Most contemplatives, especially in the Christian tradition, are familiar by now with the basics of Centering Prayer. It’s a daily practice, ideally at least 20 minutes in the morning and 20 minutes at night, during which we open ourselves to the divine presence in the silence.
It’s a time to set aside the din and cacophony of everyday life and the workings of our monkey mind. That’s constantly looking for shiny new things to grab hold of.
Quick. What do you identify with? What groups do you belong to? And who do you feel attacked by? Who do you prepare to do battle with?
Most of us have these categories in play somewhere in the background of our everyday awareness. White, black, progressive, conservative, American, Canadian, pro-life, pro-choice. Maybe it’s none of those, and you identify more with your family. Or your church. Or your town. Or your country. Or your team. Or just the way things used to be.
There’s this crazy idea the mystics have that we are spirit having a human experience. Notice the singular: spirit? There’s this mystery of multiplicity-in-unity and unity-in-multiplicity. Beneath the surface veneer we’re drinking from the same well, animated by the same source.
“Take and accept yourself just as you are, where you are. If you are aggressive, lustful, fearful, or shy and passive, notice your feelings before, during, and after each incident, without emotional reactions of blame, shame, anger or discouragement. Let God work with your faults and limitations. Just recognize them and be with them, without trying to correct them directly. As you watch them, feel them, and accept them, their force and exaggeration will gradually diminish. Keep moving to the center of your being where divine love is and be present to and welcome whatever bodily feeling or emotion that is happening. The present moment contains all we need to be happy.”
Contemplatives tend to make pretty radical claims about the transformation on offer through our simple practices.
Thomas Merton put it in strong terms: “Contemplation is the highest form of prayer. [It] is the highest expression of man’s intellectual and spiritual life. It is that life itself, fully awake, fully alive.”
But what is the inner experience of this movement? What actually changes?
In contemplative teaching, we tend to understand the process of inner transformation as follows: non-judgmental inner awareness – that is, watching your own mental-emotional processes without judging – leads to greater compassion and wholeness over time.
But this doesn’t just happen in and of itself. It takes practice. It takes the act of taking a break from our habitual mental processes to get a little space to even be able to observe them. That’s contemplative practice.
In contemplative teaching we talk a lot about structures and stages, about mental habits and patterns, about awareness and self-observation, about attachments and letting go.
And making a daily practice of contemplative prayer or a similar meditative practice certainly helps create the conditions for the peace that passes even the ability for understanding, when we begin to see that false self, the ego for what it is – a contrived system, a distraction.
In one of his many stories from the East, Jesuit Anthony De Mello describes a man being chased by a tiger, coming up to a cliff, then climbing down to catch hold of a small branch jutting out of the rock face.
With the tiger above and thousands of feet below, the man sees berries growing on the branch in his hand. In his final moments he picks one, and as the story goes, it tasted so sweet. At the moment we accept death as inevitable, life takes on fullness and freshness.
As a kid growing up in churches (and even later as an adult), there were frequent announcements for upcoming events like youth camps, retreats, concerts, Christmas pageants, outreach, and so on. Often, it was promised that if you attended, lives would be changed, and indeed some often were.
At conferences or leadership gatherings, one of the most common buzzwords is revival. Embedded in that very term is the idea of returning to a former state, an initial essence or vitality that has been lost.
Several years ago, Fr. Richard Rohr taught a Summer intensive at a nearby Seminary and gave an evening talk as well with a Q&A session.
Among the many topics touched on that night, he explained to a group of Protestants something of how the Franciscan lineage functions within the greater Catholic tradition. He clearly identified with the tradition and was proud of the work of Franciscans both lay and monastic.
There’s this idea in certain circles that we create the world we live in. It’s one of those sources of conflict between the more spiritually minded and the more practically minded.
What about the bombs that drop on innocents. Or the shots fired at the underprivileged. Or the death caused by natural disaster. What about infants that die of disease. Can we just think those away? Can we wish them away? Can we pray those away?