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.
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