Tag Archives: Richard Rohr

D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterly, and “The Fall”

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When I first discovered D. H. Lawrence, my intent was pornographic! And, “Lady Chatterly’s Lover” fulfilled that ambition and would do the same for any young man today of similar inclination! BUT, I’ve since then discovered that it is a fine piece of literature, reflecting DHL’s astute, elegant grasp of the human condition. Here is an observation he made in one of the early versions of “Chatterly”:

Oh what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made a personal, merely personal feeling, taken away from the rising and setting of the sun, and cut off from the magic connection of the solstice and equinox! This is what is the matter with us. We are bleeding at the roots because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars, and love is a grinning mockery, because poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the tree of Life, and expected it to keep on blooming in our civilized vase on the table. It is a question, practically, of relationship. We must get back into relation to the cosmos and the universe. The way is through daily ritual, and the re-awakening, the ritual of dawn and noon and sunset, the ritual of kindling fire and pouring water.

I think the detachment Lawrence noted here is one dimension of “the fall” of the book of Genesis. We fell, or were banished, from Eden and by the nature of life are cut off from our Source. Thus, one could say that we are “lost.” Being “found”, i.e. “getting saved”, involves rediscovering our body and nature and its connection the universe; and this whole experience is the process of relating again to our Source.

 

Trashing Richard Rohr!

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I can’t stand Richard Rohr. He is a thief! Yes, I have all of these wonderful, deeply-spiritual, sublime thoughts and he puts them into print (or blog) before I do! And there he is rich and famous and I’m a mere Southern ne’er-do-well mired in the bowels of the blog-o-sphere!

Seriously, I love that man. He says everything I could ever say and says it much more eloquently and humbly than I could ever manage. I should do as I have threatened and merely let me blog consist each day of a link to Richard Rohr’s blog. (And, btw, Franciscan monks do not get rich!)

On a related note, I feel validated when I run across someone like Rohr. Conrad Aiken once noted, “This is peace to know our thoughts known.” And that is very important if life has you on an “unbeaten path” trajectory which has always been my lot. I also find this validation often here on the blog-o-sphere, crossing the path of other kindred spirits, some of which I have already shared the following Archibald MacLeish quote: Winds of thought blow magniloquent meanings betwixt me and thee.

Here is Rohr’s blog posting of today:

HEALING OUR VIOLENCE

If the self doesn’t find some way to connect radically with Being, it will live in anxiety and insecurity. The false self is inherently insecure. It’s intrinsically fragile, grasping for significance. That’s precisely because it is insignificant! So it grabs atthings like badges and uniforms and titles and hats and flags to give itself importance and power. People talk about dying for the flag of their country. They don’t realize that the Bible would definitely call that idolatry. What were you before you were an American? Will you be an American in heaven? Most of us don’t know how to answer those questions without a spiritual journey and an inner prayer life.
In prayer you will discover who you were before you were male, before you were female, before you were black, before you were white, before you were straight, before you were gay, before you were Lutheran, Mormon, or Amish. Have you ever lived there? At that naked place, you will have very little to defend, fight about, compete with, overcome, hate, or fear. You are then living in the Reign of God, or what Buddha calls the Great Compassion. Violence is unneeded and undesired.
Adapted from Healing Our Violence
Through the Journey of Centering Prayer (CD)
Prayer:
We are love, and we are made for love,
and our natural abiding place is love.

 

C. S. Lewis and Shame

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In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis said re shame:

Don’t you remember on earth there were things too hot to touch with you finger but you could drink them alright? Shame is like that. If you will attempt it—if you will drink the cup to the bottom—you will find it very nourishing; but try to do anything else with it and it scalds.

This made me think of the Richard Rohr observation which I recently shared, “I look daily for some little humiliation in my life.” He explained that he did this as it reflected an opportunity to address an occasion of his ego rearing its ugly head.

I think that Lewis and Rohr realize/realized the role that shame plays in spirituality. Its presence, when not addressed and acknowledged, leads to profound ugliness and even brutality in the spiritual world. But, addressed and acknowledged, embraced if you will, provides an opportunity to draw a little closer to one’s Source. For, I intuitively know that shame lies at the core of our identity and we have to tippy-toe into it as we approach that core. And, I might add it behooves us to have someone holding our hand as we begin to tippy-toe into it—perhaps a pastor, a therapist, a friend, or a spouse.

But we must avoid the easy way out which is to cling to dogma, those “well worn words and ready phrases” (Conrad Aiken) which insulate us from any real, human/spiritual experience. We must go beyond the shell of the words, the “letter of the law”, and get into the Spirit.

One last thought on this note. Twenty years ago John Bradshaw was in the self-help vanguard with a series of books on the family. In one of them he noted that in his clinical work he felt that shame was the core issue with a lot of deep seated issues, that often there were high-falutin diagnoses which could merely be explained in terms of “shame-based” behavior and emotions. My own clinical work confirms this. We are often dealing only with deep-seated shame which binds the individual and will continue to do so until it is gradually, gently, and graciously brought to the fore and experienced and then processed.

