Once again, I must note that I should merely post each day, in big print, “See Richard Rohr’s blog.” For, he says everything I could ever say and says it much better. Either he and I listen to the same Source or perhaps we read the same books! Actually, it is probably a combination of both. I share with you today the his post from yesterday’s blog on the subject of intimacy. This reflects his grasp of spirituality as a Divine revealing which is present in each of us. Yes, even in those that disagree with me and approach things differently. The key is to allow a “discerning spirit” to be present in our heart and allow it to expose those barriers that we have formulated, probably early in life, to protect us from “the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.” (Hamlet)
So how do you communicate to others what is inherently a secret? Or can you? How can the secret become “unhidden”? It becomes unhidden when people stop hiding—from God, themselves, and at least one other person. The emergence of our True Self is actually the big disclosure of the secret. Such risky self-disclosure is what I mean by intimacy, and intimacy is the way that love is transmitted. Some say the word comes from the Latin intimus, referring to that which is interior or inside. Some say its older meaning is found by in timor, or “into fear.” In either case, the point is clear: intimacy happens when we reveal and expose our insides, and this is always scary. One never knows if the other can receive what is exposed, will respect it, or will run fast in the other direction. One must be prepared to be rejected. It is always a risk. The pain of rejection after self-disclosure is so great that it often takes a lifetime for people to risk it again.
Excerpted from Immortal Diamond: The Search for Our True Self, pp. 168-16
Category Archives: poetry and prose
The Meaning of the Cross
New Testament imagery is rich, particularly if one is willing to explore the imagery and interpret them in personal rather than doctrinaire terms. Let’s look briefly at the image of the Cross and its evocative power.
The Cross means different things to different people. For some it is merely an historical event which they interpret in terms of time and space; and that is fine for them. I prefer to take that dimension of the image and broaden it to include various layers of meaning, layers which are actually infinite as is the case with any meaningful symbol or myth.
For example, this morning over coffee my wife was perusing my blog and came across a recent reference to the Cross. She noted that in art it represents two divergent lines intersecting. This brought to my mind a line from T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets where he presented the Christian image of the Cross as a “union of opposite spheres of existence.”
Here is the context of Eliot’s observation which I think reveals a profound grasp of the meaning of the Cross:
But to apprehend
The point of intersection of the timeless
With time, is an occupation for the saint –
No occupation either, but something given
And taken, in a lifetime’s death in love,
Ardour and selflessness and self-surrender.
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts. These are only hints and guesses,
Hints followed by guesses; and the rest
Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.
The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.
Here the impossible union
Of spheres of existence is actual,
Here the past and future
Are conquered, and reconciled,
Where action were otherwise movement
Of that which is only moved
And has in it no source of movement –
Driven by daemonic, chthonic
Powers. And right action is freedom
From past and future also.
For most of us, this is the aim
Never here to be realised;
The Crucifixion, including not merely this cross but Jesus upon it, is a powerful metaphor of transformation, of death, burial, and resurrection. It is an image of a psychic transformation in which we are integrated on a new level, where (to borrow from my beloved W. H. Auden) “where flesh and mind are delivered from mistrust.” When this happens, the incarnation has occurred. But, as Eliot noted, for most of us we don’t fully get it and are reduced to the effort, to “prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.” But that is the miracle of Grace—it comes to us when we give up the struggle and find that is is present even in our feeble, immature, ego-ridden spiritual fumblings. It comes to us, often piece-meal, only when we cease to struggle and start to relax, not just in the “arms of Jesus” but at the same time in our own body. (I’ll let you know when I’ve worked that out! wink, wink)
To use a different, though relevant image, from Auden, “The Center that I cannot find is known to my unconscious mind. There is no need to despair for I am already there.”
Now at one time in my life, just the juxtaposition of “symbol and myth” and the New Testament was anathema. There was no room allowed for interpretation, for hermeneutics. The consequence of this rigidity is slavish devotion to the letter of the law and we all know what Paul said “the letter of the law” does.
“…Through a Glass Darkly.”
Spiritual life involves a mystery. It is a mystery. This is because it is about the very heart of our existence and our existence is a mystery. Modern science is bearing this out. The Bible and other holy writ have long said as much.
This mystery can be apprehended…and I use the term loosely…by faith. For, “Faith is the evidence of things unseen and the …..” We lay hold to eternal truth only by faith and as we “lay hold” on this truth we are deeply aware of the flimsy nature of this grasp, intensely aware that the object of our faith always eludes our cognitive grasp which serves the purpose of keeping us humble. “We see through a glass darkly” and “we hold this treasure in earthen vessels.”
