Category Archives: Asceticism

Solitude for Ourselves And Others Revisited

In response to my recent post, Solitude for Ourselves and Others, a reader commented,

…there is a particular radio talk show that i frequently listen to in which the host advocates a meditation exercise called “be still and know”…his listeners regularly call into the show to tell of their experiences while trying the exercise and the results are interesting in that the majority of them can’t bare to sit still in silence for any real length of time without being overcome by a sense of terror and fear…….very interesting.

His observation is, I think, quite correct. For many people silence and solitude are a fearful experience. This is true even in our worship. If there is “too much silence” we often think something is wrong, something broke, or somebody forgot their part. We get fidgety wondering when, and hoping, somebody will do something. We have been led to believe that our value, identity, and existence are determined by what we do, how much we accomplish, and what we can show for ourselves. The Psalmist, however, teaches otherwise:

“For God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him” (Psalm 62:5).

For much of Christianity right-believing or right-behavior occupy the central place in the Church. These are certainly important aspects of the Christian tradition and life. They must, however, give way to right-being as the primary orientation of the Church. The life, love, and resurrection Christ offers humanity happen at the level of our being. That is the only place healing and wholeness can ever happen. Right-believing and right-doing flow naturally from right-being.

Silence and solitude ask us to trust that we are more than what we do. If we are not doing and producing we are often left wondering who we are and what life is about. Silence and solitude are not so much about the absence of noise or other people as they are about presence. Through silence and solitude we create space to be present and open to the One who is always and already present to us. Silence and solitude are the means by which we show up. Ultimately, this is much more about our interior condition than it is the exterior environment around us.

So, I wonder…

  • What is your experience of silence and solitude?
  • What has it taught you?
  • How has it transformed and shaped your life?

 

Solitude For Ourselves And Others

Jung recounts a story of a clergyman who had been working fourteen hours a day and was suffering from emotional exhaustion. Jung’s advice was that he should work eight hours a day, then go home and spend the evening alone in his study. The clergyman agreed to follow Jung’s advice precisely. He worked eight hours, and then went home and to his study, where he played some Chopin and read a novel by Hesse. The following day he read Thomas Mann and played Mozart. On the third day he went to see Jung and complained that he was no better. “But you didn’t understand,” Jung replied, on hearing his account. “I didn’t want you with Hermann Hesse or Thomas Mann or even Mozart or Chopin. I wanted you to be all alone with yourself.” “Oh but I can’t think of any worse company,” answered the clergyman. Jung replied, “And yet this is the self you inflict on other people fourteen hours a day.”

Experiencing God by Kenneth Leech

Sacred Monotony, Resting in God

St. Augustine said that our hearts are restless until they rest in God. “Resting in God” sounds like a great idea but it often seems we are too busy to take time to rest in God. The restlessness continues. So we try to do or schedule just a little bit more, thinking that maybe that restless feeling will go away. My experience, however, is that it never completely goes away. That restless feeling is God calling to us.

“Resting in God” is our spiritual discipline. In many ways the Season after Pentecost calls us to practice resting in God. It is the long green season in which we are to learn and grow in our discipleship. During this time God is calling us to rest in God’s presence, to experience his love, and live our Christian faith in ordinary everyday life. It is a reminder of and a time to acknowledge and experience God’s presence and God’s faithfulness in the mundane day-to-day stuff of our lives. I sometimes call it “sacred monotony.”

Resting in God does not mean that we simply sit around and do nothing. It does not necessarily mean that we have to give up our daily schedule and tasks – though some changes might be in order. Everything we do – work, study, play, errands – can be considered as prayer in the sense that what we do and who we are connects us to the reality of God.

Laundry, working, car-pooling, family obligations, cooking, shopping, paying the bills, home repairs, going to the doctor, running errands, school and studying, vacation…. You know as well as I that the list goes on and on. Our calendar says look at all we have to do. The Church offers us the Season after Pentecost and says look at all the opportunities you have to practice resting in God.

Many of the things we have on our calendar and to-do lists are the result of prior relationships and blessings. So maybe we go through our day with thanksgiving – for the food we have to cook, the clothes we have to wash, the house we have to repair, for the friends or family we are feeding, the kids we are car-pooling, and the doctors who care for us.

This is the ancient practice of mindfulness. Ordinary life becomes our prayer. Abandonment to Divine Providence (also known as The Sacrament of the Present Moment) by Jean-Pierre de Caussade and The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence are classic books teaching about this practice. As we continue in the practice of mindfulness our focus shifts from the task to be completed to the underlying blessings and relationships and we find ourselves resting in God.