Marianne Williamson and Shadow Politics

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Marianne Williamson is one of my favorite spiritual voices of our time. She writes in, A Return to Love:  Reflection on the Principles of ‘A Course in Miracles‘ , “ I spent years as an angry left winger before I realized that an angry generation can’t bring peace. Everything we do is infused with the energy with which we do it.”  She elaborated about a dream that she had at one time in her life which taught her that she was bringing to bear on the right wing animosity which had to do with her own personal issues, aside from the validity or appropriateness of the views and actions espoused by the right wing leaders .  Elsewhere in her teachings she explains that what she had to learn was to realize that she could hold firm with her political convictions and do so with great passion but without crossing the line to hating the persons who held the views that she disagreed with.

Williamson was dealing with something which is very hard to learn—how do we learn to be tolerant of the “intolerant” and even deign to learn at times that we are equally intolerant.  It is intoxicating to know you are right; but the greatest tragedies are perpetrated by people who are dogmatically assured that they are right.

This makes me think of something I recent ran across in the blog of Richard Rohr. He noted that we most pay attention when we have a lot of “anti-“ activity going on in our life, as in, “I’m against this, I’m against that…”   Rohr suggests that hen we have a lot of things we are against and are vehemently opposing them and campaigning against them, we should be given pause and should ask ourselves, “Is this our shadow rearing its ugly head?”   This is not to say we should not have standards and convictions and be ready to speak out for them.  But we need to take that “pause” occasionally and make sure that we aren’t merely grinding an axe in the guise of “truth, justice, and the American way.”

“With devotion’s visage and pious action we do sugar o’er the devil himself.” (Shakespeare)

Richard Rohr on Humility

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I quote Richard Rohr more than any contemporary spiritual leader. Once again I strongly recommend that you subscribe to his free daily blog as it is always very insightful and very encouraging. He says everything I could ever say and says it much better and much more succinctly.

In his book, Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, he noted, “I have prayed for years for one good humiliation a day, and then I must watch my reaction to it. In my position, I have no other way of spotting both my well-denied shadow self and my idealized persona.”

Rohr is very attuned to the pernicious presence of the ego in all spiritually-inclined people and is forthright about wrestling with his own ego daily. I think that his daily prayer for “one good humiliation a day” is his way of asking for his eyes to be opened daily to his own frailty and egotism. For, it is often very humiliating when this happens to someone, especially one who holds himself/herself forth as a “spiritual person.”

I do not think he is calling for us to deliberately go out and humiliate ourselves each day. He is merely asking us to pay attention, to be honest with ourselves, to practice “mindfulness” and be prepared to embrace the subjective experience of a sudden illumination about our own “flesh” being hard at work in our spiritual practice. This might be merely being taken aback, or given pause, or embarrassed, or yes it might be occasionally humiliating. It might even be as simple as a “Rick Perry moment” when we have to say “oops” to some obviously self-serving spiritual enterprise.

T. S. Eliot noted in The Four Quartets:

Oh the shame of motives late revealed,
And the awareness of things ill done
And done to others’ harm
Which once you took for exercise of virtue.

The “Peace of Wild Things”

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I have a penchant for worry. I tend to try to control myself with my mind, anticipating the future and making sure I’ve done everything possible to make it work out for me. This has been my orientation as far back in my life as I can remember. Yes, I’m a control freak. I must admit that at this point in my life I am learning that life is beyond my ability to control and that the very effort itself reflects the machination of my ego. Therefore, the old wisdom of Jesus is having additional meaning for me at this point in my life:
Matthew 6 25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life[e]?
28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?

I love watching the flowers coming to bloom, this process starting prematurely this year due to the very warm winter in North America. Daffodils are strutting their stuff already. (I recall plucking one of them years ago and having a very powerful subjective flash—-“Am I plucking this flower or is its exquisite beauty plucking me?”) And I thoroughly enjoy watching the birds cavort about in the yard, queuing up at the feeder on my deck, dashing in and out, soaring high in the sky, dancing to a nearby tree but sure to return for another bite. I’m struck by their intensity, by their striking colors, and their relentless determination to articulate “bird”in this corner of the world again.

These above verses from the gospel of Matthew reassure us that it is not necessary to worry and fret any more than do these birds and flowers. The Grace that they live in and emanate daily is available to all of us. I’m sure that this peace they have is related to what Wendell Berry had in mind in a poem, ascribing to the world of nature, “the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.” Berry understood that they do not live in terror of the inevitable end that is in store for them and the rest of His glorious creation, the stark finality of death.

