Weekly Meditations

Whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.

1Cor. 6:17

Prayer calls us from the periphery of our lives to the center of who we are; from what is superficial in us to the most profound aspects of our being; and from the illusion of autonomy to union with God as our first reality.  It is the crucible where we work out our salvation, becoming more and more conformed to the unity of Christ with His Father.

Such lofty thoughts are easier to grasp with the help of good imagery, and St. John of the Cross has provided us with a beautiful metaphor of this evolution towards unity in the image of a burning log.   In the same way that fire dries out a wooden log so that it can more deeply receive the flame, so too are we being carefully prepared for increasing union with God through the purification of our hearts.

John of the Cross likens the early stages of our spiritual life to a damp log that is thrown onto the fire.  Before the fire can claim the wood for itself it must first dry out the log.  He writes,

The fire, at first, acts on the wood by driving out all its moisture.  Very slowly, it expels from the wood everything that is inconsistent with the nature of fire.  It then starts to burn on the outside until at last it transforms the wood into fire.

The whole of our spiritual life can be seen as a preparation for the soul to receive more deeply the love of God.  And, in the same way that a dry log catches fire more easily than a wet one, so the soul responds more immediately to the impulse of God the more prepared it is by the Holy Spirit.  As St. John of the Cross writes,

In the prepared soul, the love of God enters immediately, for at each touch the spark catches fire in the dry tinder.  It seems to such persons that every time this flame shoots up, it raises them up to the activity of God in God.

John of the Cross describes the experience of unity as that of an inflamed heart caught up in the fire of God’s love.  Such congruence can only take place in a soul that has been purged from all that, in John’s words, is “irrelevant and immature.”  It is the excessive humidity in a log that prevents the wood from catching fire as readily as it should.  Similarly, the excesses of self prevent us from recognizing and responding to the movement of God within us.

This process of drying is something that, at first, we resist.  But we soon recognize its benefits in producing in us a greater conformity to God.  We become more united to Gods’ action within us.  As John of the Cross writes, the effect of this unity is that “it stirs the heart so deeply as to make it dissolve in love.”  The word “dissolve” means to loosen and set free.  It also means to combine, as in a solution.  Such is the experience of those whose hearts melt, or dissolve, in the unity of God’s presence.

And lastly, as the log becomes one with the fire, it takes on not only the properties of fire but also its ministry.  As John of the Cross explains,

In this way the wood loses all its own properties, and acquires all the properties belonging to the fire.  Once it is dry, it dries other things.  It acquires the heat of the fire and then produces heat itself.  It takes on the bright flames from the fire and then reflects that light itself.  This is all performed by the properties of the fire now that the log has been conformed to these.

Since the log no longer resists the flame, it now receives the fire deep within.  And, as the fire transforms the wood into itself, it makes it more directly a part of its ministry.

Make every effort to add to your faith, . . . for if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

2 Peter 1:5-8

I had lunch this week with Ray Simpson who is a pastor and founding member of the celtic Community of Aidan and Hilda at the ancient monastery in Lindisfarne, England (see http://www.aidanandhilda.org).  It is a dispersed community with members living in many places around Britain and the world who are joined in fellowship by shared values and practices of the spiritual life.

One of the things Ray spoke to us about was the “Way of Life” that members adopt as a sign of their pilgrimage together.  They pledge, among other things, to a commitment to justice, to regular retreats, to lifelong learning and to a rhythm of prayer in their day.  They also commit to meeting periodically with a soul friend—what the celtic tradition calls an anam cara—as a way of maintaining their relationship to these pledges.

Since we at Imago Dei are also a dispersed community I thought that both the idea of choosing a “way of life” as well as that of finding a soul friend with whom to share the hopes we have for our spiritual life would be of benefit to us.  With this in mind I am reprinting a section from my book, Fan the Flame, on “Cultitvating the Spiritual Life.”

Consider this list of recommendations below for your own life.  Consider as well someone with whom you might partner as soul friends.  Share honestly with each other the “ways of life” that you already enjoy as part of your spiritual practice.  Then take opportunity to consider other practices that you feel God inviting you to grow in.  Feel free as well to add other expressions of the spiritual life not listed here.

Recommendations for cultivating the Spiritual Life

These rules, or “ways of life,” are divided into two sections: general (ongoing) and particular (daily).  The phrase, “as you can,” which precedes each rule suggests that you should freely accept the limitations of your life at this time.

General Rules of Life

As you can, meet regularly with a small group of people who know and share your deepest desires for relationship with God. Enjoy prayer together, communion, meditations on Scripture, and worship. Share your experiences of the journey of faith as you commit to encourage each other in your spiritual longings.

As you can, live a simple and uncluttered life. Have time for hospitality with everyone you meet in your day, especially God. Invite others into your life, your home, your journey.

As you can, meet regularly with a spiritual director or a friend who can help you remain objective about your spiritual life. Be cautious about overly assessing your sense of spiritual progress, or setbacks, on your own.

