It was about 3pm on a Thursday. In two hours I was to be co-leading a contemplative prayer service using music from the Taize community at the university. It had been a frenetic day- in the preceding weeks I had been staying in a room at my family's house while my house was being repaired, while teaching a class two hours away and commuting by bus, and searching for a job in a new city.
I had been living in a delicate balance that only the comfort of regularities in the midst of irregularities could maintain: my twenty minutes of centering prayer in the morning, and those prayers I call my returning prayers which I return to throughout the day.
On that Thursday the balance was tipped over, and the details began to take over; I went to buy a pitch pipe for the contemplative service at the same time that I was supposed to be in a meeting an hour away ... and then I left the pitch pipe at home.
By 3pm, I was on campus trying to work on a few other things before, and to purchase a few moments of quiet so I could provide a contemplative space for others ... knowing of course how much I needed that contemplative space.
Oh, no. No pitch pipe. It was 3:30. I ran to the theology school and found my co-leader: Janet, I said, I promised Kate we would have a pitch pipe! All right, she says, I'll rush and pick it up on my scooter. But that means you're in charge of the icons and the weeds. She directed me to the chapel where the "Russian guy" (some saint or other, in her words) would be, and a closet where she had carefully wrapped some weeds to place on the altar for our autumnal service.
There was something ironic yet fitting about running up the stairs frantically to find the Russian guy, and about the delicate way I had to carry some weeds. The details had become so elaborately absurd that a certain kind of contemplation- laughter and irreverence- were coming to the fore.
While Janet went to my house and collected the pitch pipe, I set up the altar. It was simple: some green fabric for ordinary time, and some golds for the natural season. Then some candles, our friend the Russian guy, and the weeds - which were beautifully gold as well- cloaked the fabrics. Very quickly, it became a space prepared for prayer. And we were finished early. I could sit and collect the peace from the space.
The service began: as usual we took a couple of the chants to collect ourselves into the place, and then the music we made began to blend with the space, and to parallel the gusts of wind outside that continued to blow the door open through the prayer. The short silence in the middle of the service, after the prayers, was an invitation to be present, and it opened the second half of the service up to become our gateway back into the world outside.
There were four of us present. And where two or three are gathered in Christ's name, so the Holy Spirit is present.
I began this service in January of this calendar year, last academic year. The summer prior, I had attended an elegantly simple Taize service in Tuebingen, Germany. When I left, I felt that Taize service was a kernel of something I wanted to take back with me- though I was not sure how or where. Then, in the fall, it occurred to me that the university's chapel was rarely used, and that Taize services were known for reaching younger people. Wouldn't it be wonderful to bring this to the students at this university? Wouldn't it be a great way to give the chapel some more use?
So I hatched something of a contemplative evangelism plan ... I was convinced that the students were just waiting for the opportunity for a meditation service to appear, since their lives are so frenetic. I was convinced that an ecumenical prayer service was just the recipe for revitalizing faith at the university ... I exaggerate. I never really thought the masses would come begging for contemplative prayer ... but I thought we might get 10 or so people. That would have been nice.
Instead there were times when there were just two of us, and the most we ever had was eight. If we had five we were doing really well.
Is reaching out with contemplation a paradox in itself? Can we ever really be evangelists with contemplative prayer? Or is that just bound to fail because it will undermine both? And what if it is one's gift to translate the contemplative to others?
Hannah Arendt says that contemplation is the highest state of humanity, and that this state is the product of the integration of individuals in community life. It is, in a way, the ontological character of the community life that can only be known through the lens of the whole community. One does not contemplate; and communities are only true communities if they are knit together by the spirit of contemplation- otherwise they are just societies. A group of building blocks arrayed randomly without a central purpose.
I like this understanding because unlike the traditional religious definitions of contemplation, based on the inner life and the methods of discipline associated with contemplation (meditation, the hours, chant, etc>), Arendt understands contemplation as a way, a process, a mode, not a static thing. In Arendt's world, contemplation in a community means we would all be better at listening to the inner voice.
I think Taize services are like this, with the repetition of words of Scripture, molding the group gently, much like our daily lives. The way we walk each day, the way we get out of bed on the same side and do the same things each day, these routines work on us. And m0st of the time, we are around others doing the very same things. I wonder, is community made in little processes like these ... little threads that we gradually knit together.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Wisdom to Know the Difference
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.
This was the first prayer I learned. Not the Lord's Prayer. No. In a family of atheists, the Lord's Prayer was never mentioned or repeated by rote at dinner and before bed. But we did have coasters and magnets with the serenity prayer all over the house. I don't know where they all came from; perhaps my grandmother just left behind these odds and ends with the serenity prayer on them on her visits. "When will you leave?" my dad would ask her. And she, to his frustration: "when the wind changes." What time was this? Before scheduled plane tickets? Or was she just above such mundane concerns as being tied to a travel schedule? That had to take some serenity.
Today this prayer has risen to the surface because I have been dwelling on reconciliation. And not just reconciliation, but true reconciliation. What is true reconciliation?
