Surrender is the discovery that we are in a river of love and that we float without having to do anything. —David Benner, Surrender to Love
Father Richard Rohr considers how surrender is simply accepting the reality that we are not in control:
If we cannot control life and death, why do we spend so much time trying to control smaller outcomes? Call it destiny, providence, guidance, synchronicity, or coincidence, but people who are connected to the Source do not need to steer their own life and agenda. They know that it is being done for them in a much better way than they ever could. Those who hand themselves over are received, and the flow happens through them. Those who don’t relinquish control are still received, but they significantly slow down the natural flow of Spirit.
When we set ourselves up to think we deserve, expect, or need certain things to happen, we are setting ourselves up for constant unhappiness and a final inability to enjoy or at least allow what is going to happen anyway. After a while, we find ourselves resisting almost everything at some level. It is a terrible way to live. Giving up control is a school to learn union, compassion, and understanding. It isultimately a school for the final lettinggo that we call death. Right now, as we face social uncertainty, economic fragility, and the vulnerability of our own bodies, is there something deeper that we can surrender to, that can ground us in disruption?
Surrendering to the divine flow is not about giving in, capitulating, becoming a puppet, being naïve, being irresponsible, or stopping all planning and thinking. Surrender is about a peaceful inner opening that keeps the conduit of living water flowing to love. [1]
I am confident in this: every time we surrender to love, we have also just chosen to die. Every time we let love orient us, we are letting go of ourselves as an autonomous unit and have given a bit of ourselves away to something or someone else, and it is not easily retrieved—unless we choose to stop loving—which many do. But even then, when that expanded self wants to retreat back into itself, it realizes it is trapped in a much larger truth now. And love wins again. [2]
Jesus surely had a dozen good reasons why he should not have had to die so young, so unsuccessful at that point, and the Son of God besides! By becoming the Passover Lamb, plus the foot-washing servant, Jesus makes God’s love human, personal, clear, and quite concrete. Jesus is handed over to the religious and political powers-that-be, and we must be handed over to God from our power, privilege, and need for control. Otherwise, we will never grow up or participate in the mystery of God and love. It really is about “passing over” to a deeper faith and life. [3]
I am training you in steadiness. Too many things interrupt your awareness of Me. I know that you live in a world of sight and sound, but you must not be a slave to those stimuli. Awareness of Me can continue in all circumstances, no matter what happens. This is the steadiness I desire for you. Don’t let unexpected events throw you off course. Rather, respond calmly and confidently, remembering that I am with you. As soon as something grabs your attention, talk with Me about it. Thus I share your joys and your problems; I help you cope with whatever is before you. This is how I live in you and work through you. This is the way of Peace.
RECOMMENDED BIBLE VERSES: Psalm 112:7 NLT 7 They do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the LORD to care for them.
Isaiah 41:10 NLT 10 Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.
Additional insight regarding Isaiah 41:10: All believers are God’s chosen people, and all share the responsibility of representing Him to the world. One day God will bring all his faithful people together. We need not fear because (1) God is with us (“I am with you”); (2) God has established a relationship with us (“I am your God”); and (3) God gives us assurance of his strength, help, and victory over sin and death. Are you aware of all the ways God has helped you?
Today’s Prayer:
Lord,
Train me in steadiness to maintain awareness of Your presence amidst life’s countless distractions. Help me not to be thrown off course by unexpected events but to respond calmly and confidently, knowing You are with me and that You are in control. Let me share my joys and problems with You, experiencing Your peace in every moment—the kind of peace that surpasses all understanding. Amen.
Author bell hooks (1952–2021) considers the biblical call to surrender, so we might be healed by love:
It is difficult to wait. No doubt that is why biblical scriptures urge the seeker to learn how to wait, for waiting renews our strength. When we surrender to the “wait” we allow changes to emerge within us without anticipation or struggle. When we do this we are stepping out, on faith. In Buddhist terms this practice of surrender, of letting go, makes it possible for us to enter a space of compassion where we can feel sympathy for ourselves and others….
Redemptive love lures us and calls us toward the possibility of healing. We cannot account for the presence of the heart’s knowledge. Like all great mysteries, we are all mysteriously called to love no matter the conditions of our lives, the degree of our depravity or despair. The persistence of this call gives us reason to hope…. Renewing our faith in love’s promise, hope is our covenant.…
To return to love, to know perfect love, we surrender the will to power. It is this revelation that makes the scriptures on perfect love so prophetic and revolutionary for our times. We cannot know love if we remain unable to surrender our attachment to power, if any feeling of vulnerability strikes terror in our hearts. Lovelessness torments.
As our cultural awareness of the ways we are seduced away from love, away from the knowledge that love heals gains recognition, our anguish intensifies. But so does our yearning. The space of our lack is also the space of possibility. As we yearn, we make ourselves ready to receive the love that is coming to us, as gift, as promise, as earthly paradise.[1]
Brian McLaren describes how healing occurs when we release our need for supremacy, certainty, and control.
The more we hear the sound of the genuine, the more the deepest habits of our hearts are renovated and remodeled in the way of love, and the more supremacy loses its appeal.… We surrender the supremacy of our ego, our self-centered demands for power, pleasure, prestige, prominence. We surrender the supremacy of our group, whether that group is defined by religion, race, politics, nationality, economic class, social status, or whatever. We even surrender the supremacy of our species, realizing that humans can’t survive and thrive unless the plankton and trees, the soil and bees, and the climate and seas thrive too. We gladly shed supremacy to make room for solidarity. That gain, we discover, is worth every cost….
As the desire to dominate slips through our fingers, something in us dies…. But in the letting go, something new comes, is born, begins, grows: a sense of connection, of not-aloneness, of communion and union and belonging. We descend from the ladders and pedestals we have erected, and we rejoin the community of creation, the network of shalom…. The loss is no small thing, ah, but the gain is incomparably greater.
From Curt Thompson, a Christian Counselor who deals with the issues we are studying this week….
Dear Friend,
As we walk together through Holy Week, we are invited once more into the mystery of Lent—a season of reflection, repentance, and preparation for the joy of Easter.
This time of year has long been about naming our sin, our sorrow, and our longing. But perhaps more than anything, it invites us to name our grief. Lent draws us into the wilderness Jesus himself entered—the place where desire, temptation, and suffering are confronted, not with avoidance, but with honesty and trust in the presence of God.
The more I sit with this season, the more I sense how deeply Lent mirrors the inner patterns of our lives. Beneath our sin lies desire—and beneath that, often, unacknowledged grief. When we begin to untangle these layers, we find that it is not just repentance we need, but healing. Not just confession, but comfort.
Desire is not inherently bad. In fact, it is core to our humanity. But when our desires are unmet or misdirected—when we stop believing that God will give us what we need—we often take matters into our own hands. We grasp instead of receive. We cope instead of grieve. And in doing so, we unknowingly deepen the ache in our souls.
This ache—this grief—can feel overwhelming. For many of us, it’s been tucked away for so long we hardly know where to begin. And yet, the Gospel reminds us that Jesus does not avoid our grief. He draws near to it. In John 11, Jesus is moved not by theological explanations, but by Mary’s tears. Her honest, unfiltered sorrow brings him to his own tears—and then, to action.
This is the invitation of Holy Week: to follow Mary’s lead. To allow ourselves to feel, to grieve, to long—and to bring all of it into the presence of Jesus.
In the days ahead, I encourage you to create space to ask the deeper questions:
What grief am I carrying that I have not fully named?
What longing has gone unmet for so long that I’ve stopped believing it matters?
What sin in my life is really a cry for something good that I’ve tried to secure on my own terms?
Jesus is not afraid of these questions. He welcomes them. And more importantly, he welcomes you.
May this week be marked by sacred honesty, compassionate presence, and courageous hope. And may the One who weeps with you also be the One who calls you forth to life.