Thomas Merton, a 20th century Trappist monk, explained it like this:

The requirements of a work to be done can be understood as the will of God. If I am supposed to hoe a garden or make a table, then I will be obeying God if I am true to the task to be done. To do the work carefully and well, with love and respect for the nature of my task and with due attention to its purpose, is to unite myself with God’s will in my work.

What Might You See By Turning Aside?

When I look at my to-do list and my calendar I do not see “turning aside.” I suspect that is true for most of us. We live busy lives. To do lists are long, calendars are full, and time is short. There is no time for “turning aside.” It is not productive or efficient to turn aside from the life and the task that is before us. But it is necessary if we are to have the new life that awaits us. This Sunday’s lectionary tells of Moses turning aside to see the great sight of a burning bush that was not burned up, to remove his shoes and feel holy ground between his toes, and to hear God’s voice echo “I AM” to Moses’ own response, “Here I am.”

I have seen the sun break through to illuminate a small field for a while, and gone my way and forgotten it. But that was the pearl of great price, the one field that had the treasure in it. I realize now that I must give all that I have to possess it. Life is not hurrying on to a receding future, nor hankering after an imagined past. It is the turning aside like Moses to the miracle of the lit bush, to a brightness that seemed as transitory as your youth once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

- Daily Readings from Prayers & Praises in the Celtic Tradition, p. 27

What do we need to turn aside from, not because it is necessarily wrong or bad, but because it distracts us from what is real?  I wonder what “great sights” we might see if we were to turn aside.

Whom Do I Treat Unjustly?

“But whom do I treat unjustly,” you say, “by keeping what is my own?” Tell me, what is your own? What did you bring into this life? From where did you receive it? It is as if someone were to take the first seat in the theatre, then bar everyone else from attending, so that one person alone enjoys what is offered for the benefit of all in the common – that is what the rich do. They seize common goods before others have the opportunity, then claim them as their own by right of preemption. For it we all took only what was necessary to satisfy our own needs, giving the rest to those who lack, no one would be in need.

Did you not come forth naked from the womb, and will you not return naked to the earth? Where then did you obtain your belongings? If you say that you acquired them by chance, then you deny God, since you neither recognize your Creator, nor are you grateful to the One who gave these things to you. But if you acknowledge that they were given to you by God, then tell me, for what purpose did you receive them? Is God unjust, when He distributes to us unequally the things that are necessary for life? Why then are you wealthy while another is poor? Why else, but so that you might receive the reward of benevolence and faithful stewardship, while the poor are honored for patient endurance in their struggle? But you, stuffing everything into the bottomless pockets of your greed, assume that you wrong no one; yet how many do you in fact dispossess?

Who are the greedy? Those who are not satisfied with what suffices for their own needs. Who are the robbers? Those who take for themselves what rightfully belongs to everyone. And you, are you not greedy? Are you not a robber? The things you received in trust as a stewardship, have you not appropriated them for yourself? Is not the person who strips another of clothing called a thief? And those who do not clothe the naked when they have the power to do so, should they not be called the same? The bread you are holding back is for the hungry, the clothes you keep put away are for the naked, the shoes that are rotting away with disuse are for those who have none, the silver you keep buried in the earth is for the needy. You are thus guilty of injustice toward as many as you might have aided, and did not.

This passage from St. Basil’s On Social Justice has haunted me for several weeks now. His words sting with truth.

  • Too often we live as individuals, disconnected from and indifferent to, or at least unaware of, the needs of others.
  • Our fear that there will not be enough only creates the reality that there is not enough – usually for the other person though and not for us.
  • We own nothing. Everything is a gift and a privilege – “grace upon grace” as St. John says – intended to be cared for and shared as a gift.
  • Lent asks of us self-denial and fasting. It is not enough to simply give up something only to take it back at Easter. Maybe self-denial and fasting are not complete until whatever it is we have let go of has been given to and shared with another.
  • The most obvious level at which to understand St. Basil’s words is the physical level – physical bread, clothes, shoes, and money. But maybe these same things also have symbolic meanings – the bread of love, encouragement, and a good word that feeds life and nourishes growth; the clothes that offer dignity, protection, and identity; the shoes of freedom that enable another to live, move, and have their being; the silver that is another’s value and worth. How and from whom have we withheld bread, clothes, shoes, and silver, physical or otherwise?

There are (or more accurately, I have) no satisfactory answers to St. Basil’s questions and charges, only excuses. Perhaps the only satisfactory response is confession and repentance. I am rich, greedy, and a robber. I must turn and face the other from whom I have withheld. I must give and share not only my stuff but my life. My salvation is somehow tied to their life, well-being, and salvation.

So I wonder, what do St. Basil’s words bring up for you? How do you answer his questions?