This week I started an eight week course on praying with the scriptures, based on the spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius. A couple people have mentioned these exercises to me in the past, especially when I spoke of my daily scripture readings. Since I wasn’t familiar with St. Ignatius, I had planned to look into the spiritual exercises anyway. Before I got a chance to do so, I saw this program listed in our parish bulletin, so I decided to see firsthand what it’s all about.
I asked my friend Diane if she’d like to join me, and she happily accepted my invitation. I met my fellow alto and a soon-to-be retiree through our church choir, and I’ve gotten to know her a little better since she joined the St. Vincent de Paul Society. We’ve had few discussions about spirituality, so my hunch that she’d be interested in this exploration of prayer was right on target.
On Tuesday evening we set off for the historic Boston-Edison district in Detroit, where the program was being offered at Catholic convent. Neither of us had been to the district before, and we were awed at the spectacular mansions built in the early 20th century. The spires of the Blessed Sacrament Cathedral were especially dramatic against the heavily clouded dusk sky.
The majestic convent, with its extensive wood trim, brick floors, and even a stained glass window, added to the atmosphere of peace and reverence. So did our facilitator, with his soothing accent (Caribbean, I think) and warm smile. He gave us a little background on St. Ignatius, and showed the first in a series of videos developed by the late Jesuit priest, Anthony de Mello.
The topic of this week’s video was how to find God through silence. I found de Mello’s words both puzzling and profound. He offered three steps for seeking God through silence: Understanding, Look/Listen/See/Hear, and Scriptures.
Understanding in this context means the realization that we cannot have an understanding of God, because he is beyond anything we can imagine. What a paradox! I guess I can understand that God cannot be explained or described, but I’m not sure how realizing this concept will help me to know God. Perhaps it will become clearer in the silence of my meditation.
The priest next spoke about Heart Looking and Heart Listening. His directives: “See God in all things. Look as if you are seeing for the first time. Listen all sounds, but avoid putting names to them. Listen as if you are hearing for the first time”. In the video, Father told story upon story of our human longing to know God, of how we miss the things that are right in front of us, of how words fail to satisfy our thirst for spirituality. Since Father de Mello was born in India, he has a very lyrical pattern of speech. I was entranced with his tales as well as his Eastern way of thinking.
Finally, Father gave this formula for praying with scriptures: Read, Recite, React. I was surprised that he suggested the recitation of a favorite scripture passage as a mantra, but I tried it and found it very effective. The images that developed during my meditation were certainly powerful.
I chose Romans 8:14 – 27 from among the recommended readings for my first week’s meditation. The sentence I focused on was “Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words.” As the exercise for silence suggests, I imagined Christ standing before me reciting these words (I changed the words “we” and “us” to “you”, so Jesus was addressing this statement directly to me). At first I repeated the sentence over and over, letting the words roll over me and resound in my heart. Eventually, just the phrase “sighs too deep for words” was repeated. I imagined the Holy Spirit breathing deep sighs into my soul, which kindled a small glowing fire. With each sigh, the flame grew bigger, until I imagined my heart burning with love and praise for God.
After the recitation, I reacted to my experience with many questions: What does it mean for my heart to glow with love for God? Was my sense of communion with the Lord the result of the Holy Spirit’s sighs upon my soul? Is this then how I ought to pray? Even though my first meditation ended with questions, it also brought me much joy and excitement about learning to pray in a new way.
While I was writing this blog I thought I’d get a little more information on Anthony de Mello. My Google search led me to some of his lectures on YouTube, and I decided to listen to the one titled “Wake Up! Pray” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vmTSdxxnTw). This video was an excellent follow up to the one I saw at the Praying with Scriptures seminar. I was especially entranced with another Father de Mello story. This one revolved around the inventor of fire, and the reverence his followers developed after he had been poisoned by the jealous elders. According to the fable, the followers built an altar to the inventor, adorned with his portrait and the tools for making fire. They worshiped at the altar for decades and even centuries, developing rites and liturgies to venerate the great man. But amazingly, during all of their rituals, there was never any fire. Father concluded his story with the cry, “Want to know prayer is? Fire!” Whatever it is that brings you fire, that is prayer.”