Episcopal priest and CAC faculty emeritus Cynthia Bourgeault describes how we can follow the path of descent Jesus models:
In Jesus everything hangs together around a single center of gravity…. In Greek the verb kenosein means “to let go,” or “to empty oneself,” and this is the word Paul chooses at the key moment in his celebrated teaching in Philippians 2:5–11 in order to describe what “the mind of Christ” is all about….
In this beautiful hymn, Paul recognizes that Jesus had only one “operational mode.” Everything he did, he did by self-emptying. He emptied himself and descended into human form. And he emptied himself still further (“even unto death on the cross”) and fell through the bottom to return to the realms of dominion and glory. In whatever life circumstance, Jesus always responded with the same motion of self-emptying—or to put it another way, with the same motion of descent: going lower, taking the lower place, not the higher….
It is a path he himself walked to the very end. In the garden of Gethsemane, with his betrayers and accusers massing at the gates, he struggled and anguished but remained true to his course. Do not hoard, do not cling—not even to life itself. Let it go, let it be—“Not my will but yours be done, O Lord. Into your hands I commend my spirit.”
Thus he came and thus he went, giving himself fully into life and death, losing himself, squandering himself, “gambling away every gift God bestows.” It was not love stored up but love utterly poured out that opened the gates to the Kingdom of Heaven.
Over and over, Jesus lays this path before us. There is nothing to be renounced or resisted. Everything can be embraced, but the catch is to cling to nothing. You let it go. You go through life like a knife goes through a done cake, picking up nothing, clinging to nothing, sticking to nothing. And grounded in that fundamental chastity of your being, you can then throw yourself out, pour yourself out, being able to give it all back, even giving back life itself. That’s the kenotic path in a nutshell. Very, very simple. It only costs everything. [1]
Depth psychologist and contemplative author David Benner considers Jesus a model of surrendering to God’s will:
Christ is the epitome of life lived with willingness. “Your will be done,” he prayed in what we call the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:10). And more than just in prayer, he lived this posture of preferring God’s will to his own. Christian spirituality is following Christ in this self-abandonment. It is following his example of willing surrender….
The abundant life promised us in Christ comes not from grasping but from releasing. It comes not from striving but from relinquishing. It comes not so much from taking as from giving. Surrender is the foundational dynamic of Christian freedom—surrender of my efforts to live my life outside of the grasp of God’s love and surrender to God’s will and gracious Spirit. [2]
Our vocations—our everyday jobs, responsibilities, and societal roles—are sacred callings in which we are meant to glorify God and serve others. Whether someone is a teacher or technician, stay-at-home parent or CEO, every disciple of Jesus can actively participate in His Kingdom mission through their vocation.
Dismantling the Sacred vs. Secular Divide
A long-standing misconception in the church is that ministry is inherently more spiritual than a so-called “secular job.” Thankfully, this thinking is fading, especially among younger generations who are eager to see their work tied to eternal purpose.
Martin Luther argued that the idea that only clergy served God was “the worst trick of the devil.” Instead, he insisted that cobblers, smiths, and farmers were as consecrated as priests when they served their neighbor through their trade.
Luther and the Reformers emphasized that all vocations—from parenting to farming, teaching to governing—are ways God serves humanity through His people. Gene Edward Veith later expanded on this, showing that when we pray for daily bread, God answers through farmers, truck drivers, and grocers. When we need healing, He often works through doctors and nurses. When we learn or grow, He uses teachers, pastors, mentors, and friends.
As Jack Hayford put it, the divide is not between sacred and secular in God’s mind. It’s between light and darkness. God wants to “seed the Earth” with sons and daughters of light—in every arena of culture.
Redefining Vocation: From Job to Calling
The English word “vocation” stems from the Latin word vocatio, meaning “calling.” In this sense, your vocation is far more than your job title or career path. It’s a divine invitation to participate with God in His work on Earth.
Luther taught that every believer’s vocation—whether in the home, church, market, or government—was a form of priestly service. We are each placed strategically by God to love our neighbors, meet real needs, and bring His light into every space we inhabit.
William Perkins, a Puritan leader, described calling as “a certain kind of life ordained and imposed on man by God, for the common good.” Veith added that every legitimate kind of work is a “mask of God”—an avenue through which God blesses others, often hidden behind human hands.
When you bring comfort, make decisions, serve others, produce value, or build anything that helps your community—you are partnering with God. Whether you’re a milkmaid or a business owner, it’s all holy ground.
Vocational DNA: Five God-Given Traits
Each field of work—whether education, business, arts, technology, medicine, or beyond—contains:
God-Given Competence – Each vocation comes with gifts and skills that are unique expressions of God’s creativity and power. For example, tech professionals serve by fixing our gadgets, and emergency workers bring order and rescue in moments of crisis.
Distinct Products and Services – Every field contributes real solutions to meet real needs in the world. Fuel workers help power homes and cars. Media professionals inform, inspire, and sometimes even save lives.
Unique Impact Range – Some vocations have wide-reaching influence, like performing artists or politicians. Others are more intimate but no less important, like homeschooling parents or local shopkeepers.
Collaborative Relationships – Each vocation invites teamwork. From surgical units to athletic teams, collaboration builds both friendships and stronger results.
Specialized Mission – Finally, each field has a unique mission to bless others. Government is meant to protect and provide justice. The Church exists to disciple and evangelize. All work done unto the Lord is valuable and has Kingdom impact.
God’s Character on Display in Every Vocation
Technology reveals His omniscience and power. Every notification or GPS signal reminds us of God’s capacity to know and guide.
Creation and Environment reflect His artistry. From the structure of a sunflower to the orbit of the Earth, God reveals Himself as both architect and artist.
Government shows His leadership, justice, and mercy—pointing to the coming Kingdom.
Parenting and Family reflect His nurture, creativity, and loving discipline.
Even construction points back to the Master Builder, who gave Noah detailed blueprints for the ark and called skilled laborers to build the Tabernacle. Every field is a canvas for His glory.
This Is Not Just a Job—It’s God’s Work
Whether you’re leading a company or fixing plumbing, writing code or raising children, your work is a sacred trust. You are God’s representative in your vocation. When you serve with love, excellence, and faithfulness, you bear witness to the One who called you.
This vocational vantage point changes how we think, serve, and lead. It dismantles false divisions, elevates all kinds of work, and invites every follower of Jesus to see their 9-to-5 as an altar of worship. It’s not a career—it’s a calling.
Jesus’ state was divine, yet he did not cling to equality with God, but he emptied himself. —Philippians 2:6–7
Father Richard Rohr reflects on Jesus’ surrender to God through a path of descent:
In the overflow of rich themes on Palm Sunday, I am going to direct us toward the great parabolic movement described in Philippians 2. Most New Testament scholars consider that this was originally a hymn sung in the early Christian community. To give us an honest entranceway, let me offer a life-changing quote from C. G. Jung (1875–1961):
In the secret hour of life’s midday the parabola is reversed, death is born. The second half of life does not signify ascent, unfolding, increase, exuberance, but death, since the end is its goal. The negation of life’s fulfilment is synonymous with the refusal to accept its ending. Both mean not wanting to live, and not wanting to live is identical with not wanting to die. Waxing and waning make one curve. [1]
The hymn from Philippians artistically, honestly, yet boldly describes that “secret hour” Jung refers to, when God in Christ reversed the parabola, when the waxing became waning. It starts with the great self-emptying or kenosis that we call the incarnation and ends with the crucifixion. It brilliantly connects the two mysteries as one movement, down, down, down into the enfleshment of creation, into humanity’s depths and sadness, and into a final identification with those at the very bottom (“took the form of a slave,” Philippians 2:7). Jesus represents God’s total solidarity with, and even love of, the human situation, as if to say, “nothing human is abhorrent to me.”
