Tag Archives: spirituality

Ash Wednesday

Posted on February 22, 2012 | Leave a comment

Tonight’s Ash Wednesday Mass at Holy Family was very nice. I prefer evening masses in general, but since today is the first of the forty days of Lent–our time of fasting, penance, and reflection–a quiet February evening seems perfect. I think we all can all be thankful that the harsher, more dour practices that over-emphasized our sinful nature are in the past. It is proper that we reflect on our human nature that leaves us susceptible to sin, those actions and thoughts that distance us from God. However, I don’t believe we are called by the Church, and certainly not by God, to become so absorbed in our sinfulness that we miss the whole point of not only Lent but our Christian faith in general; namely, that Christ took our sins upon himself when he ascended the cross. The cross calls us back to God; Christ’s arms stretched upon the cross are those of the Father welcoming His prodigal children. Lent is a time set aside for us to reorient ourselves back to Him who loves us beyond our understanding.

Earlier today I was listening to a podcast on St. Isaac of Syria, also known as St. Isaac of Ninevah. The central point I took away from this 7th-century desert father was that God, above all other things, loves each one of us, individually and collectively. He also says that to call God “just,” in the sense that God administers justice–rewards and punishments–comes dangerously close to blasphemy. God, St. Isaac points out, acts only out of love because He is Love. Just as one cannot avenge oneself, God does not seek vengeance on his own creation. And just as a loving parent doesn’t seek vengeance upon his or her wayward children, so God does not damn us for our sins. This, as St. Isaac explains, is that God that Jesus showed us.

Lent, then, is a time in which we take an open and honest look at ourselves in order to both understand and acknowledge those things we think, say, and do that keep us from God’s loving embrace. As our understanding and acceptance grows, so too should our resolve to turn aside from those things and thereby grow closer to Him. As St. Isaac puts it, “It is a spiritual gift from God for a man to perceive his sins.”

And we also take comfort in knowing that our Father will come running out with open arms to welcome us into His embrace.

Pearls from Saint Isaac of Syria

Catholic Under the Hood: Saint Isaac of Syria

→ Leave a comment

Posted in faith, spirituality

Tagged , , , ,

9-11 & Forgiveness

Posted on September 11, 2011 | Leave a comment

Sometimes the Catholic Church gets it right. In the Catholic lectionary for today, the tenth anniversary of the attacks of September 11th, 2001, the Old Testament and Gospel readings speak specifically to forgiveness. As Christians, we are called to forgive regardless of the transgression against us. So simple to say; so hard to do.

The events of September 11, 2001 need no explanation. On the anniversary of that awful day, the nation, and certainly a good portion of the world, recalls the events that took the lives of nearly 3000 people, directly affected those of thousands, and touched hundreds of millions more. It’s appropriate that today should be a time for remembrance and, for those within a faith tradition, prayer. [As I’ve written in another post, I hope, too, that today we take time to also remember those whose lives were affected by the events subsequent to 9-11.]

In our reflections over the loss & suffering that will forever be synonymous with 9-11, it is easy, and normal, to feel anger. There was and is no justification for murder; no amount of rationalization can wipe blood from a murderer’s hands. We feel anger precisely because of the wrong-ness of acts like this. While anger is understandable, our response to even righteous anger can become a trap. Our collective & individual wrath can lead us into errors as deep as the actions from which our outrage arises. And this is where forgiveness comes in.

I recall very well how quickly the shock and horror of September 11th turned first into anger and then to calls for vengeance. But I also recall many alternative voices that spoke to the need for, at the least, restraint. That these voices for collective self-control were drowned out by what became a shameful frenzy of blame and demands for paybacks in no way diminishes their wisdom. Indeed, the amount of pain, suffering, and death inflicted as a result of 9-11 proves that the path of violence can never surpass the power of forgiveness.

Of course, forgiveness is not simply a Christian virtue; it is part of all the great faith traditions. Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Ba’hai, Jain, Shinto–all have forgiveness at the center of belief. To be religious is to be called to forgiveness; to be spiritual is to live a life that embraces forgiveness. [Even those outside of a faith tradition or who cannot see the spiritual dimension of forgiveness have to acknowledge its practicality; forgiveness breaks the cycle of violence.]

Spirituality, whether within or outside of religion, requires work. Forgiveness as a spiritual virtue does not come easy, even for the spiritually-minded. It is all-too-human to want to limit our forgiveness to those whom we decide are worthy of it. Forgiveness & compassion go together, but what about people who inspire little or no compassion in us, such as the men who perpetrated the 9-11 attacks? To even mention the idea of forgiveness in this context is to invite the wrath of one’s fellow citizens.

