Friday, August 29, 2008

Day four on retreat, Feast of the beheading of John the Baptist


Today I slept too much. Yesterday I slept every chance I could get. I was feeling a little bad about it. But then the Prior fell asleep during meditation and was snoring loudly.

Father William woke him up after a few minutes. He later said that there is a story in the Benedictine tradition that told of a monk who fell asleep during church and instead of waking him up his superior put his head in his lap so he would sleep more comfortably.

“But,” said father William, “if a straight boy wakes up with his head in another man’s lap he’s not going to sleep well for a while.”

The schedule here must have worn me more than I realized. I couldn’t fall asleep easily last night. I laid in bed from 8:30 to about 10:30 thinking about the Psalm that said, “I lie down and sleep comes immediately” and silently gave God a hard time because that wasn’t the case.

This morning I got up for matins at four and afterwards went back to sleep. I set the alarm to wake me for lauds but I forgot to turn it on.

I slept hard. So hard it hurt. I had bad dreams: one each of Ella and Foster near death. I woke up to find I had missed Lauds, Terse and the Eucharist. The Eucharist!

Part of why I couldn’t get to sleep last night is that I was writing a monastic rule in my head for a pentecostal family order that would have eucharist seven times a day! I love the eucharist!

I said terse from my prayer book in my room and went down to the refectory (the dining hall) for pittance (coffee and cookies).

Father William saw me and said, “Someone made the baby Jesus cry this morning!”

“I cried my self when I realized it,” I replied. From then on the day progressed. My Canadian friends left for home. My love goes with them and my other fellow retreatants.

After dinner tonight I took a row boat out on the small lake. It was half serenity itself and half struggling through rotting peat.

Today was the feast of John the Baptist’s beheading. Happy decapitation! For lunch they broke out some meat! A delicious salmon, mashed potatoes and broccoli. Feast days are special.

Orthodox Spiritual Direction

Here in the monastery library I found a book called, “Spiritual Direction in the Early Christian East,.” It has a forward by Orthodox Bishop Kallistos Ware which discusses the concept of staretz or fathers in the Russian Orthodox tradition.

He describes a “golden chain,” a sort of secondary apostolic succession happening as these spiritual fathers who helped form the disciples of the next generation.

From what he wrote I get the impression that these fathers teneded to be very directive. They administered penance, not, Ware points out, as punishment, but as a doctor prescribing a remedy (xii). In addition to doctor, Ware also uses the images of counsellor, intercessor and mediator.

“Healer, teacher, man of prayer - the spiritual fathers is all these things, and yet he is something more.... anadochos denotes ... standing surety for his obligations” (xxiii).

While the spiritual director in the Orthodox tradition may be more authoritarian one may also expect to be dearly valued by their spiritual director. They stand before God responsible for their directees. They take upon themselves the responsibility of their directees spiritual formation - a kind of cosigner in their covenant with God.

I haven’t had any experience with a directive approach to spiritual direction. I have neither been wounded by it or could speak to its power. Since reading Dostoevski’s accounts of startsi in the Russian Orthodoxy, I have found myself drawn to submitting myself in obedience to a holy man.

Perhaps it is the romance of
Buddhist monks learning martial arts from a wise old master. Or the mystique of the orient and the draw of the hermitage.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

The Focus of Spiritual Direction

When I first started Spiritual direction My director asked me what my conception of a Spiritual Director was. This was well before I began this program and my main example for spiritual direction was Father Zosama in Dostoevsky's “Brothers Karamazov.” I thought of some contemplative who I could submit in obedience, who would stretch me in the practices of devotion and discipline - like a good doctor or gardener will diagnose and treat ailments.

Instead he gently listened to what God was doing in me. He didn’t hold me accountable, though my disciplined life did become stronger.

Still Barry and Conolly’s description of one whose sole purpose is to help me see God’s involvement in my every day life, clarified for me what my director had been doing (Spiritual Direction in Practice 5).