God, if Jesus is right, has chosen to descend—in almost total counterpoint with our humanity that is always trying to climb, achieve, perform, and prove itself. This hymn says that Jesus leaves the ascent to God, in God’s way, and in God’s time. Most of us understandably start the journey assuming that God is “up there,” and our job is to transcend this world to find God. We spend so much time trying to get “up there,” we miss that God’s big leap in Jesus was to come “down here.” What freedom! And it ends up better than any could have expected. “Because of this, God lifted him up” (Philippians 2:9). We call the “lifting up” resurrection or ascension. Jesus is set as the human blueprint, the oh-so-hopeful pattern of divine transformation.
Trust the down, and God will take care of the up. This leaves humanity in solidarity with the life cycle, and also with one another, with no need to create success stories for ourselves or to create failure stories for others. Humanity in Jesus is free to be human and soulful instead of any false climbing into “Spirit.” This was supposed to change everything, and I trust it still will.
Releasing into New Life
Experiencing loss creates opportunities to practice releasing our attachments to who we think we are. Richard Rohr writes:
Some form of suffering or death—psychological, spiritual, relational, or physical—is the only way we will loosen our ties to our small and separate self. Only then does the larger self appear, which we could call the Risen Christ, the soul, or the true self. The physical process of transformation through dying is expressed eloquently by Kathleen Dowling Singh, who spent her life in hospice work: “The ordinary mind [the false self] and its delusions die in the Nearing Death Experience. As death carries us off, it is impossible to any longer pretend that who we are is our ego. The ego is transformed in the very carrying off.” [1] This is why so many spiritual teachers say we must die before we die.
The overly defended ego is where we reside before these much-needed deaths. The true self (or “soul”) becomes real to us only after we have walked through death and come out much larger and wiser on the other side. This is what we mean by transformation, conversion, or enlightenment. [2]
The civil rights leader Rosemarie Freeney Harding offered a compassionate example of not clinging, even to life itself. Her daughter Rachel recounts how Freeney Harding sat with the dying:
Mama would go sit with the ones who were leaving here. Keep them company. Take food and stories and family and silence, so they could remember something beautiful in their final hours.
Death is not the end of everything. What comes after death is just as important as what comes before. Practice Dharma to leave a strong imprint of positiveness at death.
Knowing too how to make the separation: The last conversation. The last morsel of food. One has to separate completely.
When Daddy [civil rights activist Vincent Harding] died, Mama sat at the side of his bed and he asked her if she would go with him. She whispered to him, “No, fool! Are you crazy?” She was kissing him and crying and holding his hand. She told him no. Everybody tried to make him as comfortable as possible when he passed. But he had to go alone. They were waiting on the other side—Mama Catherine and them—Daddy’s people. My mama knew that.
(In my father’s house are many rooms. I go to prepare a place, that where I am there you may be.) Buddha went ahead to discover what is real. Mama brought reality into our home, gave us an example and sent us into the world to practice. [3]
Richard Rohr concludes:
Anything less than the death of the false self is useless religion. The manufactured false self must die for the true self to live, or as Jesus himself puts it, “Unless I go, the Spirit cannot come” (John 16:7). Theologically speaking, Jesus (a good individual person) had to die for the Christ (the universal presence) to arise. This is the universal pattern of transformation. [4]
Etty Hillesum had every reason to despair. A forward-thinking, Jewish intellectual, Etty Hillesum lived in German-occupied Amsterdam and wrote her now-famous diaries between 1941 and 1943. She witnessed her fellow Jews first singled out and identified by being forced to wear the Star of David on their right arms. She experienced the gradual hatred and intimidation towards Jews by the ever-present Gestapo. She lived through the antisemitic laws that forbade Jews from going to certain grocery stores, which created a curfew. At first, it was not clear where her friends were being transited to, even though rumors of mass murder were in the air. She watched as friends were loaded on trains, and eventually, she and her family were deported to camps in Poland and Germany, meeting death.
What is remarkable about Etty Hillesum is not only her chronicle of the unfolding horror in Amsterdam and beyond but also her resolute, nearly incomprehensible choice to choose life and to choose God as long as she had life. She stared at the blood dripping from Nazi Germany’s dragon’s jaws, and she still danced, to use a metaphor from Canadian folk singer Bruce Cockburn. She wrote about life and death. She wrote about coming to terms with life in the ominous presence of death. And she said:
By ‘coming to terms with life’ I mean: the reality of death has become a definite part of my life; my life has, so to speak, been extended by death, by my looking death in the eye and accepting it… It sounds paradoxical: by excluding death from our life, we cannot live a full life, and by admitting death into our life we expand and enlarge it.
Etty Hillesum and Jesus of Nazareth understood each other, I think. Etty lived as death, in its most brutal incarnation, encroached upon and stole the soul of a country. A twisted and (to use a spiritual diagnosis) demonic regime’s actions resulted in millions of lives killed.
Jesus in John’s gospel likewise dances in dragon’s jaws. He tangoes with the elite temple leaders. These are the leaders who have the power to take his life and eventually do. He provokes them. He disputes with them. He claims authoritative teaching even over their teacher Moses, their guide who had ascended heaven’s heights. He distributes bread in a hungry Roman province. He disregards religion’s rules and claims wholeness and healing for the hurt and wounded. He claims oneness with the source of being, a personal divine reality he names Father; he even dares to extend that oneness to his followers.
He faces plots on his life, such as a narrowly-missed stoning. Despite the disciples’ attempt to point out the obvious: “Rabbi, the Jews (Judean temple elites) were just now trying to stone you, and are you going to go there again?” (John 11:8), he goes Jerusalem’s outskirts again. He knows his beloved friend Lazarus will die, and he knows he will bring him back to life to reveal God’s glory, and he knows that he himself will die on the heels of claiming, of all things, “I am the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25).
And yet Jesus goes to Jerusalem… in his own time, as usual. He tells his mother at Cana’s wedding that his hour has not yet come (John 2:4) as if to say, “Don’t force my hand, even if it is to save the party by turning water into wine.” Despite his friends Mary and Martha writing a heartrending letter about their brother Lazarus’s near-death illness, Jesus waits two days before leaving to see him (John 11:6), quipping that Lazarus is sleeping, knowing full well that Lazarus is not dozing but soon to be dead.
It’s as if the vision of God’s life has so captivated Jesus’ person that he does not deem ultimate the impending threats to diminish or steal that life. John’s message through Jesus is clear: I have come so that they may have life, and have it abundantly (John 10:10). I am the resurrection and the life (John 11:25). For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes or trusts in him shall not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16).
Jesus’ life begins now and continues later. Eternal life, or “life of the ages,” is the life of heaven’s realm. It is a new age overlapping with our own. Despite anti-immigrant raids, authoritarian disappearances, economic free-fall, attacks on freedom of speech (under the guise of combating antisemitism), cruel and punishing aid cuts to… everything, including local libraries, not to mention the inherent fragility of our own bodies and the constant and often tortured struggles we carry in our own souls, we are, at this moment, nevertheless, alive!
“What will you do with your one wild and precious life?” Mary Oliver asks. Her question haunts us in the presence of death and death’s sisters, all those powers and crises that vanquish life. And yet, on the other side of that haunting question is nothing less than liberation. As Etty Hillesum wrote,
As life becomes harder and more threatening, it also becomes richer, because the fewer expectations that we have, the more good things of life become unexpected gifts that we accept with gratitude.
The disciple Thomas thumps his chest at the imminent danger Jesus and his movement face. “Let us go to Judea, that we may die with him” (John 11:16), treating Jesus’ movement as a test of typical male bravado and well-intentioned, if misunderstood, loyalty. We might laugh at Thomas, but we do the same in the presence of death: we don’t accept it; we “Rage, Rage, against the dying of the light,” to quote Dylan Thomas.
