Thursday, July 30, 2015

In You Alone

Every other Thursday evening at Vespers, amongst other Scripture passages, we sing the first six verses of Psalm 137.  Psalm 137: 1-6 reads as follows:

By the rivers of Babylon there we sat and we wept
remembering Zion.

On the poplars that grew there
we hung up our harps.

For it was there that they asked us, our captors for songs,
our oppressors for joy.

"Sing to us," they said,
"one of Zion's songs."

O how could we sing the song of the Lord
on alien soil?

If I forget you, Jerusalem,
let my right hand wither!

O let my tongue cleave to my mouth
if I prize not Jerusalem above all my joys!

After each verse or so, we sing the refrain "In you alone, Jerusalem, my joy!"  The Psalmist wrote these verses from the perspective of the Israelites, as a lament of homesickness over their homeland, over Jerusalem, when they were in exile in Babylon.  When reciting these verses, one is recalling the angst which the Israelites seemed to have felt at having been forced to leave their homeland and at their having been involuntarily relocated to live in another land.  Written to particular notes which seem particularly evocative of the melancholy which they understandably seemed to have felt, I have often brooded that the tune we sing which is set to these verses is especially apropos in expressing the anguish which the Israelites seemed to have felt.

However, during the most recent instance when we sung these verses, I felt them.  No longer did I intellectually, dispassionately conclude that these particular notes fit the words we sung.  Rather, I felt their place in my heart.

Why did I feel the emotion inherent in these specific verses?  I felt the truth of these words because this truth, in a certain, related sense, has abided in my heart, and I have increasingly come to realize this truth.  I have come desperately to seek this truth, which I have felt especially reflected by particular experiences in my life.  

For two years I lived in Morocco while I served there as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer).  While I lived there, often I felt homesick.  I went to live in the desert there.  I lived in the desert in the literal sense.  I resided in the southeasternmost region of Morocco, in the Sahara Desert.  

However, I also lived in the desert in a figurative sense.  I was removed from much of what I knew, living in a culture significantly different from the one in which I had previously lived for decades.  Being presented daily with different customs and norms, I was constantly reminded that I was living in a foreign land.  

Not only was I always being reminded that I was away from home, I knew less of home while I was there.  I did not even hear the news as often or access the internet as much as I did when I had lived in the states.  Of course, while I lived there, I also saw less of, and heard less from, my family and friends in the states.  

Even amongst others living there who were also from my homeland, often I was isolated from other PCVs and other expats from the U.S. for much of the time I lived in Morocco.  During my Peace Corps service, at times other PCVs lived close to me.  However, during other periods, no other PCVs lived near me.  

Often it is during circumstances which we would not choose when God surprises us.  When we are deprived of what we expect, what we know, what is comfortable, often it is then that we learn, about ourselves, about what we can accomplish with God's help, who we are, and who God is calling us to be.  

When I was a PCV, I had a lot of time by myself.  I had much time which was not spent working.  I did my best to try to make good use of the solitude.  Being alone, consequently I also experienced much silence and stillness.  I spent much of my time in solitude reading.  As my service progressed, I read more and more spiritual writings.  Increasingly I sought God.  I strove consciously and deliberately to listen to God.  As I read the Bible, I began to crave reading The Word.  I felt God was drawing me closer.

While at times I felt like I was not being nourished, since I wanted to work more than I was working, simultaneously I felt nourished in the care and guidance I was receiving from God.  Despite my homesickness and solitude, I sought to embrace the circumstances in which I found myself.  I aspired to become who and what God was inviting me to be.

From this perspective, in hindsight, now I value and cherish this period in my life when I was faced with these challenging circumstances in Morocco.  Now when I consider this time of my life, which contained so much isolation and solitude, I see that through it God was drawing me closer, to become who and what God has meant me to be.  

Thus now when I think back to the day I arrived to start permanently living in the town in which I lived for two years, I understand how apropos the soundtrack was.  After I arrived in that town on the bus, I was carrying my duffel bag as I walked past a cafe.  In the cafe, through a stereo was playing the song "Sacrifice" by Elton John, which sounded all the way out to the street where I was walking.  As I heard the lyrics, "It's no sacrifice; it's no sacrifice at all," I thought, 'It's very appropriate that this song is playing as I walk by this cafe right now, but I can't articulate why it's so fitting right now.'  I suspected that with time, it would become clear why that song was so appropriate.  

Now I think, "Of course I went there.  Of course I moved to Morocco."  I went to live in the desert, yes, literally, but more importantly, figuratively.  Amidst the challenges of life there, I opened my heart to God.  I sought to listen to God, to follow The Way God set before me.  I have aspired to follow God's will for my life, yet submitting to God's will is much more of a joy than a burden.  

From this vantage point, presently I consider it to have been no sacrifice at all to have searched for my true identity, to become who God has always meant me to be.  It is no sacrifice at all to try to be true to myself and true to God: all of these endeavors are one and the same thing, if one is truly seeking God and is truly being honest with oneself.  I seek my right relationship with God, with who God wants me to become.  God wants me to be myself, since God wants me to be happy.  

Thus I truly feel it when I sing, "Let my tongue cleave to my mouth if I prize not Jerusalem, [my God, who loves me infinitely,] above all my joys."  I am so grateful to know of God's undying love for me, to know that God is calling me, that God wants me to be happy, that God is simply calling me to be myself.  

Knowing these truths, I pray, let me not speak unless I am, directly or indirectly, serving or praising God, or serving my neighbor.  I hope that all that I think, say and do is to the service and praise of God, and to the service of my neighbor.  To God be all glory, praise and honor, now and forever.  Amen.  