In theology, we know it to be a process. To speak of reconciliation, as if it is a state of being, or an event, is misleading. It would be more accurate to speak of reconciling, of being reconciled, and to reconcile oneself to, with, for. The serenity prayer, while it asks for serenity, courage and wisdom, only asks for those as we accept, change and know. We cannot have serenity, courage and wisdom unless we are living into accepting, changing, knowing. Motion, in other words, sometimes physical, sometimes emotional, sometimes tangible, sometimes invisible, but always visceral - if we let ourselves really live.
In politics, reconciliation is too often an event- if the word is used at all. More often we talk of conflict resolution, peacebuilding, peacekeeping, and the like. But these words are about as akin to reconciliation as nonviolence is to satygraha. They are mechanical. And yet, beneath these functional words, there is a fundamental interest in reconciliation. If this were not the case, how could anyone persist in studying the Israeli-Palestinian conflict over the long term?
I spent the morning in my last class at Colorado College, listening to my students present caes of self-determination and intervention throughout the world. Their studies ranged from Kashmir, Bosnia, Colombia, to Costa Rica and Greenland. Most of the students were discouraged by the results of these conflicts, and discouraged by the genuine potential for the peaceful resolution of conflicts internationally. Only one student had the courage to ask, with a smile that indicated he was envisioning something, "what would happen if states actually gave up nuclear weaspons? What would the world be like?"
I am beginning to think that questions like that are the ones that cut through the clutter of conflict resolution and into the true questions of reconciliation. Reconciliation is not a place to arrive at. It is not peace as the absence of war. It is a transformed state of affairs and a transforming process we participate in. Participation is key.
"What if the world actually put down their nuclear weapons?" Why is this question different? Because we do not know the answer. We ask it; we draw a rational blank. But doesn't some image come to your mind?
Ask it to yourself again: "What if the world actually put down their nuclear weapons?"
What do you see?
This is a discernment question. Questions we do not know the answer to are the only ones that help us understand our calls in the world. And we ask these questions in community. We turn to one another and ask each other, "what are your questions?" It matters that we are asking the questions just as much as the open-ended nature of the question matters.
I wonder if these could be the missing pieces: imagination, questions that at first seem to elude us, and asking questions of each other. Could this be reconciliation?
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.
This was the first prayer I learned. Not the Lord's Prayer. No. In a family of atheists, the Lord's Prayer was never mentioned or repeated by rote at dinner and before bed. But we did have coasters and magnets with the serenity prayer all over the house. I don't know where they all came from; perhaps my grandmother just left behind these odds and ends with the serenity prayer on them on her visits. "When will you leave?" my dad would ask her. And she, to his frustration: "when the wind changes." What time was this? Before scheduled plane tickets? Or was she just above such mundane concerns as being tied to a travel schedule? That had to take some serenity.
Today this prayer has risen to the surface because I have been dwelling on reconciliation. And not just reconciliation, but true reconciliation. What is true reconciliation?
In theology, we know it to be a process. To speak of reconciliation, as if it is a state of being, or an event, is misleading. It would be more accurate to speak of reconciling, of being reconciled, and to reconcile oneself to, with, for. The serenity prayer, while it asks for serenity, courage and wisdom, only asks for those as we accept, change and know. We cannot have serenity, courage and wisdom unless we are living into accepting, changing, knowing. Motion, in other words, sometimes physical, sometimes emotional, sometimes tangible, sometimes invisible, but always visceral - if we let ourselves really live.
In politics, reconciliation is too often an event- if the word is used at all. More often we talk of conflict resolution, peacebuilding, peacekeeping, and the like. But these words are about as akin to reconciliation as nonviolence is to satygraha. They are mechanical. And yet, beneath these functional words, there is a fundamental interest in reconciliation. If this were not the case, how could anyone persist in studying the Israeli-Palestinian conflict over the long term?
I spent the morning in my last class at Colorado College, listening to my students present caes of self-determination and intervention throughout the world. Their studies ranged from Kashmir, Bosnia, Colombia, to Costa Rica and Greenland. Most of the students were discouraged by the results of these conflicts, and discouraged by the genuine potential for the peaceful resolution of conflicts internationally. Only one student had the courage to ask, with a smile that indicated he was envisioning something, "what would happen if states actually gave up nuclear weaspons? What would the world be like?"
I am beginning to think that questions like that are the ones that cut through the clutter of conflict resolution and into the true questions of reconciliation. Reconciliation is not a place to arrive at. It is not peace as the absence of war. It is a transformed state of affairs and a transforming process we participate in. Participation is key.
"What if the world actually put down their nuclear weapons?" Why is this question different? Because we do not know the answer. We ask it; we draw a rational blank. But doesn't some image come to your mind?
Ask it to yourself again: "What if the world actually put down their nuclear weapons?"
What do you see?
This is a discernment question. Questions we do not know the answer to are the only ones that help us understand our calls in the world. And we ask these questions in community. We turn to one another and ask each other, "what are your questions?" It matters that we are asking the questions just as much as the open-ended nature of the question matters.