Martha, for her part, makes the mistake that most Christians have made with John’s gospel, which is to think that Jesus’ eternal life is something saved for later. Martha says to Jesus: “I know that he (my brother Lazarus) will rise again in the resurrection on the last day” (John 11:24). Jesus replies as if to say: “No, Martha. I’m not only talking about the resurrection at the end of days, I’m talking about the resurrection this day, because, after all, “I am the resurrection and the life” and I’m standing in front of you.” Martha’s mistake is the catastrophic theological mistake that leads various Christians to participate with death in their blatant disregard of life. But such thinking is heretical to true enfleshed and spirited gospel.
John’s gospel turns this logic on its head. Eternal life is not only later, to the exclusion of this life; it’s now and later, embracing this life and all its woundedness and even death itself.
To face death with the courage of life is not to deny death. It is to acknowledge death’s power fully while trusting a more whole vision. Jesus, after having seemingly ignored Mary and Martha’s pleas for him to arrive at once to heal Lazarus, is overwhelmed with grief and anger. As the early doctrinal wars decided, the Logos—the Word made Flesh—is fully human.
In the scene, Mary is weeping, and the Jewish leaders who want Jesus dead are likewise there and weeping (John 11:33-35). The combination of compassion for his deceased friend Lazarus, his grieving friends Mary and Martha, and his fury at the religious leaders’ hypocrisy and gall make Jesus weep, too (John 11:35). Jesus was “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved” (John 11:33)—the Greek translation of which is connected to outward expressions of anger, often with gestures such as snorting. John’s picture is that Jesus is snorting in full-bodied grief and anger at death’s power and the suffering it creates. It’s enough to galvanize Jesus to switch into full-on action mode, going directly to the tomb, commanding someone to roll away the stone, and finally shouting for dead Lazarus to come out. Which he does, all bound with cloth, as a mummy (John 11:38-44).
Dare we stand in the places of death, the places of our world and lives that diminish life, and choose life anyway? John gives us a courageous vision of resurrection, of life rising again from what we once thought mistakenly was a tomb. As the Sikh activist Valarie Kaur memorably put it, “What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb?”
Author and podcaster Cassidy Hall explores the desert as a metaphor for difficult times in our lives:
Sometimes desert conditions invite us to strip ourselves of all that is unnecessary and all that hinders us from forging ahead…. The desert distills us into the absolute rawness of who we are and asks us who we want to be. The desert will always find a way to reveal the core of our humanity, in all its naked vulnerability. And we must live through the desert moments in order to survive. The words of life get us to the next day. The chosen and unchosen deserts must be crossed…. As the desert monastics suggest, the only way through the deserts of life is to remain in the practice of examining the self, to stay in theDivine’s presenceas we unveil ourselves, to truly see and be seen….
Even when I don’t want the gifts of the desert, I know they are real; with time I will be able to receive them. The unchosen deserts of my life have often been places of my most profound growth, where I’ve found liminal knowing, healing, new layers of vulnerability, and quiet blossoming. I’m reminded of the words of life that have come to me in past experiences, including the words and wisdom I’ve received from the early and modern desert monastics….
Most of the desert monastics committed themselves to some kind of rhythm combining prayer, self-reflection, and seeking the Divine. And amid this commitment, the landscape of the desert offered its own invitation into depth, growth, and the reminder that we are never alone. The desert plants, like the desert monastics, teach us again of the necessity to deepen our roots. We only carry through the deserts what we must: our reliance on root systems, communal care, and interconnection; the clarity of knowingwhat pieces of ourselves must die; and the timeless lesson to know and understand ourselves more intimately.
Through desert experiences, we learn to care more deeply for ourselves and the world:
The deserts are many. Chosen and unchosen desert encounters have opened me up to see and experience more room within myself for the whole world—to carry myself, the beloved, and the world with open hands; with compassionate, vulnerable, and tender acceptance. From here, I recognize my capacity for action in the world with deeper clarity about who I am and what I am to speak—or show up to….
In the spaciousness of solitude, we open ourselves up to the truth of ourselves. We more deeply root, examine, shed, and soften. Even in the desert moments of daily life, we are invited into renewal, when the wonder of uncertainty meets a sacred pause amid a busy day. And almost always, the desert spaces are places and moments of paradox: knowing amid the unknowing, refreshment in the parched places, life amid death, fecundity in the barrenness, midnight blooming, and acceptance of seasons.
During our Fully Alive cohort this past week, one of the attendees brought out this quote from Karl Barth.
I had forgotten it for a while, but it is good.
Barth was a pastor-theologian during World War II and began his work as a Presbyterian pastor before shifting to being a professor of theology. At one point, he was even dubbed “The Professor of Grace.”
His magnum opus, Church Dogmatics, is his attempt to give a reformulation of the Reformation for the average church worker. He did not seek to write solely for academics, although they did cling to his every word in the mid-1960s. His work was so influential that the Catholic Church even said he was the most important theologian since Thomas Aquinas (which is a MASSIVE compliment).
One commentator even said, “I know Barth’s theology to be true because when I finish reading it, I have a profound sense of joy.”
2.
“Nothing has ever been said about God that hasn’t already been said better by the wind in the pine trees.”
Now that spring is here, and warmer weather is happening, I am so glad to see cherry blossoms and trees with budding leaves. Winter can be rough when there isn’t much snow to keep it beautiful, and I admit to being significantly affected by how much sunlight I get or don’t get.
I love taking long hikes. A saunter through the woods can be as short as an hour, but it feels like a whole afternoon. Time slows down.
There truly is a spirituality to being outside in nature.
Perhaps this is the case because it was what Adam and Eve experienced in the Garden. Green is a naturally calming color, especially when paired against a blue sky
Yes, St. Francis indeed used to preach to the woods and woodland creatures, but it might be a good idea to let them preach to us as well.
3.
Abbot Lot came to Abbot Joseph and said: “Father, to the limit of my ability, I keep my little rule, my little fast, my prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and to the limit of my ability, I work to cleanse my heart of thoughts; what more should I do?”
The elder rose up in reply, and stretched out his hands to heaven, and his fingers became like ten lamps of fire. He said: “Why not be utterly changed into fire?”
In Biblical imagery and the Christian tradition, fire is and continues to be a metaphor for God.
The great saints, sages, hermits, mystics, and holy fools of the Church speak of encountering this Fire and teach us that what we are all looking for can be found in that elusive yet ever-present Fire.
Religion is good and, in many ways, necessary, and it is a frequent tool to expose us to the Fire that is God. The unfortunate thing is that sometimes we yearn for the Fire yet settle for ritual.
This is what happens above with Abbot Lot. He has kept to the external and internal practices of ritualistic religion but missed that all those practices exist to expose him to the Fire enough that he can BECOME the Fire by participating in the Fire. And so, Abbot Joseph, who must have been a spiritual master, understood the task at hand and invited Abbot Lot to be transformed into that Fire who is God.
This aspect of the Christian faith did not make it across the Atlantic, the concept of becoming God by participating in the life of God. However, that is why these sayings of the early desert fathers are so important; they hold onto the early formulations of the Christian faith for us to pick up thousands of years later.
4.
“You will know your vocation by the joy that it brings you. You will know. You will know when it’s right.”
“3 Reform your ways and your actions, and I will let you live in this place. 4 Do not trust in deceptive words and say, “This is the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord!” 5 If you really change your ways and your actions and deal with each other justly, 6 if you do not oppress the foreigner, the fatherless or the widow and do not shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not follow other gods to your own harm, 7 then I will let you live in this place, in the land I gave your ancestors for ever and ever. 8 But look, you are trusting in deceptive words that are worthless.
9 “‘Will you steal and murder, commit adultery and perjury, burn incense to Baal and follow other gods you have not known, 10 and then come and stand before me in this house, which bears my Name, and say, “We are safe”—safe to do all these detestable things? 11 Has this house, which bears my Name, become a den of robbers to you? But I have been watching! declares the Lord.“
Jeremiah is one of the three Major Prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures, alongside Isaiah and Ezekiel.