The spiritual work of forgiveness is made all more problematic by our instant-gratification and violence-obsessed culture. We are conditioned to respond to emotion by acting upon it without reflection or restraint; and if that emotion is anger, then violence is at least a reasonable response. To respond to a horrific event like 9-11 by embracing the grief and sorrow in prayer or meditation, to contemplate such things within the space of one’s soul, is the antithesis of how society tells us we should respond. Yet, this is precisely what humans are called to do. Mahatma Gandhi reminded us that “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” If humanity is to ever rise above its baser instincts and desires, if it is ever to realize a peaceful and just world, it must embrace its higher, spiritual nature.

Spirituality requires work, and forgiveness does not come easy. Yet, as spiritual beings, and as religious individuals, we cannot not forgive. Speaking as a Christian and a Catholic, there is no alternative. Nowhere does Christ teach that we should forgive those who have harmed us, even our enemies, only up to a point. Forgiveness, to a Christian, must be unequivocal, unconditional, and complete.

In today’s Gospel lesson (Mt 18:21-35), Christ responds to Peter’s question on how much should one forgive by saying “seventy times seven.” He then illustrates this with the parable of a servant who, after being forgiven of his debt by the king, refuses to forgive his own debtor. God’s compassion calls us to compassion; His forgiveness of us calls us to forgive one another. This is the logical extension of what Christ tells us is the greatest commandant after loving God: loving one’s neighbor as one’s self (Mt 22:39). And lest we split hairs over who is one’s neighbor, we are told to “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” (Lk 6:27). By refusing to forgive, we reject Christ himself.

I could go on and write about the emotional, psychological, and social benefits of forgiveness, but this is not the place for that. Suffice to say that, as with anything, hard work pays off, and the hard work of forgiveness has both personal and collective benefits. My point is that the practical reasons flow from the spiritual act; forgiveness freely given is truly its own reward. Whatever we gain from forgiving our enemies, from forgiving those who cause us harm, we gain from right action. As Christians, as people of faith, as spiritual beings, we are called to righteousness. Amen.

→ Leave a comment

Posted in conscience, faith, peace & justice, spirituality

Tagged , , ,

Self-Actualization and privilege

Posted on July 21, 2011 | Leave a comment

[The following was a posting for a psychology course I'm taking this summer.]

From the time I was first exposed to Maslow years ago, I’ve always held his theory of self-actualization being the goal of human development close, both professionally and personally. At the least, it acknowledges what so many people intuit, that life has more to do with meaning than existence. But even more, the goal of self-actualization (using his term) is both practical and achievable for individuals rather than something only available to ascetics living in mountain caves.

But what I find myself wondering about is the processes by which an individual can strive for self-actualization. I well understand that his hierarchy of needs is a description and not a prescription, that a person moves up & down the pyramid many times in her or his life. Drawing on my own experiences, particularly having come into adulthood through a working-class background, I wonder how an individual for whom the lower strata of physiological and safety needs are still salient can move further towards self-actualization. Maslow’s theory seems to imply that one must move up the pyramid sequentially, but is this in fact always the case? Yes, we can easily imagine that a person who is thirsty, hungry, in need of shelter, under threat, etc. can’t be expected to keep his or her mind on achieving transendence. But we all have the image of the above-mentioned ascetic for whom physiological & safety needs are no longer a concern; we assume that that person has overcome & surpassed their influence through some process to the point where even food, water, and air are minor factors in their lives. How does a person transcend those in the real world?

I’ve been reading two books lately: Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi and Dorothy Day, by Robert Coles. Both of these saints’ extraordinary lives are inspiring, but I’m also aware that both begin their lives with their physiological, safety, and belonging needs largely met. In fact, it seems to me that the majority of narratives of the lives of those who achieve some degree of stabilized transcendent state are those of people who begin from a place of privilege. Taking nothing away from the struggles of their personal journeys, their early lives permitted them a degree of freedom to pursue self-actualization (again, to use Maslow’s term) that many others don’t have.

My interest here is largely practical. What examples do we have of individuals whose lives are more precarious, who grow up without many material & intellectual resources, but who still achieve the degree of self-actualization/transcendence/enlightenment of those who start from more privileged positions? Is it possible to overcome the power of those lower needs without having to first secure them? And given those examples, what generalizations can be made about the process by which a person transcends privation & want without first working to gain those material resources with which others begin? If this can be articulated, then it seems more likely that self-actualization can be shown as a realistic goal to all and not just the few.

[Just a final note: I firmly believe that there are many examples of people who transcend want to achieve profound states of consciousness. One has only to visit places where basic needs are in short supply to see these people. What I’ve had difficulty finding are the narratives and studies, at least to the extent to which we find those of individuals from more privileged backgrounds.]

→ Leave a comment

Posted in conscience, Psychology, spirituality

Tagged , , ,

“At the center of non-violence stands the principal of love.”