As you can, find a regular outlet through which to offer your time, money or labour for the sake of others. Volunteer to serve with a mission or some other help group. Visit the sick, care for the poor, remember the elderly and befriend those around you who are needy in any way.

As you can, continually equip yourself for the sake of others. Study, learn new skills or cultivate the gifts you have so that others may be blessed by them. Endeavour to walk each day as close to God as possible so that the integrity of your spiritual life will encourage this in others as well.

As you can, plan dedicated times for spiritual retreat throughout the year—a day, a weekend, or a week away in silence with God. If you are married, help your spouse get away for times of renewal and recovery of spiritual focus.

Particular Rules of Life

As you can, start each morning thanking God for all that will happen in the day ahead. Anticipate goodness and the Lord’s love for you in all that will take place. Seek the Lord’s purpose in everything that happens as God works in and through you in your day.

As you can, start each day with 20-30 minutes of silent prayer, remembering the ground of who you are, and of who God is in your life. Do this as a way of preparing the disposition of your heart before you apply yourself to your day. The quality of prayer that you bring to your day will determine your effectiveness within it—how you respond, how you interpret, and how you contribute to the events of your day.

As you can, recall throughout the day one of the seven petitions of the Lord’s Prayer.  Let the unique character of each of these prayers impress itself deeply on the character of your day. (see  http://imagodeicommunity.ca/category/the-lords-prayer .)

As you can, practice Lectio Divina each day—a time of slow spiritual reading and study that has as its purpose the conversion of the heart more than the accumulation of knowledge. Read a short passage of Scripture, or from a journal of spiritual wisdom you have gleaned from others (if you don’t have such a journal, begin one). Let this wisdom enter deeply as the foundation of your life.

As you can, take 5 minutes between the prolonged activities of your day in order to recollect your soul before God. Let times of rest be among the many activities of your day.

As you can, in the evening, spend another 20-30 minutes in silence before God. Review the events of your day, especially noting times of spiritual enthusiasm or of spiritual difficulty.  From what God reveals to you in these times, try to adjust your life accordingly. (see http://imagodeicommunity.ca/category/awareness-examen ).

As you can, end each day in gratitude for all that has happened—for what has been given to you, and for what God has given to the world through your life, your thoughts, your prayers. Be grateful for the simple fact of life and for the invitation you have each day to play a constructive part in the incredible story of Christ’s presence unfolding in this world.

All night long on my bed I looked for the one my heart loves; I looked for him but did not find him.    Song of Solomon 3:1

In his book, Love’s Endeavour, Love’s Expense, William Vanstone explores the virtues of God’s love by first outlining the characteristics of false love.  He lists three marks which identify love as false and then contrasts these with the perfect love of Christ.

The first sign that love is false is the mark of limitation.  Authentic love implies a totality of giving.  Anything less than a complete offering falls short of the love demonstrated by Christ.  As Vanstone writes,

The falsity of love is exposed wherever any limit is set by the will of the person who professes to love.  However much is given it is known that something is being withheld.

The second mark denoting love as inauthentic is any form of detachment by which the one who loves remains unaffected by the person they love.  True love touches the person who loves.  It creates a vulnerability in them that wasn’t there before.   As Vanstone writes,

Love is vulnerable in and through the beloved in the sense that, in the beloved, its completion or frustration, its triumph or tragedy are at stake. The one who loves surrenders into other hands the outcome of what his or her love aspires to.

Signs of such vulnerability are most important to the person who is being loved.   The common question, ‘Do I really matter?’ is the question of whether I have power to affect the person who professes to love me.

The third mark that identifies love as false is that of control or manipulation of the other person.  In love that is freely given there can be no guarantees with regards to how, or if, the other will respond.  Authentic love risks the possibility that the love offered may fail to bridge the gap.   Vanstone anticipates this failure when he writes,

Love may be frustrated.  Its most earnest aspiration may come to nothing.  Or the greatness of what is offered in love may be wholly disproportionate to the smallness of what, if anything, is received.  Herein lies the poignancy of love, and its potential tragedy.

When it comes to love, our best intentions offer no guarantee of success.  Much may be expended and little achieved.   But love must remain precarious if it is to be genuine.  And the precariousness of love s most experienced in the passivity of ‘waiting.’  This necessity of waiting also highlights the precariousness of God’s love—the lack of final control over the object of His love.  It is left to us to determine whether God’s initiative of love results in triumph or tragedy.

From these three marks by which the falsity of love is exposed we can better appreciate the authenticity of God’s love. In the kenosis, or self-emptying of Christ, nothing is held back, nothing unexpended (Phil. 2:7).  In this we recognize God’s love as unlimited.  God’s love is also vulnerable.  The Lord risks rejection at the hands of His own creatures and is pained by our refusal to accept love.  And lastly, God’s love is precarious.  By the humble condescension of the Lord, we have power to determine whether His love succeeds or fails in its communication, or its intended effect.

