Oratory of the heart

Nouwen cites a quote by Brother Lawrence that was familiar to me. In fact I have oft quoted it.

It is not necessary for being with God to be always at church. We may make an oratory of our heart wherein to retire from time to time to converse with Him in meekness, humility, and love. Every one is capable of such familiar conversation with God, some more, some less. He knows what we can do. Let us begin then (Genesee Diary 174).

Last January we spent our residency at Malvern retreat center near Philadelphia that had these great rooms called oratories. They were a beautiful place to pray. When I first read this quote, the only reference I had for the word oratory was a speech. Reading it again, with the experience of the oratories at the retreat center, I felt my heart enlarge. There, inside my heart was a place where I could meet with God, all day.

I find that this kind of prayer is aided by a habit of prayer throughout the day. I use the Liturgy of the Hours to offer a rhythm to my day, at least on the good days. This week I have been experimenting with using the Jesus Prayer as a breath prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.” It feels like the space in my soul expands with each breath.

From Illusion to prayer

In his Genesee Diary, Henri Nouwen relates the story of a man who was a prisoner of war and was tortured.

“He was a very simple, down-to-earth man with little political or ideological sophistication. But no pressure was able to force him to any kind of confession. John Eudes explained this by pointing to the man’s sense of identity. No self-doubt, no insecurities, no false guilt feelings that could be exploited by his enemies” (181).

In Reaching Out, Nouwen talks about the illusion of immortality leading to sentimentality or violence. I can’t identify places in my life or the life of my community where this particular illusion comes in play. I identify with the kinds of illusions that the prisoner of war lacked. I struggle with illusions as to who I am, and where I fit. At my core I doubt God’s ability to use me, in spite of myself. I fall for the lies that my wounds and the enemy would tell me. This is delusion. My community struggles with illusions of scarcity, and of lack of worth.

It is comforting, Nouwen’s assertion, that prayer dispels delusion. He says that prayer encompasses the conscious and unconscious self. He comingles his psychology with his spirituality here. The wounds hidden in the unconscious self can be healed in prayer, the illusions dealt with.

Hospitality of a mentor

Reflecting on hospitality, I recall the year I spent with Darren Daugherty at Summit Church in St. Paul between resigning my first position and returning to school. I asked him if he would mentor me. He told me that he didn’t feel ready to mentor someone but we began to meet weekly anyway. I dove into helping him with children’s ministry events on Sundays and Wednesdays. I started working four 10-hour days so that I could have Wednesdays free. Darren would take me out just about every Wednesday for lunch and listen as I ranted about my new convictions about ministering to families. Darren was a pioneer in family ministries and I had learned a lot of my convictions from him, yet he patiently listened as I reiterated things that he said. That year he created a space where I could test my convictions and grow my philosophy of ministry. I am struck by his patience during that time. Truly, I think he was more of a mentor than he realized.

Nouwen on pain

The experience of God's presence is not void of pain. But the pain is so deep that you do not want to miss it since it is in this pain that the joy of God's presence can be tasted.

- Genesee Diary Sept 19

munching - the joys of communion

I was telling my Spiritual Director about my love for Communion one day. She responded in a very affirming way. “It is a special grace,” she said, “that you receive so much meaning from communion. Embrace that.”

Nouwen has such deep love for the Eucharist, even from childhood. I love that. The way he talks about it paints an Icon in my mind, like the Rublev Trinity. I am invited to the table where God is engaged in mutual adoration. I am invited into the circle. The inverse perspective folds me into the image; I am there, in the with-God life. It is plain to see why Nouwen would want to share the experience across denominational bounds.

When I was at the first residence for class, I loved taking communion every day. Rob Rife was like a picture of my own desire to devour the elements in their full meaning. I would watch him literally munch, with his great jaw working, the body of Christ. I always want seconds.

Like Nouwen, my love for communion with God and with God’s family is strong. I too want to commune with other traditions. Some of my most meaningful times have been celebrated with Episcopalians. I appreciate the hospitality they show in open communion inviting even a Pentecostal like me into the heights of liturgy.

The treasure chest of pain

I met with my Spiritual Director today, and I told her the story of my time in solitude.  I told her that I started spending about an hour with Rublev's Trinity, then attempting some centering. She perceptively called me out.