And so it is.
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Friday, February 13, 2009
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
February 2008 – Possibilities
Praying daily with the scriptural guide “Speak Lord, Your Servant is Listening” was a great way to start the new year. As promised, I did find myself at peace with my very first reading. And I took to heart Father Ron’s assertion that “praying is never a waste of time.” I had just read an article about a woman who considered herself to be in a “ministry of prayer”, and I decided to take up this ministry too. In addition to the scriptural meditations, I prayed daily for others as well as for myself. It seemed to be working, too; I was no longer consumed with fears for the future. So even as the January skies turned their typical Michigan grey, my disposition was a lot sunnier than it had been right after Christmas.
I was once again excited about the prospects before me. I had planned to visit my younger daughter on the west coast at the beginning of February, and would then search for meaningful volunteer position upon my return. I had already started volunteering as a substitute Meals on Wheels driver, which was fun and rewarding, but I was sure that God’s mission for me involved more than just delivering pre-packaged food to homebound seniors for a couple hours a week.
Shortly after I booked my flight in early January, I got a despondent call from my mother-in-law. She’d been complaining of unexplained weight loss, fatigue, and insomnia for the past few months, though she’d looked reasonably healthy at Christmastime. She’d even taken a trip to visit a relative overseas in the fall, and had done splendidly. Now she was calling to ask if I could drive her to the doctor, because she felt too ill to drive herself.
I was quite unprepared for the sight my mother-in-law presented that day. Even though she was nearly 80, she never failed to do her hair and make-up each day, and her expression typified the image of the feisty old lady. Now she looked ashen and haggard, not to mention defeated. As we rode to the doctor’s office, she told me that she’d completely lost her appetite, that she became nauseous when she forced herself to eat, and she was barely able to sleep. She said she’d never felt this terrible in her entire life, and I had to admit, I’d never seen her look that bad in the 35 years I’d known her.
In the doctor’s waiting room Mom confided her deepest fear, that she had the same type of cancer her husband had died from nearly twenty years ago. Watching him slowly slip away was an ordeal that was still vivid in her mind, and now she was experiencing many of the same symptoms.
Fortunately, the doctor’s opinion was not that bleak. She offered several possible causes for Mom’s ailments, with complications from her diabetes being the most likely. She ordered blood work and numerous medical tests, and assured us that she would get to the bottom of the problems. Driving home, I could see that Mom already looked more vibrant, and I knew that worry was one reason she looked so wretched earlier in the day.
Our conversation was a little more cheerful on our return trip. However, when I mentioned my upcoming vacation, Mom was clearly agitated. She told me she wished I weren’t going, so I could stay in Michigan and be with her until they figured out what was wrong. I assured her that I wasn’t going for another four weeks, and the doctors would certainly solve the puzzle of her illness by then.
But in the following weeks, the doctors were still not able to offer a diagnosis, and Mom’s spirits plummeted. Soon I was driving her to all her medical appointments, cooking her dinners, helping her bathe, and doing light housework. She slept little and had even less energy, but at least she was able to eat a little bit without getting sick. She seemed to do best with my chicken soup, which I cooked for hours so that the meat and vegetables were very tender. She also did well with beef soup and lamb stew. Though the thought of eating didn’t appeal to her at all, she was able to take some nourishment each day and keep it down.
As the month drew to a close, I realized that I could not leave my mother-in-law at this time. I was very bummed. I had so looked forward to getting out of Michigan in my least favorite month of the year. This development was also putting a crimp in my timeline for finding my mission from God. Of course, it did occur to me that perhaps caring for my mother-in-law was my true mission. This thought depressed me even more. I had envisioned myself helping the down-trodden, or perhaps writing for a non-profit organization, not making pots and pots of chicken soup and driving to countless medical appointments, where it seemed like The View was always playing in the waiting room.
