work to do. Everyone of us has a part to play in healing our broken society, our broken culture, our broken way of life. Even if we aren’t political activists, we still need to be taking care of our family and our homes, to safeguard against the troubles we face.
But being outraged is only half the job. It’s just as important to be paying attention. And that’s where contemplation comes in.
Yes, we all need to work for a better world. This post is not about specific solutions to any of the above problems, but thankfully people of good will are already hard at work — and they need our support and engagement. But is that all we need to do? Or do we need to begin to create a better soul for our world? In other words, does the healing need to come from the inside out?
I think the answer is obvious. “I can’t change the world, but I can change the world in me,” sang Bono on the U2 song “Rejoice.” I think that song suffers from a wee bit of Irish pessimism, because if we change our inner worlds, then we are empowered to actually make a difference in the outer world as well.
This is why I believe that contemplation is essential for the future of humanity. Not by itself: contemplation without action can be a type of escape, so it’s important that our contemplative practice be embedded in healthy values and positive action — both at the personal and the societal level. We need contemplation to support the action we take to care for our immediate family and loved ones, and we also need contemplation to support the political, economic, and lifestyle choices that nurture our children, that help preserve our ecosystem, and that help to foster a just world. We need both contemplation and action. If contemplation without action is a form of escape, then likewise, action without contemplation can lead to burnout and hostility, even in the hearts of those who are working for positive change. When we lack contemplation, we more likely see those who disagree with us as our enemies rather than our loyal opposition. Action without contemplation runs the risk of being activity founded in anger or hate rather than love.
Everyone knows that when communism triumphed in Russia and China, it just created a new hell to replace the old. Our political and social activism must arise out of a deep inner conversion, and contemplation is a key to that interior transfiguration: one person, one spirit at a time. Likewise, our efforts to love our family and friends must arise out of that same inner transfiguration, or else we run the risk of polluting our most important relationships with the toxicity of our culture at large.
So why do we need contemplation, in a society where so many of us are suffering? Here are just a few answers to this question.
1. We need contemplation to remember who we really are. Our consumer/entertainment society dazzles us with things to buy and amusements to distract us, and we become so overwhelmed by stuff and fun that we forget our deepest identity. We forget our innate dignity as children of God, and our compassionate nature that refuses to accept the suffering of others. Contemplation is a way to short-circuit our cultural amnesia and re-calibrate our hearts to the love of God.
2. We need contemplation to safeguard against despair. The line between outrage and overwhelm is thin indeed, and it’s easy to find the challenges in our world today simply too much to bear. Taking time for silence, reflection, and cultivating inner peace is an important way to prevent burning out or freaking out over the enormity of our problems. Contemplation refreshes us and empowers us to face our tasks with hope and God-given strength.
3. We need contemplation to slow down and think clearly. Daily time given to silence is like a “reset” button for the mind. It cleanses the frenzy of over-stimulated thoughts and feelings, and opens up a spaciousness where we can consider how to most wisely and effectively respond to the work we need to do. This is true whether our task is changing the world or changing the diapers of our newborn. Both tasks are essential, of course, and both must be done with love if they are to be done well.
4. We need contemplation to keep from demonizing our opponents. Jesus was blunt: “Love your enemies.” This doesn’t mean we ignore threats like ISIS, but it does mean our response to any adversaries needs to be grounded in respect for their God-given worth as human beings. So we seek to neutralize military threats, to rehabilitate criminals, and to work with political opponents in whatever way we can. This is profoundly counter-cultural. Read any political blog, left or right, and it’s obvious that our cultural tendency is to hate our opponents, not engage with them or seek reconciliation. But if we cannot figure out a way beyond political gridlock, the problems that really matter (see the quotes at the head of this post) will remain un-addressed. A contemplative stance recognizes that the common good matters more than abstract ideological purity, and so it can help us to find creative ways to work together for the benefit of all.
5. We need contemplation to help us find different solutions to the same old problems. Albert Einstein defined insanity as “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” If mental illness, income inequality, environmental toxins, human trafficking, and child-t0-child violence are all on the rise, then we need to be doing some things differently — radically differently. Different doesn’t always mean new — perhaps what we need is a return to some old values (like civic duty, or valuing family before wealth). But maybe we do need some new ideas, new ways to teach values to our children or to instill such values in our economy and technology. I certainly don’t have all the answers. But one thing’s for sure: we need creative thought to deal with our challenges, both on a personal and a societal level. And such creativity can be fostered — and needs to be fostered — by restful silence.
6. We need contemplation for our own sake. Contemplative practice has been linked to health benefits, such as easing depression, helping to manage stress, and alleviation of pain. Contemplation doesn’t just feel good, it’s good for us. Taking good care of ourselves is essential if we want to make the world a better place.
7. We need contemplation for our children’s sake. Contemplation is not about making more money or improving our standard of living (at whatever cost). Rather, it is about fostering love and compassion and connectedness. Once basic human needs are met, there is no correlation between income level and level of happiness. If we want to do the best we can for our children, we need to balance our running the rat race with a heartful/mindful approach to life and love.
So why do we need contemplation? We need it because we live in a toxic, chaotic society, and many, perhaps most, of us lead toxic, chaotic lives — so whether we are trying just to manage our own little corner of the world, or trying to make a difference in society at large, we need contemplation to nurture us on the way. We need contemplation to reconnect with the place in our hearts that belongs to God. We need contemplation to keep us from despair in the face of all of life’s challenges, whether personal or political. We need contemplation to find joy and purpose amidst life’s many challenges. And we need contemplation to nurture faith in God, even with all the anger and hatred that seems so prevalent in today’s world.
Can you think of other reasons why we need contemplation? Please leave a comment if you have any thoughts.
, or for that matter, the silly cat videos (yes, I love those too, but really, they’re just little moments of amusement, necessary to help us deal with all the ranting)? Do we really need to see everyone’s vacation pictures on Facebook? Does it really matter that Brad and Angelina are getting a divorce, or that Jimmy Fallon ruffled up the Donald’s hair?
What is the relationship between prayer and joy? If we enjoy our prayer, does that mean we are avoiding the hard work of spirituality (which, at least in Christian terms, is meant to make us holy, not to entertain us)?