Isaiah emphasizes a New Creation, while Ezekiel emphasizes a New Temple.
Jeremiah is set apart by emphasizing a New Covenant.
For Jeremiah, the Israelites so desperately lost the plot that the Lord divorced himself from being their God. Israel had gotten to the point of trusting in itself and its economic and military might that their faith became mixed and fused with the surrounding pagan religions. All of their trust was in themselves, so they began to believe their own lies and deceptions. Israel told themselves a narrative that they were the foremost nation in the world, and that became their downfall.
Israel oppressed aliens among them, did not care for the fatherless or the widow, shed innocent blood, followed (and sacrificed) to gods of their own making, and trusted their own falsehoods. They stole from one another, murdered, committed adultery, lied in court, paid respects to foreign gods, and then dared to talk in holy places about how they were a people of faith.
As a result, God turned his wrath on Israel and the Temple.
One might think that such wrath would be spared for non-believers, but in Jeremiah, the wrath is directed first toward the household of God, who should have known better than to fall into such practices of injustice.
When a nation that calls itself devout falls into practices that lack compassion, humility, generosity, understanding, welcome, and a preferential option for those at the bottom, it should not be surprising if God must do some pruning.
Richard Rohr considers how we might, like the desert mystics, develop inner freedom through practice and solitude:
The desert fathers and mothers withdrew from cities to the desert to live freely, apart from the economic, cultural, and political structure of the Roman Empire. The abbas and ammas knew, as should we, that theempire would be an unreliable partner.They recognized that they had to find inner freedom from the system before they could return to it with true love, wisdom, and helpfulness. This is the continuing dynamic to this day, otherwise, “Culture eats Christianity for breakfast” to use a modern turn of phrase, and our deep transformative power is largely lost.
How do we find inner freedom? Notice that whenever we suffer pain, the mind is always quick to identify with the negative aspects of things and replay them over and over again, wounding us deeply. Almost all humans have a compulsion to fixate almost entirely on what’s wrong, which is why so many peoplebecome fearful, hate-filled, and wrapped around their negative commentaries. This pattern must be recognized early and definitively. Peace of mind is an oxymoron. When we’re in our mind, we’re hardly ever at peace; when we’re at peace, we’re never only in our mind. The early Christian abbas and ammas knew this and first insisted on finding the inner rest and quiet necessary totame the obsessive mind.
In a story from Benedicta Ward’s The Sayings of the Desert Fathers: “A brother came to Scetis to visit Abba Moses and asked him for a word. The old man said to him, ‘Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.’” [1] But we don’t have to have a cell, and we don’t have to run away from the responsibilities of an active life, to experience solitude and silence. Amma Syncletica said, “There are many who live in the mountains and behave as if they were in the town, and they are wasting their time. It is possible to be a solitary in one’s mind while living in a crowd, and it is possible for one who is a solitary to live in the crowd of [their] own thoughts.” [2]
By solitude, the desert mystics didn’t mean mere privacy or protected space, although there is a need for that too. The desert mystics saw solitude, in Henri Nouwen’s words, as “the place of conversion, the place where the old self dies and the new self is born, the place where the emergence of the new man and the new woman occurs.” [3] Solitude is a courageous encounter with our naked, most raw and real self, in the presence of pure love. Quite often this can happen right in the midst of human relationships and busy lives.
Trust Me in every detail of your life. Nothing is random in My kingdom. Everything that happens fits into a pattern for good, to those who love Me. Instead of trying to analyze the intricacies of the pattern, focus your energy on trusting Me and thanking Me at all times. Nothing is wasted when you walk close to Me. Even your mistakes and sins can be recycled into something good, through My transforming grace. While you were still living in darkness, I began to shine the Light of My Presence into your sin-stained life. Finally, I lifted you up out of the mire into My marvelous Light. Having sacrificed My very Life for you, I can be trusted in every facet of your life.
RECOMMENDED BIBLE VERSES:
Joshua 10:14-15 NLT 14 There has never been a day like this one before or since, when the LORD answered such a prayer. Surely the LORD fought for Israel that day! 15 Then Joshua and the Israelite army returned to their camp at Gilgal. (Related scriptures = Exodus 14:4, Deuteronomy 1:30, Joshua 10:6, Joshua 43)
Romans 8:28 NLT 28 And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. (Related scriptures = Ephesians 1:11 & 3:11, 2nd Timothy 1:9)
Additional insight regarding Romans 8:28: God works in “everything” – not just isolated incidents – for our good. This does not mean that all that happens to us is good. Evil is prevalent in our fallen world, but God is able to turn every circumstance around for our long-term good. Not that God is not working to make us happy but to fulfill his purpose. Note also that this promise is not for everybody. It can be claimed only by those who love God and are called by Him, that is, those whom the Holy Spirit convinces to receive Christ. Such people have a new perspective, a new mindset. They trust in God, not in worldly treasures; their security is in Heaven, not on earth. Their faith in God does not waver in pain and persecution because they know God is with them.
Psalm 40:2 NLT 2 He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along. (Related scriptures = Psalm 27:5 & 69:1-2, Jeremiah 38:6)
Additional insight regarding Psalm 40:1-3: Waiting for God to help us is not easy, but David received four benefits from waiting: 1) God lifted him out of despair 2) God set his feet on solid ground 3) God steadies him as he walked 4) God put a new song of praise in his mouth. Often blessings cannot be received unless we go through the trial of waiting.
1st Peter 2:9 NLT 9 But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light. (Related scriptures = Exodus 19:5-6, Deuteronomy 7:6 & 10:15, Isaiah 43:20-21, 1st Peter 2:5, Revelation 1:6)
Additional insight regarding 1st Peter 2:9: Christians sometimes speak of “the priesthood of all believers.” In Old Testament times, people did not approach God directly. A priest acted as an intermediary between God and sinful human beings. With Christ’s victory on the cross, that pattern changed. Now we can come directly into God’s presence without fear (Hebrews 4:16), and we are given the responsibility of bringing others to him also (2nd Corinthians 5:18-21). When we are united with Christ as members of his body, we join in his priestly work of reconciling God and people.
Additional insight regarding 1st Peter 2:9-10: People often base their self-concept on their accomplishments. But our relationship with Christ is far more important than our jobs, successes, wealth, or knowledge. We have been chosen by God as his very own, and we have been called to represent him to others. Remember that your value comes from being one of God’s children, not from what you can achieve. You have worth because of what God does, not because of what you do.
Today’s Prayer:
Dear Heavenly Father,
I trust You with every aspect of my life. I know nothing is random in Your kingdom, and You work all things for good for those who love You. Instead of analyzing out of a desire to be in control, I choose to focus on trusting and thanking You always in all circumstances.
Thank You for lifting me out of darkness and transforming my mistakes into something good. Help me to live out Your purpose for me and to show Your goodness to others.
In a teaching for CAC’s Living School, contemplative theologian Belden Lane shares the countercultural stance of the desert abbas and ammas:
Three important things set the desert monks apart from the world they had left behind: simplicity of language, radical forgiveness, and the hiddenness of the self.
The first was a simplicity of language. When you put a priority on silence and scarcity as taught by the land itself, the language you use will be very sparse. People out in the desert don’t tend to talk much. Having left behind the noise and clutter of city life, the monks placed a premium on brevity of speech. They knew that words too easily got in the way of what matters most….
The monks’ leanness of speech even affected the way they spoke of God. The vast expanse of the desert had done a job on the mindset of these early Christians. It broke up their dependence on glib answers and theological explanations. They found themselves running out of language very easily. They knew that in God’s own being was a vast expanse beyond their ability to comprehend, not unlike the desert itself. God is ultimately beyond anything that can be put into words….