I thought you would call me ‘Father’
Jer. 3:19

All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head.   Mark 4:28

A friend of mine is doing a doctorate in spiritual formation and studying Imago Dei as a model of spiritual direction-in-community.  We got together a little while ago to discuss the process of formation that has been evident in our Imago Dei communities over the years.  It provided me with a rare opportunity to describe a pattern of growth that I’ve seen often repeated in people’s lives as they bear the particular fruit the Spirit cultivates among us.  As many of you are in such groups, I thought it would be good to share what we have observed.

The overall objective of Imago Dei’s ministry is similar to the old adage that motivates missionaries: “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, but teach him how to fish and you feed him for life.”  Our hope is not to establish ourselves as the local fish market, where people come to be fed for a day, but to teach and encourage people to fish on their own—to seek and find God through prayer so that they can become who they are called to be in this world.

The vocabulary of spiritual direction that we use at Imago Dei resonates deeply with the invitation many people feel God already making to their hearts.  They seem appreciative of the language we speak, and the emphasis we share in our discussions.  This language allows us to communicate our deepest yearnings for God, and the truth we seek in our innermost beings.  It both affirms what we believe is possible for the spiritual life, as well as provides the basis for a dialogue that encourages a life of prayer, in the context of community.

Though our emphasis is mostly on personal prayer, I would assume many people attend Imago Dei groups for weeks, months or even years before ever establishing a regular discipline of prayer for themselves.  In the meantime they glean from others who have cultivated these practices in their own lives, and their hearts are kindled in the direction of such hope for themselves.

Through the consistent fanning of their desire for God, people do eventually develop a more disciplined prayer life.  They enter the “school of prayer” where the Holy Spirit helps them negotiate the ebbs and flows of the flesh that contest the primacy of God in their lives.  Prayer soon becomes non-negotiable.   They recognize it as the hub around which all else revolves, and gladly submit to God’s initiatives in their hearts, and in their circumstances.  At this point, whether they realize it or not, they have become sources of encouragement and motivation to others who hope to establish a similar priority in their own lives.

A significant sign of maturity happens in people when they begin to look outward, encouraging others in this pilgrimage of trust.  They pursue personal prayer more diligently now, not only for themselves but for the sake of others. They study and equip themselves through books, retreats or courses in order to better serve the mystery of God’s invitation in the lives of others.  Some become leaders of Imago Dei groups, facilitating communities of encouragement where this type of nurturing takes place.  Others train to become spiritual directors, helping people keep to their pilgrimage.  Some who are pastors, convinced of the priority of prayer in their ministry, bring such expressions to the centre of their communities’ self-understanding.  Prayer becomes the catalyst for the Spirit-birthed churches they are becoming.

Such is the path of growth that we are witnessing in the lives of people around us —from the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head.  Jesus said, “You will know a tree by its fruit,” (Luke 6:44).  The sustained vitality of spiritual life that many of us are  enjoying is proof indeed that God is doing a good work among us, and that this tree seems blessed by the fruit it bears.  For this we give thanks.

I will give thanks to you, LORD, with all my heart;

I will tell of all your wonderful deeds.

Psalm 9:1

“My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.”   Mat. 26:42

In the story of Gethsemane as recorded in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus acknowledges his wish that the occasion for His suffering would be removed.  Like any of us confronted by unwanted circumstances the Lord prays, as we have perhaps often prayed ourselves, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. “

Jesus tables His preference.  But He does so in the posture of a servant who defers to the will of his master as He adds the courageous footnote, “Yet not as I will, but as you will.”   As disagreeable as it is to His human nature, if He must drink the bitter cup, Jesus is prepared to accept His Father’s will.

How often, in our own lives, have we too prayed in the hope that “this cup be taken from me?”  But what happens when God does not answer this prayer?  Where do we go when it becomes apparent that the cup of suffering will not pass?  Jesus faced this reality in Gethsemane  and altered His prayer accordingly.  In the rephrasing of His petition He models for us a disposition that we too might claim when the cup we wish were taken away from us does not pass.

In Matthew’s account of Gethsemane, Jesus prays three times.  His first petition, “if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me,” changes in His second and third prayers to the more resigned, “if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.”  Jesus’ prayer evolves from one that expresses His natural and understandable aversion of suffering to one that now prepares Him for the lot He must accept.  It is a prayer that now seeks the grace to endure what cannot be changed.

These two prayers apply to us as well in every anticipated suffering.  We pray, naturally, for the removal of such if possible, but we must also pray beyond this first objective.  If the only petition we make is that suffering be taken from us we will find ourselves dismayed should the cup remain.  Our petition will seem to have failed and God will seem to have deserted us.  We must also be prepared to pray, as Jesus did, “if this cup cannot pass unless I drink it, let your will be done.”

The Lord did not hide from us His aversion to suffering.  The cup, as we know, was not taken from Him.  But what did pass was the fear that it produced in Him.  Whether the cup of suffering remains or is taken away from us, our best hope lies in the same assurance that Jesus draws courage from—that, either way, this is a cup that will surely pass.