Contemplation is essentially a listening in silence, an expectancy... In other words, the true contemplative is not the one who prepares his mind for a particular message that he wants or expects to hear, but who remains empty because he knows that he can never expect or anticipate the word that will transform his darkness into light. He does not even anticipate a special kind of transformation. He does not demand light instead of darkness. He waits on the Word of God in silence, and when he is "answered," it is not so much by a world that bursts into his silence. It is by his silence itself suddenly, inexplicably revealing itself to him as a word of great power, full of the voice of God.
Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer, Doubleday & Company, 1969
It is that not expecting, not anticipating, some particular thing, that is so difficult for us. We have so many losses already, and this loss of self-determination even on the level of cognition seems like a loss too far, like the rich young ruler's wealth (Luke 18.18ff). Yet it is in losing ourself, losing even our keys to the doors of perception, that we find ourselves in God, gloriously.
Henri Nouwen once suggested that it will be like this with dying:
Dying is returning home. But even though we have been told this many times by many people, we seldom desire to return home. We prefer to stay where we are. We know what we have; we do not know what we will get. Even the most appealing images of the afterlife cannot take away the fear of dying. We cling to life, even when our relationships are difficult, our economic circumstances harsh, and our health quite poor.
Still, Jesus came to take the sting out of death and to help us gradually realise that we don't have to be afraid of death, since death leads us to the place where the deepest desires of our hearts will be satisfied. It is not easy for us to truly believe that, but every little gesture of trust will bring us closer to this truth.
Still, Jesus came to take the sting out of death and to help us gradually realise that we don't have to be afraid of death, since death leads us to the place where the deepest desires of our hearts will be satisfied. It is not easy for us to truly believe that, but every little gesture of trust will bring us closer to this truth.
Somehow we always try to cling onto stuff, our hands clenched tightly around it: if we feel we've got beyond hanging onto material things, we hang onto private hopes, personal ambitions, or the key-code to the soul's chartroom. And yet Jesus is saying all the time, "Let go! Open your hands! I've got something for you, my beloved..."
Oh, why can't we trust that what our Saviour has for us is better than anything we have, anything we could have, in this world?
6 comments:
I think Mike, that the loses we suffer often are not 'good loses'. I mean that life circumstances will sometimes bring on a removal of something without being filled with Christ.
I have this same reaction when we speak of poverty as loss of companionship, woundedness, wretchedness or being victim. Somehow they are still possessions...of our illnesses or confusion.
That blessed 'poverty' is truly where we are commited to 'Letting it all go' because we want to take hold of Christ; and doing so with joy, fervor and grace.
Thanks for this. It is so easy to think I've failed if "nothing happens" in meditaiton.
Tausign, I don't think I meant to imply that the losses I was writing about are necessarily "good losses"... in fact most of them would be what most people would think of as the other variety!
I don't believe I was speaking of poverty "as loss of [various things]" but of the losses as kinds of poverty - and I see that as a crucial distinction, not mere playing with words.
I think poverty becomes blessed when we embrace it as part of the kenosis of Christ, when we accept our wounds, our losses, as somehow part of his suffering.
Jesus said, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." and, "Blessed are those who are persecuted..." I don't see anything there to suggest that that mourning was chosen, in the sense of being selected, and while the persecution may have occurred "for righteousness’ sake," it wasn't chosen either.
For me, personally, faith has to be a channel though which God can bring comfort, and healing, and meaning, into the hardest places, or it is a weak thing, and ultimately unfit for purpose.
Poverty can, for me, mean a relinquishing sought out in health, and clarity of mind, like the vow of a First or Second Order Franciscan, or it can be an open acceptance, in Christ, of loss that comes about merely through being human in a fallen world - and that acceptance may simply have to come in the midst of confusion, mourning, sickness, because that is what the loss involves. That doesn't mean one necessarily doesn't have to take ordinary human action against some losses - like medicine against loss of health - but that one accepts the loss as part of being Christ's sister or brother among the brokenness of the human condition. Or so it seems to me!
I enjoyed your post and agree with your comments. When I mentioned 'the loses we suffer often are not good loses', I was not referring to anything you said, but running off on a tangent. Peace and all good.
Thanks TS - I often seem to send you off on tangents, without realising that that's what I've done... Still, you made me think, and that can't be too bad ;-)
Blessings & peace!
Mike
I will be brief- I love the post and the conversation that the comments shows me.
Bless you Mike, you do God's work here.
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