When we are teased with the notion, “Oh, I have arrived” a discerning spirit will let us know, “Oh, no. You are just en route!” To borrow from the astute judgment of Karl Barthes (I think!), “We are in love with the object which recedes from the knowledge of it.”
T. S. Eliot put it this way in The Four Quartets:
And what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfilment.
And then I’d like to share from wisdom attributed (falsely) to Oscar Romero, the actual author being Bishop Ken Untener of Saginaw, Michigan:
A Future Not Our Own
It helps now and then to step back and take a long view.
The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of
saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession
brings perfection, no pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives include everything.
This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one
day will grow. We water the seeds already planted
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects
far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of
liberation in realizing this.
This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning,
a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s
grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the
difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not
messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.
(This quotation from the Bishop comes from a blog by Blue Eyed Ennis on wordpress.com. This blog is always a treasure trove of spiritual wisdom.)
Nature in Hopi Prayers & Wendell Berry Poem
Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset. Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice. Make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people. Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock.
I seek strength, not to be greater than my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy —Myself—
Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes.
(Asquali, Kawquai)
Someone recently sent me an Hopi prayer and I was taken with its wisdom and posted it yesterday. That prayer and this one today reflects a sensitivity to nature that I greatly admire. The Native Americans saw the unity of man and nature, not having been taught the Western subject-object distinction to the same degree that we European “invaders” had been.
And I really appreciated the insight into the “real” enemy—“myself.” This reflects the “discerning spirit” spoken of in the New Testament. Emily Dickinson described the absence of this quality as “the mind too near itself to see itself distinctly.” That “discerning spirit” is often missing in our culture, leaving us without “self” awareness.
These two Native American poems emphasis of nature makes me think of a beautiful poem by Wendell Berry. A friend of mine last spring, who was dying at the time, asked me to define grace for him. I paused only briefly before telling him, “Let me quote you a poem by Wendell Berry.” Here it is:
THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
My friend was greatly comforted by this poem, immediately agreeing, “Yes, this is about grace, the same grace offered by Jesus.” The beautiful phrase, “I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their thoughts with forethought of grief” often comforts me when I’m stressed, bringing to mind the words of Jesus, “Let not your heart be worried. Ye believe in God, believe also in me.”
Failure is More Important than Success (Politically Speaking)
I have empathized with Mitt Romney (and with the GOP) in the recent electoral defeat. I can’t help but feel sorry for Romney even though I liked him less and less as the election campaign progressed. But, he was and is still a human being and I know this defeat is excruciatingly painful for him.
I hope he will find the courage…and Grace…to learn from this experience. And I mean “learn” as a human being as “human being-ness” is more important than politics. Romney has a soul as do we all are and his time on this earth is for the purpose of refining this soul and allowing its Source to find the fullest expression. I hope that he can use this loss…this “failure”… for that purpose.
Here is one of my favorite poems by Eugene Mayo about the experience of loss, presented as “failure”:
Failure is more important than success
Because it brings intelligence
To light the bony
Structure of the universe.
When we “fail”…when we fall on our asses…we have an opportunity to learn from the experience. “Intelligence” has an opportunity to flash into our heart and life. This “intelligence” is not merely cognitive but is intrinsically spiritual and from it great wisdom can flow and everyone can benefit.
Jacques Lacan once noted that nothing of any value comes into this world without loss. He was utilizing object-relations theory to develop the notion that Jesus had in mind when He advised that we find our life only when we lose it.
But it is painful. And that is what the image of the Cross is about.
Lessons from the School Yard
It was a crisp October Monday morning in 1961 in Magnet Cove, Arkansas. The mighty Magnet Cove Panthers had fallen ignominiously (again) the previous Friday night en route to another 2-8 season, Orval Faubus was championing our racist raison d’etre each day, and that damn Catholic John F. Kennedy was in the White House. But, it was morning recess time and the BMOC (Big Man on Campus) in the 3rd grade announced to the boys on the playground, “Everybody with high top boots run with me and let’s chase the girls.” Oh, was I so proud! I had high top boots and they were pretty new! Now, I was not used to being in the “in crowd” due in part to my own alienation, certainly not irrelevant to my perception that I was from an impoverished family. But, on this autumn morning, by damn, I HAD HIGH TOP BOOTS! And for a couple of weeks this social agenda predominated in that class of 27 kids and I had the delight of belonging! (By the way, the girls were meeting secretly at the same moment nearby and answering the question, “What are we gonna do today” with, “Well, let’s go out there and be cute and let the guys chase us! You are right. Nothing has changed in fifty years.)
Well, in the following years, the BMOC’s would change, usually with a bloodless coup d’etat, and the agenda would change and even mature with age. But the pattern was set. We boys and girls learned the importance of determining which category we belonged in, where the power lay in the social contract, and hooking our wagons to the one that seemed most palatable and which one was most likely to predominate.