I wonder if these could be the missing pieces: imagination, questions that at first seem to elude us, and asking questions of each other. Could this be reconciliation?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Wisdom at a meal with the world
I have two obsessions: the Wisdom tradition, and the diverse tradition of meals in early Christianity.
(You will, I am sure, laugh at me later that I said I have merely two obsessions ... and I will welcome that).
But let me tell you about these two to start with, as they are the ones that commanded the forefront of my mind when my friend, the author of "Lost and Found in the Sacred Temple," assumed I had a blog when I commented on hers. So I began to think, is it not time to start one?
Wisdom (or Sophia, in Greek) is sometimes understood as the Holy Spirit and sometimes as the eternal Logos. Both of these positions are controversial, but interesting. Before I get to them, this is what is absolutely true about Wisdom: she is portrayed as "she" in the Old Testament.
By the way, I'm not an early Christian scholar; if I must be a scholar, I am a scholar of the Reformations era, and even there I hesitate to call myself a scholar. I am, if anything, a contemplative who loves to sap up knowledge in order to run it through a sieve, leaving the essence of what is important ... and giving the details to someone else who has the gift for this.
So know that as I relate something of Sophia as the Holy Spirit.
Consider these ... (which I cannot take credit for finding; thanks to a prof I had in Tuebingen)
Wisdom 10:1 Wisdom protected the first‑formed father of the world, when he alone had been created; she delivered him from his transgression,
Sirach 1:4 Wisdom was created before all other things, and prudent understanding from eternity.
Wisdom 7:25 For she is a breath of the power of God, and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty; therefore nothing defiled gains entrance into her.
"Wisdom" doesn't neatly fit into the category of the Father, the Son or the Holy Spirit - sometimes she runs through all, precedes all, feeds all. She is the fine thread weaving through the Trinity; she is the Trinity in herself. I have become fascinated with her since learning more of her last summer while in Tuebingen. There, the director of the Institute of Christian Origins gave a sermon about Wisdom ... asking those unresolved questions about her feminine nature, her eternal presence, her place in the making of the new covenant. The language used to describe Wisdom is mesmerizing. See for yourself in the Wisdom of Solomon ...
... and the Symposium term in the title of my blog. A "symposium" was one of many forms of ritualized meals in the early Christian era. These meals went by many names, had all sorts of customs and traditions. Another time I will write some more of these. What captures me about them is their diverse customs, the way they opened up the tradition and made it their own with their quirks, joys and local habits. This is how I believe tradition should be: alive. But also deeply revered. It is our place to reach into the complex web of tradition and pull on that one thread that is holding it together. It is that thread that will make the tradition ours and keep us grounded in wisdom's peace.
So, come join me in this continuing meal. Let's make it ours.
(You will, I am sure, laugh at me later that I said I have merely two obsessions ... and I will welcome that).
But let me tell you about these two to start with, as they are the ones that commanded the forefront of my mind when my friend, the author of "Lost and Found in the Sacred Temple," assumed I had a blog when I commented on hers. So I began to think, is it not time to start one?
Wisdom (or Sophia, in Greek) is sometimes understood as the Holy Spirit and sometimes as the eternal Logos. Both of these positions are controversial, but interesting. Before I get to them, this is what is absolutely true about Wisdom: she is portrayed as "she" in the Old Testament.
By the way, I'm not an early Christian scholar; if I must be a scholar, I am a scholar of the Reformations era, and even there I hesitate to call myself a scholar. I am, if anything, a contemplative who loves to sap up knowledge in order to run it through a sieve, leaving the essence of what is important ... and giving the details to someone else who has the gift for this.
So know that as I relate something of Sophia as the Holy Spirit.
Consider these ... (which I cannot take credit for finding; thanks to a prof I had in Tuebingen)
Wisdom 10:1 Wisdom protected the first‑formed father of the world, when he alone had been created; she delivered him from his transgression,
Sirach 1:4 Wisdom was created before all other things, and prudent understanding from eternity.
Wisdom 7:25 For she is a breath of the power of God, and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty; therefore nothing defiled gains entrance into her.
"Wisdom" doesn't neatly fit into the category of the Father, the Son or the Holy Spirit - sometimes she runs through all, precedes all, feeds all. She is the fine thread weaving through the Trinity; she is the Trinity in herself. I have become fascinated with her since learning more of her last summer while in Tuebingen. There, the director of the Institute of Christian Origins gave a sermon about Wisdom ... asking those unresolved questions about her feminine nature, her eternal presence, her place in the making of the new covenant. The language used to describe Wisdom is mesmerizing. See for yourself in the Wisdom of Solomon ...
... and the Symposium term in the title of my blog. A "symposium" was one of many forms of ritualized meals in the early Christian era. These meals went by many names, had all sorts of customs and traditions. Another time I will write some more of these. What captures me about them is their diverse customs, the way they opened up the tradition and made it their own with their quirks, joys and local habits. This is how I believe tradition should be: alive. But also deeply revered. It is our place to reach into the complex web of tradition and pull on that one thread that is holding it together. It is that thread that will make the tradition ours and keep us grounded in wisdom's peace.
So, come join me in this continuing meal. Let's make it ours.
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