“That anguish is strongest and is centered for the most part on my “working” life.  In the current context, I use the word work specifically in reference to what I do to earn money.  This is as opposed to the general notion of “work” as a healthy human endeavor.”

The SFO formation materials from last month included a chapter on work.  As I considered that chapter, the juxtaposition between St. Francis’ views on work and money leapt out at me.

Here are a couple quotes from The Earlier Rule (1221), Chapters VII and VIII, that will demonstrate what I’m talking about.

“Let the brothers who know how to work do so and exercise that trade they have learned, provided it is not contrary to the good of their souls and can be performed honestly.”

“The Apostle says: Whoever does not wish to work shall not eat. (2 Thes 3:10) and Let everyone remain in that trade and office in which he has been called. (1 Cor 7:24)  And for their work they can receive whatever is necessary excepting money.  And when it is necessary, they may seek alms like other poor people.”

“The Lord teaches in the Gospel:  Watch, beware of all malice and greed. (Luke 12:15) Guard yourselves (Luke 21:34, Matthew 13:22) against the anxieties of this world and the cares of this life.  Let none of  the brothers, therefore, wherever he may be or go, carry, receive, or have received in any way coin or money, whether for clothing, books, or payment of some work…..”

Francis is adamant that the Brothers work, but he is equally adamant that they not take money for the work they perform.  He feels so strongly about work that he decrees that anyone who is capable but does not work shall not eat.  And yet, he would rather the Brothers go begging for alms than except money for the work they perform.

This outlook is so radically different than the cultural norms of American society that I can barely begin to cope with it.  If I were to seriously suggest to anyone I know outside of my Franciscan circle that they should work hard every day, but that they should not except money in exchange, they would think me nuts!

Yet, there is some deeply compelling and attractive here.  As a father and husband responsible for supporting his family, I don’t think I can literally embrace this ideal.  But there is a lesson to be learned here that can’t be completely unraveled in a single blog post.

I am left to ask, if the purpose of work is not the earning of money, what is the purpose of work?

Here’s a couple passages from this text on thoughts as normal distractions during meditation, or for me, prayer.

“If you want to obtain perfect calmness in your zazen, you should not be bothered by the various images you find in your mind.  Let them come, and let them go.  Then they will be under control.  But this policy is not so easy.  It sounds easy, but it requires special effort.  How to make this effort is the secret of practice.”

“When you are practicing zazen, do not try to stop your thinking.  Let it stop by itself.  If something comes into your mind, let it come in, and let it go out.  It will not stay long.  When you try to stop your thinking, it means you are bothered by it.  Do not be bothered by anything.  It appears as if something comes from outside your mind, but actually it is only the waves of your mind, and if you are not bothered by the waves, gradually they will become calmer and calmer.  In five or at most ten minutes, your mind will be completely serene and calm.”

“It will take quite a long time before you find your calm, serene mind in practice.  Many sensations come, many thoughts or images arise, but they are just waves of your own mind.  Nothing comes from outside your mind.  Usually we think of our mind as receiving impressions and experiences from outside, but that is not a true understanding of our mind.  The true understanding is that the mind includes everything; when you think something comes from outside  it means only that something appears in your mind.  Nothing outside yourself can cause any trouble.  You yourself make the waves in your mind.  If you leave the mind as it is, it will become calm.”

I do not wish to suggest that I am giving up everything I know about prayer in favor of Zen practice.

But I also don’t think there is any harm in looking within Zen for ideas about how to improve my prayer life.

Its intriguing to me, so I’ve recorded it for future reference.  Its just another part of the journey.

Former Jewish Temple in Indianapolis

Here is a portion of verse 27, from Matthew Chapter 23.

“You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean.”

This was perhaps the hardest chapter for me to deal with so far.  I identify most strongly with the loving side of Jesus, and  this chapter is full of warnings for the Pharisees.  Sometimes its hard to reconcile a loving God with statements like the one above.  Nonetheless, my faith in His love can not waiver.

I ended up with these words because of the juxtaposition they present with words I recall from elsewhere, words more reminiscent of that loving side of Jesus.

Words like these, from 1 Corinthians 6:19:

“Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?”

Which best describes me?  Am I a temple, with the Holy Spirit dwelling within?  Or am I a tomb, with “dead men’s bones” rattling around and the foul smells of “everything unclean” emanating from a carefully crafted exterior presentation?

Its not hard, when its described like this, to decide which I would prefer, but in truth, I am sometimes one, sometimes the other.  When I fear or suspect that I’m leaning toward the tomb, it is heartening to know that Jesus has given complete and easy to understand instructions on how to undergo a conversion that will leave me a more suitable abode for the Spirit.

Those instructions are also found in Matthew 23, this time in verse 12.

“For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

For when I am humble, I am invariably the temple.