Today I belong to several group (even though I’m still alienated as hell!) For example, I am a Democrat, I’m a heterosexual male, I’m a licensed counselor, and I’m an Episcopalian…to name just a few. But, I’m far removed from the playground and my affiliation has gone far beyond the “high top boots” phenomena. My identity supersedes these superfluous labels. Each of them are important to me, but there is something (might I say Something, or even “Someone”) more important—we are all “one flesh” and…if I might segue…, as Rodney King said, “Why can’t we all get along?” The categories are so ephemeral.
Casting an “affirming flame” on election day!
A Mennonite pastor has organized a nation-wide communion service on election day. I enclose the CNN on-line link to the article about this effort and its rationale: http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2012/11/03/my-take-on-election-day-proclaiming-my-loyalty-to-jesus/?hpt=hp_c1
I’m very impressed. An event like this helps us to remember that “this is not about us”, at least not in an exclusive sense. There is an “otherness” present in the world that we often forget about in our day to day life and certainly in the intensity of political debate. The event is a simple, brief bowing of our heads (literally or figuratively) and recognizing this “otherness” (Otherness). It is a simple shift of focus for a moment and recognition that we are finite creatures in a complex world and that a Mystery that is beyond our comprehension is present in our life, individually and collectively. A refrain of mine is, “Mental illness is a reference problem.” In ceremonies such as this we offer a momentary deference to an external reference point that is sorely lacking in our world consciousness.
I want to share a poem by W. H. Auden that is relevant to gestures like this:
Defenseless under the night,
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
ironic points of light
Flash out whever the Just
Exchange their messages.
May I,composed like them
of Eros and Dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
May we each day, in word and deed, show an affirming flame. It is so easy to do otherwise.
W. H. Auden “Sept 1, 1939”
Ranier Rilke and “Dying Daily”
“Sometimes I don’t feel spiritual.” I’ve heard this many times and feel that way myself quiet often. But at this point I take comfort in the belief that “feelings” on the matter do not matter; for, I believe that regardless of how we feel we are a spirit. Spirit is not something extrinsic to who we are; it is intrinsic to the very nature of our being.
“Knowing God” does not mean merely accepting a bunch of concepts. That should be merely a stepping stone, a means to an end. “Knowing God” means merely means getting out of the way and discovering that our Source will fill the vacuum. It is the Christian doctrine of kenosis or “self emptying”—losing oneself to find oneself or as the Apostle Paul said, “dying daily”. And I like Ranier Rilke’s take on the matter in The Duino Elegies, “Daily he takes himself off and steps into the changing constellation of his own everlasting risk.”
The Ephemeral Nature of Words
The beauty of words stems largely from their ephemeral nature. Conrad Aiken described words as “these squeaks of ours”. Poets spend their life contriving meaning out of these “squeaks”, a process which T. S. Eliot described as, “wrestling with words and meanings.
The poet is very aware of this ephemerality of language. They know firsthand how flimsy the conjunction between a simple mere sound…a “word”…and subjective experience can be; and always is when any particular word is first formed. Carl Sandburg described this as “the moment of doom when the word is formed.” (See full poem in posting of 10/28/12 ) And listen to Eliot describe his experience:
Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still. Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them.
(Four Quartets)
And I love Archibald MacLeish likening this poetic moment to “the flight of birds flung from the branches where they sleep”:
Bewildered with the broken tongue
of wakened angels in our sleep
then lost the music that was sung
and lost the light time cannot keep!
There is a moment when we lie
Bewildered, wakened out of sleep,
when light and sound and all reply:
that moment time must tame and keep.
That moment like a flight of birds
flung from the branches where they sleep,
the poet with a beat of words
flings into time for time to keep.
Words must be vibrant, alive, dynamic!
A language is not just a body of vocabulary or a set of grammatical rules… Every language is an old growth forest of the mind, a watershed of thought, an ecosystem of spiritual possibilities. ~ Wade Davies
This is why language is so rich and so worthy of exploring. Words can “open up” and reveal hidden meanings and can do so endlessly; and, as noted yesterday, this is the task of poets. The French philosopher Gabriel Marcel once wrote that words have meaning because they can “burgeon forth into regions beyond themselves.” But one has to be willing to let them open up, to “burgeon forth.”
Unfortunately, words can be (and often are) taken literally. No effort is taken to parse words and individuals who take this route are left with the “letter of the law.” And of course we remember what 2 Corinthians teaches: the letter killeth but the Spirit maketh alive.
Let me share from the profound wisdom of T. S. Eliot on the dynamic nature of language:
Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still. Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them.
(The Four Quartets