A second major theme in the theological grounding of these desert Christians was their emphasis on radical forgiveness. They were very demanding in the discipline they embraced, but the hardness was always anchored in love. They were deeply sensitive to the wounds that the brothers and sisters invariably brought with them into the desert. Amma Syncletica emphasized that assuming a desert life as a monk didn’t automatically make anybody holy. She knew that everyone came into the monastery with a whole lot of interior baggage. So wound work, healing within the broken places they carried inside, was incredibly important….
The abbas and ammas knew that this inner work was crucial in one’s spiritual growth. It’s essential to the discipline of the heart. But as resolute as they were in demanding this soul work, they were just as resolute in practicing a radical forgiveness. They were always slow to judge others, seeing the best in the younger and weaker brothers and sisters, putting the finest possible interpretation on their behavior….
A third and last theme in the theological grounding of the desert Christians is their emphasis on the hiddenness of the self. They were keenly aware of the operation of the true and false self as Thomas Merton has pointed out. While they were tempted to always make themselves look good, practicing impression management, they kept reminding themselves that God was most pleased when their goodness was hidden altogether from others….
Amma Theodora said that in the monastic life, the hardest world you have to leave behind is the one you carry right inside your heart. The monks knew that the false self projects a polished public face in order to cultivate the admiration of others, but the true self is content to remain hidden in Christ.
APR 9, 2025 Missing God’s Message in Ministry
Click Here for Audio 1 Kings 6 is one of those chapters we usually skip when reading through the Bible. It explains how Solomon built the Temple in Jerusalem with details that are mind-numbing to modern readers. There are a lot of measurements in cubits, descriptions of inlaid this and carved that, and specifics about what kind of wood was used for which doors—olive, cedar, or juniper. Honestly, it can get tedious and often seems irrelevant to those seeking to follow the way of Jesus today. But if we look closely, we will find gold in this chapter, and not just the kind used inside the Temple. The entire chapter is written to make it sound like Solomon built the Temple by himself, which is ridiculous because the construction took seven years and required thousands of workers (see 1 Kings 6:38). Here are just a few examples:“ The temple that King Solomon built for YHWH was sixty cubits long…” (6:2) “He made narrow windows high up in the temple walls.” (6:4) “He lined its interior walls with cedar boards…” (6:15) “On the walls all around the temple…he carved cherubim, palm trees and open flowers.” (6:29)There are dozens of verses like these. No one other than Solomon is mentioned because the writer wants the king to receive full credit for every detail of the project. Unlike the Tabernacle, even God is not mentioned in the design or construction of the Temple. The message of 1 Kings 6 is loud and clear: Solomon built the Temple for God.The complete absence of God from the process of building the Temple makes the one time he does speak in the chapter jump out. Sandwiched between all of the design and construction details, the Lord says to Solomon. “As for this temple you are building, if you follow my decrees, observe my laws and keep all my commands and obey them, I will fulfill through you the promise I gave to David your father. And I will live among the Israelites and will not abandon my people Israel” (1 Kings 6:12-13).Notice that God doesn’t say anything about the Temple itself. Nothing about its magnificent scale. Not a word about all of the gold, or the grandeur of the bronze pillars, or the enormous altar and basin. And the Lord never says a word about all that Solomon is doing for him. Remember, that is the overwhelming drumbeat of the chapter, but God doesn’t seem to care one bit. Instead, God ignores the Temple and Solomon’s work to remind the king what matters more—following his commandments.Unfortunately, the message didn’t appear to get through. Solomon didn’t respond to God with a reflection on his laws or promises. Instead, the very next verse says, “So Solomon built the temple and completed it,” and it’s followed by 23 more verses of construction details. If this chapter were visualized, it would show Solomon hard at work building the Temple. I imagine him wearing a hardhat, pencil behind his ear, studying the blueprints, as he’s directing crews of workmen. Then God taps Solomon on the shoulder and says, “Hey, Solomon, don’t forget that what I really care about isn’t this massive project you’re doing for me. I want you to obey my laws. I want you to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with me.” But rather than receiving God’s message, Solomon just brushes him aside because he’s consumed by his important work for God. After all, if he doesn’t build a house for God, who will?Therefore, when we read 1 Kings 6 in this light, we discover that the chapter isn’t really celebrating Solomon’s work for God. Instead, the chapter is a warning that Solomon had given his attention to the wrong priority—and that warning is just as relevant today. We can become so focused on our work forGod that we completely miss our true calling fromGod. We can easily assume that the ministry we are building, the organization we are constructing, or the mission we are accomplishing is what matters most. Like Solomon, we can make our goals for God more important than our life with God and advancing a mission more critical than obeying his commands. When this happens, we will even excuse evil or cover up abuse because doing otherwise might get in the way of accomplishing our work for God. Character and obedience are often the first things sacrificed on the altar of ministry.
WEEKLY PRAYER From an unknown source (16th Century) O Lord, the Scripture says, “There is a time for silence and a time for speech.” Savior, teach me the silence of humility, the silence of wisdom, the silence of love, the silence of perfection, the silence that speaks without words, the silence of faith. Lord teach me to silence my own heart that I may listen to the gentle movement of the Holy Spirit within me and sense the depths which are of God. Amen.
In the morning, while it was still very dark, Jesus got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. —Mark 1:35
Rev. Dr. Barbara Holmes (1943–2024) reflects on the desert experiences of Jesus and the early Christians:
Jesus’s ministry modeled the interplay between prophetic utterance, public theology, and intense spiritual renewal. He launches his three-year ministry from the desert wilderness, a place that will be the home of latter-day desert mothers and fathers. After an intense time of fasting, testing, and submission to the leading of the Holy Spirit, Jesus returns ready to fulfill his calling. These rhythms of activism and contemplation, engagement and withdrawal resonate throughout his life….
When Christianity began, it was small and intense, communal and set apart, until it found favor with the state. Those adherents who witnessed Rome’s public affirmation of Christianity in the fourth century realized that the contemplative aspects of the faith could not be nurtured under the largesse of the state. And so, in the fifth century, monasticism flourished in the desert as Christian converts retreated for respite and spiritual clarity. Although the desert mothers and fathers sought harsh and isolated sites, they soon found that they were not alone. The decision to retreat drew others to them. Communities formed as city dwellers came out to seek advice and solace. The historical model of contemplation offers the rhythm of retreat and return. It was in the wilderness that African contemplatives carved out unique spiritual boundaries.
Holmes describes how we can live out this desert legacy and wisdom today:
If the desert is a place of renewal, transformation, and freedom, and if the heat and isolation served as a nurturing incubator …, one wonders if a desert experience is necessary to reclaim this legacy.
One need not wonder long when there are so many deserts within reach. Today’s wilderness can be found in bustling suburban and urban centers, on death row, in homeless shelters in the middle of the night, in the eyes of a hospice patient, and in the desperation of AIDS orphans in Africa and around the world. Perhaps these are the postmodern desert mothers and fathers. Perhaps contemplative spaces can be found wherever people skirt the margins of inclusion. Perhaps those whom we value least have the most to teach.
We are in need of those values central to African [desert] monasticism and early Christian hospitality; they include communal relationships, humility, and compassion. Laura Swan sums up these virtues in the word apatheia, defined as “a mature mindfulness, a grounded sensitivity, and a keen attention to one’s inner world as well as to the world in which one has journeyed.” [1] Inevitably, the journey takes each of us in different directions; however, by virtue of circumstances or choice, each of us will at some point in our lives find ourselves on the outskirts of society listening to the silence coming from within. During these times, we realize that contemplation is a destination as well as a practice. The monastics knew this and valued both.
From our friend, Brad Jersak. BTW this is from his newsletter. You can sign up for it if you like
A social media friend, Luke Brunskill, was preparing a homily on the parable of the Prodigal Son (manuscript here) and contacted me ask whether there’s any of the early church fathers or mothers had noticed a death and resurrection in Jesus’ story. Not that I know of, but that’s speaking from gaps in my research.
