Quote for the Day
You can’t have a light without a dark to stick it in.
— Arlo Guthrie, “The Neutron Bomb” from Precious Friend
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21
Dec
20
“An Author is Not Famous Until After He Dies”
I don’t know who said “An author is not famous until after he (or she) dies,” but I do believe there is some truth to it. Last night I began reading Jean-Pierre de Caussade’s Abandonment to Divine Providence. 
de Caussade was a French Jesuit who lived from 1675 to 1751, and who gained some renown in his lifetime as a spiritual director. He did write one book that is now pretty much forgotten; meanwhile, Abandonment to Divine Providence was essentially redacted from the authors letters by another French Jesuit in 1861 — over a century after de Caussade’s death! A century and a half later, this book is now considered a classic of 18th-century mysticism as well as a brilliant call to the spirituality of the present moment; one could think of it as a Catholic response to Eckhart Tolle, only from the past.
But this is not the only classic of Christian spirituality that was published after its author’s death. Another French contemplative, the Carmelite lay brother Nicholas Herman (better known by his religious name, Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection), never set out to write a book — 
but after his death, a French priest who was an assistant to the Archbishop of Paris collected letters by Brother Lawrence as well as recollections of his spiritual counsel from those who knew him, and published them as The Practice of the Presence of God, which has not only become a contemplative classic, but its title, like “dark night of the soul” or “the cloud of unknowing,” has entered the lexicon of Christian spiritual formation: “practicing the presence” is a term that refers to any spiritual exercise or activity designed to foster awareness of God’s presence in our lives.
So Jean-Pierre de Caussade and Brother Lawrence, both Frenchmen, are two examples of Christian spiritual teachers whose greatest work was compiled by editors and published after their demise. The moral of the story is simple: be mindful of what you write, for somebody might try to publish it after you’re gone.
| 0 commentsDec
19
Why the Divine Office?
This morning, a reader of this blog posted these two simple questions:
The Divine Office: how important is it for lay Christians? How does it deepen our spirituality?
If I can answer the second question, that in itself will answer the first. The Office is important for ordinary Christians precisely because it does deepen our spirituality.
But how?
Just a few thoughts here. I believe the Daily Office deepens our spirituality because it immerses us in the language of prayer, it links us to the larger community and to the tradition, and it creates a habit of mindfulness of God. Let’s look at each of these in turn.
The Daily Office immerses us in the language of prayer. Praying the Daily Office, or even part of it, means reading, reciting and praying some of the loveliest and most inspiring written prayers of the Christian faith. Actually, of the Jewish faith as well, since the heart of the Office is the Psalms. The lyrical, eloquent, elegant language of the canticles, Psalms, antiphons and other elements of the Office teach us the language of prayer — language that can then inform and deepen our prayers offered in our own words. By the same token, these beautifully written prayers alleviate us from the need to always be coming up with something new to offer to God; in other words, the Office liberates us from the tyranny of having to continually improvise our own words of prayer, by providing us with prayers that have been meaningful and formative for Christians throughout the centuries. Which leads to the second point:
The Daily Office links us the larger community and to the tradition. There are many different varieties of the Daily Office, not only between the Orthodox, Catholic, Anglican and Lutheran Churches, but also as developed by various monastic orders within the various churches. So praying the Office does not create a stultifying conformity. But it does immerse us into a rhythm of daily prayer that integrates Scripture, Psalms, hymns, canticles, and other prayers offered to God as a form of ongoing praise and worship — and in so doing, links us to other Christians, around the world, many of whom are praying the exact same prayers we are, while others are praying something similar. Many people cannot or will not pray, for a variety of social, political, psychological, and even health-related reasons. When we pray the Office, we pray for those people as well. But what I also love about the Office is not only that it allows me to join in the worldwide chorus of praise here and now, but it also links me to the generations of people who have prayed these words, over the centuries. Some prayers, like the Phos Hilaron or the Te Deum, go back to the earliest days of the Christian movement. Others, like the Magnificat or the Benedictus, or found in the Bible. And I think it is particularly important to keep in mind that when we pray the Psalms, we are praying the very same prayers that Jesus himself prayed. So the Office links us to the Mystical Body of Christ, both throughout the world and throughout the ages (yes, it links us with the generations of praying Christians to come, as well).
The Daily Office helps to foster in us “the practice of the presence of God.” A meditation teacher once told me that the point behind a daily practice of meditation is to cultivate a way of being that transforms us every minute of the day. We call meditation a “practice” because in it we practice being more mindful, more relaxed, more open to the Divine Presence in our lives. It is my experience that the Office provides a similar training in ongoing mindfulness. But since the Office is grounded in language, it more specifically anchors us in the mindfulness of God that comes through the words we use to speak of, and to, the Great Mystery. Indeed, praying the Office before or after an extended period of silence is a particularly lovely discipline, in my experience: we create the space to encounter God both in words and in silence, and we carry that with us throughout the day.
