These are some of the prayers from my Lectio Divina sessions. Lectio Divina is an ancient meditative process that consists of four stages: Lectio (reading the Word slowly 3 times aloud, identifying a luminous phrase or verse), Meditatio (personal reflection on the luminous phrase or verse in the context of the passage), Oratio (prayer for the truth of the Word to be grafted into my heart), and Contemplatio (silence).
Colossians 1:15-20 (with Icon of Christ)
Oratio: Lord, You are the image of the invisible God; as I gaze on You, transform me in Your love that I may be reconciled to the Father by Your blood. Amen.
Matthew 26:36-46
Luminous verse: “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.”
Oratio: Precious Lord, transform my weak flesh by Your divine strength into the expression of a willing spirit. Give me the heart to stand with You in Your darkest hour, that I may minister to You in silent love. May I place my hand on You as I pray, dear Lord? Though I have no strength, all that I have I offer to You. In the Name of the Father, Amen.
Hebrews 12:1-13
Luminous verse: “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful.”
Oratio: O pioneer and perfecter of faith, free me from every weight and chain, that I may run with glad expectation the race you have set before me. With my eyes on You, and my heart on Your promise, I endure the pain by the strength of your faithfulness, that I may enter Your harvest of righteousness and peace. In Christ’s name, Amen.
Psalm 77
Luminous verse: “You are the God who performs miracles; you display your power among the peoples."
Oratio: O God of miracles, in my distress I seek You. My untiring hand stretches out to You; O lead me through the mighty waters. Fill my faint spirit with the remembrance of Your mighty deeds, which echo through eternity. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Luke 2:22-32
Luminous verse: “He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him.”
Oratio: Sovereign Lord, O God of promises, You bless the righteous and devout. Our eyes behold Your salvation, the consolation of Israel, whose light and glory pour out Your Holy Spirit on all people. In Christ’s Name, Amen.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
You Can't Imagine
This was written in April 2005 for a friend in prison with whom I was corresponding.
You can’t imagine how much God loves you.
Imagine you weren’t able to imagine.
Then imagine Someone trying to teach you what imagining was.
How could you understand what it was like to imagine without imagining?
You can’t imagine.
You can’t imagine what it feels like
To be powerless, vulnerable, and violated.
Imagine you were able to imagine it—
Who taught you?
If you really remembered all that they taught you,
It would be happening to you again.
You can’t imagine how frightening it is
To meet God face to face.
Imagine living your life alone in a dark room
And then being exposed to the Brightest
Of all possible lights.
Even infinite Love could destroy me!
You can’t imagine what it would be
To dissolve in infinite Love
Imagine such Love letting you go!
It wouldn’t imagine.
How could It bear the pain?
Never again . . .
And after the Searing New Awareness arrives,
Imagine the blessing of Sight and Warmth!
With your final ounce stop running and turn
Into the Hot White Truth,
And learn the Last Great Imagining.
You can’t imagine how much God loves you.
Imagine you weren’t able to imagine.
Then imagine Someone trying to teach you what imagining was.
How could you understand what it was like to imagine without imagining?
You can’t imagine.
You can’t imagine what it feels like
To be powerless, vulnerable, and violated.
Imagine you were able to imagine it—
Who taught you?
If you really remembered all that they taught you,
It would be happening to you again.
You can’t imagine how frightening it is
To meet God face to face.
Imagine living your life alone in a dark room
And then being exposed to the Brightest
Of all possible lights.
Even infinite Love could destroy me!
You can’t imagine what it would be
To dissolve in infinite Love
Imagine such Love letting you go!
It wouldn’t imagine.
How could It bear the pain?
Never again . . .
And after the Searing New Awareness arrives,
Imagine the blessing of Sight and Warmth!