Reluctantly, I canceled my flight arrangements, and called my daughter to see when I might reschedule my trip. Carrie told me she was starting a class in March, so we tentatively planned for a late February visit. I continued to pray for a speedy recovery for Mom, so she would no longer suffer through restless days, sleepless nights and constant worry. A speedy recovery also meant I could get on with my own agenda: vacationing, finding a meaningful volunteer experience, and ultimately discerning God’s plan for me.
I was once again excited about the prospects before me. I had planned to visit my younger daughter on the west coast at the beginning of February, and would then search for meaningful volunteer position upon my return. I had already started volunteering as a substitute Meals on Wheels driver, which was fun and rewarding, but I was sure that God’s mission for me involved more than just delivering pre-packaged food to homebound seniors for a couple hours a week.
Shortly after I booked my flight in early January, I got a despondent call from my mother-in-law. She’d been complaining of unexplained weight loss, fatigue, and insomnia for the past few months, though she’d looked reasonably healthy at Christmastime. She’d even taken a trip to visit a relative overseas in the fall, and had done splendidly. Now she was calling to ask if I could drive her to the doctor, because she felt too ill to drive herself.
I was quite unprepared for the sight my mother-in-law presented that day. Even though she was nearly 80, she never failed to do her hair and make-up each day, and her expression typified the image of the feisty old lady. Now she looked ashen and haggard, not to mention defeated. As we rode to the doctor’s office, she told me that she’d completely lost her appetite, that she became nauseous when she forced herself to eat, and she was barely able to sleep. She said she’d never felt this terrible in her entire life, and I had to admit, I’d never seen her look that bad in the 35 years I’d known her.
In the doctor’s waiting room Mom confided her deepest fear, that she had the same type of cancer her husband had died from nearly twenty years ago. Watching him slowly slip away was an ordeal that was still vivid in her mind, and now she was experiencing many of the same symptoms.
Fortunately, the doctor’s opinion was not that bleak. She offered several possible causes for Mom’s ailments, with complications from her diabetes being the most likely. She ordered blood work and numerous medical tests, and assured us that she would get to the bottom of the problems. Driving home, I could see that Mom already looked more vibrant, and I knew that worry was one reason she looked so wretched earlier in the day.
Our conversation was a little more cheerful on our return trip. However, when I mentioned my upcoming vacation, Mom was clearly agitated. She told me she wished I weren’t going, so I could stay in Michigan and be with her until they figured out what was wrong. I assured her that I wasn’t going for another four weeks, and the doctors would certainly solve the puzzle of her illness by then.
But in the following weeks, the doctors were still not able to offer a diagnosis, and Mom’s spirits plummeted. Soon I was driving her to all her medical appointments, cooking her dinners, helping her bathe, and doing light housework. She slept little and had even less energy, but at least she was able to eat a little bit without getting sick. She seemed to do best with my chicken soup, which I cooked for hours so that the meat and vegetables were very tender. She also did well with beef soup and lamb stew. Though the thought of eating didn’t appeal to her at all, she was able to take some nourishment each day and keep it down.
As the month drew to a close, I realized that I could not leave my mother-in-law at this time. I was very bummed. I had so looked forward to getting out of Michigan in my least favorite month of the year. This development was also putting a crimp in my timeline for finding my mission from God. Of course, it did occur to me that perhaps caring for my mother-in-law was my true mission. This thought depressed me even more. I had envisioned myself helping the down-trodden, or perhaps writing for a non-profit organization, not making pots and pots of chicken soup and driving to countless medical appointments, where it seemed like The View was always playing in the waiting room.
Reluctantly, I canceled my flight arrangements, and called my daughter to see when I might reschedule my trip. Carrie told me she was starting a class in March, so we tentatively planned for a late February visit. I continued to pray for a speedy recovery for Mom, so she would no longer suffer through restless days, sleepless nights and constant worry. A speedy recovery also meant I could get on with my own agenda: vacationing, finding a meaningful volunteer experience, and ultimately discerning God’s plan for me.
