Flee, Be Silent, and Pray

I'm reading a lot of Henri Nouwen lately, and came across a little book he wrote back in 1981 called The Way of the Heart. Nouwen, a Dutch-born Catholic priest who spent a good bit of his adult life working with the severely mentally disabled at a home in Canada has written a ton of books, mostly centered about living a vibrant devotion to God and Christ in a world that places a premium on self-indulgence and despair. Nouwen's work is infused with a very real understanding of the existential trauma individuals suffered under during the arms build-up of the early 1980s and the effect the haunting specter of nuclear annihilation had on Americans' beings.

In The Way of the Heart, Nouwen draws from the early desert mothers and fathers of the Christian faith who lived as hermits throughout the Middle East and North Africa. Their lives centered around three missions that God supposedly revealed to one of them (Abba Arsenius) in what is now known as Egypt. God told Arsenius to flee, be silent, and pray. Nouwen's exhortation to use these three practices as tools to strengthen the Spirit in us was incredibly moving to me, so I wanted to take a moment and share them with you. I'm a little worried this will get long, so I'll write about 'fleeing' today, and follow up with silence and prayer.

The first step is to 'flee'. According to Nouwen, "There is seldom a period in which we do not know what to do, and we move through life in such a distracted way that we do not even take the time and rest to wonder if any of the things we think, say, or do are worth thinking, saying, or doing. We simply go along with the many 'musts' and 'oughts' that have been handed to us, and we live with them as if they were authentic translations of the Gospel of our Lord" (21-22).

We go through the motions of life, we might even do a decent job of managing our lives, but we fail to live our lives in connection with the source of our being. How do we change this? By doing the very thing that scares the snot out of most of us -- we shut out the distractions we encounter in life (turn off the phone, computer, radio, and TV), send the family away, tell our daydreams and fantasies to float off for a while, and just BE.

Nouwen writes, "Solitude is the place of the great struggle and the great encounter -- the struggle against the compulsions of the false self, and the encounter with the loving God who offers himself as the substance of the new self" (26). We set time apart and our mind wanders, fears emerge, to-do lists crop up, old angers and resentments surface. We feel weak and distracted. All good! Those are 'the compulsions of the old self'. We realize their presence, and in that moment, we begin our rebirth.

Nouwen warns against too much self-congratulation at this point. "Anyone who wants to fight his demons with his own weapons in a fool" (28). The compulsions are transformed through the encounter with Christ. But this "encounter does not take place before, after, or beyond the struggle with our false self and its demons. No, it is precisely in the midst of this struggle that our Lord comes to us" and reminds us of God's presence at our side and in our being (29).

The only way to transformation is through the recognition, rejection, and reconstruction of our self. Time apart highlights our demons in technicolor (one of the reasons so many of us are so scared to be alone -- we prefer the palliative of over-stimulation). Those demons are often pretty ugly, and when we stop for a second, we see how they cripple us and we try to renounce them. It is in this moment that we find the God that dwells within us, the God that has always been there preparing us. We sense the strength and love of God in us and begin the process of reforming our hearts to better reflect this God we carry. It may not happen in a day (or a week, a month, five years!), but it happens.

How can we find this time apart in our lives? I take a half hour each morning to just sit. For those of us who take public transportation every day, that can be a sacred time of solitude (as can driving -- just make sure you're not so focused on tuning out that you don't pay attention to the road!). Running, walking the dog, washing the dishes -- all are moments we can turn off our mental commentary on life and BE. Maybe try it this week and see what demons show themselves. You don't have to try to slay them right now; just become mindful of your inventory. You could also look for the God that dwells in you and see what God has to say about those demons. They might not look so scary after all.

Love,

Becky

Gratitude

Isn't it funny how life comes at us sometimes? I've often noticed that there are these small moments scattered amidst the insanity of everyday life that are there for no other reason than to build us up. So much in the world seems designed to tear us down, but if we're attentive, the world offers us nearly infinite moments of reconciliation.

For me this summer, these moments come with rabbits. It began the week I spent at the Lama Foundation in New Mexico -- there was this rabbit that would hang out near the path I walked on and watch me as I walked and meditated. There was another little rabbit that lived near my hut and would great me every morning and evening when the sun came close to the horizon.

But the rabbits didn't stay in New Mexico -- that was over two months ago, and I don't think I've gone a week without seeing one. They wait for me on the trail by my apartment. It's funny, because they really will wait on the side of the trail as I walk by, and as soon as someone else passes, they scamper off into the brush. It's as if they're waiting for me to see them. They wait for me in yards; last week, one bounced across the street in front of my car like it was a squirrel.

I have taken this to mean that the rabbits are there for a reason (who sees this many rabbits?) so I looked them up on a website dedicated to Zuni fetishes (I first saw the rabbits while I was in Zuni country, so I figured I would check out their significance for the Zuni people).

The rabbits are a guard of fertility, childbearing, and long life. Single girl that I am, I'm pretty sure that's not what they're telling me! They also represent awareness of others, serenity, and a release of fears.

That may be on to something. A very wise friend of mine models the Buddhist practice of neither clinging nor repelling. He simply accepts life as it comes -- the ups as well as the downs. Maybe he and the rabbits are working together to teach me a lesson about my life. I've often written about how I spend too much time trying to manage my life. This could well be my call to live it. Fearlessly. Serenely.

Maybe the next time I see one of the little furry guys I'll ask him!

Love,

Becky

Show Me, Don't Tell Me

I have this column that comes out through UPI's Religion and Spirituality Forum every Wednesday (it's called "Roll Down Like Water" -- a reference to justice found in Amos). Tomorrow's column focuses on the U.S. role in the current conflict between Israel and Hezbollah. I call the United States to task for arming Israel and then issuing vacuous statements in support of a 'sustainable ceasefire'. Words are great (I'm glad we're at least calling for a ceasefire), but words not backed by actions are hypocritical at best and completely counter-productive at worst.

It made me think of a professor I had this past spring who wrote "show me, don't tell me" on students' papers when he thought they had slipped into making assertions rather than defending positions. The advice is valuable academically; I have found it indispensable personally.

A friend of mine is hurting right now. Someone he cares for deeply has let him down, and he doesn't know whether he can regain his trust in her or whether it's possible to repair their relationship. Of course, it's one of those particularly murky situations where she's a lovely woman who is just trying to work through her own pain, and he got caught up in it. It just happened; no one's really to blame. They're both suffering, and there's a good chance things won't heal in a way that allows them to move forward together.

As I try to support my friend (while keeping an appropriate distance -- something that can be particularly hard for me!) I see my professor's advice in sharp relief. Words are nice, but they mean little if not backed up by action. In this case, sentiment is worthless. Of course my friend loves this woman, and of course she loves him. But their ability to act out of love is a different matter all together. It is one thing to feel it and profess it; it is another entirely to live it.

The author of 1 John writes, "Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action" (1 John 3:18). I wish I could tell my friend what he should do to act out of love. I wish I could tell the woman who hurt him what she should do personify the love I know she feels for him.

At the end of the day, they have to be guided by their own hearts. But if scripture tells us anything, it is that love is sacrificial. Love puts the other first. I don't know what that means for the two of them in practice, but I hope they're open enough (and strong enough) to live the love they possess for one another. I can't think of anything harder, but I also can't think of anything else that honors their devotion to one another.

May they honor the peace they already possess.

Love,

Becky