With your final ounce stop running and turn
Into the Hot White Truth,
And learn the Last Great Imagining.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
On Questions
"Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather he must recognize that it is he who is asked. In a word, each man is questioned by life; and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by being responsible." – Viktor Frankl, Logotherapy in a Nutshell
I was at a weekend retreat with a spiritual mentor during one of the most painful periods of my adult life. One of his mentors was leading the retreat. During the weekend I had the opportunity to spend some time one-on-one with the old-timer. I told him my current tale of woe. He listened quietly and patiently for a while as I described my feelings of hopelessness about the current circumstances, and my struggles to maintain a trust that God was really there and looking out for me in spite of appearances to the contrary. After I paused for air, he inhaled gently, looked me in the eye, and said with a heartfelt urgency I won't forget, "Well, love your life." I wept.
There is a difference between asking a question and demanding an answer. I often ask the wrong questions--but just because I ask a question and don't hear an answer doesn't mean the question is wrong. If I ask a question without demanding an answer, I enter a state of mindfulness in my living that directs how I focus my attention. Sometimes that mindfulness is the right "action," and I will miss that if I am too busy trying to evaluate the results.
Once I had a confrontation with an authority figure in which I asked question after question about how to comply with the many and—to me--obviously unfair rules that were laid upon me in the context of our relationship. She responded by saying that 80% of questions are really statements--what was I really trying to say with all my questions? I reacted with a resentful, sullen silence. But I have always remembered her words, and in the years since, I have begun to see something I didn't see then. I tend to think a question is a matter of word order, inflection and punctuation, but really the thing that makes a question a question is that after asking a question I enter into a state of listening. It occurred to me at some point that often, I don't bother to do that. I ask a question and enter a state of waiting for my chance to speak again. I'm not trying to learn something, I'm trying to change you into seeing that I'm right. I’m not just talking about rhetorical questions, I’m talking about questions in which I seem to be asking your opinion, but actually I am leading you through a path of my own pre-conceived logic that, even if it fails to convince you that I’m right, will reinforce my prejudice that your position is unfair and I am a victim of your unreasonable thinking. In essence, although it might have an inverted word order, a rising tone, and a question mark at the end, it's not actually a question unless my real motive for asking is to learn the truth, whatever it may be. If I am placing conditions on reality, I'm still stuck in the bondage of self.
The way I interpret Frankl, some questions it's my job to answer rather than ask. For instance, what is the meaning of Steve's life? That's not a question for me to ask, it's a question for me to answer. Life is asking me the question. My response is revealed in how I live my life. I've been given life for some purpose, and the life I have, each moment of it--even, and especially, the most painful--has value, whether I see it or not. My choice in each moment determines whether I will honor the value of that moment, or tarnish it. But regardless of my choice, the value of that unique and irreplaceable moment remains intact.A man I mentor recently described a situation about which he was troubled. I said, "What is God trying to tell you?" As he began a response, I interrupted and said, "That question is for you to ask, not for you to answer." I don't know how that affected him, but I heard the words coming out of my mouth and they changed me. Some questions are for me to ask, and that's all. It's God's job to answer. Will He answer? Will the answer be satisfactory to me? Is He faithful? Are the problems in my life about God's faithfulness-deficiency? I choose what to believe, and the life I live is directly determined by that choice. If I am busy demanding answers, I will miss the moment where I make that choice. How do I listen for that moment? A good question for me to ask the One who created my ears.
For me, seeking the truth is not about learning what is true, but about seeking a relationship with the One who is trustworthy. In fact, the act of seeking is a question that can be asked without words. How do I this thing called seeking? The same way I sought lust in my active disease--with all my heart. I try to carry this question in my seeking today: "Lord, who would You have me be in this moment?" If I am listening, the answers come right on time, and faithfully.
I was at a weekend retreat with a spiritual mentor during one of the most painful periods of my adult life. One of his mentors was leading the retreat. During the weekend I had the opportunity to spend some time one-on-one with the old-timer. I told him my current tale of woe. He listened quietly and patiently for a while as I described my feelings of hopelessness about the current circumstances, and my struggles to maintain a trust that God was really there and looking out for me in spite of appearances to the contrary. After I paused for air, he inhaled gently, looked me in the eye, and said with a heartfelt urgency I won't forget, "Well, love your life." I wept.
