While in college, I bought a nice guitar but nothing came out of it. I sold it after getting married. Following my divorce at 38, I was driving through a small Louisiana town and saw a “Going Out of Business” sign at a music store.
Out of curiosity, I decided to stop.
And walked out with a guitar thinking, “if not now, then never.”
About a year later, I had learned basic chords and skills. I decided to extend my learning in front of people. Gratefully, I was accepted into a very forgiving church choir.
It took a risk to expose and practice my spirituality and prayer life from under the proverbial “bushel basket.” This is no small feat for an introverted personality in a dominant social culture where it “ain’t manly” to show such things.
What transpired since that simple beginning in 1998 contains more words than I am sure you are willing to read but I will say “it brought personal and spiritual transformation – in ways I could not have imagined.
Song became my prayer and soul exposed.
I no longer sing or play in front of groups. Yet there remains a spirit of melody and lyric deeply embedded in the expression of my soul to my Beloved. I sing sometimes silently and sometimes out loud – as my thoughts, heart, and spirit prompt. It is a gift given and received.
How are we to express our soul’s longing and consummation for what cannot be satisfied with finite things of this earth?
I first encountered the sixteenth-century mystic John of the Cross in Thomas Merton’s book titled, The Ascent to Truth. Not only in Merton’s book did I encounter the Carmelite theologian but also a deeper understanding of the spiritual path of purgation, illumination, and unitive.
Its timing was a gift through Grace as I was journeying through my own Dark Night. John’s poetic writings especially his Spiritual Canticle pierced my soul and wakened me to his soul and place of writing.
John of the Cross played a significant role in the reform movement of the Carmelite Order known as the Discalced Carmelites. The following narrative from Mirabai Starr’s translation of Dark Night of the Soul offer a short bio.
“John (of the Cross) paid for his participation in this (Carmelite reform) effort. In 1577, at the age of 35, he was captured by a group of friars committed to upholding the traditions of the established Church. He was taken to Toledo where he was interrogated and tortured. They tried to force him into denouncing the reform but he refused. And so he was imprisoned in a tiny dark closet that had previously served as a toilet. He was brought out only to be flogged in the center of the dining commons while the monks ate their dinner.
John himself suffered virtual starvation. That first winter, he endured brutal cold and was offered neither cloak nor blanket. In the summer, the heat was stifling and his clothes began to rot on his body. At first, he took comfort in his quiet interior connection to God, but over time the divine presence began to fade and John could not help but wonder if his Beloved had abandoned him. He was Jonah languishing inside the belly of the whale.
In the depths of his despair, John composed passionate love poems to God. Although his creative flow saved his sanity, it could not save his life. Convinced after nine months that if he endured another moment of incarceration he would die, John tied knots in scraps of cloth and slipped through a tiny window at the upper edge of his cell. He lowered himself down the long wall of the monastery and into the safety of the night.
He had traveled through perfect darkness and emerged to find the living God waiting for him in the depths of his own heart.For the next two decades he John dedicated himself to the reform, and the sweet simplicity of guiding the spiritual lives of his Barefoot Sons and Daughters.”
Toward the end of the saint’s life, envies and disquietudes led to a secret effort to remove him from the sphere of influence. He died in 1592 at the age of 49. He was canonized in 1726. Today he is one of thirty-six Doctors of the Church. He is also considered the patron saint of poets.
Sacrament of Surrender
Legacy of violence shows no heart: Only power and its pride Adding harm to wounded souls: not work of God The good shepherd recovers the lost: Not abandon
From the throne: “You did nothing wrong” Rendered judgment: Empty words Under what circumstances: Truth, justice, and charity ignored?
Back laid bare, branded: Worth-less No satisfaction, no absolution: Paper speaks a self-indictment Stay in the dark, hide: Shame does as shame is
In Light, you would see: Scandal of your making In Light, you would see: Spirit and soul transcend fortress walls In Light, you would see: A thread left for redemption
Idols fallen, veil torn: Tears melt the scales Advocate, Counselor, and Healer: Walking and talking Burning heart, breaking bread: Consent in Silence
Outside the Word: There are no vows Called by name, Grace bestowed: Not by man, nor to be hidden Communion of Saints, Church: Welcomes, heals, …does no harm
It is finished: Only in God, …not in man.