It is that focus, I believe, that distinguishes spiritual direction from the other helping ministries. There is indeed much overlap as the authors note, but singleness of focus on the presence of God in all things provides boundaries for the way the director will respond to any given situation (Spiritual Direction in Practice 142.)

I am reading Barry and Connoly’s Spiritual Direction in Practice here at St. Gregory’s Abby. The compounding of the Divine Office and daily Eucharist in this beautiful setting has me all warm with consolations. So I receive it easily and joyfully that the spiritual director should have “surplus warmth.” In a world which sometimes grants more desolation than consolation it is easily apparent why a warm environment works for spiritual direction. The director his/herself is the representation of Divine consolation. In their presence we are warmed by God, through the gifts he has given them. No wonder Bakke calls directions sessions “a pure gift.”

Spiritual Direction and the ordinary Christian

Thomas Merton suggests that spiritual direction is necessary for those with a vocation as a religious. An argument can be made, and he entertained (Spiritual Direction and Meditation p.14), that all ordinary Christians have a vocation of some kind to use their all for God.

What strikes me is that Merton suggests that the ordinary Christian should, in the course of faithful involvement in church, have their basic needs for spiritual direction met.

Much has changed, even in the Roman Catholic church since Merton wrote this. Private confession is rare. I wonder what we can do as churches to fill the basic needs of spiritual direction that will draw people to a greater intimacy with Christ, where perhaps they will desire a more formal directing relationship. Can we somehow create a community that is mutually supportive, a family of spiritual friends? How do we start?

Yet Merton points out that the general direction afforded by participation in church is “not really what we mean by spiritual direction in the present study” (Spiritual Direction and Meditation p.14).

If the ordinary direction that should be expected as a part of the sacrament isn’t deep enough for those who have a vocation to be a religious, how is it enough for the ordinary Christian? Is it that it has become a more hostile world than it was in Merton’s time? He points out that spiritual fathers and mothers were desperately needed in the danger of the hermit’s desert. Are we face in our cities and affluence less assaulted by demons than the monks who thought the dwelled in the desert? Perhaps to face the powers of hell today one only need visit an industrialized country.

Or is it that the contemplative life - the inner life isn’t for the ordinary Christian? I hope not. I sure hope the ordinary working class folk in my church can taste the depths of Christ, not content to work and struggle and wait for their piece of the pie in the sky by and by. “Man fully alive is the glory of God.”(St. Irenaeus).

Even if the whole life of a person in in their turkeys, God can be found there, perhaps with the help of a director.

Interestingly the Monks here at St. Gregory use Merton's logic to justify their own lack of a spiritual director, their rule creates a structure for the spiritual formation of the men.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Day two on retreat

Thank you, dear God, for your consolations today. I woke up this morning to your stars shining in the sky. I marveled at your creation on the way to the chapel. The sweet smell of the sanctuary greeted me as we who had gathered sat in your presence offering our solemn and subdued praise. In darkness we sat, keeping watch with Christ. Thank you for your continual watch and protection.

As I left in the calm of your presence I saw your stars again. I laid down on a bench and gazed up at them. Thank you for hanging the stars in their place. Thank you for being bigger still. Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for two pieces of toast and a shower. Thank you for the opportunity to pray with a community of brothers twice before the sun rose.

Thank you for eucharist with real wine.

Thank you for work periods of reading with me about spiritual direction. With your presence on my shoulders, your arm around my neck and the smell of frankincense and myrrh still in my senses, the warmth of the spiritual director’s relationship was abundantly clear.

Thank you for lunch and introducing me again to the prayer of examen. I wonder how open I dare be in blogging my prayers and how much I must hide away.

Thank you for seven times today praying the hours to the dulcet chants of the brothers.

Thank you for a bowl of cabbage soup for supper and listening to the history of Hotels in america being read to us.

Thank you for the sweet dreamlike peace you have given me today.

Thank you for the consolations of the animals. The ridiculous sounds of shrieking dear and cackling turkeys; the friendly cats who jump on any available lap, and for the humming bird that visited me.