Which is why I pray on a regular basis,

Send me your Spirit with the gift of humility,
humility as I pray, that I might come before God without preconceptions,
humility as I live, that I might acknowledge my dependency on my Creator.

]]> http://emboldenme.com/2010/08/matthew-chapter-23/feed/ 0 http://emboldenme.com/2010/08/demarcation/ http://emboldenme.com/2010/08/demarcation/#comments Thu, 26 Aug 2010 13:28:09 +0000 Tim http://emboldenme.com/?p=903 In my SFO formation materials for next month (Catch Me a Rainbow Too) there is a chapter on prayer. The section discussing Centering Prayer includes instruction on selecting a sacred word as the focus of the prayer, and then it contains this statement:

“When you become aware of other thoughts intruding, return gently to your sacred word. Thoughts are a normal part of centering prayer.”

This is a nice echo of the idea in the last post that distracting thoughts are normal, and that the proper course of action when they arise is to acknowledge them, and then to let them fade away on their own as you re-establish the focus of your prayer, be it your breathing, a sacred word, a couple words from a section of scripture, or anything else.

It is becoming clearer to me as I dwell on these ideas that there is a real demarcation between “Who I Am” and the thoughts that I have.

If I am consciously aware of this distinction, as I pray, and as I live, then I can begin to actually achieve the suggestion presented by Phil Jackson in the Who Am I? post:

“The point of Zen practice is to make you aware of the thoughts that run your life and diminish their power over you.”

If I am present in the given moment, especially present to God in that moment, than I can see the thoughts separately from my core being, and if I can see them separately, I can begin to control them instead of having them control me.

The thoughts that I have are a part of “Who I Am”, but they are not the total of “Who I Am”.  The distinctive part that is separate may have many different labels, but I think for the moment I will define this as Will.

My Will, therefore, is separate and distinct from my thoughts.

But I cannot use my Will to control my thoughts, and the actions that come from those thoughts, unless I am aware enough of the current moment to actually choose to exercise it.

So, for instance, if I am leaving the driveway on my way to work, and desolation creeps over me, there are two possible results.

If I am unaware, the desolation will dominate me, and it will control the course of my day.

But if I am aware in the moment, if I am able to bring my Will to bear, then I can control the situation, and I can change the outcome of the initial thought.

I can use my Will to exert and accept the presence of God to me in that moment.  I can acknowledge the Love that I know He is offering me in place of the desolation.

If I know He is present, and if I know He loves me, how can the feelings of desolation ever prevail?

I also suggested that happiness depends on the ability to honestly answer that question.

I think its reasonable to hope that one benefit of prayer and meditation is the unveiling of truth.  It should be reasonable to expect prayer and meditation will help answer my question, even if the answer is ongoing rather than a single instance of revelation.

I quoted Phil Jackson writing this:

“The point of Zen practice is to make you aware of the thoughts that run your life and diminish their power over you.”

A couple sentences later he writes:

“When thoughts come up, the idea is not to try and blot them out or to analyze them, but simply to note them as they arise…….”

This is attractive.  Distracting thoughts are a major part of any prayer life.  The notion that distractions are normal, and that they need not be blotted out via a severe (next to impossible?) disciplining of the mind must comfort anyone frustrated by these distractions.  There is significant wisdom in the suggestion that random thoughts need not be suppressed, but instead can be patiently acknowledged and allowed to dissipate on their own.

Phil finishes the above sentence by suggesting that the next step is “to experience, as fully as possible, the sensations of the body.”  In Zen terms, this is akin to “returning to your breathing.”  In Christian prayer, you might choose instead to return to the couple words you are focusing on, etc., etc.

He then finishes the paragraph by stating:

“Over time your thoughts calm down, first for a few seconds, then much longer, and you experience moments of just being without your mind getting in the way.”

I find myself wanting to differ with Phil a little here.  I wonder, if I acknowledge my thoughts a little longer than he seems to be suggesting, can I use them to help answer my “Who Am I?” question?  After all, if I am attempting to clear my mind, to empty it, doesn’t it make sense that the unbidden thoughts that arise have their source in my current true state, whatever that may be?

If I am attempting to prayer over a particular passage in scripture, and I am interrupted by thoughts about my son’s baseball team, or a problem at work, or the next step in the development of the garden I’m planning, doesn’t that say something about “Who I Am?”

I agree with the notion that it would be counterproductive to over-analyze these distractions.  That would give them weight and precedence out of step with the activity at hand, but I don’t know that I want to dismiss them completely in favor of the emptiness that Phil seems to be emphasizing.

I want to acknowledge them, from a distance as it were, long enough to accept what they say about me.  If I am indeed a person of prayer who must, as a matter of responsibility, acknowledge the secular world, then I need to allow prayer to inform me about that side of my life, even if that’s not the goal I started my prayer session with.