There is a difference between asking a question and demanding an answer. I often ask the wrong questions--but just because I ask a question and don't hear an answer doesn't mean the question is wrong. If I ask a question without demanding an answer, I enter a state of mindfulness in my living that directs how I focus my attention. Sometimes that mindfulness is the right "action," and I will miss that if I am too busy trying to evaluate the results.
Once I had a confrontation with an authority figure in which I asked question after question about how to comply with the many and—to me--obviously unfair rules that were laid upon me in the context of our relationship. She responded by saying that 80% of questions are really statements--what was I really trying to say with all my questions? I reacted with a resentful, sullen silence. But I have always remembered her words, and in the years since, I have begun to see something I didn't see then. I tend to think a question is a matter of word order, inflection and punctuation, but really the thing that makes a question a question is that after asking a question I enter into a state of listening. It occurred to me at some point that often, I don't bother to do that. I ask a question and enter a state of waiting for my chance to speak again. I'm not trying to learn something, I'm trying to change you into seeing that I'm right. I’m not just talking about rhetorical questions, I’m talking about questions in which I seem to be asking your opinion, but actually I am leading you through a path of my own pre-conceived logic that, even if it fails to convince you that I’m right, will reinforce my prejudice that your position is unfair and I am a victim of your unreasonable thinking. In essence, although it might have an inverted word order, a rising tone, and a question mark at the end, it's not actually a question unless my real motive for asking is to learn the truth, whatever it may be. If I am placing conditions on reality, I'm still stuck in the bondage of self.
The way I interpret Frankl, some questions it's my job to answer rather than ask. For instance, what is the meaning of Steve's life? That's not a question for me to ask, it's a question for me to answer. Life is asking me the question. My response is revealed in how I live my life. I've been given life for some purpose, and the life I have, each moment of it--even, and especially, the most painful--has value, whether I see it or not. My choice in each moment determines whether I will honor the value of that moment, or tarnish it. But regardless of my choice, the value of that unique and irreplaceable moment remains intact.A man I mentor recently described a situation about which he was troubled. I said, "What is God trying to tell you?" As he began a response, I interrupted and said, "That question is for you to ask, not for you to answer." I don't know how that affected him, but I heard the words coming out of my mouth and they changed me. Some questions are for me to ask, and that's all. It's God's job to answer. Will He answer? Will the answer be satisfactory to me? Is He faithful? Are the problems in my life about God's faithfulness-deficiency? I choose what to believe, and the life I live is directly determined by that choice. If I am busy demanding answers, I will miss the moment where I make that choice. How do I listen for that moment? A good question for me to ask the One who created my ears.
For me, seeking the truth is not about learning what is true, but about seeking a relationship with the One who is trustworthy. In fact, the act of seeking is a question that can be asked without words. How do I this thing called seeking? The same way I sought lust in my active disease--with all my heart. I try to carry this question in my seeking today: "Lord, who would You have me be in this moment?" If I am listening, the answers come right on time, and faithfully.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Listen . . .
Hear the sound of the universe cracking from one end to the other—when did it begin, how long has it rumbled, and when does it finish? Can you hear it? It has always been there, the whispering, bottomless roar in the silence. Energy! Be still and know that He is God—when it has ended you will be deafened by the absence in that silence, your mind will be maddened. Do not trust in your mind.
Here is the truth about truth—do not ask what is true, but rather Who is trustworthy? The Liar does not know the truth. Do not let him teach you! The lie is not the absolute negative of the truth—if it were, it would be clearly seen as a lie. It is the essence of a lie that it is taken as truth. Of what use is a lie that does not seem true?
The most troubling lies are lies about the nature of Truth. This is the Great Disturbance. Lean not to your own understanding, but be carried by the One Who is Faithful.
The storm is coming.
Here is the truth about truth—do not ask what is true, but rather Who is trustworthy? The Liar does not know the truth. Do not let him teach you! The lie is not the absolute negative of the truth—if it were, it would be clearly seen as a lie. It is the essence of a lie that it is taken as truth. Of what use is a lie that does not seem true?
The most troubling lies are lies about the nature of Truth. This is the Great Disturbance. Lean not to your own understanding, but be carried by the One Who is Faithful.
