Monday 11 January 2016

Moving Towards A Contemplative Live

People have the fundamental duty to orientate their entire being and life to God. 
Thomas Merton

I cannot recall the specific time that my new life and prayer took a turn from discursive to contemplative. 

By discursive prayer, I mean prayer that uses the faculties of the mind and imagination in the development of concepts, images 
and understanding of God.  In contemplative prayer, these faculties are by-passed, and one becomes immersed in God as mystery, God as love.  It is experiential but not at the level of the intellect or emotions.  There is only a sense of being in God’s presence.

It all seemed to happen quite naturally.  As a result of participation in the prayer group, and church activities, prayer became a norm that I grew to love.  Through all of this, I did not cling to any particular style of prayer; so when the time came to change to a different type of prayer, it was not from any conscious decision but seemed to flow from what I was experiencing at the momentDuring times of scripture reflection, reading, or ordinary prayer, I would often find myself slipping into a silence where all I wanted to do was to be still, to let my obsessive thoughts fade away, and strangely sit in the presence of "nothingness".  I was quite happy to be there for a time, soaking in the peaceful stillness as if some mysterious force was present there changing me and shaping me into something of its own design. 

This was the beginning of the time that I seemed to desire solitude, of not being disturbed.  And often this time was followed by some form of consolation, of being united with that "nothingness".  So rather than being a planned activity like many other things in my life at that time, there was a flow about it that made it feel quite natural and right.  

As I read and was influenced by the many books of Thomas
Merton, Thomas Keating, James Finley, William Shannon, Richard Rohr etc., I began to better understand and desire this form of contemplative calling.  And somewhere deep inside, I was drawn to the simplicity that a contemplative lifestyle could bring. It had an appeal at that stage of my spiritual life, even though I knew that such a life would be difficult for a working parent, with three young children.  

But balance among activities of family, work and ministry would always be an important consideration in my life, and I was learning the effects of imbalance as I plunged at times into too many activities.  These would be times of feeling overwhelmed, out of control.  And when these times would arise, adjustments had to be made so that life would take on some semblance of balance and smoothness.  So I would always return to these quiet moments, times of just sitting in the presence of "nothingness"  when life became overwhelmed with activity. It was often all that was needed to return to a balance that was more appropriate for my personality. 

During the years of transition towards this prayer of quiet, it seemed that my life could be broken down into two components.   The most frequent part had to do with carrying out of the normal day to day activities with job, family, and church.  Those moments were filled with all of their ups and downs, successes and failures, joys and sorrows. The less frequent part were those moments when I would slip into a space that can only be described as the total absence of all those things.  It would be as if “self” no longer existed, and
nothing remained but a sense of oneness with God. Momentarily, it was a nice place to be, and when the time came for me to return to my outward life, I would venture back reluctantly. 

Fr. Richard Rohr describes the experience well:

God is always given, incarnate in every moment and present to those who know how to be present themselves. It is that simple and that difficult. To be present in prayer can be like the experience of being loved at a deep level. I hope you have felt such intimacy alone with God. I promise you it is available to you. Maybe a lot of us just need to be told that this divine intimacy is what we should expect and seek. We’re afraid to ask for it; we’re afraid to seek it. It feels presumptuous. We can’t trust that such a love exists—and for us. But it does.


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