I’ve re-read this multiple times now, and I am not entirely happy with it.  I can’t seem to capture exactly what I’m trying to express.

I have no idea how to actually practice what I am suggesting here.

But I will post it anyway, for future reference.  Perhaps I can refer back to it later when I have a better handle on what I am trying to convey.

Jackson’s approach to coaching has a spiritual base.  He’s a mystical person, who has tried to find a way to translate his spirituality and mystical nature into a concrete formula that can be applied to the very practical problems of motivating and leading a basketball team.

It seems on the surface an impossible task, but his success proves it can be done.

Early in the book, Jackson writes this:

“What pollutes the mind in the Buddhist view is our desire to get life to conform to our peculiar notion of how things should be, as opposed to how they really are……..it’s…….our resistance to what’s actually happening that causes so much anguish.”

He also writes about meditation as a method for learning to stay in the current moment.  In my personal terms, I would describe this as learning to be present to God at all times.

Putting these thoughts together, I reach the conclusion that it’s impossible to be in the moment, or to be present to God, if I cannot be honest about who I am at that moment.

Then, when I began to think about who I am, I find that I really don’t know.  I definitely experience anguish, to use Phil’s word, but I can’t begin to identify why in any definitive terms.

That anguish is strongest and is centered for the most part on my “working” life.  In the current context, I use the word work specifically in reference to what I do to earn money.  This is as opposed to the general notion of “work” as a healthy human endeavor.

I find that I really have no coherent description for my work life.  I go to work every day, but I couldn’t tell you whether or not I am going to a job, whether or not I have a vocation, or why just the thought of work leaves me feeling desolate.  All these things are jumbled for me, without any clear understanding of motivations, the atmosphere which defines my work life, or the forces that leave me filled with angst from the moment I pull out of the driveway in the morning.

A couple paragraphs later, Jackson also writes this:

“The point of Zen practice is to make you aware of the thoughts that run your life and diminish their power over you.”

It’s hard to think of personal thoughts as the enemy, but that’s what’s implied here.  Because I am generally unaware of the moment I reside in, I have no control over the thoughts that occur in that moment.  They dominate me without my ever understanding that they do, and I feel anguish, angst, sadness, distress and desolation without being able to understand why.

Somehow, I need to begin to understand the forces that cause the desolation connected to my work life.

Jackson also quotes these words on happiness from the Buddha in the Dhammapada:

“If you speak and act with a pure mind, happiness will follow you, as a shadow clings to a form.”

It would seem, then, that happiness is dependent on being able to honestly answer the question,

“Who am I?”

I’d like to touch on another theme from the chapter before moving on.

The author, who entered the seminary as a stutterer, starts the chapter by discussing his creatureliness and the hardships that stem from it.  He quotes 2 Corinthians 12:7-10 as inspiration for accepting helplessness as a useful poverty in his life:

“To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Later in the chapter, he quotes from Chapter 83 of The Assisi Compilation to give the context within which the Canticle was created.

“Blessed Francis lay there for more than fifty days, and was unable to bear the light of the sun during day or the light of a fire at night……..In addition, day and night he had great pains in his eyes so that at night he could scarcely rest or sleep……Sometimes he did want to rest and sleep, but there were many mice in the house and in the little cell made of mats where he was lying…..They were running around him, and even over him, and would not let him sleep.”

There’s more, but you get the idea of the hardship that Francis was enduring.

Amazingly, The Canticle is Francis’ response to this hardship and pain.

“The next morning on rising, he said to his companions…..I want to write a new Praise of the Lord for His creatures…….The Praises of the Lord that he composed…..he called The Canticle to Brother Sun.”

I have previously written about the importance of willingly bearing crosses as part of faithful discipleship.

I just note here the example of Francis, and the potential graces that come from accepting crosses with the understanding that they have silver linings if one is willing to seek them.

Sermon to the Birds

Took a day long retreat trip to Fort Wayne last Saturday with my Secular Franciscan fraternity.

We met at 6:30 AM and rode the bus there and back.  Got home about 10 PM.

During the ride we had a short formation discussion on a chapter from a book entitled In the Footsteps of Francis And Clare. The chapter was about the Canticle of the Creatures, which was composed by Francis near the end of his life.  It is one of his defining works, his definitive description of the relationship between incarnation and creation.

Francis saw everything in creation as his brother or sister.  Not just other human beings, or even other animals, but everything.  The sun, the moon, wind, water, fire, earth and even death are named brother or sister within the Canticle.  His logic for this is simple.  They shared with him a common Father, and thus they all were part of a single extended family.

Frances was known on occasion to preach sermons to animals, birds, and even flowers.