Thursday, July 23, 2015

Listening To God

As I've previously mentioned on this blog, here at the hermitage we follow an ancient monastic practice toward the Bible called lectio divina.  Monks engage in lectio divina individually in their cells, or rooms, here at the hermitage.  We also host communal study of Scripture called collatio.

Lectio divina consists of four facets: lectio, meditatio, oratio and contemplatio.  Theoretically one follows these four stages in this order.


On the face of it, lectio is reading the words of Scripture.  However, when done properly, one rests upon the words so as to more likely absorb greater significance of them.  


Meditatio is meditating upon the Word.  During meditatio, ideally we are open to letting the Word grow in our hearts, to transform us into more than we have been.   


In oratio, we pray to God.  However, through oratio, we pray without words.  We pray in an attempt to open ourselves to what God is saying to us.  


During contemplatio, we sit silently in the presence of God.  We enjoy the stillness which is conducive to embracing and feeling God's presence.  


As I mentioned above, in addition to individual lectio divina in private, we also host collatio, a communal lectio divina.  We invite our retreatants who stay with us overnight to join us for collatio.  


As a postulant, and thus as someone in formation, being formed, shaped and molded in this monastic life, I also attend a separate, generally smaller collatio for myself and the monk in simple vows here.  Monks who are our mentors organize this collatio.  They, the monk in simple vows and I take turns leading this formation collatio.  


Recently I led this formation collatio.  I led the collatio on Proverbs 2:1-9 and on Matthew 19:27-29.  The text of Proverbs 2:1-9 is 


My son, if you take my words to heart 

and lay up my commands in your mind, 
giving your attention to wisdom 
and your mind to understanding, 
if you seek her out like silver 
and dig for her like buried treasure, 
then you will understand the fear of the Lord 
and attain to the knowledge of God; 
for the Lord bestows wisdom 
and teaches knowledge and understanding.  
Out of his store he endows the upright with ability 
as a shield for those who live blameless lives; 
for he guards the course of justice 
and keeps watch over the way of his loyal servants. 
Then you will understand what is right and just  
and keep only to the good man's path[.]  

The text of Matthew 19:27-29 is 


Peter said, "We here have left eveything to become your followers.  What will there be for us?"  


Jesus replied, "I tell you this: in the world that is to be, when the Son of Man is seated on His throne in heavenly splendor, you My followers will have thrones of your own, where you will sit as judges of the twelve tribes of Israel.  And anyone who has left brothers or sisters, father, mother, or children, land or houses for the sake of My name will be repaid many times over, and gain eternal life."  


A couple days after I was leading this formation collatio on these two Scripture readings, these same Scripture readings were going to be read during Mass.  On that particular day at Mass, we were going to be celebrating the feast of Saint Benedict.  We were going to be remembering and commemorating Saint Benedict, who, as the founder of the Benedictine order of monks, is widely seen as the father of western Christian monasticism.  


Once I started reviewing these Scripture readings in preparation for this formation collatio, I began to get excited.  In these Scripture passages, I was hearing echoes of the Rule of Saint Benedict, his set of guidelines for abbots and priors who run monasteries and the other monks who live in monasteries.  In the Prologue of the Rule of Saint Benedict, Saint Benedict writes 


Listen carefully, my son, 

to your master's precepts, 
and incline the ear of your heart (Proverbs 4:20).  
Receive willingly and carry out effectively 
your loving father's advice, 
that by the labor of obedience 
you may return to Him 
from whom you had departed by the sloth of disobedience.  
To you, therefore, my words are now addressed, 
whoever you may be, 
who are renouncing your own will 
to do battle under the Lord Christ, the true King, 
and are taking up the strong, bright weapons of obedience.  
And first of all, 
whatever good work you begin to do, 
beg of Him with most earnest prayer to perfect it, 
that He who has now deigned to count us among His children 
may not at any time be grieved by our evil deeds.  
For we must always so serve Him 
with the good things He has given us, 
that He will never as an angry Father disinherit His children, 
nor ever as a dread Lord, provoked by our evil actions, 
deliver us to everlasting punishment 
as wicked servants who would not follow Him to glory.  

Both the second chapter of Proverbs and the Prologue of the Rule address the recipient as "my son."  The Rule continues this relationship of parent and child, indicating that the guidance in the rule is "your loving father's advice," and advising the recipient to serve God well so that He will not disinherit us as an angry father would.  


Yet Saint Benedict was analogizing when he spoke in the words of the parent-child relationship.  He was not literally speaking of a father and son relationship between human beings.  Indeed, in the reading from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus calls us to love and serve God first and foremost.  Jesus tells us that if, for the sake of loving God and our neighbor, we move away from our earthly families, and leave them so we can better love and serve others, we will greatly benefit.  If we sacrifice more, give much more for the love of God and of our neighbor, God will reward us.  If we give up what we have, we inherit from God.  We become more than we have been.  


Such are the types of guidance one seeks in lectio divina.  We aim to still and silence ourselves so as to better listen to God.  In lectio divina, we aspire to be open to what God has to say to us, how God wants to direct us, counsel us, nourish us, and help us evolve into people better than we have been.  Through His Word, God seeks to strip away all which would separate us from God.  


Once we have tried to listen to the Word of God, ideally we have been purified by the Word of God.  Having purified hearts, we can bring such joyous contentment into our functioning throughout our day.  Having listened well to God in lectio divina, we are thus prepared to listen to Him well as we progress through the rest of our day.  Listening to the Lord well, we are thus also prepared, indeed, properly equipped, lovingly to listen to, and to serve, our neighbor.  One should not mistake such benefits of active ministry as being more valuable than such foundational contemplative transformation.  Having been thus transformed through, with and in the Holy Spirit, it becomes less important what we do: we are more importantly living in communion with Him, a relational foundation which we must have for anything and everything we do, if what we do is to have the meaning which God wills it to have.