Understanding What Contemplation Is and Is NOT

Thomas Merton's New Seeds of ContemplationI am amazed by the degree to which Thomas Merton’s writing inspires and informs my faith. This is not a new phenomena for me. I have been reading him for years and years now. But I often return after some time away, and find myself “flying closer to the flame”, so to speak. By that I mean I feel like each successive time I’m orbiting that much closer to the root of what Merton was getting at. I have definitely noticed a trajectory here.

This contemplative approach to spirituality makes more and more sense to me as I get older and, hopefully, wiser. The deep mysteries of life lie in these spaces. And so that’s where I more and more frequently find myself drawn. Perhaps its also because, as I get older, and rack up additional experiences, I become more and more convinced that what these successes, fleeting fames, gains can offer, really pale in comparison to the deep riches of the spiritual life.

Right now I am reading through Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation. Interesting, I’ve actually previously read the earlier version of this same book, when it was simply titled Seeds of Contemplation. Merton, in the forward, explains that he felt the need to add additional chapters to the book, because, in hindsight, there were large elements he felt he missed the first time around. I’m glad he made the effort. This book is definitely the better for it. Its more rounded, filled out, clarified – in this expander form.

Interestingly enough, a large part of the expansion in this book deals with contraction. Put more simply, much of what Merton added to the book has to do with what contemplation is not, rather than what it is. And that’s important. Because while contemplation is in many ways simple, its not so easily defined – if by “defined” you mean wrapped up in a near little package, ready for modern dissection. I find this approach so helpful. Mainly because it honors the mystery of true experience with the Divine. As Merton points out, dogma is helpful, even essential in many ways. But we should not mistake it for the real thing that we worship. Dogma points towards, suggests, paints in broad strokes about. But It can never contain or fully explain the deep mysteries of our communion with God.

This gets at something I find so fascinating, and compelling about Merton. Here was a man fully immersed in deep Catholicism, deep Trappist tradition. And yet he wrote about spiritual experience in a way that calls others forward, rather than alienating them with the foreign dogmas and route ritual of organized religion. And, interestingly, I don’t think Merton struggled in order to accomplish this. I don’t think he was trying to be “seeker-sensitive”. I think he just told it like he saw it. And the credibility of his daily experience with God came shining through in a way that both paid homage to, and ultimately superseded, language.

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Leaving Relics Behind, Like Moors on a Shore

After finishing Thomas Merton’s No Man Is An Island, not long ago, I am now working my way through another of his great works: The New Man. Because there is so much to chew on, so much to digest, so much to savor here, I have decided to blog a little each day (or so) as I work my way through the book. To do any less would almost be to fail to do justice to the profundity of Merton’s writing, and its great impact upon me. Today I begin with a snippet about “true religion”.

“Words lose their capacity to convey the reality of holiness in proportion as men focus on the symbol rather than on what it symbolizes. The sense of the sacred, of the “numinous” without which there can hardly be any real or living religion, depends entirely on our ability to transcend our own human signs, to penetrate and pass beyond their manifest intelligibility into the darkness of mystery, to grasp the reality they can suggest but never fully contain.” — Thomas Merton

The above quote, from Merton’s The New Man, says so much to me about true spirituality. Merton refers to real or living religion. I have a hard time even rescuing that word: “religion”; for the very reason that so many people, and so many institutions, once they have become “organized”, fail to adhere to the above definition. They become “religious” precisely because they lose sight of the numinous, of the mysterious, and clutch instead to signposts, memories, relics, of past encounters with divine reality.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who was saying that his wife had difficulty letting go of her fundamentalist past because doing so also meant letting go of clear-cut, black-and-white, absolute answers about ultimate reality. I can understand that feeling. I can imagine what it might be like. For me personally though, never having really spent much time in a fundamentalist mindset, I can only muster up sympathy, not true understanding. And I say that because, to me, removing mystery and “otherness” from our experience of God, is almost to rob the experience of divinity altogether. In other words, there isn’t much of the real thing left for me once you arrive at crystal clear answers. In fact, one of the ways I am most sure of the moments when I do touch upon divine reality is because, as I do, I am wholeheartedly aware that what I am glimpsing is so much beyond me. It is almost too good to even be known, even at a glance, by one such as me.

I remember remarking to my friend that I take that part in the Bible – about God’s thoughts and ways being above ours – seriously. And not just because its in the Bible. But because it seems to me to be patently obvious. How could we finite beings – albeit finite beings with an imprint of the divine upon our souls – seriously expect to understand such things? To bridge that immeasurable gap?

Wonder is what it is, to a great degree, because it involves the unknown, the inexplainable, the unfathomable.

I keep coming back to this thought that once we become immersed in the understanding that what lies in that “beyondness” is goodness. Mysterious goodness. Even great, mysterious goodness – then not knowing the details really doesn’t matter. It is in this way that I think we become like the little children Jesus spoke about. Like children we have no need to know God’s ultimate plans. We don’t even pretend to think we could really even make sense of it all were it revealed to us. We merely rest in the gracious goodness that is at the very heart of God’s character. We trust in that. Not in knowing the details.

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Stop the Noise: A Lament for Modern Life

Just last night I finished reading one of Thomas Merton’s true gems. No Man Is An Island is actually one Merton’s works that somehow always escaped my eye – until recently. Other Merton books, like New Seeds of Contemplation, really made a significant impact on me. I was hoping “Island” would have some of the same effect. It had that, and then some. In fact, it may very well be my favorite Merton book of all. Though I still have several left to read.