Luke messaged me, saying, “I have been battling with the thought and feeling that there is repentance after death. That is how we ALL get to the Telos of God. I am tasked with speaking on the Prodigal Son this Sunday at church and this eschatological idea is popping up because the father twice calls the younger son ‘dead.’ Is my theology of the afterlife going crazy to imagine the shedding of sin and return to the Father in the afterlife?
Twice. That stopped me. Repetition in the Scriptures invites a second glance. So I double- and triple-checked Luke 15. Then I noticed:
17 But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger!
23 And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, 24 for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’
32 But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ ”
Had the prodigal literallydiedand come back to life? Well, it’s a parable, no nothing is read literally. But the fictional aspect of parables are nevertheless saturated with truth. As my friend Paul reminded me, some truth is so big—so universal—that only a myth can carry it. So the parable does not describe a particular Galilean family in first century space and time. We know it’s a story about everyone and about each of us. It’s about departure and waywardness, about getting hopelessly lost and finally dead. Why would we limit the parable to a this-life ultimatum when Jesus uses the language of death and dying three times and the reality of resurrection is mentioned twice?
We might say, “But of course he’s speaking metaphorically of our spiritual death through sin and our spiritual resurrection through repentance in this life.” Of course he is. But only now? Not after? Why not?
C.S. Lewis’ greatest book (in my opinion), The Great Divorce explores this very possibility. He imagines and names the place of the dead and damned “Grey Town,” from which people may yet board a bus and make their journey of repentance to “the High Countries.” The parallel in the parable becomes more obvious: Lewis’ Grey Town is for Jesus the Distant Country and the High Countries are called the Father’s House.
I suppose Luke (my friend) can conceive of the possibility that if the language of death and resurrection can point back to repentance and return in this life, then the reverse might be true as well: the practice of death and resurrection in this life might also point to the reality of repentance and return in the next. Of course, the sooner the better—better now than later (unless we’re as deluded as the younger brother when he headed out).
P.S. If we play with this idea enough to imagine redemption beyond death, then the resentment of the older brother only grows more obvious. His own confession is that he had wasted his piety on a lifetime of sacrificial ‘slaving’ outside the father’s house. He did not know the eternal life of fellowship with God. He was unplugged from intimacy and communion. How dare God welcome the hedonist home without punishment or payment?!
Even worse if he did so if his younger sibling had died of starvation first? It’s bad enough to let him in just before he died! How much worse if he were resurrected prior to his repentance! So much for Tertullian’s cruel schadenfreude (pain-joy) of the elect!
“At that greatest of all spectacles, that last and eternal judgment, how shall I admire, how laugh, how rejoice, how exult, when I behold so many proud monarchs groaning in the lowest abyss of darkness; so many magistrates liquefying in fiercer flames than they ever kindled against the Christians; so many sages philosophers blushing in red-hot fires with their deluded pupils; so many tragedians more tuneful in the expression of their own sufferings; so many dancers tripping more nimbly for the flames than ever before for the stage.” (Tertullian, De Spectaculis)
So much better to rejoice in the Father’s assurance, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours” and his call to celebrate and rejoice. How much more beautiful (and therefore true and just!) to align with the heart of the father who “saw him and was filled with compassion; ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.”
I’ve not yet found the depths of the parable with ever more careful visits to this ‘gospel in a nutshell.’ More to say next time!
Buddhist teacher Kaira Jewel Lingo offers an embodied meditation to calm our nervous systemsin times of stress and unknowing:
In a sense, our culture, our society is dissolving. We are collectively entering the chrysalis, and structures we have come to rely on and identify with are breaking down. We are in the cocoon and we don’t know what the next phase will be like. Learning to surrender to the unknown in our own lives is essential to our collective learning to move through this time of faster and faster change, disruption, and breakdown.
To begin the practice, find a comfortable position, sitting, standing, or lying. Connect with your body and how it’s making contact with the chair or the floor. Allow yourself to rest back in some way and really feel the support of whatever is holding you.… Every time you breathe out, let your body rest even more into the support of the Earth.
Allow your face to soften, releasing the forehead, the muscles around the eyes, the jaw … Let the tongue rest in the mouth … Be aware of the shoulders and as you breathe out, let the shoulders soften … Bring attention to the chest and belly, allow them to release and soften on the next exhale … Notice your arms and hands, with the next exhale let them grow a little heavier, releasing tension … Feel your legs and feet, as you exhale release, soften, and let go … Feel your whole body now as you inhale and exhale, allowing the whole body to soften and release its weight even more onto the Earth.…
You can bring this quality of resting back into your daily life. When you notice yourself leaning into the future, tensing up, trying to predict what will happen, straining to figure out what to do, whether on your own or with others, see if you can actually physically rest back. Open up the front of your chest, let your arms hang by your sides, and lean backwards slightly. This can support your mind to rest back, release, and let be, even for a short moment and to whatever degree you are able.
A Change in Consciousness
Richard Rohr emphasizes how the desert mystics were not just seeking a change in lifestyle but a change in consciousness:
The desert fathers and mothers emerged in the early centuries after Jesus. Despite their seeming primitiveness and asceticism, they often demonstrated an amazing awareness of the connection between the one seeing and what is seen. In this regard, they are similar to Zen Buddhists in their simplicity, stories, and insight. The Syrian deacon Evagrius Ponticus (c. 345–399), who is sometimes called the grandfather of what became the Enneagram, says that “When the passions are aroused in the non-rational part of our nature, they do not allow the intellect to function properly.” [1] He and many others make this insight foundational to their understanding of the science of prayer.
The seeking of “dispassion” or apatheia for ancient solitary monastics referred to the inner peace and contentment that they discovered through their profound experience of what they often called “prayer of quiet,” building on Jesus’ talk of “going to your inner room” and “not babbling on like the pagans do” (see Matthew 6:6–8). In this early period, “prayer” didn’t refer to some kind of problem-solving transaction between humans and God, nor was it about saying words to God. It was quite literally “putting on a different thinking cap,” as the nuns used to say to us. It seems that it wasn’t “thinking” at all, as we now understand it, because such thinking is too often just reacting to or writing repetitive commentaries on the moment.
For these desert mothers and fathers, prayer was understood not as a transaction that somehow pleased God (the problem-solving understanding of prayer that emerged much later), but as a transformation of the consciousness of the one who was doing the praying. Prayer was the awakening of an inner dialogue that, from God’s side, had never stopped. That’s why the Apostle Paul could speak so often of praying “always” (1 Thessalonians 5:17). In simple words, prayer is not changing God’s mind about us or anything else but allowing God to change our mindabout the reality right in front of us—which we are usually avoiding or distorting.
“Dispassion” was the desert mothers’ and fathers’ notion of freedom and salvation, long before we devolved into the much-later notion of salvation as being transported to another realm. For many today, God is seen—and used—as a partner in our private evacuation plan more than any Love Encountered that transforms mind or liberates heart. This is revealed in the little, if any, concern that many Christians show for justice, the earth, or the poor. The fruits of love are often not apparent in them, and not even of much interest to many of them.
I now believe that the other reality we are rightly seeking is not elsewhere or in the future but right in our own hearts and heads! If we put on an entirely different mind, then heaven takes care of itself and, in fact, begins now.
Learning from the Mystics: St. Francis of Assisi
Quote of the Week: “‘I did not come to be served but to serve,’ says the Lord. Those who are placed over others should glory in such an office only as much as they would were they assigned the task of washing the feet of the brothers. And the more they are upset about their office being taken from them than they would be over the loss of the office of washing feet, so much the more do they story up treasure to the peril of their souls.”- From The Admonitions Ch. 4: Let No One Appropriate to Himself the Role of Being Over Others
Reflection As St. Francis was beginning his order, he was tasked with writing the rules and boundaries of what it meant to be a Franciscan. You may have noticed that when a Franciscan writes their name there is an OFM at the end. This is short for, “Order of (the) Friars Minor.” “Friars” means “brothers” and “minor” means “small or opposite of major.” There are no “majors” in St. Francis’ worldview. St. Francis was so beholden to the idea of Christlikeness that all who might join the order of the Franciscans were to join an order of servants, not leaders. Humility was to be the mark of those following in Christ’s footsteps.