The chapter includes this thought:

“One is tempted to wonder whether Francis thought the flowers heard his sermons.  That is not such a silly question as it is often made out to be.  Obviously Francis realized the flowers could not hear.  However, he believed that it is the nature of all things to praise their creator.  Francis may not have had any idea how the flowers or rocks would or could do this, but he acted on the belief they could.”

What strikes me about this is the very radical nature of Francis’ approach to creation.  In order to become who he became, he had to unlearn everything he had learned prior to the beginning of his conversion process.

That unlearning was so deep that he even set aside his basic understanding of the very nature of things.  He assigned qualities to flowers, stones, fire, etc., etc. that everyone around him, most likely including many of his followers, would never have been willing to give them.

Calling these new found conceptions radical is probably kind.  Today, he’d be taken away for tests, and when the diagnosis came back with no known malady, his physician would likely invent one and name it after him.

Somehow, his followers found him not insane, but visionary.  Somehow, he ended up a Saint instead of a castaway like the lepers he learned to embrace.

And somehow, he remains an inspiration to this day.  For I also do not find him insane.  In fact, I find I am subject to an ever increasing urge to embrace the radical approach he models as imperative to the way I see the world.  I also want to look at the world around me, and somehow unlearn all the falsehoods I have been taught by the culture that engulfs me.

I yearn to be like Francis.

I yearn to see the world anew, for this seems the only proper response to the Gospel of Jesus.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”

As the father of three boys, I have spent some time coaching my sons and their teammates on the basketball court and the baseball field.  This quotation reminds me specifically of the way I like to talk about pitching.

When they are young, we spend lots of time working on the fundamentals of pitching mechanics.  The kids learn how to grip the ball, how to drop step, pivot, and reach a high balance point, how to separate their hands and drop and glide with their lead foot, how to achieve the right arm angle and release point, and finally how to finish in a good fielding position.

All these fundamental skills are important in learning how to pitch.  But inevitably you get to a point where the kids can execute these skills fairly well, but they still have trouble throwing strikes.

The problem is, they haven’t learned to focus on their target yet.

That target is not the strike zone, or even the catcher’s mitt.  I want them to focus on just the webbing in the catcher’s mitt so that the target is as small as possible.  (Aim small, miss small, to quote Mel Gibson in The Patriot.)

Then I tell them, “Trust your fundamentals, and take all your momentum, all your energy, your entire being, and use that to hit your target.”

Once they learn this focus, then they start throwing strikes consistently.

The point is, you could read this blog and learn all the fundamentals of prayer that I suggest.  You could memorize them and repeat them back to me exactly as I wrote them, and that would be great.

But if you’re not focused on loving God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind, then your prayer experience will still be lacking.

Somehow, the basic idea of love as the environment you live in must become part of your underlying approach to life and prayer.

Because if everything you do doesn’t have love for God at its center, you will never find contentment in prayer, or in your life in general.

I had been discussing Gazing when I left off, and I will get back to that momentarily, but as I reviewed the past posts on the thread I realized something I had written for another project would fit nicely into the earlier discussion on love.

I am simply adding that here, even though it might read a little funny out of context:

The term “radical love” is, I think, open to a wide range of interpretation.  Each of us, after spending some time in meaningful prayer, could come up with our own definition, and many if not all of those definitions would be viable.

Such is the vastness of God.

I think I would be remiss if I did not venture my own definition at this stage in an effort to further define the vision this document means to cast.

“Radical love” for me entails a conscious decision to offer everything I have in a spirit of uncompromising love to my fellow man without regard to my fellow’s worthiness or his response.  It requires that I give freely, without reservation or concern, while at the same time expecting nothing in return.

I offer everything out of the realization that God loves every other man and woman on this earth just as much as He loves me.  The assertion that we are created equal is based in this belief.

My responsibility boils down to a duty to emulate God’s love to the best of my ability.  I must, if I do nothing else in the time I spend here, make the attempt to love every other man and woman on this earth as much as God loves me.  Jesus, in John 13:34, specifically gives us this instruction.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”

It seems so simple.  Yet it also seems so absent.

Again, I say this:

The willing acceptance of the Cross by Jesus is, without question, the greatest example of “radical love” the world has ever experienced.  There’s nothing else that comes close.

He accepted the Cross in order to ensure our salvation.

He did it without reference to worthiness, for we are sinners, utterly unworthy of His sacrifice.  Not only did He not reference our response, but He knew that our response would be mired in sin and thus inadequate.  He ignored that certainty and loved us anyway.  He expected nothing in return, for in our sinfulness, we have nothing to offer that He needs.

He gave freely, without reservation or concern.

This is also what I wish to do.  I wish to give freely, without regard to worthiness, or response, or expectation of return, in as close an emulation of the “radical love” of the Cross as I can muster.

And I hope and ask that you will join me and do the same, for my impact, by itself, can’t amount to much.

But the impact of many, joined in a community dedicated to this idea of “radical love,” could be immeasurable.