So this is why I believe the Divine Office matters, even for laypersons. I should mention that I am very flexible in my understanding of the Office: not everyone has the time, or the self-discipline, to pray the entire Office, every day, with the correct antiphons, propers for the Saints’ days or other memorials, etc. It’s tempting to get overwhelmed by how complex the Office is, and then just give up on it. But that’s like saying that since I don’t play like Jaco Pastorius, I have no business touching a bass. Balderdash! I can enjoy the bass even at my humble and minimal level of skill; likewise, the Office can make a profound difference in our lives even if we just manage to get a few Psalms and maybe the Benedictus and Magnificat recited each day. Or whatever. Pray as you can, not as you can’t — this applies to the Office as well as to any other form of prayer. Taking baby steps to learn (and pray) the Office is immeasurably rewarding — and even just praying one or two canticles or Psalms a day can truly deepen our spirituality.
Let me finish by commenting on something I wrote above: about how the Office “liberates us from the tyranny” of improvising prayer in our own words.Let me be clear here: I am not arguing against conversational, informal prayer! On the contrary: I believe that true intimacy with God requires a balanced diet of silence, formal prayer, and informal prayer. What bothers me about when critics of the Office say “it’s better to pray using your own words” is that they are ignoring the fact that on some days we have no words to offer to God; on other days we might be bored, or uninspired, or simply will resort to saying the same banal things over and over again (“Lord, we just want to thank you for all your blessings today…” etc.). If my extemporaneous prayer ends up sounding the same day after day, then I may as well use the Office, where at least I am praying using the elegant, eloquent words of our spiritual ancestors.
If we reject formal prayer, we are cutting off one important means of maintaining a sustainable daily discipline of prayer. Now, I know there is the opposite danger of just meaninglessly reciting the Office without bothering to put our heart into the words we are praying, and yes, I’ve been there before. But what I’ve found is that if my recited prayer is that meaningless, I’m not interested in conversational prayer anyway, because the problem is not with the formal prayers, it is with me. So, actually, a discipline of formal prayer functions as an excellent barometer by which I can measure just how open my heart is to God in the first place. Finally, for those who prefer conversational prayer, the Daily Office thankfully allows times for personal, heartfelt prayer in the midst of the formal prayers, so that we can actually rely on the discipline of the Office to make sure that, every day, we take the time to check in with God — in our own words. In other words, if we are praying the Office in its fullness, we are offering God both formal prayer and prayer in our own words — each and every day.
| 0 commentsDec
18
Memorizing the Office (or, at least, parts of it)
I recently listened to a recording I have of the Anglican theologian Kenneth Leech, when he spoke at an Episcopal Church here in Stone Mountain back in the mid-1990s. Leech is a true treasure, and I’m excited to note that a new anthology of his writings have been published: Prayer and Prophecy, the Essential Kenneth Leech (after I get my hands on a copy, I’ll write a review of it). Anyway, when he spoke here in 1995, he made a comment that, listening to the recording now, I find inspiring, in its common-sense simplicity.
He was speaking about the Daily Office, and commending it to his audience, mostly Episcopal laypersons. He noted that “you can memorize entire sections of the Daily Office.” As someone who has been an off-and-on reciter of daily prayers for many years now, I must confess that it never occurred to me to make the effort to actually memorize it. Of course, the repetition of the prayers said every day — like the Magnificat or the Benedictus — means that by osmosis anyone will start to memorize them, but I think Leech’s suggestion is to be a bit more pro-active, and make the effort to commit these prayers to memory.
It seems to me that we can start with the Magnificat and the Benedictus, moving on to the Nunc Dimittis, the Te Deum, the Phos Hilaron, the Salve Regina, and then on to some of the more beautiful or meaningful of the Psalms, like 95, 51, 8, 19 and 121. And then there are other scriptural canticles such as found in Colossians 1 or Philippians 2. Memorizing these sacred prayers and songs just makes so much sense. With these prayers safely stored in our hearts, we become less addicted to the prayer books — participating in the Office, on at least some level, can more easily happen even in the midst of the busiest or most unpredictable of schedules.
So… I’m thinking my new year’s resolution for 2010 will be to memorize at least all the prayers and canticles I’ve mentioned in this post. And then on to the Psalms. Care to join me?
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17
Quote for the Day
To give a love,
you gotta live a love.
To live a love,
you gotta be “part of.”
— Neil Young, “A Man Needs a Maid” from Harvest
| 0 commentsDec
16
The Advent Conspiracy
This makes so much sense on so many levels…
Advent is the great lost season of the liturgical year, lost in a swirl of concerts, parties, and yes, shopping. And I’m as caught up in it as anybody. But it is meant to be a time for contemplation — for “waiting” on the coming of the Lord!
So join the Advent Conspiracy — if your entire church isn’t involved, you can still be a “lone conspirator.” Slow down. Pray. Be mindful of how you spend your time in this holy season. And give just a few less gifts, and use the money you save to help those who are truly in need.
You can read more about the Advent Conspiracy here.
