Weekly Meditations

No longer will a man teach his neighbor, or a man his brother, saying, ‘Know the LORD,’ because they will all know me, from the least of them to the greatest,” declares the LORD.   Jer. 31:34

I often think I have the best job in the world.  As a spiritual director, I get a ring-side seat to God’s story as it unfolds in the lives of people who are growing in their knowledge and experience of the Lord’s presence.  But this word from Jeremiah is also something I long for—the day when I, and every other pastor, teacher and spiritual director will be out of a job.  “No longer will one person tell another, ‘Know the Lord,’” the prophet writes,  “for they will all know me.”  In the meantime there is a particular insight that gives me confidence that the slow and painstaking work we do in encouraging deeper relationships with God is somehow related to the transformation of the whole world.

There is an urban legend called the “hundredth monkey” that represents something of this phenomenon.  The hundredth-monkey effect is a supposed event in which, once a critical number is reached, a learned behavior spreads instantaneously from one group to another.   The hypothesis first showed up in Lawrence Blair’s book, Rhythms of Vision (1975) where studies were cited of scientists observing macaque monkeys on the Japanese island of Koshima.  They noticed that some of these monkeys were learning how to wash mud off their food before eating it.  The researchers then claimed that once a critical number of monkeys had adopted this behaviour—the so-called hundredth monkey—this evolutionary instinct somehow spontaneously spread across the water to monkeys on nearby islands.  For no apparent reason, they too started experimenting with washing their food.  The story has since been used by others as a parable to support the hope of raising global consciousness in matters of ecology and social justice.

Could this also be what happens in a church, or a nation as more and more people learn to relate to God through prayer? Whether this story is true or not I do believe that something similar happens in the spirituality of community when a quorum of its members start moving more in step with the Spirit of God.

In his book, The Heart of the Parish: a Theology of the Remnant, Martin Thornton applies this type of thinking to parish work.  He recognizes the many different relationships to spirituality found in any given community saying, “each of our parishes contain the few really faithful, the occasional churchgoer, and everyone else.”  Thornton sees these different strata as concentric circles of intimacy with God where the influence of the center pervades the whole.  The few faithful believers—the remnant, as he calls them—are the ones who mysteriously anchor the whole community to the depths of spirituality.  According to Thornton, the church and ultimately the whole world depend and revolve around the faithful endeavour of the remnant.   He writes,

The Remnant, far from being an amputated segment, the clique detached from the whole, is at the centre of the parochial organism and of power extending beyond it. It is the very heart which recovers and serves the whole.

The concept of remnant theology can be quite motivating if we see our individual growth as benefitting the whole.  Perhaps this is what Jesus meant when He said, “For their sakes, I sanctify myself” (Jn. 17:19). Consider Thornton’s premise that as you mature as an individual in the knowledge of God you are somehow contributing to the maturity of all.  How does your own spiritual transformation serve the emerging freedom of all creation?  Paul implies something of this when he writes that  “the creation waits in eager expectation for the sons and daughters of God to be revealed” (Rom. 8:19).

In quantum physics, we are reminded of the great mystery of our interconnectedness, where a butterfly flapping its wings in Australia is somehow related, in effect, to a tornado in Texas. Even if there are only a few people growing in their knowledge of God, it will make a difference to the whole church, to society and to the world.  Somehow, through God’s mysterious economy, it will add truth and depth to the spiritual direction of all creation.

Acknowledge the Lord in all your ways and He will direct your path.      Prov. 3:6

The trouble with our thoughts is that, for the most part, they presume to operate independently of God.  And the countless speculations and often short-sighted conclusions they reach on important matters related to self, to others, to life and to God often hinder us from learning directly at the feet of Christ.   Paul urged the Corinthians to “take every thought captive to make it obedient to Christ.” (2Cor. 10:5).  It implies that we are to bring all things that take place within us into relationship with God.  And this includes all the deliberations that go on in our mind.

We get into trouble whenever we venture too far in our thinking without Christ.  All on our own, we reach some conclusion on a matter of importance.  We then have to live with whatever we believe, even if it is false, until God shows us otherwise.  When lies or half-truths get imbedded in our thinking we are most impaired in our spiritual direction.  Without even realizing it, we are operating from faulty premises.

It takes a lot more time to undo a lie in our thinking than to be patient beforehand with the conclusions we reach.  Better to allow our thoughts to remain uncertain for as long as possible than to prematurely bring our deliberations to a closure.  Such a prayerful approach requires faith though, and the ability to not let our anxious concerns regarding the unknown overly dictate our conclusions.