"Why do you start your time with Icons when you have an elephant in the room to deal with."  She recognized that I had a boiling cauldron of emotions from the less than stellar showing at our missions convention. I said that I had been wrestling with God about my fruitfulness. She pushed back, "How can you say that you were wrestling with anybody?"  She saw that I was reluctant to really go there in my prayer.  I poked at it, gazed into the pit, but I didn't descend there to experience the feelings.

She told me that was a shame, since that is where God was waiting for me.  Her advice, don't waste your time with icons when you have a treasure to explore in prayer.

"Pain as a treasure chest, that's nice," I said, but that is where God can touch and heal those feelings, and embrace the child of God within me.

Aloneness

In Joseph Conrad’s story The Secret Sharer, a new ship captain tells how he took on board and concealed a murderer. The man, a mate on another ship, had swum to escape, and the captain found him, naked, clinging to the rope ladder. The captain was so affected by the picture of this man dressed in his pajamas that he came to think of him as his double. He identified so closely with him, that he couldn’t give him up and became distracted by concealing him until he could put him ashore. When he finally parted with this false self, he felt his focus return.

Already the ship was drawing ahead. And I was alone with her. Nothing! no one in the world should stand now between us, throwing a shadow on the way of silent knowledge and mute affection, the perfect communion of a seaman with his first command.

These words forged a connection in my mind with what Nouwen has been saying to me about solitude. We live a disjointed life, trying to protect our false self. All the while we are called to solitude. My friend Jerrell said, “Recently, I’ve come to discover that solitude isn’t always a byproduct of isolation, but aloneness.” We come face to face with who we are apart from the perceptions of others and the “scaffolding” we erect to prop up our false selves in the midst of solitude. When we find ourselves truly alone, we can, with the captain, enjoy perfect communion.

Resistance and coming to terms with myself

I have always been pretty introspective. Yet I have been surprised the last year how reluctant I have been to look into myself. My spiritual journey has asked that I dredge up the wounds of the past and expose them to the healing touch of Christ. Times of silence and solitude bring my fears, motives, and desires into focus. With difficulty I recognize that I have a hard time trusting God to make things grow. How much can I really affect my church people, my family, my wife, my own wholeness? How can I just let go of my illusion of control and let God do God’s thing.

All of these things take an active introspection, not navel gazing, but self-discovery and assessment. It is the answer to the Psalmist’s cry: search me (Psalm 139:23-24)! Am I willing to know myself? Am I willing to let the Spirit do the work? It is clear to me that this is necessary to my growth. Why do I resist? Perhaps it is time to spend more time in solitude and come face to face with the nature of myself.

Trust in emptiness

This week I can greatly identify with Nouwen’s assertion that solitude is not immediately satisfying. My experiences with solitude Monday initiated a week of wrestling with myself.

Yesterday I went with my friend Rich to a retreat center in Dewitt. He has been leading a group of us in exploring the implications of centering prayer for ministry the last few months. We get together once a month for several hours, talking, reading the Cloud of Unknowing, and spending about an hour in silent centering prayer.

I was looking forward to this time, hoping that the time with God would resolve the feelings from Monday. There were moments of connection when I felt the presence, but, by and large, there was nothing. Here lies the tension. I have to trust that God is in fact doing something in that time, even when I don’t see it. I learn from the tension something about fruitfulness, the center of my struggle, as well. Even when I am not feeling like I am bearing fruit, that my six years of preaching and living example aren’t making a difference in my present context, I can still trust that God is still moving, that God’s vital sap is producing the fruit.

Doing battle with myself

Yesterday I descended the steps to my basement office to do battle with demons. I did not know when I entered into undistracted solitude that I would be coming to grips with the darkness within me, though I knew no such endeavor is ever safe. The time since my experience has been avoiding solitude and silence, unwilling to engage the unfinished business I left in the basement of my heart.

I love solitude. Often it is a place for me to embrace and be embraced by Mystery. I touch eternity in those moments. This time, however, the Spirit of Christ was content to prod me, and poke at some uncomfortable places. In fact, I would call it a wrestling between us.