Candles in the darkness -- December 6, 2009

Today, the church will light two candles on the Advent wreath. Not much light to shine in this deepening darkness of December. But it is enough. The two candles give us enough light to explore the darkness -- to see into the far reaches of our soul.

My instinct -- and our culture's training, is to turn on all the lights. Kill the darkness. But the Advent light helps us -- not to destroy the darkness, but to see in the darkness. To help us learn and discover where else God lives in us.

Ever since I was a child, we had an Advent wreath at home. And we dutifully lit the appropriate carol. And then we sang lots of carols. As an adult, we still light the candle -- but sing just the first verse of "O Come, O come Emmanuel". It has become part of the rhythm (the regula, the rule of my life).

An important part -- for it helps me to honor the darkness.

Community as one -- December 5, 2009

A few years ago, the US Army issued a recruiting slogan: "the Army of One."

I was bothered by that, because it seemed to play into the hyper-individualistic attitude of our culture. An attitude which Joan Chittister challenges in her fourth chapter. Perhaps the Army wanted its recruits to think of the Army as one. But we are so geared to think of our personal needs first and foremost, the Army realized that it was not creating the concept of community -- and so the slogan was dropped.

Community is the antidote to individualism. When we are redeemed by the living Christ -- it is we who are redeemed. It is a community redemption. Salvation for self has little worth if it does not include the journey of others. It is one thing to have a personal relationship with Jesus; it is something else -- and more powerful, to have a communal relationship with Jesus.

Community can be wonderful. Community can also be very hard. While in seminary, I remember going to Henri Nouwen (who was on the faculty) with a community problem. The administration of the school wasn't treating a student very well. The student -- my friend, was having serious mental health issues -- and the dean and staff seemed (from my perspective) to be doing its best to distance itself from the student. I was ready to give up on community.

I relayed all the slights and injuries that this student received to Henri, expecting him to rise up in full dudgeon -- as I had done. Instead, he looked at me, smiled and asked -- "what do you expect?" He didn't know the particulars of this case, but he told me that communities try and act with kindness and justice toward one another, but they don't always succeed. Get used to it, but don't give up on it. Because when community does work, the glory of God is revealed in extraordinary ways -- because we are as one; and transformation happens in a way that are not possible when living as an army of one.

Competing forces and deep water -- December 4, 2009

Years ago I did a fair amount of white water canoeing. One of the biggest dangers on river with heavy rapids is to get caught on a hydraulic, when the force of the flowing river is met with equal force by an opposite wave of water. If the canoe goes over (which it most often does when hitting a hyrdaulic) the instinct is to try and keep your head above water and then work your way out. That is when people get into more trouble, because the force of the water from opposite directions is too much to fight against. This is when people often drown.

The counterintuitive wisdom is to go down -- below the aquatic frenzy; to go down to deeper water where there are currents that can lead one to safety.

I am reminded of this wisdom when Joan Chittister remarks that Benedictine spirituality is not an escape; but is rather a spirituality that fills time with awareness of of the presence of God (page 30).

That sounds like going deeper to me.

For many years my goal in Advent was just to keep my head above water. I used up an awful lot of energy, and I inevitably ended up in the same place where I started. I now see the Advent season as an invitation to the depths-- beneath the frenzy and into the darkness; where there is a promise (and an experience) of a force and light that leads us to hope.

Living life extraordinarily well -- December 3, 2009

Living the ordinary life extraordinarily well, Joan Chittister writes. That is the invitation -- indeed the challenge, from St. Benedict many centuries ago. Chittister goes on to say that Benedictine spirituality is more a commitment to principles than to practice.

I find that to be a help, because it challenges me to determine -- not just once, but again and again, what is most important in my life? And the practice flows from that ongoing discernment. I can't exactly say that I am then living my life extraordinarily well, but I can say that it is being lived with more intention -- and a deeper appreciation of God's creating mystery.

Afghanistan and Advent -- December 2, 2009

I kept looking for light in President Obama's speech last night. I may have seen some, but in this early morning darkness, I am not sure. The pundits are proclaiming -- and I, and I suspect many of us, are pondering. Will the President's plan work? Is it just? I know the President wants us all to see light in the darkness that has enshrouded our military engagement in Afghanistan, and I deeply admire him for expressing that desire. It is complex, confusing -- and much as we might like to wish otherwise, it won't go away.

In the northern hemisphere, Advent comes at a time of deepening darkness, a darkness which culminates with the shortest day of the year on December 21. The ancients developed a practice to respond to the growing darkness of the season: light a candle. The tradition of the Advent wreath brings light (the candle) and life (an ever green bough) into the home when the deepening darkness and cold is telling the psyche that neither will survive.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (John 1:5) Light destroys darkness. So we look for light. We look for it, claim it, celebrate it -- and build on it. Not an artificial light that we think we can turn on and off at will; not a light of false optimism -- but a true light, Christ's light, which shines in everyone.

The Advent promise is that the light is there.

December 1, 2009

Life is worth practicing, a friend of mine recently wrote. Practice has its roots in a Greek word, praxis, which refers to an action that is taken in order to reach a goal.

For centuries, Christian practice has involved regula, which is Latin for "rule". I prefer to think of regula as a railing, something to hold onto as one ventures toward a goal. In recent years, I have found more and more need for a railing -- because of the steep slopes that fall away from it. On one side of the railing is the slope of distraction. And the distractions are increasing. It is estimated that a person living in the US receives an average of 1,000 electronic messages a day -- telling us that our hair needs to be a different color, that our bodies need to have a different shape, that we need to know and buy and do different things. These messages are constant and consistent -- and after awhile we wear down and are tempted to believe them.

On the other side of the railing is the slope of temptation -- the temptation to think that we don't need God. That we have enough energy and wisdom -- and electronic devices of our own, to get us through life.

Besides, God is busy. There is the economy and Afghanistan and tragedy for God to worry about. We are led to think that we can get by on our own.

I have found that the railing of practice is a much needed anchor to the distractions and temptations that we face. Life, as my friend has said, is worth practicing.

November 30, 2009

Joan Chittister describes Benedictine spirituality as spirituality of the open heart. Simple, I suppose, but I have learned that it is not easy. I have often found my heart hidden or hardened -- hidden by everything that life throws at me; hardened from everything that life throws at me.

Open the heart, we are taught. Give from the heart. The heart, which is the wellspring of the Spirit, needs tending. Thomas Merton, perhaps the most influential Christian mystic of the 20th century, said that the challenge for Christians is to give from our heart. But he also said that this is an impossible task if our hearts are not in our possession.

Like most of us, I have a lifelong inventory of tasks, worries, disappointments and losses that have had the effect of taking my heart away from me for a time. But I also have learned that there are people -- who, with an abundance of heart, have helped to find and fill my own. And there are spiritual practices -- of community, worship, study, service, playfulness, physical activity -- that bring me back to my heart and open it up.

And there is prayer. In these first five chapters, Joan Chittister talks a lot about prayer as a practice that opens the heart and brings us into an awareness of the presence of God. The function of prayer, she says, is not the bribery of the infinite -- but is instead an activity that "provokes us to see the life around us in fresh new ways." (page 28)