We should be especially careful when this applies to how we think about ourselves.  Without God, we can never know ourselves as we should.  Better to take all our opinions, speculations and analysis to Christ.  Ask the Lord what He thinks of these matters.  Do you feel that you need to change?  Ask God about this before you jump to any conclusions. Wait, watch and pray as the topic evolves in your spirit.  Rather than opting for any of the self-saving agendas that, on our own, we prescribe for our lives, take it instead to the Lord in prayer.  Are you concerned about this or that matter?  Talk to God about it rather than obsessing about life on your own.

Our thoughts might well contain important data but we should never consider them exclusively on their own.  We are wise to hold onto our conclusions lightly until we’ve verified them with God—to simply take the time to find out what Jesus has to say about what we are thinking.  Ask the Lord what He thinks about this or that matter.  He will either confirm our thoughts or else show us other ways to understand our situation.

As the book of Proverbs so plainly counsels us, we should always be wary of leaning overly to our own understanding.   By simply acknowledging the Lord in all our ways we will walk a very different path than the one that we would otherwise define for ourselves.

What a Friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear.
What a privilege to carry, ev’rything to God in Prayer.
O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear,
All because we do not carry, ev’rything to God in Prayer.

Joseph Medlicott Scriven
1819-1886

Whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away.  2Cor. 3:16

Science and Scripture offer hints that our lives, as well as God’s, are both closely related to the nature of light.  The apostle John tells us plainly that “God is light.” (1 Jn 1:5) and that Jesus is “the light that gives light to every person born” (Jn. 1:9).  Paul, as well, teaches that “God is immortal and lives in unapproachable light” (1Tim. 6:16). These are to be understood as theological principles much more than poetry.

We too are often described in terms of light.  Jesus tells us, for instance, that we are lights set on a hill for all to see (Mt. 5:14).  But Scripture also teaches us that the light we have is not our own (2Cor. 3:9).  The nature of our relationship to God is more like that of the moon to the sun.  God is light and we, made in the image of God, mirror that light.  Our light is simply a reflected light.

But there are many ways that we hinder the reflection of God in us.  Like a circus mirror, we often distort God’s light in our attempts to manipulate it.  We try to harness it to our advantage or to redirect it according to what we wish to highlight or conceal of ourselves.  Perhaps we hide ourselves from God’s light as Adam and Eve did.  Light, after all, exposes truth and we are not always open to what it might reveal.  And so we cover our mirror with fig leaves so that it no longer reflects God’s light as fully as it should.

For many such reasons we find veils over our hearts that diminish the light, and therefore diminish the truth of our lives.  And unfortunately, there is nothing that we can do about these veils.  Nothing, that is, except come to God for healing.  As Paul makes clear, whenever a person turns to the Lord the veil is taken away.  This is how God restores His image in us.

The spiritual life is a matter of receiving God’s light as fully as possible and reflecting it back to God, like a polished mirror, as purely as possible.  No manipulation, no redirection, no smudges, no self-absorption—just a true reflection of who God is in us.  This is what Jesus demonstrated at His transfiguration —the light of God, perfectly reflected in human form.  Jesus’ transfiguration, in some ways, also foreshadows our own transfiguration

As God’s light shines on us, what does it mean for us to faithfully reflect it?  What is required of us in order to do so more fully?  The answers to these questions represent the spiritual direction of our own transfiguration.  In this, we have opportunity to participate, as Moses did, by simply gazing more fully into God’s face.  As we do so, Paul assures us that the veil will become thinner, less opaque.  And we will return from such encounters with faces that more fully reflect God’s glory.

If your eye be single, your whole body be full of light.
Mat. 6:22

Each of you should learn to control his own body in a way that is holy and honourable, not in passionate lust like the heathen, who do not know God;  1Thes. 4:4-5

How often in the day do we push ourselves to be somewhere just ahead of where we actually are?  Maybe it’s a deadline, or an urgent need that creates an imperative in us for its fulfillment.  Or perhaps it’s just the tedium of “what is” that makes us want to rush ahead to be somewhere other than where we actually are.  Regardless of the reasons, whenever this mode overly defines our lifestyle the result is always the same—we end up losing touch with our souls.

Often, when I am trying to herd my family out the door to get somewhere, I will catch myself moving ahead to the next position I want them to be, perhaps standing at the doorway with my keys in hand, hoping that this might speed them up a bit.  How is this similar to the ways we often rush ahead of ourselves, as if to force us to pick up the pace?   And how does our refusal to accept or wait for ourselves contribute to feeling separated from our souls?