Monday, September 22, 2008
January 2008 – To Listen to the Lord
Perhaps it was just the post-Christmas doldrums; perhaps it was the pressure I was putting on myself to do something meaningful after the holidays. But whatever prompted the sudden return of my anxiety, I didn’t want to just wait around and see if it got better. I knew that the doctor would be of no use; it hadn’t waited for the requisite six months, and besides, I had decided not to go the pharmaceutical route. I could try calling my husband or a friend, but I really didn’t want to bother anyone at work. My thoughts turned to the jovial priest who had been so kind to me during my confession at the Advent retreat. I didn’t know if the Passionist priests did personal counseling, or how soon Father could meet with me if they did. But I figured just calling the retreat center was a positive step.
When I reached St. Paul’s, I asked to speak with the priest who gave the homily at the retreat. I didn’t remember his name at that time, but I knew he had described himself as ‘the short one’, so I did the same. The receptionist knew exactly whom I meant, and in a few moments I was speaking with Father Ron himself. He told me that he would be happy to meet with me, and we set up an appointment for a few days later.
In Father’s inviting, book-filled office, I poured out my life story and described my recent angst. I told him that I had originally been convinced that God was calling me to retire and carry out His mission for me, but now I suspected that this was just a rationalization for leaving my stressful job. Though I’d never thought of myself as being materialistic (frugal, perhaps, but not greedy), I now found myself consumed with thoughts of money, or my imagined lack of the same. Terry and I had spent many years at the bottom of our pay scales before we both started earning good incomes, and now I felt I was foolish to have given up that income in exchange for a pitifully small pension. And even though I’d produced a long list of edifying and creative endeavors to fill my retirement hours, none of them seemed to interest me at the moment. I couldn’t even find a volunteer activity that appealed to me. I’d been looking through the Michigan Catholic, our church bulletin, and a web-based volunteer match site, but nothing seemed to click. In the fall I’d been intrigued with a post-abortion counseling organization called Project Rachel, but I’d called them twice and never received a return call from the program office. So if God really did have a mission for me, He sure wasn’t making it easy to find.
Father listened attentively, and when I finished my woeful tale, he offered several insightful observations:
• Was it a coincidence that my first doubts surfaced on the eighth day after I’d accepted the early retirement offer? Where else have we seen a reference to ‘the eighth day’? Just as Adam and Eve’s world began on the eighth day of God’s creation, so too my new world was just beginning.
• If I had felt that God was calling me, then to doubt it now was actually an insult to God. He told me not to second-guess myself, but to believe in the call I had heard.
• My obsession with money was most likely a passing thing, an outgrowth of self-doubt. He mentioned a few scriptural references to divine providence (for example, the Lilies of the Field passage in Mathew 6:27-29). He asked me if I believed that God would provide me with all that I need, and I had to admit that I do believe this.
• The fact that I couldn’t seem to motivate myself to do anything but work around the house and pray was not necessarily a bad thing. As I had stated, both had been long overdue. And even if I prayed for several hours a day (which I could certainly not imagine doing!), praying is never a waste of time.
Father asked me if I’d ever tried contemplative scriptural prayer, and I told him I had not. He walked over to one of his bookshelves, searched for a moment, and then said “Here it is.” He handed me a book called Speak Lord, Your Servant Is Listening by David E. Rosage. Father explained that the book was a guide to using the scriptures to hear what God is telling us through His word. He told me to try this method of prayer in my search for a deeper relationship with God.
Once again, I left St. Paul’s feeling hopeful and refreshed. As soon as I got home I read the introductory chapters of the prayer guide. The procedure for using book was first to read the designated scripture passages slowly and reflectively. Then, finding a quiet, comfortable spot, try to imagine what was actually taking place in the reading, and listen to what the Lord is saying to the reader through His words. Rosage writes that those who use this method are often moved to respond with praise, gratitude and love. With time, we learn to feel the presence of God in our lives, and we get to know ourselves a little better in the process. The author’s words “God’s plan for our lives becomes clearer. Life has more meaning” especially struck a chord with me. This is what I was searching for!
