Paradigms of prayer--Gaze

October in Indiana is incredible. Maybe it's because I grew up in Orlando where the best thing about October is the temperature only gets around 90 and the humidity isn't quite suffocating. Here, it is beyond my words to describe how beautiful it is right now. At night it's a crisp 40-50 degrees, during the day maybe the 60's and 70's. The air seems so pure, so refreshing. And of course the trees. The trees are in the middle of their losing their leaves, with a brilliant display of color, beauty and imagination.

Beauty wasn't a part of my vernacular when I was younger (before 40!). If it wasn't practical, I wasn't concerned about it. Why water and fertilize, that only makes the grass grow so I have to cut it twice a week. But as I've gotten older, I've slowed down in more than one way. Silence has become a cherished part of my day. With 5 kids and a busy job, solitude is worth it's weight in gold. I've tried to simplify the pace and complexity of life. And I've noticed how beautiful life can be.

My family often finds ourselves sitting at one of our large windows gazing out into the woods. It is so compelling, just to view the beauty, and maybe even catch a glimpse of wildlife getting ready for winter. Even when I'm busy working in the house or office, if I step outside and glance at the trees, for a moment time stands still. It's as if nothing else matters for a brief second or two, only to acknowledge a Masters creation of living artwork. In that momentary gaze, I find my heart drawn to a deeper reality behind the allure of incredible nature. The trees, the leaves, the cool wind become an icon representing a mystical life more fulfilling than any life pursuit. If I take a few more moments, I'm am heading down a path of contemplation, of pondering this awareness of God's presence. My eyes, my ears, even my pondering mind can become a gateway opening my heart up to this life giving reality.

The same phenomenon happens when I'm in front of an icon. I think of Pascha, of walking into a quiet, dark temple. The only light is in front of a chanter as they chant Psalms before the liturgy begins. As light will later fill the temple, the beauty of icons, the smell of incense, all reveal a presence to our gaze beyond comprehension.

I can't create an awareness of God. I certainly can't demand His Spirit to come and go. So I learn to be mindful, to be awake for that spontaneous contemplative experience that so often starts with a simple gaze.

Contemplation and Action

At the suggestion on a friends blog (http://rabtab.blogspot.com/), I recently read this article: http://www.incommunion.org/mmaria.htm

Reading about Mother Maria Skobtsova has made me think about another of the tensions of the spiritual life, that of action and contemplation. There are an untold number of saints who have dedicated their entire lives to silence and prayer, without us ever knowing of their prayer work. And there are many others, such as Mother Maria, and Mother Theresa, who devote their lives to the poor and oppressed. These two works, prayer and action, are not mutually exclusive, in fact they are rather connected. How could one truly connect to our loving God and Father, without having a heart for the suffering? How could one truly minister to the oppressed, without first knowing God's love?

In Mother Maria's words: "If someone turns with his spiritual world toward the spiritual world of another person," she reflected, "he encounters an awesome and inspiring mystery .... He comes into contact with the true image of God in man, with the very icon of God incarnate in the world, with a reflection of the mystery of God's incarnation and divine manhood. And he needs to accept this awesome revelation of God unconditionally, to venerate the image of God in his brother." In the words of John the Theologian from his first epistle: "Anyone who claims to be in the light, but hates his brother, is still in the darkness. Whoever loves his brother lives in the light." And also: "This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers."

While each true Christian needs a balance between contemplation and action, each may have a call, a gift, or a desire for a specific purpose. Too often the contemplative judges the server as being too busy, too active, and not taking enough time for their own spiritual life. And the servant judges the contemplative as too aloof, too heavenly minded to be any earthly good. I think of the story of Mary and Martha when Jesus came to visit. Mary sat at Jesus feet listening to Him while Martha was busy serving Him. Often the point is made Mary chose the better part. However, Jesus never judged or accused Martha for serving; he only made that point when she interrupted her serving to criticize her more contemplative sister.

While each of us is called both to pray and to serve, it is up to us to find what our gift is, what our purpose and place is in the Kingdom of God. I wonder if by trying to be balanced we often sacrifice our gift? I'm thankful for the saints who dedicated their lives to prayer on behalf of the world. And I'm thankful for those who loved and worked at bringing the gospel to my life. Lord have mercy that you will fulfill your purpose in me.