But the teachings of Jesus (and other Holy men and women in our history) teach us that death is something that we should not fear, that it is not as stark as it appears, and something that actually can be accomplished before the end of our physical life. People like James Hillman, Karl Jung, Richard Rohr and many others posit the notion that the real issue, in the depths of our heart, is a willingness to let the ego die. They teach that the crucifixion represents symbolically the “death, burial, and resurrection” of the ego.

And I close with an observation from a psychologist of yesteryear, Irvin Yalom: those who are most afraid of death are actually terrified of life.

The Shadow, per Richard Rohr

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The shadow is always with us.  It is that dark side that we all loathe and are prone to projecting “out there” on our favorite scapegoat.  Karl Jung and many others have taught the need to “withdraw your projection” and embrace that dark side.

Richard Rohr writes in Falling Upward:  A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life:

Your shadow is what you refuse to see about yourself, and what you do not want others to see….Be especially careful of any idealized role or self-image, like that of minister, mother, doctor, nice person, professor, moral believer…These are huge personas to live up to, and they trap many people in lifelong delusion.

This delusion makes me thing of Emerson’s fear (or was it Thoreau???), that “I will come to the end of my life and realize that I have not lived life at all, but somebody else’s life.” (paraphrasing).

And Rohr does not have any problem with, for example, “nice persons”.  His concern is that a genuinely nice person will need to embrace the shadow side of “nice” and embrace the fact that at times he/she is less than “nice.”  But our pretensions die hard.  They die hard.  W. H. Auden noted, “And Truth met him and held our her hand and he clung in panic to his tall belief and shrank away like an ill-treated child.”

Richard Rohr on Lent

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Richard Rohr in today’s Huffington Post (religion section) again addressed the issue of sham, enculturated religion, which people subscribe to to avoid reality, “everyday” reality as well as spiritual reality.  This is similar to the indictment of the church by Jacques Ellul about whom I blogged several days ago.

Rohr suggested that much of our religious experience consists of “self-help” pap that is often found in “motivational speeches.”  (And this is not to totally dismiss “self-help” or motivational speakers.)  With the Lent season in mind, Rohr posits the notion that “transformation” is what faith is about, not merely redecorating what the Apostle Paul described as “the flesh.”

His thoughts brought to my mind a residual blurb from my hyper-conservative religion past—someone accused most ministers of using their ministry as a “platform for the display of their carnal abilities.”  The writer was suggesting that many ministries…and the Christian life of many… was merely a “dog-and-pony” show for the fulfillment of one’s ego needs.

And, I might add that this “ego-needs” fulfillment issue is an issue for anyone with a spiritual impulse.  The ego is always there and is always needy.  I suspect that Paul might have had this in mind when he referred to his “torn in the flesh.”

When you get it figured out and resolved, let me know how to do it!

Below is the link though you will probably find the article easier by googling “Richard Rohr and Huffinton Post.”.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/fr-richard-rohr/lent-is-about-transformation_b_1282070.html?ref=religion

Meditative prayer…again!

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I have often quoted a line from Hamlet re prayer.  King Claudius is on his knees, in prayer, saying, “My words fly up.  My thoughts remain below.  Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”

That is a very subtle observation as is often the case when something is profound.  Shakespeare noted the distinction between a prosaic, formal, perfunctory prayer and one that is essentially meditation, “thoughts” and “words” conjoined.   Richard Rohr’s blog posting of today presents this notion more eloquently:

In what is commonly called prayer, you and your hurts, needs, and perspectives are still the central reference point, not really God. But you have decided to invite a Major Power in to help you with your already determined solution! God can perhaps help you get what you want, but it is still a self-centered desire, instead of God’s much better role—which is to help you know what you really desire (Luke 11:13, Matthew 7:11). It always takes a bit of time to widen this lens, and therefore the screen, of life.

One goes through serious withdrawal pain for a while until the screen is widened to a high-definition screen. It is work to learn how to pray, largely the work of emptying the mind and filling the heart—that is prayer in one concise and truthful phrase. Or as some say, “pulling the mind down into the heart” until they both operate as one.

“Heavenly hurt it sends us”

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Richard Rohr argues that there is “an incurable wound at the heart everything” and that in the second half of one’s life maturity comes when we recognize and accept this. He states in a recent blog that “your holding and ‘suffering’ of this tragic wound, your persistent but failed attempts to heal it, your final surrender to it, will ironically make you into a wise and holy person.”

Now, I would qualify this and note that this “incurable wound” comes to us in varying degrees. For many, those who are merely the “walking wounded” it presents itself as plain vanilla depression and anxiety. But even that “plain vanilla” version of pain must be confronted, just as others must confront their “incurable wound.” It makes me wonder if this is what Paul meant by his “thorn in the flesh.”

And note here what a “difference” Emily Dickinson’s “heavenly hurt” brought her:

There’s a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the heft
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,
‘Tis the seal, despair,-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, ‘t is like the distance
On the look of death.