Still amidst the joy I have felt some disquiet as well. Even as I thanked you that the humiliating events of yesterday didn’t cause me shame - the suggestion that I play the guitar outside didn’t cause me to be at all defensive, that the whole dinning hall was waiting for me to finish an apple before saying a closing prayer, or the fact that my pants had split when I fell over at vespers didn’t even make me blush - but even as I thanked you today for your grace at those times, I felt the empty sting of shame.

As I walked down to the library I passed a young woman, and I noticed an anxiousness. I wanted to be seen as attractive to her. For that reason I felt embarrassed and avoided her.

My thoughts wandered often today, thank you for bringing them back to you. When fatigue and boredom set in (that was a lot of reading!) the feeling of your presence left me. Thank you for being there in spite of my feelings.

I realized when I was first thinking about examen that I spent as much time using the rosary ring I made as I had hoping someone would notice it and ask about it. So I took it off. There was a rosary in the chapel by the statue of your mom. Did miss having it once when I longed for you and didn’t have your likeness to touch.

Thank you for what you have shown me today. Give me grace for tomorrow to live with you and avoid the mistakes and missed opportunities of today. Be with my family at home and bless them. Thank you for bringing Foster and Ella to mind as we prayed compline. I thought of all the times we prayed those psalms together in their room. Maybe next time I’ll chant them. What a nice lullaby.

Pentecostal Foodstuff

“For us, therefore, religious experience is to spiritual direction what foodstuff is to cooking. Without foodstuff there can be no cooking. Without religious experience there can be no spiritual direction” (Spiritual Direction in Practice 8).

Barry and Connoly give the work of spiritual direction as drawing out those times in life when God is interacting with the person they are directing. This means that the directee has to have had some kind of religious experience to draw on. Some prayer to discuss, maybe not even formal prayer, but the opening of the heart to God and experiencing him.

This got me thinking of the conversation I had with Dallas Willard. He wrote that the ecstatic experiences we Pentecostals cherish don’t build character. They are for something else, namely ministering to the body of Christ.

But they do provide religious experiences to draw on. A dutch reformed pastor who is on retreat with me related the story of a friend who went to the Toronto Airport Vineyard church during it’s famous revival. He went with his Ph.D. adviser as a sort of anthropological experiment. He even reluctantly went to be prayed over, being goaded by his adviser to study it. Those praying over him prayed some very specific things (like we experienced when we experimented with Spirit directed prayer during our January retreat). He was even “laid out” by the Spirit.

He now has that experience of the Spirit moving in his life to remember and know that it is real.

Perhaps those goose-bump moments and the excitement they produce do not by themselves develop character, but build faith and become the foodstuff for later spiritual direction.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Day one at St. Gregory’s Abby

I slept some as the train trundled over its tracks, swaying slightly, rocking me. When my eye lids spread apart, my gaze was captured by the mists that hung over the low hills. Young Dawn’s fingers streching out to gild them - making them shine in sacred twilight.

My mind was still cloudy, sleep was a forgotten lover and the day ahead a stranger. My mind all too readily remembered my true love left on the train platform, our children in her arms waving to me. I remember Foster’s body trembling like a leaf after a freight train roared by the waiting passengers, a bully taunting us with its icy wind.

“Daddy, I don’t want to ride on the train any more, All right?”

He couldn’t come this time anyway. This journey was for me alone. Just me and God - a solitary retreat. Do I really want to do this? I asked myself, thinking of home and family. No, I’d go home if I could, but I’m on my way.

A brother from the Abby met me at the train station. If my misapprehension frightened me on the train, his driving taught me to trust God completely.

Today I’ve prayed the hours with the monks. They chant so softly that I am amazed at the breath support required. Times in the chapel are peaceful, so wrought with the presence of the Holy that I shutter, like Foster before the might of the freight train.

The meals are simple an slight. We sit in silence listening to a reader regale us with the history of Hotels in America. That the monks would engage such an unrelated subject, reminded me what I had studied on the train, that Spiritual Direction is about finding God in all things.