Pilgrimage to the heart

For the last 3 days, I've been traveling around southwestern Indiana, doing a little hiking and visiting places. I had an idea of things to see, but I stopped a couple extra places and spent some extra time whenever I felt like it. When I would tell people at work I was going to be off 2 weeks, the first question was always "where are you going?" Like vacations and life aren't worth leaving if you don't leave home.

I didn't have to leave Indiana to find some interesting and inspirational places. My first stop was Terre Haute (slightly unplanned) to pray a labyrinth at St. Mary of the Woods College and the convent of the Sisters of Providence. I ended up being there half the day. The church of the Immaculate Conception is huge, and beautiful inside. Nuns began filling in after a while and the next thing you know Mass had started. So I stayed for Mass, lunch, and visited other sights on the campus: the shell chapel of St. Anne, a replica of the grotto of our Lady of Lourdes, and an outdoor stations of the cross. Catholicism has a rich contemplative heritage of it's own, I pray one day we Orthodox will be in communion with our western family.

After some hiking at Shakamak state park, I drove into New Harmony for the night. New Harmony is a kind of "new agey" place that in the early 19th century was the sight of a couple attempts at a utopian society. There are two outdoor labyrinths, plus a lot of gardens, one dedicated to the theologian Paul Tillich, one with a chapel dedicated to St. Francis; a roofless church with several pieces of artwork. Interesting place. And of course, I hiked a couple hours at Harmonie State Park.

The next night I spent at St. Meinrad monastery and seminary. I attended several services with the monks, including Vigils and Lauds at 5:30 a.m. That was unplanned, but the loud bells rang for 15 minutes starting at 5:15 so I took the hint I should be at church. On the way out, I drove up a hill to the Monte Cassino shrine. It was like a little chapel on a hill, very beautiful inside with western type icons. I sat and prayed silently for a while until the first visitor showed up. Between hikes, services, and jogs I began reading "Why Not be a Mystic?" by Frank Tuoti.

There were definitely some sharp contrasts during the 3 days. The ancient theology of the western world at St. Meinrad seminary, against labyrinths under full moons in New Harmony. Praying deep in the woods with nothing but birds and trees, against praying in a shrine or an incredible gothic style church. And upon my return home, a little of each. My woods I can see from this computer, with the leaves changing colors and falling to the ground, along with an icon of the Theotokos hanging in our living room.

So what did I learn, what did I gain from this short pilgrimage? There were no earth shattering visions, or audible voices giving me direction. But I did sense the presence of God. As a wild turkey or a fox darted in front of me in the woods; when a hundred women and men who dedicated their lives to prayer filed into church for mass; when I silently prayed in the shrine, at 5:30 for vigils, at a labyrinth, on a jog. And I sensed the presence of God when my family greeted me home, and when I gazed out to my back yard woods. "Christ is in our midst! He is and ever shall be." He truly is in our midst: wherever we are, so is He. What a powerful thought!

Contemplation

There is contemplation, and there are contemplative practices that lead to it. I'm not sure what the definition of these would be. To me, contemplation is an awareness of the presence of God, and contemplative practice, anything that brings an awareness of the presence of God. But that definition leaves a little unsaid also. Just to consider that God exists, and be aware of His attributes of omnipotence and omnipresence, would probably not be enough. Or would it be?

Can contemplation be an existential acknowledgment of the fact of God? Or is there an awareness, a personal knowledge, on a different or spiritual level beyond our intellect and knowing? Maybe not neccessarily a deeper level, just different. In fact it may be a simpler level, like a baby trusting in a mothers love and embrace.

I remind myself of Psalm 131: "O Lord my heart is not haughty, nor my eyes lofty, neither do I concern myself with great matters or things too profound for me. Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul like a weaned child with his mother." I do not understand contemplation on a cognitive level. I'm reading Thomas Merton "The Inner Experience". Like many books, it's a challenge for me. But I think I can relate to the basic thought of contemplation, that is the awareness of the presence of God through His Spirit in my spirit.

And so I work at contemplative practices: Prayer, reading the Bible, reading spiritual books, silence, solitude, manual labor, stability, prayer walks, meditation, and giving. But these are not contemplation; these are not the presence of God. They simply create an environment where somehow hopefully the Spirit of God breaks into my atmosphere and in a spontaneous moment, I realize God is there. And He is here. And He is. For all the work, for all the spiritual struggle, the end result is what could have come easily: the acknowledgment of God's presence in my being. For that fleeting moment, life makes perfect sense. So I begin again at contemplative practice, all to comprehend the incomprehensible. to conceive of the inconceivable.