It is fascinating to note that in the quote above, a member of the OFM was not to rejoice or weep for a role of leadership any more or less than the role of being a foot-washer. To rejoice more over a role of leadership than over a role of servanthood would be inordinate or inappropriate and would highlight something within a person that might need to be checked. And so that leads us to the same thought, those of us who are not formal Franciscans. Are we more interested in leading than in serving? And, if we are in a position of leadership, do we only understand it in the context of servanthood? The world has seen enough of church leadership that leads for the sake of ego, pride, or superiority. It seems as though it was an issue back in St. Francis’ day as well.
This is actually why Franciscans wear brown robes instead of the white robes of the Catholic Clerics or even the black professorial robes of Reformed Protestants. The brown robes are a visual, intentional representation of the importance of humility in all things, especially in leadership.
Prayer Father, Son, and Holy Spirit enable us to emulate your humility. Allow us the proper detachment to leadership, so that we might never lead from a place of pride, ego, or superiority. Help us to understand leadership from the perspective of servanthood, and help us to grieve when we are not able to serve. Amen and amen.
Life Overview: Who is He: Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone
When: Born in AD 1181, died on October 3rd, 1226.
Why He is Important: GK Chesterton claimed that he was the most Christlike person since Jesus himself, that everyone has attempted to walk in the footsteps of Jesus but that Francis actually did it.
Most Known For: Being the founder of Franciscans, one of the mendicant religious orders of Catholicism. He is also attributed as the originator of the first Nativity scene in AD 1223. And, famously received the stigmata toward the end of his life. He was canonized as a saint within 5 years of his death.
There is a really deep well inside me. And in it dwells God. Sometimes I am there, too.
Dear God, these are anxious times… We must help You to help ourselves. And that is all we can manage these days and also all that really matters: that we safeguard that little piece of You, God, in ourselves. —Etty Hillesum, An Interrupted Life
Father Richard turns to Scripture and contemplation in the face of collective suffering.
In the wisdom of the Psalms, we read:
In God alone is my soul at rest. God is the source of my hope. In God I find shelter, my rock, and my safety. —Psalm 62:5–6
What could it mean to find rest like this in a world such as ours? Every day more and more people face the catastrophe of extreme weather. The neurotic news cycle is increasingly driven by words and deeds that incite hatred, sow discord, and amplify chaos. There is no guarantee of the future in an economy designed to protect the rich and powerful at the expense of far too many people subsisting at society’s margins.
It’s no wonder the mental and emotional health of so many people in the USA is in tangible decline! We have wholesale abandoned any sense of truth, objectivity, science, or religion in civil conversation; we now recognize we’re living with the catastrophic results of several centuries of what philosophers call nihilism (nothing means anything; no universal patterns exist).
Somehow our occupation and vocation as believers must be to first restore the Divine Center by holding it and fully occupying it ourselves. If contemplation means anything, it means that we can “safeguard that little piece of You, God,” as Etty Hillesum describes. What other power do we have now? All else is tearing us apart, inside and out. We cannot abide in such a place for any length of time or it will becomeour prison.
God cannot abide with us in a place of fear. God cannot abide with us in a place of ill will or hatred. God cannot abide with us inside a nonstop volley of claim and counterclaim. God cannot abide with us in an endless flow of online punditry and analysis. God cannot speak inside of so much angry noise and conscious deceit. God cannot be born except in a womb of Love. So offer God that womb.
Contemplation can help stand watch at the door of your senses, so chaos cannot make its way into your soul. If we allow it for too long, it will become who we are, and we’ll no longer have natural access to the life-giving “really deep well” that Etty Hillesum returned to so often to find freedom.
In this time, I suggest some form of public service, volunteerism, mystical reading from the masters, prayer—or, preferably, all of the above.
You have much to gain now and nothing to lose. Nothing at all. And the world—with you as a stable center—has nothing to lose. And everything to gain.
“[The Prophets] introduced a completely novel role into ancient religion: an officially licensed critic, a devil’s advocate who names and exposes their own group’s shadow side.”
The Hebrew Prophets have been wildly misunderstood in conventional Western Christianity.
Prophets are commonly understood to be fortune-tellers for the faithful and doom-casters for the heathens. However, some diminish them even further and say that the only thing they did that mattered was to utter a few odd prophecies that the Messiah was coming.
Instead, the Prophets were religious and political critics of their people. They did not tell those outside the faith they were doomed as much as they called out their own kings and priests when they lost sight of true justice, mercy for the vulnerable, and conviction for those who commit evil “on our behalf” or “in our stead.” It was mainly AFTER the coming of the Messiah that the first generation of the Church looked back and saw that some of their words could be seen as referring to the life of Jesus of Nazareth.
The Prophets were and continue to be like anti-viruses within the religious culture, who are fighting against corruption, immorality, greed, malice, scapegoating, and so many other things that the rest of us are content to let be unless they negatively affect us.
It is sometimes translated into English as “chiefly.” However, most translations will say “especially.”
Toward the end of his life, this single verse called out to Billy Graham more and more. In fact, it rather haunted him. As a famous American Baptist Evangelist, he later in life wished he had gone to seminary. There were particular mysteries of the faith that he could never fully resolve, and as I mentioned, this passage was one of them.
In a famous interview, Billy Graham said that he believed there were Christ-followers in other religious traditions, even if they didn’t know it. The interview was a bit scandalous because it sounded as though Graham was enlarging the circle of who God might save beyond those who fit a particular category of “Christian.”
After all, Christ is the savior of all people, especially those who believe. It’s almost as if they are in on a secret…
3.
“The operation of the Church is entirely set up for the sinner; which creates much misunderstanding among the smug.”
In my most recent book, The Way of Holy Foolishness, I wrote about the need to be a part of a community. It was a turning point for me because I was finally able to articulate some of my own healing and growth. A subsection in that chapter says, “If a community hurt you, it will take a community to heal you.”
Seeing the line above from Flannery O’Connor made me think I should write a book about my ecclesiology (my theological understanding of the church community) at some point.
I have long understood the Church as a collective that witnesses each other’s successes and failures together in full view of the teachings of Jesus, the Word, the Sacraments, and this ineffable mystery we call God. The collective is not held together by a building or a charismatic leader but more around a conscious decision to love all neighbors and enemies because they have chosen to give up on the old way of exclusive, merit-based affection.
4.
“When we speak of divine things, we have to stammer, because we have to express them in words.”
This is known as “apophatic theology,” which seeks to “move away from what can be positively stated.”
We all better slow down, show more reverence for this mystery we call God and recognize that our limited languages can never fully describe God’s infinity.
5.
“However beautiful and adorned Christianity can be and however useful it is by its works, all this still remains imperfect.”
Well, I am still reading a book of his sermons, and there are so many good liners!
This last quote, especially, simultaneously affirms and negates Christianity.
Faith and how it is expressed will always be limited, with faults or cracks, and constantly dealing with unhealthy things within itself. However, it is still beautiful and adorned even if people practice it in fractured ways.
This CO2- (Church Of 2) is where two guys meet each day to tighten up our Connections with Jesus. We start by placing the daily “My Utmost For His Highest” in this WordPress blog. Then we prayerfully select some matching worship music and usually pick out a few lyrics that fit especially well. Then we just start praying and editing and Bolding and adding comments and see where the Spirit takes us.
It’s been a blessing for both of us.
If you’d like to start a CO2, we’d be glad to help you and your partner get started. Also click the link below to see how others are doing CO2.Odds Monkey
Steve Harvey Introduces Jesus To A Secular Audience
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