The storm is coming.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Angel of Compassion
After I "received" the initial image of this vignette while waking on Halloween morning 2006, it continued surfacing episodically, and somewhat intrusively, during my usual morning meditation (lectio-divina-style reflection on the Prayer of St. Francis). During its "emergence," I sobbed as I experienced an overwhelming sense of spiritual consolation and peace. At the conclusion of my meditation, I felt compelled to go to the computer and write it before it "escaped." I continued sobbing, drooling snot and tears into my keyboard. What does it mean? I couldn't begin to tell you. But it might be subtitled "a safe passage home."
He felt a sharp stabbing pain in his neck as he crashed through the windshield. Already slipping into shock, he heard rather than felt his body hit the pavement. The pain in his neck remained intense.
Yet the angel of death was also an angel of compassion.
“Do you enjoy watching your son play soccer?” he asked, as he deftly slipped his hands into the man’s chest and began squeezing the air out of his lungs.
“Yes . . .” the man mouthed, unaware of his own breathlessness, desperately diverting his attention to the strange luminous being standing over him. As he gazed into its somber yet softly radiant eyes, his pulse quickened, the pain seemed to widen into a panoramic murmur, and the dark street scene faded into a concession stand at the auditorium where his son was playing forward for the home team. Though the strangeness of his surroundings struck him, his mind instead latched onto a stark sense of otherworldly familiarity. He heard an upswell in the crowd’s cheers as he turned to avoid bumping another in the busy line. A loud sound erupted from the loudspeaker, reminiscent of an air raid siren, and even louder still, the announcer’s voice and a tumultuous roar from the crowd. Though the words of the announcer’s joyful cries seemed foreign--or perhaps as words are heard by a newborn’s infant mind, not yet conditioned by language--he somehow knew that his son had scored and the entire home section was on its feet in triumph. He wanted to laugh, but instead of sound emerging, he noted the onset of a soft, yellow light that distantly responded to his gladness. As he slipped backwards into the space above, he smelled popcorn and saw the light approach from the edges of the scene, washing out the image of the periphery as it gently bled into the center. When at last the light swallowed him, the final images of happy faces flickered in his awareness like an afterimage, and then flashed out. Now he could hear his own glad laughter, distant and echoing. As a gust of wind from passing traffic blew a minor collection of leaves and trash past his face, the agonal stiffness in his body broke, and he was gone.
He felt a sharp stabbing pain in his neck as he crashed through the windshield. Already slipping into shock, he heard rather than felt his body hit the pavement. The pain in his neck remained intense.
Yet the angel of death was also an angel of compassion.
“Do you enjoy watching your son play soccer?” he asked, as he deftly slipped his hands into the man’s chest and began squeezing the air out of his lungs.
“Yes . . .” the man mouthed, unaware of his own breathlessness, desperately diverting his attention to the strange luminous being standing over him. As he gazed into its somber yet softly radiant eyes, his pulse quickened, the pain seemed to widen into a panoramic murmur, and the dark street scene faded into a concession stand at the auditorium where his son was playing forward for the home team. Though the strangeness of his surroundings struck him, his mind instead latched onto a stark sense of otherworldly familiarity. He heard an upswell in the crowd’s cheers as he turned to avoid bumping another in the busy line. A loud sound erupted from the loudspeaker, reminiscent of an air raid siren, and even louder still, the announcer’s voice and a tumultuous roar from the crowd. Though the words of the announcer’s joyful cries seemed foreign--or perhaps as words are heard by a newborn’s infant mind, not yet conditioned by language--he somehow knew that his son had scored and the entire home section was on its feet in triumph. He wanted to laugh, but instead of sound emerging, he noted the onset of a soft, yellow light that distantly responded to his gladness. As he slipped backwards into the space above, he smelled popcorn and saw the light approach from the edges of the scene, washing out the image of the periphery as it gently bled into the center. When at last the light swallowed him, the final images of happy faces flickered in his awareness like an afterimage, and then flashed out. Now he could hear his own glad laughter, distant and echoing. As a gust of wind from passing traffic blew a minor collection of leaves and trash past his face, the agonal stiffness in his body broke, and he was gone.