One point that Merton returns to often, both in No Man Is An Island and other works, is the dilemma of noise and busyness in modern life. He writes about the excessive propaganda present in advertising, the constant bustle and activity of city life, the shallow kind of companionship people seek out in a tv or radio running in the background – there just to keep the silence at bay. In short, Merton’s point is that modern life, in many ways, chokes out true introspection and thus deep connection with God. And not only is this a situation we suffer from, but its one we actively invite. In other words, we fear silence. So we do everything we can, though sometimes only half-consciously, to keep it at bay.

Why? Because silence speaks to us about our true selves? Because silence teaches us about God? Because silence teaches us about death?

Probably all three are true. But as Merton points out, a life spent in avoidance-maneuvering like this really is no life at all. We’re so focused on the silent unknown – again, even if only half-consciously – that we fail to really live in the present moment.

But what is most striking of all about Merton’s assertions is that he wrote all this in the 1950s and 1960s. What would he say about modern living now – in 2010? With cellphones, computers, televisions, PlayStations? With Facebook, Twitter, and the “social media” revolution? I think he would find it an almost unfathomable barrage against deep living.

Mother Teresa said “We need silence to touch souls”.

So true. But it could also be said the other way around – that “we need silence to have our souls touched”.

Here’s to making plans to slow down, go deep, unplug. Stop moving, stop the noise.

Be… in God.

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Contempt as an Act of Spiritual Suicide

As spiritual/religious people have become more and more polarized over time in America, I have noticed something troubling. In a word, I would call it contempt. And I am honestly surprised by people’s tendency to underestimate the spiritual toll that contempt takes on the soul. Initially (some) conservative Christians would bash the Left, almost giddy with their sense of self-righteousness. But honestly, these days I see as much going the other way. Left-leaning Christians so convinced that the “fundies” have got Jesus all wrong, that they let contempt drip from their lips like a savored barbecue sauce falling from a rib.

Wikipedia defines contempt as: “…an intense feeling or attitude of regarding someone or something as inferior, base, or worthless—it is similar to scorn”.

Do you recognize this? Does it seem familiar? I would say it pervades much of the conversation today. And social networking has only led to the spread of contempt. People seem to have lost their inner censors since the dawn of sites such as Facebook and Twitter. They feel entitled, almost even expected, to vent whatever crosses their minds. But this is a dangerous tendency for spiritual people to pursue.

Why? Well, first off, it should be quite obvious that it doesn’t actually contribute to any real, positive, substantial change. Venting is usually just that – done for venting’s sake. It is emotional release – not a real attempt to bring about change. Secondly, not only does demonizing opposing views not contribute in any positive way, but is also detracts. When someone has been slighted, or even perceives they’ve been slighted, then they’re much less likely to want to dialog towards understanding and positive change.

Lastly, and, I would argue, most importantly, feelings and expressions of contempt erode our own spiritual resources. It simply is poison. Most of all, poison to those who express it.

I understand that some people coming from faith traditions have gone through a little bit of a celebration party in recent years – in being able to move beyond some legalistic, prudish repression of inner feeling. However, there is a downside on the other side of the mountain as well. One can over-do it. One can begin to feast on this expression of contempt to the point where it becomes a bitter pill one just can’t let go of.

Of course the nutritional value of that particular pill is exactly zero. Well, less than that – when you consider the toll it takes (see above).

For me personally, this is something I try and watch out for – and my moments of contemplation help me gauge how I’m doing. And again, I don’t do this for the sake of being prim and proper, but for the very real benefit of my own spiritual condition.

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Expectations Matter: Who Do You Plan to Be?

I’ve written before about how some errors are really over-corrections for previous mistakes. This is true of so many things in life – spirituality certainly not being immune. One kind of over-correction that occurs to me is the Protestant – and specifically, evangelical – tendency to not only downplay the possibility for real spiritual progress, but to actually commend a kind of humility that constantly predicts our failures.

Now, don’t get me wrong. That kind of humility has its place. Overconfidence and spiritual pride is certainly a concern. However, that kind of humility can also serve as an excuse; a kind of “I’m no good, and there’s no use even trying” kind of thinking. Many follow this up with something like “So, I’ll just trust in Jesus”. What they mean here is not actually trusting the kinds of things that Jesus was about, and his whole philosophy of living, but merely trusting in the transaction that Jesus took care of in order to get people into Heaven when they die.

You can actually hear all sorts of Christian songs today, following in the tradition of “Amazing Grace”, that seem to celebrate the fact that God saves us despite our worthlessness. Still, since “Amazing Grace” was penned (or quilled?) it seems that people have become much more comfortable with not expecting spiritual progress in their lives. Some will even revel in the fact that even though they do the wrong thing more often than not, God still saves them through Jesus.

Again, looking past that rather vampirish perspective on justification, there arises this real issue: people actually come to expect that this is all the Christian life is about – trusting in Jesus for a Heaven ticket, and not at all trusting him for transformation.

And of course, this creates the proverbial self-fulfilling prophecy. In other words, if you don’t even expect to change, to grow, to mature, then you certainly won’t do so by accident.

This truncated view of the gospel has real implications; not the least of which is our witness to the world. We’ve all seen the bumpersticker that reads “Being a Christian doesn’t make me perfect, just forgiven”. Honestly, I don’t think non-Christians are under any delusions that Christians are perfect. Actually, I doubt many even see Christians as spiritually mature. In fact I think many non-Christians would say Christians have a deficit to overcome in that area when compared to other people.

But my point here is not to rag on us Christians. Its just to say that expectations matter. My reading of Jesus tells me he does expect us to follow him – meaning, follow him in the kind of life he lived, the kind of philosophy he held, the kind of priorities he lived by. So here’s the question: what are your expectations for yourself? Who do you hope to be in 10 years? And how do you plan to get there? Because how you answer that question makes all the difference.

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