For three decades, I’ve studied and practiced various forms of the spiritual life and taught what I’ve discovered about how to pray, to live fully in the present... Read More
I discovered lectio divina many years ago, during a very spiritually dry time in my life. In the time since, I have practiced lectio innumerable times, and it’s become a core aspect of my spirituality. Maybe even more importantly, it’s given me a renewed sense of love and appreciation for the Bible (and that’s saying something).
I could say much the same. (And here’s a sample from my own blog)
For more, and for links to his books click here. Tony’s book(s) are a good guide to this practice, especially for Protestants new to the practice.
A mature and involved Christian once came to me privately and asked, “Isn’t there more to the Christian life than this?” Here was an elder, active in ministry, highly competent at work, well-established and respected, but who came to a point where all these things tasted like straw, felt empty, no longer life giving.
Too often those who begin to experience this arid, desert like experience in their spiritual lives ignore it and keep doing what they’re doing until they just run out of steam. Sometimes they find another cause that energizes them, or they become angry and frustrated about things at church or the denomination, and this too energizes them. But this new energy dissipates after a while and unless they find something new to excite them for awhile, that nagging sense of emptiness returns. Others figure they’re facing some kind of burnout, and they drop out of commitments that no longer nourish or satisfy and they find themselves drifting spiritually.
Too few explore their experience with a pastor or spiritual friend or director. If they did, and that friend was seasoned enough to discern the work of the Holy Spirit in the person’s life, they’d learn that rather than a problem to get through by working harder, or burnout that requires them to drop out, what they’re experiencing is a genuine sign of an invitation from God to move into a new stage of spiritual growth: stage four, or what I call “Second Awakening.”
If I could keep with me only two books and a journal, this book would be one of the books. As far as I’m concerned it’s the most important book (and among the most influential) on Christian prayer in the last two millennia.
We don’t know the author’s name, but only that he was a British monk, living in the fourteenth century. The Cloud of Unknowing is a personal letter written to a young person seeking fulfillment in Christ through prayer. The author’s lesser known companion essay, The Book of Privy Counsel, is a follow up letter to the young disciple, providing simple yet profound instruction for the life of contemplative prayer.
Carmen Acevado Butcher’s new translation is a gem. She draws the earthy language of the fourteenth century into the idiom of our own. You’ll feel like the monk is speaking directly to you.
Contemplative prayer may sound a bit escapist or even elitist. It’s not. Far from it. The word itself is comes from the Latin, contemplatio, which refers to “the act of looking deeply”. The word is made up of two Latin roots, con-, which means “with” or “together”, and -tempore, which refers to the “moment”.
So contemplative prayer is prayer that, in its most basic form, is rooted deeply in the present—in daily, ordinary life . . . nothing elitist or escapist at all.
Instead, it aims to bring all of you “together with” all that’s happening in the “moment.”
And when you’re all here—all now—then you’re present to all of God and God is present to all of you.
What I’ve been talking about might sound contradictory—“How can I be present to this moment when I’m thinking about the future?” But give it some time and practice. You’ll learn that it’s possible to plan a birthday party for a loved one or bury your head in a history book and do it all with a high degree of awareness or presence.
You’ll also learn that doing so can bring you a higher degree of pleasure than you’ve known before. What’s more, you’ll learn to let go of planning the party when you’re driving your car or sitting in a meeting at work or having dinner with someone you love.
You’ll become skillful, better able to concentrate your energy on the person or task right in front of you. You’ll learn how to intentionally forget other tasks that nag at you, and you’ll be more able to resist the temptation to multitask (which only scatters your energies).
Let’s be honest, multitasking is a spiritual treadmill; you waste a lot of energy trying to get where you want to go.
Be here, now . . . even when making plans for the future.
Living here and now, alive to the presence of Christ, means that you bring greater awareness to your experience of real life, you immerse yourself more fully in the present moment.
But that doesn’t mean you ignore the future or forget the past. That would be irresponsible, and very, very few people can legitimately live that way.
You have to plan for breakfast or dinner. You have to plan a way to gets the kids to and from school. You have to plan for retirement.
Practicing awareness doesn’t mean ignoring such things. Instead, it means learning to control how and when you engage these necessary tasks.
Practicing awareness means that when you engage them, you do so intentionally and with a high degree of presence to each task.
Being truly present to the light and the darkness, the hope and the restlessness that’s all around and within you—is nonnegotiable.
When you’re aware, you shift your focus from what should be, would be, or could be to what is. You receive the moment. And when you do, a stillness, a spaciousness, a freedom opens up within you. When you’re truly present, you’re no longer reacting to situations, demands, and impulses. You’re not resisting life, nor are you grasping frantically for some fantasy you’re chasing.
Instead, you’re open to what is, and when you are, the deepest and best kind of wisdom can finally come to you. Your intuition merges with God’s revelation and you receive a sixth sense, born of the Spirit whom Jesus sent to teach us everything (John 14.25).
Next time you’re stopped at a stoplight, look around. Notice how distracted people are. Drivers are texting, fiddling with the radio, talking to someone beside them or someone at the other end of their wireless phone. The man in the car beside you is shaving. The woman behind you is putting on makeup. It’s little wonder we live through our morning commute.
And maybe we don’t. When we’re distracted, we’re not really living. We’re not really here. Our hands may be on the wheel, our bodies in the driver’s seat, but our minds are miles away, everywhere but here . . . now. If we knew better, we’d lock ourselves up for such insanity!
It’s one thing to be awake. It’s another to be aware, alert, and conscious of the life you’re living now. If you’re going to find God—if God’s going to find you—you’ll have to bring yourself to the only place where such a meeting can take place—here . . . now.
Spiritual practices can help us live more focused, more meaningful lives.
Recently, I invited you to unlearn your distractedness. Consider a baby I suggested.
Another way to unlearn distraction is to study a dog—they never obsess about the past or worry about the future. Their minds aren’t busy elsewhere. They seem to have an inherent belief in the goodness of the moment. Merely mention a dog’s name and his ears perk up, his eyes brighten, and his tail wags as if to say, “Hey, does life get any better than this?”
Jesus once pointed his distracted and worried followers to the birds and flowers around them, inviting all who seek God to imitate them, to be radically present to life here and now. “Do not worry about tomorrow,” he said, “for tomorrow will bring worries of its own” (Matthew 6.34).
Jesus taught that the present is all you need, for this very moment is alive to all the fullness of God.
Distraction is epidemic. You don’t have to look at the driver texting in the car beside you to witness this truth. You are distracted–much more than you’d like to be.
Real focus, concentration, and the kind of awareness that brings us back to our senses spiritually, bringing us happiness and meaning, requires some degree of relinquishment.
In this interview, John Gabel talks about what relinquishment means in his life and how this neglected spiritual practice is enriching his daily experience.