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16
Quote for the Day
St. Paul says that the real sign that God the Giver of Life has been received into our souls will be joy and peace; joy, the spirit of selfless delight; peace, the spirit of tranquil acceptance; the very character of the beatitude of Heaven, given here and now in our grubby little souls, provided only that they are loving little souls. If, in spite of all conflicts, weakness, sufferings, sins, we open our door, the spirit is poured out within us and the first mark of its presence is not an increase of energy but joy and peace.
— Evelyn Underhill, The Fruits of the Spirit
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15
Humility and Love
I had a chat with my friend Paco yesterday. Paco is a Lay Cistercian and shares my love of the contemplative life. He was my “angel” (my mentor/ “big brother”) during my novitiate as a Lay Cistercian, so we’ve become pretty good friends. I asked Paco to read the unedited manuscript of The Big Book of Christian Mysticism and he stopped by my office yesterday to tell me he had finished it. His main criticism of the book is that he felt I did not stress humility enough. “You mention it,” he said, “but I think we need to stress it as an absolutely central part of the spiritual life.”
We talked about this for a bit. We talked about how humility is not the same as low self-esteem — on the contrary, low self-esteem can often by a form of inverse pride, for pride is “all about me” and putting oneself down can be a subtle way of keeping one’s attention focused on the self rather than on God or on others. We talked about the relationship between humility and earthiness. We talked about how, ultimately, humility is about creating the space within us to receive God and God’s blessings. So humility is related to hospitality. Paco said with a twinkle in his eye, “it’s almost as if, the more humble we become, the more God is ‘forced’ to be present to us.” We both laughed at the silliness of his metaphor, and then I mused, “Perhaps the spiritual life ultimately can be reduced to two simple, fundamental choices: choosing humility instead of pride, and choosing love instead of fear.”
He beamed at me with a knowing smile. Yes, it really is that simple.
| 0 commentsDec
14
Prayerfulness — and further thoughts on “Tame” and “Wild” Spirituality
Yesterday I finished Prayerfulness. My copy of the book came from Amazon.com; I get books from them as part of their reviewer program, so I owed them a review on it. This is what I wrote:
Robert J. Wicks writes in the tradition of Joseph Schmidt’s classic, Praying Our Experiences: An Invitation to Open Our Lives to God — in other words, Prayerfulness is a thoughtful, grounded, and warm invitation to expand our concept of what prayer is and the role it plays in the ordinary moments of our lives. The subtitle of the book is descriptive of its message: awaken to life’s fullness! Prayerfulness is all about being alert, awake, mindful; paying attention to the stirrings of our inner lives in dialogue with the ever-changing circumstances of the world in which we live. The book really is a series of meditative reflections on topics such as honoring life’s fragility, facing sadness, and befriending our challenging emotions such as anger. Like many thoughtful and well-grounded spiritual books, at times this book is rather dry, although the author works to keep things interesting through storytelling. Perhaps the single most useful part of the book is the “Spiritual Mindfulness Questionnaire” — a series of thirty thought-provoking questions designed not so much as a diagnostic tool but rather as a portal through which we can move to find greater self-awareness in terms of both the gifts and the challenges of our spiritual lives. Wick’s reflections on the uses of each of these questions is particularly helpful. I recommend this book to anyone who is committed to responding to the Apostle Paul’s challenge to “Pray without ceasing” (I Thessalonians 5:17), in a healthy, mature, sustainable and truly mindful way.
Earlier this month I wrote a post in which I compared this book to John Crowder’s Miracles Workers, Reformers & The New Mystics, arguing that while Prayerfulness is the more grounded and truly wise of the two books, The New Mystics (with its colorful descriptions of miracle workers, both past and present) is wilder, edgier, and even just plain more fun.
Perhaps its telling that, even though I found Prayerfulness to be “at times… rather dry” and “less fun” than The New Mystics, this is the book I’ve finished first. Perhaps “tame” versus “wildness” is not all that compelling of a competition after all. I know that the main reason this question bugs me is because of the implication it has for my own writing. I want my work to be as mature and well-grounded as that of Robert J. Wicks, but simultaneously as exciting, in-your-face, and fun to read as the writing of John Crowder. Sigh. I suppose it’s dangerous to try to make music that is simultaneously soothing and danceable (although maybe some of the better chillout music comes close). If I’m not careful, I run the risk of my work failing both in terms of its readability and its wisdom. So, at the end of the day all I can do is try to be as true to myself, and my vision, and my faith, and my sense of where God is leading my writing, as best I can. And hopefully it will be wise and it will be wild. Not just wildness tempered by wisdom and/or wisdom tempered by wildness. But rather, something entirely new — even while it is fully grounded in tradition.
Okay, if I try to squeeze one more paradox into my creative aspirations I think my head will explode. Go buy Prayerfulness and give it to someone you love this holiday season (even if that someone is yourself). It really is a lovely book.
| 0 commentsDec
13
Quote for the Day
The hound that runs after the hare only because he sees the other hounds running will rest when he is tired, or go home again. But if he runs because he’s seen the hare, he won’t stop, however tired he gets, until he has caught it.
— Walter Hilton, The Stairway of Perfection
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