In 1979, I came across an articulation of spiritual commitment that has been foundational for 40 years: Carlo Carretto's small book The Desert in the City.
If praying means "being in God", then I can say that I pray every- where because everywhere is (God's) temple. To say, "I can't pray because I have work to do" is absurd. Who is stopping you from praying while you work? Isn't it better to believe that while working you can be at prayer?" (Listen) ... if peace and quiet were a pre-requisite of prayer, the poor would never be able to do it.
Throughout those 40 decades, it has has been my hunch that I probably would have made a better friar than a minister. To be sure, I have been blessed one hundred fold during the years of my service to God in each of the four local congregations I served. Certainly the greatest blessings for me have been the deep life-cycle relationships I made with all types of people as well as the regular celebration of Eucharist and exploring ways of using the arts to open our hearts to the holy. Nevertheless, I always sensed that I was meant to be more of a friar than anything else. Friars, you see, live their vows in service to God's people on the move. Monks are cloistered - and stay in one place - while friars move about throughout the wider community. I sometimes tell those closest to me that after our sabbatical in Montréal, the Holy Spirit touched my heart and blessed me with a new sense of calling as Frère Jacques. This distinction has meant two things for me:
+ First, my life in prayer has been sacramental and experiential rather than just quiet contemplation. Carretto taught me to live the life of a friar on the move in the midst of real life for that is where I live. For decades, you see, I fantasized about living as a monk in a monastery. I loved going on retreat. I cherished extended times of study and prayer in the various monastic centers that have nourished me. And I have found incredible solace in the solitary times that used to shape much of my spirituality. Still, nothing in my reality led me to take up residence in the cloistered world: not being a father, a husband, a pastor or anything else. I often quoted the German mystic, Meister Eckhart, to those seeking my counsel in spiritual direction: "Reality is the will of God. It can always be better, but we must start with what is real." Same goes for the Serenity Prayer: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Eventually, I had to start practicing what I preached. And while I still ache to disregard reality at times, I know it is the Word made Flesh. And I am slowly coming to honor what is real. Each day, and every encounter in it, is a chance to embrace the holy in my humanity - and rejoice in the wild, broken, wonderful and beautiful humanity of everyone around me. I pray making music in bistros. Or greeting the clerk at Wal-Mart. Or throwing the tennis ball for Lucie. Or constructing a functional and modestly beautiful stone walk for our garden terrace.
+ Second, while I will go to my grave wrestling with the baggage of a heart broken by antiquated notions of shame, I am renewed everyday by the abundance of God's grace and joy. I read these words today from Kelly Deustch and they fully captured what my heart experiences living as a friar rather than a pastor: "This, above all, has been one of the greatest gifts of shifting to the Wilderness of Unknowing. Moving outside the tangle of fear-thinking. No more the weights of shame, no more the heightening pressure of "shoulds," no more the sheering off of one's own desires so as to fit a square peg in a round hole. Instead: Flowing, expanding, unfurling ever-widening rings of being. Simple and authentic connection with the divine. A settledness in my own being. And now, BURSTING with LIFE." Not perfectly, of course. And some days more so than others. But more joy and less shame. More ecstasy and less fear. More dancing and less pretending. Or trying to fit into molds that really don't fit. I adore the words of St. Paul when he told us in Romans 12: "Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God... Take your everyday, ordinary life — your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life — and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for God." (Eugene Peterson, The Message)
The clerk in the self-check-out line in Wal
-Mart today was a true angel of tenderness. In her very thick Spanish accent she tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I think you rang that up twice! You shouldn't have to pay more for something you need, right?" We laughed together - I realized I had entered the item twice - but had no idea how to correct my mistake. She beamed, "I am looking out for you, ok
?" I rejoiced. An ambassador for tenderness and joy. In Wal-Mart of all places. And on and on it goes. This wasn't always so - too many times I have been too harsh, too judgmental, too much in a hurry - and missed the presence of the Lord.
To be honest I have long wrestled with this text from Matthew's gospel because I knew it was describing me:
I don’t want Isaiah’s forecast repeated all over again: Your ears are open but you don’t hear a thing. Your eyes are awake but you don’t see a thing. The people are blockheads! They stick their fingers in their ears so they won’t have to listen; They screw their eyes shut so they won’t have to look, so they won’t have to deal with me face-to-face and let me heal them. (The Message, Matthew 13: 14-15)
And it still is me at some fundamental level when I am harried or afraid or even under pressure. That's why Frère Jacques has been unplugging. And wandering. And listening. It is so much more fun. And didn't Jesus say something like, "I have come so that your joy may be full?"
credits:
1) Kate Young Wilder
2) I don't remember...
3) I forgot..
4) Dianne De Mott
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