After vespers and supper I hiked around the lake with my guitar and a book. I finally settled in the cemetery on a bench. I sang “This is my Father’s World” as wild turkeys and deer circled. As I was reading my book I heard a twig snap and turned to see a young deer looking at me. My face, the flash of my glasses, so startled it that it screamed and ran away. It actually screamed. It would then creep up on me, when it was within about 10 yards it would stare at me and scream repeatedly. It was like a barking dog. It was the strangest thing I have ever seen from a deer.

It is 9:30 and I am going to bed as soon as I pray compline. Matins are at 4:00am!

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

The Parable of the Coffee Shop

My favorite metaphysical image from Leaper by Geoffrey Wood

The parable of the coffee shop shows that the kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man who goes into a coffee shop and orders an espresso.

As the man talks across the counter, the coffee guy makes his coffee and sets the cup and saucer on the counter between them. But the man doesn't drink it; he keeps talking, so the coffee gets cold, useless. The coffee guy pours it out and pulls another, sets it up. The man still can't stop talking. The next one goes bad too. So the coffee guy throws that one out too, makes another. And this goes on see?

You may think you are the coffee guy in the parable, but your not -- you're the espresso. (It's like that in parables.) You're not for you. You're some one else's beverage. And God, the coffee guy, he's going to keep remaking you again and again, as many times as it takes until you are drinkable. God's pulling the shots, and he's got standards.

If God changes you, you'd better change.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Tear me down

Matt Moore's Tear me down provided a sound track to my prayer

Matthew 25:40 - “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’

These words provided the basis for Mother Teresa to see Jesus in the distressing disguise of all those around her. She gave each individual her complete attention as though adoring her saviour.

This thought has combined with another to truly distress me this week. I have written before about how Ed Stetzer spoke at district council and God spoke to me in his words. He convicted me of my distaste for working class culture, my pride and prejudice. For what ever reason, God has placed me in a village of people who worked in factories, and convenience stores and farms, who shop at wallmart and use questionable grammar. I am not in Ann Arbor or Northfield. I am not an Episcopalian or an academic, though my mind and preferences might be at home there. I truly love those He has given me charge over. But can I love their culture? Can I minister effectively with in it? Or do I try to make them enlightened espresso drinking conteplatves?

Enter Mother Teresa. Her unflinching acceptance of the poor of a culture not her own strikes me. Can I? Can I abandon my self, pride, and preference to love Christ in those around me?

I prayed this after noon for that kind of love. I have never been so over come with such unpleasant emotion before, not as an adult any way. I wailed in desperation, I felt nauseous. It was like a child at the end of a tantrum who can no longer cry properly, red-faced, choking and gaging on their tears. If anyone had come into the church then, they would have thought something was not right with me and they would have been right. I’m not sure what it was. Was it my being torn down? Was it a war with some spirit who would have kept me down? Was it the burden for the people? It strikes me now as I write, the cries of agony and the physical pain and nausea were perhaps like Jesus would have felt - in the garden - looking over Jerusalem - on the cross when he said, “I thirst.” It was an utter desperation.

Oh God my I truly see only you in the faces of my village. May I see only you in the distressing disguise of the working poor. May I see only you in walmart. See only your thirsting lips in place of the profane and ungrammatical. Change me, and break me!

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Saints of service

At first thought one might place Mother Teresa in the Social Justice stream of Christianity. As I think on her life though, I see a mix of influences, Holiness and Contemplative, but the most predominate being the Incarnational life.

“The Incarnational Stream of Christian life and faith,” says Foster, “focuses upon making present and visible the realm of the invisible spirit. This sacramental way of living addresses the crying need to experience God as truly manifest and notoriously active in daily life” (237).

In his appendix, Foster lists Mother Teresa as an example of Social Justice, but I find her actions more directed toward making the love of God manifest to the poor, making His Kingdom felt, than addressing the underlying causes of injustice. She made this sacramental way of life an entry point to the life of the Spirit and experienced it hand in hand with the contemplative life, calling her sisters “Contemplatives in the wold,” all the while demanding a high standard of holiness, determined to offer saints to Jesus.

