Contemplify NonRequired Reading List for February 29, 2020
February NonRequired Reading List
Contemplative Friend,
The smell of ash was wafting in the air as I sat down for morning meditation. A circle of friends had gathered to sit in contemplative silence before marking one another with the remnants of burnt palm leaves and a reciting an ancient death ballad - “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
Ash Wednesday is a cornerstone of the Christian calendar that I eagerly await each year. The reminder of our passing and return to the earth humbles and terrifies me in equal portions. As the silent minutes stacked upon themselves, the fragrance of ash became stronger. The aroma was so thick my tongue flinched to moisten itself. I began to wonder if the person next to me was a heavy smoker, never quite shaking the smell of cigarettes from their clothes. Then the meditation bell rang, inviting a close to the silence. The Gospel was read and the window to make the sign of the cross on one another’s forehead was opened. My body jumped from its seat, ready to wear in body what it knows in spirit. My friend Tom joined me in the center, I dipped my thumb in the ashes and felt the heat of fire. I muttered - it burns. I looked down and saw the golden flicker of embers. I put my thumb to the side to soak in the dry ashes and mark my pal while saying, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Tom put his finger in the ashes, burning his finger and smoke rose. Laughter and confusion followed. How did this happen? We tried to calm the smoke and cool the ashes, but it was of no use. The ashes were burning despite our best efforts. Just like our own earthly passing, try as we might to slow it down, death is always smoldering towards us.
The world is on fire and we are dumbstruck on how to respond. We want ash to return to firewood. We desire a world remade without the scarrings of human hands. We resist the remembering, the reconciling, and the returning to dust. We are unable to lament our personal misdoings, let alone those of our species. We prop up an ideal while hiding the real, or numb ourselves to the real without any movement towards integrating the ideal. Collectively we are unable to look into the eyes of Reality and ask, ‘how then shall we live?’
I bring the bowl of ashes outside to let the smoke clear. Turning to walk towards my office, Tom grabs me and marks my forehead with an ashy cross, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”
You can not outrun Reality.
This month’s NonRequired Reading List takes us to the desert, the monastery, and the laments of our times: The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, Thomas Merton on Monastic Spirituality and the Quest for Peace, and J.S. Ondara’s Tiny Desk Concert.
February's NonRequired Reading List
The Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection by Bendicta Ward, SLG (Get it at the Public Library or IndieBound)
I’ve been drawn back into the roots of the Christian contemplative traditions. There has been a plethora of new books being published in our day espousing the fruits of meditation and contemplation that I find wanting for depth. So I return to the deep well instead of purchasing the hiply branded reverse osmosis electrolyte laden plastic bottled water (I heed Robin Wall Kimmerer’s warning of what becomes of us when we commodify the gifts of the Creator). Rambling aside, I return to the Desert Fathers and Mothers of the early church who fled to the emptiness of the desert “with an approach to living that understood contemplative practice in terms of a fierce commitment to paying attention, an encompassing, transformative work orientated toward remaking the self and community, a healing work inclusive of everything and everyone...to the world as a whole.” (The Blue Sapphire of the Mind: Notes on Contemplative Ecology by Douglas E. Christie, p. X). In Benedicta Ward’s translation you get the whole gamut of the desert tradition; wise pithy sayings and off the wall stories of seekers going to absurd lengths. There is a lot of wisdom from the desert that needs to be resurrected and recontextualized for our times. I’ll offer a few in that spirit.
“A brother came to Abba Theodore and began to converse with him about things which he had never yet put into practice. So the old man said to him, ‘You have not yet found a ship nor put your cargo aboard it and before you have sailed, you have already arrived at the city. Do the work first; then you will have the speed you are making now.’” (Abba Theodore of Pherme, p. 75)
“Abba Isidore of Pelusia said, ‘To live without speaking is better than to speak without living. For the former who lives rightly does good even by his silence but the latter does no good even when he speaks. When words and life correspond to one another they are together the whole of philosophy.’" (Abba Isidore of Pelusia, p. 98)
“Abba Poemen said, ‘Even if a man were to make a new heaven and earth, he could not live free of care.’” (Abba Poemen, p. 173)
What I find so enriching and disarming about the sayings of the desert tradition is that each one is a different tact on the same question, ‘How then shall I live?” Abba Theodore emphasizes that you should not posture before you have practiced, Abba Isidore offers a coherent union of action and contemplation, and Abba Poemen reminds us that even if you design your life perfectly obstacles will always remain. The Desert Fathers and Mothers lived in a time of empire and plurality of religious thought. Rather than get lost in the rap battles of correct dogma or the lengthy nuptial toasts to the empire’s newly minted marriage with Christianity, they risked personal and communal transformation in the life of a wild God.
