Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Pray hard!


This week in our “monastery of the heart,” we are concentrating on prayer. The chapter abounds in eternal and unarguable truths:

Benedictine spirituality is rooted
in the timelessness
of scripture.
It is the story of God’s way
with the world.

And. . .

Bendictine prayer,
the heartbeat of Benedictine spirituality,
is always about
the presence of God in time—
this time, our time, my time.

And. . .

Prayer . . . heals the wounds of the day
and reminds us who we want to be
at the deepest, truest part of us.

Honestly, it’s such a beautiful and enriching chapter, such an encouragement to rededicate myself to deep and constant prayer, that it’s hard to choose quotes to share. Get the book! Read it! Some parts you’ll read over and over. But in the end, it’s not reading this or any book that matters.

Pray.
Pray hard.
Pray unceasingly.
Pray your praise and thanks.
Pray your laments and cries of sorrow.
Pray your doubts. Who else can you ask but God’s own self??
Pray.

What counts, says Chittister, “is not the sum of prayers we pray. . . It is the way our prayer life changes our own hearts and lives—the way it makes us more centered in God, the way it makes us more aware of our own limitations—that determines its quality.

Amen!

Prayer--One for All,All for One

I didn't realize I'd missed a week! Here are two blogs for the price of one!


Thoughts from chapter three in Joan Chittister’s The Monastery of the Soul.

This week our little group read chapter three. One of the things this chapter invites us to consider is a part of the Rule of Benedict that says,” Perform the Opus Dei [the work of God] where you are. . . Those on a journey are not to omit the prescribed hours [of prayer] but to observe them as best they can.”

In today’s multicultural world, this rule brings to my mind the image of devout Muslims stretching out their prayer rugs no matter where they are—in malls, in airports—and praying at the prescribed times. No matter what one thinks of Islam (which means “submission”) or of Muslims (that means “submitted ones”) I think one can almost envy the sense of unity that must bring—knowing that one is praying with thousands—millions!—of others at that very moment.

Chittister expands on this part of the rule this way:
We are to pray by ourselves,
if necessary, “as best we can,”
but in the way
the community, as community, is praying,
so that our hearts and minds
stay in the place
where our bodies cannot now be.

One of the commitments our group made to each other the first time we met is that each morning we would pray for ourselves and our needs, each evening for the world and its needs, but each day at noon, we would pray for each of our group by name. In particular, we were to pray that each one would “listen with the ear of the heart.”

This week, our group leader asked for specific feelings about how this discipline of prayer is affecting us. Some spoke of difficulty in praying for our own selves. Others said that was the easy part.  Many say that remembering right at noon is hard, but that the prayer itself is blessing them. (I can only say, phone alarms are wonderful things!)

For myself, something new had happened during this past week. I was having no difficulty praying at noon (thanks to the phone) and I knew each person enough to ask for specific things for that person besides the listening with the ear of the heart. Each week I’d learn a little more and be able to pray more intelligently. But it was only last week, oddly, that it suddenly occurred to me that I was being prayed for by everyone else at (somewhere near) that same moment!

I don’t know why I hadn’t real-ized that. (Made it real to myself, that is. Did you ever take that word apart? Interesting!) It was a very comforting and illuminating sensation. I was being held, not just in the Everlasting Arms, but in the arms of my friends, held up to God, “held in the light,” as the Friends like to say.  It made for oneness. Like the Muslims. Like the Benedictines.

Like the Body of Christ.


Wednesday, March 13, 2013

In the (Cyber) World, but not Of It


Chapter 2 in The Monastery of the Heart, “A Seeker’s Path,” speaks of two different ways of seeking God—in solitude and in community—and says they are both important.

The solitary, says Chittister, “go deeply into the struggle with the self—both physically and mentally—that comes with solitude.” This path “strips away the . . .companionship of a partner, the counsel of others, the strength of a community. . .” She is speaking, of course, of the hermit lifestyle, more common during middle age and Renaissance eras, but still practiced sometimes, and she admits that there is a difficulty with this choice—“the human tendency to turn in on ourselves and to forget our obligation to build up the entire human community. ‘Whose feet,’ St. Basil asks, ‘will the hermit wash?’”

I have always said I’d rather be a hermit than a nun. I recognize in myself not only that need for rich solitude in which I experience God most fully, but also those all-too-human tendencies to isolation and self-centeredness.

The other path she speaks of is the intentional community, such as a monastery or convent. She describes the strength of being “immersed in a community, accountable to its standards . . . responsible for making the human community ever more human, always more of a community.”

 I recognize the need of community for myself and the strength the communion with other believers gives me, and perhaps had those historic communities not asked for so much more than God calls for—celibacy, self-abnegation, frequently a salvation by works kind of thinking, they might not have had as many extreme difficulties as they did (and do).

In Chapter 3, “A Single Vision,” she goes on to speak of the premise of her book, which is that “the Rule [of Benedict] does not necessarily require community of place—the geographical confinement of all the members of one community in one location.”

Whether we are near to or far from other members of the body of Christ, “the Rule asks two major things of us: First, we are to be constant at prayer. . . . Second, we are to live a single vision of life together, even when apart. . . . We are to go the way together in heart and mind and soul.”

It made me think of us—this cyber community of thinkers and bloggers, debaters and writers on what we call The Web. We are flung across not only a continent but a world, yet we may speak together in what we (probably amusingly to God) call Real Time.

Are we striving to “go the way together”, even if our pictures of God are different?

We say we wish to create a place where we are safe to discuss our differences, sure of respect and support. Do we, in fact, each watch over, care for, safeguard the presence and person (cyberly speaking)  of that irritating blogger whose point of view we hate?

“The bearer of the monastic heart,
either alone or with an intentional group,
must radiate
what is within
to a wider world
and respond to it.”