Rosen also noted that in the beginning readers might not gain great insight or inspiration, but we would experience a sense of peace and joy. There was that word again … peace!
I couldn’t wait to try out this new method of praying.
When I reached St. Paul’s, I asked to speak with the priest who gave the homily at the retreat. I didn’t remember his name at that time, but I knew he had described himself as ‘the short one’, so I did the same. The receptionist knew exactly whom I meant, and in a few moments I was speaking with Father Ron himself. He told me that he would be happy to meet with me, and we set up an appointment for a few days later.
In Father’s inviting, book-filled office, I poured out my life story and described my recent angst. I told him that I had originally been convinced that God was calling me to retire and carry out His mission for me, but now I suspected that this was just a rationalization for leaving my stressful job. Though I’d never thought of myself as being materialistic (frugal, perhaps, but not greedy), I now found myself consumed with thoughts of money, or my imagined lack of the same. Terry and I had spent many years at the bottom of our pay scales before we both started earning good incomes, and now I felt I was foolish to have given up that income in exchange for a pitifully small pension. And even though I’d produced a long list of edifying and creative endeavors to fill my retirement hours, none of them seemed to interest me at the moment. I couldn’t even find a volunteer activity that appealed to me. I’d been looking through the Michigan Catholic, our church bulletin, and a web-based volunteer match site, but nothing seemed to click. In the fall I’d been intrigued with a post-abortion counseling organization called Project Rachel, but I’d called them twice and never received a return call from the program office. So if God really did have a mission for me, He sure wasn’t making it easy to find.
Father listened attentively, and when I finished my woeful tale, he offered several insightful observations:
• Was it a coincidence that my first doubts surfaced on the eighth day after I’d accepted the early retirement offer? Where else have we seen a reference to ‘the eighth day’? Just as Adam and Eve’s world began on the eighth day of God’s creation, so too my new world was just beginning.
• If I had felt that God was calling me, then to doubt it now was actually an insult to God. He told me not to second-guess myself, but to believe in the call I had heard.
• My obsession with money was most likely a passing thing, an outgrowth of self-doubt. He mentioned a few scriptural references to divine providence (for example, the Lilies of the Field passage in Mathew 6:27-29). He asked me if I believed that God would provide me with all that I need, and I had to admit that I do believe this.
• The fact that I couldn’t seem to motivate myself to do anything but work around the house and pray was not necessarily a bad thing. As I had stated, both had been long overdue. And even if I prayed for several hours a day (which I could certainly not imagine doing!), praying is never a waste of time.
Father asked me if I’d ever tried contemplative scriptural prayer, and I told him I had not. He walked over to one of his bookshelves, searched for a moment, and then said “Here it is.” He handed me a book called Speak Lord, Your Servant Is Listening by David E. Rosage. Father explained that the book was a guide to using the scriptures to hear what God is telling us through His word. He told me to try this method of prayer in my search for a deeper relationship with God.
Once again, I left St. Paul’s feeling hopeful and refreshed. As soon as I got home I read the introductory chapters of the prayer guide. The procedure for using book was first to read the designated scripture passages slowly and reflectively. Then, finding a quiet, comfortable spot, try to imagine what was actually taking place in the reading, and listen to what the Lord is saying to the reader through His words. Rosage writes that those who use this method are often moved to respond with praise, gratitude and love. With time, we learn to feel the presence of God in our lives, and we get to know ourselves a little better in the process. The author’s words “God’s plan for our lives becomes clearer. Life has more meaning” especially struck a chord with me. This is what I was searching for!
Rosen also noted that in the beginning readers might not gain great insight or inspiration, but we would experience a sense of peace and joy. There was that word again … peace!
I couldn’t wait to try out this new method of praying.
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