“When members of the Sanhedrin heard this, they were furious and gnashed their teeth at him.” Acts 7:54
John of the Cross, 16th century Spanish Carmelite was perceived as a threat by his religious brothers. They kidnapped, imprisoned, and isolated him in a dark closet for nearly a year. The idols in which he had cast his happiness and spiritual consolations from a lifetime of religious devotion abandoned him. Through this crucible of poverty, he had nothing to offer but his consent and trust – in God Alone.
He composes (The Dark Night)in which one is lost, (The Spiritual Canticle)abandoned by a beloved, and (The Living Flame of Love)a Love which burns. John of the Cross writes:
“The Father spoke one word from all eternity and he spoke it in silence, and it is in this silence that we hear it.”
What is this silence?
Author Robert Sardello in “Silence, The Mystery of Wholeness,” writes,
“Silence was here before anything else, and it envelops everything else. Silence is prior to sound, not the cessation of sound, it is already present.
Genesis 1:1 “Now the earth was formless and empty,…”
There is Sacred Silence before human consciousness. Before birth and after death. And sacrament in the Silence of this present moment.
I know this “formless” Silence in my innermost being, shared only with the Divine Other, my Beloved. It is where I am known and not alone.
Contemplative prayer is silence, …unbearable to the “outer man,” and like entering into the Eucharistic liturgy: …accepted only in humility and poverty. (CCC2709-2724)
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I set aside time in my own spiritual cellar. I stand in orans, gently crossing my forehead,“Lord, cleanse my thoughts.” Cross my eyes, “Lord, clarify my sight.”Cross my ears, “Lord, teach me to hear.” I cross my lips, “Lord, cleanse my words.” Finally, cross my heart with both hands, “Lord, heal my heart.”
I sit and recite a personalized version of 1 Corinthians 2:12. “I have not received the spirit of the world but the spirit that is from God, so that I may understand the things freely given me by God.” I am now ready.
I tap my singing bowl marking the beginning of twenty minutes of contemplative silence. I intend to sit in silence, consenting to Divine Presence and action in my life. No expectations, …only trust.
I soon begin daydreaming. And by a sacred word, I interrupt mindless chatter and return, …again, …and again. A hundred times, …returning to consent in Silence.
After twenty minutes, my timer sounds. I end with Isaiah, “By waiting and by calm I shall be saved, in quiet and in trust my strength lies.” I gently open my eyes.
I ask God to keep me aware of Divine Presence. I get up and go about my day.
Christian contemplative prayer is desert spirituality traced to the Desert Fathers and Mothers of the 4th century.
It is a spiritual practice of relinquishing (for a time) our usual capacities of sensing, knowing, and acting. It is an intentional act of humility, poverty, and Eucharistic sacrifice – of laying down the “self” we think we are.
In Sacred Silence, …an interior clearing takes place – making room for new life, not only for oneself but for others as well. I am grateful for the discovery.
As we enter this Lenten journey with Jesus in the desert, may you hear the Word in Silence.
ps. To learn more, google or youtube: Fr. Keating/ Centering Prayer.
How does one become poor in spirit, …answer me that!
Now, when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them. He said: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt 5:1-3)
Instead of what people say about heaven, Jesus preached it is available to you and me in the “here and now.” Not simply as some future payback earned for good behavior or good standing in the eyes of men, but by our consent to participate with Divine Presence within each moment of our lives. It is an ongoing invitation and response of free will.
Still, the first beatitude has puzzled me since childhood. Are we not called to be filled with the Spirit?
Hard circumstances of these past few years pointed me to the contemplative traditions of the Church to which I have gained a deeper meaning into what it means to be “poor in spirit.”
I take from the writings of Christian mystics such as John Cassian, Benedict of Nursia, Theresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Meister Ekhart, Teilhard de Chardin, Thomas Merton, and others. I’ve also studied the contemplative practices of Centering Prayer, Christian Meditation, and Mindfulness.
These spiritual masters offer insight into spiritual questions that the modern Church struggles to articulate and much less practice. The Spanish Carmelite priest, St. John of the Cross (1542-1591) was a close spiritual associate with Theresa of Avila and her efforts at reforming the Carmelite community. They are both considered Doctors of the Church. John of the Cross wrote Dark Night of the Soul, Ascent of Mount Carmel, and the Spiritual Canticle.
After reading St. John’s Spiritual Canticle, I was stunned. Following are the specific lines that left me with a profound sense of personal communion and shared wellspring from which he wrote.