Mother Teresa seemed always to hear Jesus calling her beyond herself. From her “second vocation to the poor,” to her abandoning her preferences and comforts to become a world media figure she was growing and stretching always. In her later years she perhaps took so hard a line on holiness she may have bordered on legalism were in not for her persistent love.

Mother Teresa would readily recognize the grace of God in her life from an early age. As young Agnes Bojaxhiu, daughter of Drana, grew up, her mother was a constant source of Formation for her. “At least once a week Drana would visit an old woman who had been abandoned by her family, to take her food an clean her house. She washed and fed and cared for File, an alcoholic woman covered with sores as if she was a small child” (Spink 7). Agnes accompanying her mother to visit File would create a powerful model for her as she later ministered to the poorest of the poor, lonely and forgotten. Her visits to the shrine of the Madonna of Letnice as a child would provide a conteplative basis for her life. She would identify herself always with the contemplative ThĂ©rèsa of Lisieux.

She was completely grounded in the institutional Catholic Church, first receiving formation in the Loreto order then creating the Missionaries of Charity as a Catholic Order. She was completely devoted to Catholic orthodoxy and the Pope, yet she ministered to, and cooperated with people from every creed.

Teresa always saw the political workings as the hand of God. She did not get involved in politics except to call for peace and love, trusting the leaders to do their duty in the end. She saw the crumbling of Communism as an opening door to spread tender love to the poor in those lands. Her ministry was not restricted to those who agreed with her, even staunch atheists would cooperate with her in Cuba, the Soviet, and other places.

In a wold of growing affluence and separation from the poor, her ministry to the poorest of the poor as though each one was Jesus in “distressing disguise” was and remains a prophetic word. She did much to proclaim the kingdom of God without preaching or giving an “altar call.”

Is there a difference between a saint and an ordinary person with an extraordinary desire and willingness to serve God? Mother Teresa was in her energy and determination a human dynamo, perhaps an extraordinary human power, but her formation in the selfless way of Christ, her consistent treatment of each individual as Christ in disguise shows her to be a saint. We are all called to such saintliness.

Elaine Martin is another such saint. Her faithfulness and fruit show her devotion to God. Her life of service to people shines as an example of the compassionate life. She grew up in a Lutheran home and appreciated her mother’s efforts to instill in her a spirituality.

It wasn’t until she went through a divorce that she began seeking a deeper relationship with God. Through a divorce support group at a church she found the depths she sought, along with the in-filling of the Spirit. The loneliness of the single life, the pain of divorce and concern for her family has been a challenge for her. She moved back to the Sebewaing area to be with her father before he died, caring for him, and praying him to Christ.

Over the years she has felt God call her to “come along side” individuals needing care and support. She has been a live in aide for many people. As a single woman she is surprised by the way God works, over recent years the people she has been directed to have been men. Sometimes her supportive relationships have raised eyebrows but she has remained faithful to do what God has called her to do.

She is a free spirit, at home anywhere with God. She goes where ever the Spirit directs her, so no one church has had a claim on her, though she lists many that have had a strong impact on her spiritually.

She is a prayer warrior and offers her devotion to God along with the person she is serving. She often makes use of the daily scriptures from the Book of Common Prayer we print in our bulletin, reading and praying with her neighbor each day. She is in her seventies and her neighbor, who she is serving is in his eighties. She remains vigorous and her service and support have been meaningful to me as her pastor.

Mother Teresa also challenges me. The service of the poorest of the poor, not just as though they were Christ, but actually seeing the suffering Christ in them, is a thought is forming and shaping me. I am wrestling lately with how meet the needs of the blue collar culture I am in. Mother Teresa challenges me to love them, though I gravitate to the intellectual and liberal postmodern crowd, she challenges me to see Christ wearing the blue collar garb of the workers in Sebewaing. Lord help me find ways to serve like Elaine and make of me a saint in the mold of Mother, with eyes only for you.