Posted on June 14, 2011 | Leave a comment

“At the center of non-violence stands the principal of love.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

Continuing my reflections on quotes related to conscience and peace, I wanted to explore Martin Luther King’s observation that non-violence, true non-violence, is founded upon love. I started writing on this a couple weeks ago, but found that the simplicity of the statement made my words appear unnecessary. A couple of starts produced nothing satisfying; I pretty much decided that King’s words should stand on their own and move on to another quote. Love & non-violence are so closely tied together that any commentary thereupon seems, at best, superfluous.

Today, however, I found myself coming back to these words from a different direction. One of the books I’m currently reading (I generally have four or five going at the same time) is The Dark Night of the Soul: A Psychiatrist Explores the Connection Between Darkness and Spiritual Growth, by Gerald G. May, MD. May’s book explores the spiritual relationship between St. Teresa of Ávila and St. John of the Cross, both sixteenth century Carmelites, reformers, writers, mystics, and subsequently Doctors of The Church. Teresa was, as May explains, John’s mentor & confidant, his “spiritual mother,” nourishing him with her images and visions of the spiritual life (32). Taken together, their visionary understanding of humanity’s unity with God forms the basis of a Christian spirituality that sounds much the same as those of Hindu, Buddhist, Zoroastrian, Sikh, and other faith traditions. Teresa writes that while in prayer God told her to “Seek yourself in Me, and in yourself seek Me” (43; from her poem “Buscando a Dios,” “Seeking God”). This itself seems to me a logical extension of Christ’s words,

“And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to be with you always, the Spirit of truth, which the world cannot accept, because it neither sees nor knows it. But you know it, because it remains with you, and will be in you. I will not leave you orphans” (Jn 14: 16-18)

…keeping in mind that, as Catholics, the Spirit is one aspect of the Trinity that is God. God has His home in us, and we in him: “God in me, and I in God” (45).

May goes on to discuss Teresa’s & John’s belief that the spiritual journey on which we find ourselves is not truly a journey of discovery but one of becoming conscious of that which already exists: our unity with God. This might make for another posting in the future, but I want to bring this back to King’s connection of non-violence & love. As I read May’s writing, I couldn’t help but recall one of my favorite lines from the New Testament: “We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him” (1Jn: 16: NAB). Love itself is an aspect of God, so by our very nature we have, at the core of our being, both the Divine and its aspect, Love. This is the same Love that gave rise to and that animates all of creation, the Love that is the active, creative nature of God.

As in so many things spiritual, however, we grasp only the shadow of Divine Love, though we bandy the word “love” about rather freely. When a person is truly and deeply in love (Anne & I celebrated our 31st anniversary last week, so I’ve been thinking a lot lately about being deeply in love), he or she begins to know what Love truly is, although it is akin to the scent of a rose hinting at the reality of the flower: “For now we see through a glass, darkly”(1 Cor: 12: I like this, the King James version, better). The love that we feel for another, for humanity, for all of creation is the image of and a pathway to the Love that is God that sits at the center of our being. Love is a divine gravity that moves us towards God.

This brings me to the subject of non-violence. As above, love & non-violence go hand-in-hand. Love (capital L) is of God, the Divine, The Source, The Eternal Essence. God The Creator, who is Love, is within His/Her/Its creation (we can also say in love with His/Her/Its creation). Even in our human state, we understand that loving something created of oneself–a child being the best example–precludes even the notion of violence. Christ teaches this in the seventh chapter of Matthew: “Which one of you would hand his son a stone when he asks for a loaf of bread, or a snake when he asks for a fish?” (v 9-10). How much more does the Love that is God negate all forms of violence against any of His (/Her/Its) creation? It appears that violence is by its nature an act against God. Violence is blasphemy.

So if God is Love, and God-Love dwells in us, then we are called to non-violence just as we are called to be conscious of God’s home in us. That humanity has become, in many people’s eyes, synonymous with violence speaks more to our inability to perceive the Divine within, our “fallen state,” than in the reality of our nature. It is, in fact, human nature to be nonviolent, not the other way around.

Teresa, John, and countless & uncounted saints & mystics–Christian & non-Christian alike–came to know that seeking God within oneself is neither easy nor comfortable; it follows that embracing non-violence, which is embracing Love, is also a challenge like no other that we face in this lifetime. Non-violence, like Love, is an active principle. Neither lie still awaiting our embrace. Cesar Chavez said that “Non-violence is not inaction. It is not discussion. It is not for the timid or weak… Non-violence is hard work.” Just as lovers continually express their love for one-another, we must continually express the  non-violence that lies within us.

As Christians–and as Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, etc., even secularists–we are called to a prophetic role in the world. We are called to be a continual reminder that violence is always a sign of failure, that violence is against our nature, that violence ultimately begets more violence. We are called to be, in the words of another saint, instruments of peace.

→ Leave a comment

Posted in conscience, love, peace & justice, spirituality, St. Francis of Assisi

Tagged , , , , ,