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Cross and the Crown
At the time of the crucifixion, most of the disciples fled in shame and terror. Their beloved rabboni had been found guilty of blasphemy by the religious leaders, then brutally humiliated and destroyed. The manner of his execution heaped contempt upon their anguish: “He that is hanged is accursed of God.” (Deut. 21:23) A sarcastic superscription viciously mocked His claim to kingship. Even John and Mary, though faithfully present to the end, must have despaired of the Enemy’s victory as they beheld Jesus’ lifeless body. All of them had been told, time and again, that this was to happen, that it was all part of the plan. But when faced with the overwhelming evidence of their senses, it was too much to bear, and in spite of the Lord’s previous impartations of prophecy and assurance, hope fled.
How profound must have been their joy at the Resurrection! The grip death held on their hearts was shattered by His greeting: “Peace be unto you.” (John 20:19) They experienced the Joy and the Mystery of the New Covenant: seemingly total defeat followed by an impossible reversal. In His newly created person they beheld the crown—victory, eternal life, the kingdom of heaven.
The disciples had walked with Jesus in the flesh, seen His power, felt His love, received His tutelage in prayer and healing. They had heard His prophecies, and yet their hearts were unable to bear the sight of the cross without failing. Even Cephas--brimming with self-confidence just hours earlier--forsook Jesus and fled in a most cowardly manner. Likewise, life’s greatest trials will surely break me without the intercession of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter and Spirit of Truth—not seen or known by the world (John 14:17). But with the impartation of His peace, the vision of triumph is superimposed on the most excruciating of ordeals, and the longest, darkest night of terror is reduced to a mere moment. Absorbed by this gift, in spite of the acuity of our sufferings, equanimity prevails.
“For we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor 5:7)—not our faith, but His faith (Eph 2:8). The world of appearances is created out of something deeper (Heb 11:3). He is Master of even the fiercest storm (Matt. 14:30-31). With the gift of His faith (Gal. 5:22) comes the sense of calm confidence in His faithfulness, an unshakeable trust in His promises (Heb. 11:1). Armed with such, no circumstance can overcome us (Eph. 6:16, 1 John 5:4), and the Enemy’s worst can’t leave a mark on His least. I walk in quiet in the center of chaos. I harbor hope in the midst of defeat. I radiate love in the face of hatred. I see the cross and the crown!
How profound must have been their joy at the Resurrection! The grip death held on their hearts was shattered by His greeting: “Peace be unto you.” (John 20:19) They experienced the Joy and the Mystery of the New Covenant: seemingly total defeat followed by an impossible reversal. In His newly created person they beheld the crown—victory, eternal life, the kingdom of heaven.
The disciples had walked with Jesus in the flesh, seen His power, felt His love, received His tutelage in prayer and healing. They had heard His prophecies, and yet their hearts were unable to bear the sight of the cross without failing. Even Cephas--brimming with self-confidence just hours earlier--forsook Jesus and fled in a most cowardly manner. Likewise, life’s greatest trials will surely break me without the intercession of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter and Spirit of Truth—not seen or known by the world (John 14:17). But with the impartation of His peace, the vision of triumph is superimposed on the most excruciating of ordeals, and the longest, darkest night of terror is reduced to a mere moment. Absorbed by this gift, in spite of the acuity of our sufferings, equanimity prevails.
“For we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor 5:7)—not our faith, but His faith (Eph 2:8). The world of appearances is created out of something deeper (Heb 11:3). He is Master of even the fiercest storm (Matt. 14:30-31). With the gift of His faith (Gal. 5:22) comes the sense of calm confidence in His faithfulness, an unshakeable trust in His promises (Heb. 11:1). Armed with such, no circumstance can overcome us (Eph. 6:16, 1 John 5:4), and the Enemy’s worst can’t leave a mark on His least. I walk in quiet in the center of chaos. I harbor hope in the midst of defeat. I radiate love in the face of hatred. I see the cross and the crown!
“Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.” (Hebrews 12:1-2)
“Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.” (Revelations 2:10)
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