Feeling disjointed has a lot to do with the inner pace we set for ourselves in the course of our day.   This includes the many ways we overstep the truth of “what is” in favour of our projected ideals of what we wish it were.  “In patience,” we are told, “you shall possess your souls” (Luke 21:19 KJV).  St. Frances de Sales, a 16th cent. spiritual director, wrote similarly that, “to possess fully our souls is the effect of patience, made more perfect as it is less mixed with disquiet and eagerness.”

Peace and patience integrate us towards wholeness.  To “possess your soul” then, is to allow time throughout the day to literally catch up with yourself.  It asserts the reality of “what is” as the starting point of our lives rather than the imagination of where we would otherwise wish it to be.  Being patient with the actual pace of our lives is ultimately a matter of self-control.  And whenever we lose this virtue it leads to a less honourable expression of life.

Paul instructed the Thessalonians to “learn to control your own body in a way that is holy and honorable, not in passionate lust like the heathen, who do not know God” (1Thes. 4:4-5).  In other words, self-control better exemplifies a person who knows the sovereignty of God in their lives.  In the context of his letter, Paul was of course referring to moral self-discipline.  But the same exhortation applies to any lack of self-control we exhibit in relationship to our souls.  When the “passionate lusts” of our imagination drive us to live out of sync with the reality of who we actually are we tend to lose our sense of wholeness.  “In patience, you shall possess your souls.”  Perhaps this is what the apostle had in mind when he wrote, “since we live by the Spirit, let us also keep in step with the Spirit” (Gal. 5:25).

The obvious antidote to “losing our souls” is to simply allow times in our day to catch up with ourselves—times to reclaim the peace that we’ve lost track of in the frenzy and distractions of our busy lives.  To “possess our souls” is to accept the reality of “what is” as more true than even the most attractive and urgent alternatives we can imagine.  And the more we exercise such times of restorative patience in our day the more in sync we will be with the truth of our lives.

The false self prays from where it thinks it should be or would like to be.  The true self prays from where it is.

Albert Haase,O.F.M.

Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.                                                         Col. 4:2

So much good takes place in the mysterious environment of prayer. So many wrongs are set right. So many new foundations are laid. As I consider the many benefits of prayer I am so thankful to God for the countless graces that I can attribute to this most effortless of disciplines. From the wellspring of its daily renewal I get to drink deeply of God’s truth, purpose, and direction for my life

Prayer is where I get to examine all the different aspects of my life in light of the Lord’s counsel. In prayer I find my Way—instructions for my day, and for my life. There, God teaches me new truths and reminds me of ones I have forgotten. There, the Holy Spirit identifies whatever tendencies there are in me that obstruct His Way.

In prayer I defer all the considerations of my life to God. I assume more readily the posture of a servant rather than that of a labourer for God. Like Mary who saw herself as the handmaiden of the Lord, I wait in order to let God’s will be more freely expressed in me. Prayer is where I receive the relationship that God most desires to have with me.

In prayer I get to observe how I relate to all the different people and circumstances that surround me. I discover how I really feel about life. I get to sort through and re-establish my priorities—what God is calling me to, and what He is not. I also come to recognize my most profound desires as well as the fears that often influence my response to life.

Prayer helps me let go of the anxious grip I tend to otherwise hold myself with throughout the day. It loosens my fears, my worries, and the many burdens I’ve unnecessarily assumed for myself. If only for those few moments, everything stops. I know that I have returned to a place that has much more to do with eternity than the turmoil I have otherwise been living in

In prayer I once again lay down my life before God. It belongs to Him and I enter the freedom whereby I am able to give myself more fully to the Lord’s purposes. In doing so, I return to my most simple sense of self. There is nothing to do, no one to be, and nowhere else to look for myself than where I am. The only horizon I seek is the one right in front of me. Instead of the illusion that life is something I possess, I am once more reminded that it is actually something that is given to me. Moment by moment, I get to offer it all back to God in gratitude for the relationship I am in.

In prayer I place myself in the hands of the Potter, ready to be fashioned in any way that pleases the Lord. I try to remain malleable to God’s will and to wherever the Holy Spirit might lead me in my prayer. Whatever Jesus is in me, that is what I wish to be. In this submissive posture I learn much about the ways of God.

And finally, at its most sublime, prayer is where I get to pull away from my usual orbit of self-reference in order to simply gaze at Jesus. In the solitude of prayer, all other definitions of my life pale in comparison to the wonder of contemplating the beauty of God’s ways.