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October 2002

Living From The Center

Every person has within them a heaven, whole and unbroken. Such was the thinking of C.G. Jung. It seems to me that if St. Teresa of Avila had known a C.G. Jung, she would have agreed.

During a recent retreat, our group was re-exposed to the Centering Prayer. Centering Prayer, of course, is that prayer form that takes one, gradually and non-violently, to the center. In the process, the person who prays learns to let go of fleeting distractions and ends, hopefully, in a place of rest with God. One of the benefits of this discipline is that of becoming more adept at letting go outside the times of prayer. For Teresa of Jesus, this prayer form became known as her Prayer of Quiet, explained in detail in The Way of Perfection. In modern-day terminology, one could say that, in going to prayer, one reads, reflects, responds (from the heart,) and then rests in the presence of God.

It would appear that another benefit of this manner of praying is that of becoming more accustomed to living from one's center, and returning there in the course of one's day. One also learns how to live life, fully. Teresa became quite skilled at this. What makes her personality and her spirituality so attractive is that her approach embraced all the aspects of her life, and not just the so-called pious moments, thus creating a healthy balance.

She said that the bad inn was only for a night. She prayed to be delivered from sad saints. She knew how to get up and keep going when her cart overturned on the dusty road. (She also knew just what to say to God at moments like these.) When her Sisters swooned at prayer, she advised them to eat more, pray less, and do more work. She was reluctant to have the Sisters play games at recreation, for she believed that at any moment the spirit of recreation could come upon the group. Possibly, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to dance or play her tambourine.

In the context of community, (something that meant much to her,) and questioning spiritual advisors, she found and lived out her own unique mystery. She knew how to pray life. "Life ,too, is a prayer."*

* Karl Rahner

October 2002

Something Boundless of God

It seems that one of the most difficult things in life is to pray and live from where we are, and not from where we think we should be, or where we would like to be. Related to this, it has been a long- standing custom for those entering Carmel to choose not only a new name, but also a title, a mystery that represents their unique approach to life, and to God. For example, St. Thérèse, the Little Flower, was known as Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face, a mystery that truly ended up being played out in her life.

I have found that people coming into Carmel relish with enthusiasm praying over what their unique mystery might be, and when they finally come upon it, they hold their title with a holy and sacred reverence. Often enough, though, as their lives unfold in the milieu of Carmel, they wonder if they should change their title, or at least modify it a bit.

If we were to give St. Thérèse a title, we probably would say that she should be known as Thérèse of the Little Way, since that is indeed what she gave to the world. Dag Hammarskjold says that we do not choose the way, but that the Way chooses us. Another mysterious fact is that, in actuality, the Way seems somewhat hidden from us. This means that we can never really possess our own unique way, but only touch it here and there, now and then. Little by little, in the events of our lives and in our prayer, our mystery unfolds. I ask myself how one stays within the way. My own feeling is that, when we go toward God, we are to do so with the whole of lives and not just part of ourselves. It would seem that this approach helps one stay within the Way. Listening to the yearnings and stirrings within is also an aid.

We live and pray, then, from where we are and how we feel at the moment, whether this moment is one of physical discomfort, calm, upset or doubt. Undetected by us, "something boundless of God"^* lives within and is quietly and faithfully at work. For myself, now and then, I sense the Mystery that is embracing me and give thanks for this one tiny obscure awareness, knowing that someday the embrace will be forever.

^* An expression used by Heribert Arens, ofm, in UISG, #113, 2000, p.13.

September 2002

Meditation on 9-11

As contemplative Sisters, we continue to lament the lack of peace and concord in our world. In the context of much prayer and reflection, we have come to believe that there is a deeper wound under the global upset and anguish, an anguish that stems from oppression in its many forms. One questions how any one person, or even a small group, can help remedy such a mountainous problem.

On our part, we continue to pray daily that God will raise up a prophetic voice who will gain influence and who will inspire others for good. In the meantime, the rest of us are called to live our daily lives with disarmed hearts, always ready to put down our own defenses and to listen with compassionate hearts to the hurt of the other. Although it may seem an unheralded and insignificant gesture, dealing with others as friends, and not adversaries, can be a small stirring that will gradually bring peace to a struggling world. Many big changes start out small.

It is our task and call, then, to believe and to cling to the truth that good is always stronger and more powerful than any kind of darkness, and that even now, although dimly seen, good is secretly at work and is already triumphant.

July 2002

No Event Too Small

There are some happenings, sometimes even just one single event, which seem to summarize the whole of one's life and tell us who we are. Although I have never found the word in the dictionary, I know that some writers have coined the expression "fractal spirituality" to describe this. We are told that if one takes a photo, (for example a snapshot of a city's skyline,) and then subjects a very small section of the photo to a high power instrument, the whole photo can be seen in that one small segment of the big picture.

Upon first reflection, the events that could summarize our lives may seem to be quite insignificant. One has only to look back over the last two weeks and ask oneself, "In what way did this certain event reflect the whole of my life? Actually, one could reflect on the events of yesterday.

Recently, I received an email in which the sender referred to "staying at the table." The topic had to do with two different parties having two diverse views, together with very strong feelings, on a certain subject. Knowing the sender of the email well, it occurred to me that all of her life she herself has had the courage to "stay at the table" when times were quite difficult. I know of another person who frequently looks for a "transcendent third" in situations where there are two parties who are not in agreement. In these instances, both parties are asked to find a third approach that would be mutually acceptable. In a way, looking for a transcendent third, and arriving at a solution, characterizes this person's whole life.

Many years ago, now no longer common, Religious Sisters used to have the custom of prostrating before receiving the religious habit or taking vows. Recently, I had occasion to reflect on this ritual in my own life. Although I was only nineteen when doing this, in looking back, I realize that this one gesture has summarized my life. At that time, I could not possibly know what the rest of my life might bring. Still, I recall that there was a surge within my heart to lay down my whole life in self-gift.

During the ritual of prostrating, the choir and the congregation sang the Litany of the Saints, imploring heaven itself to be present at this sacred moment. Upon completion, with the group now standing, the presider reminded the candidates that what they were about to do was something very serious. If they still felt called to give their lives to God, they should take a step forward. Having a whole group take a step forward is quite moving. In a way, I now realize that this one small step may have been another event that would end up summarizing my life, the continuing call to take that one step forward.

Pema Chodron relates something that happened to her when she was about six years old. Feeling lonely and unloved, she tried to kick everything in sight. An old woman, who was sitting in the sun, said to her, "Little girl, don't you go letting life harden your heart."* If one surveys Pema's writings and contacts in the years that followed this event, one sees a gentle heart, a heart not appreciably affected by the difficult things of life.

In poetry, St. John of the Cross speaks of "that other day," in God's time, before we were born. On that day, God showed us what our life on earth would be like and the glory that would be ours at the end. But, with our birth, there is a forgetting of this. Could it be that these seemingly small events are somehow connected with that other day?

*Pema Chodron, The Places That Scare You, (Boston and London: Shambhala, 2001)); p.3.