It is not lost on me that the most common instructions from these feral Fathers and Mothers--‘do not judge your neighbor’--is in tension with the Christianity of our times who is on bended knee before the American empire. The reckless and endless judgements distracts one’s attention. The path as I see it, is one of a graceful spark in the heart, body, and mind in the service of Love so that you might ‘become all flame’ (as the poetical Abba Joseph of Panephysis suggests).
This book is for the discerning contemplative who wants to enter the desert and sift through the sayings for the wisdom that echoes across the ages and into the hearts of those desiring a life beyond the common civilities and into the mystic.
I love a run-on sentence.
Thomas Merton on Monastic Spirituality and the Quest for Peace by Thomas Merton (Get it at the Hoopla via the Public Library or Now You Know Media)
I can’t seem to go too long without Merton peeking his head into my room, dropping a beer into my hand, and inviting me to an evening of mystical banter. A smile widens across my face as we clink glasses and howl like baboons. There is no rhyme or reason for the howl, we just dig it. In this evening’s dialogues we circled around what monastic spirituality has to say to a fella like me, well outside monastery walls and focused on fatherhood, marriage, and keeping the dishes clean. Like all conversations with the deathless beauty of a dead mystic, I can only relay my take on Merton’s guidance.
“The ideal and realistic are both present in monastic life, they are the two primary archetypes.”
Merton teaches that it is the ideal that draws a person to the monastery, to the desire for unitive consciousness, and the practice of the presence of God in all things. This is true and beautiful. But as a monk gets the hang of the rhythm, a brother in the community starts to become a nuisance. The way he walks, sings, or chews his crusty bread. Then reality sets in. The woes and preferences of daily life bump up against the idealized version of the spiritual life. Meditation becomes an exercise in herding wandering thoughts. Lectio Divina becomes as lifeless as a Marmaduke cartoon.
Does your ideal supersede the reality of your life? I translate this to my own context, “the ideal and realistic are both present in family life”. I have high hopes that our little family can hum in the harmony of truth, beauty, and goodness. When my daughter boldly stated - “I feel like you are being mean to me.” I was elated that she felt safe and comfortable enough to speak her truth. That was the ideal meeting the reality. But when she said to me last night - “If you don’t get me my toothbrush, I’m going to scream and wake up my brother.” That was reality pulling ideal’s pants to his ankles (and I was too slow to accept this reality). And so it goes in both family life and monastic life.
“What makes the world fall apart is people clinging to unrealities that aren't there. The monks prime job is to be real, in true rhythm with reality. We learn how to hide reality or truth from ourselves. Usually the answer is simpler contact with truth. We usually complicate things beyond measure.”
Tommy boy, you are poking the bear of reality here. I would argue this guidance is not just the primary work of monks, but anyone seeking to be a contemplative in the world. How often do we cling to an unreality that is causing us harm because we are fearful of the wilds of reality? I do it regularly. Keeping up appearances while under the surface the fear of the unknown burns. Reality unabashedly sends me daily party invitations to the unknown path. I open these invitations and audibly sigh, Lord have mercy. I trust Mystery with my life, until I don’t see a path forward. Faith becomes a wrestling match. And God is much more agile than I. Many times I don’t relent until exhaustion offers no other options. At this point of vulnerability I am in simpler contact with the truth. Too tired to make up unreal stories or wring my hands in confusion, I accept what is, as it is, in the here and now.
This teaching by Thomas Merton is for anyone willing to gather the golden eggs of the monastic traditions and crack them open in the frying pan of their life.
J.S. Ondara: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert (Watch it at NPR Music)
Look under your bed, beyond the fluffle of dust bunnies, retrieve those near-forgotten slippers stitched together for a comfortable steady shuffle. This is all in preparation for the dance of lament. You are now ready for J.S. Ondara’s Tiny Desk Concert. His lyrics slap my heart awake, crumble it to pieces, and refashion it into a stronger form all in one song. Ondara will make you swoon. I don’t understand a lot of popular music that rides the airwaves or streams through the caverns of the internet. I leave that to the banal tastemakers glossing their botoxed lips (geez, lighten up a bit Paul), but give me Ondara’s latest album Tales of America and I will turn the volume to eleven.
The three songs that Ondara plays in this video (‘Lebanon’, ‘Days of Insanity’, ‘Saying Goodbye’) come from the aforementioned album but in slowed down arrangements. The lyrics drip from his lips as if the longings of these songs will never be consummated. In that waiting, the beauty breaks through the anguish. The lyrical power will quench your longings, and still you will be parched for more poetic pinings.
Ondara’s aching songcraft reminds me of the laments found in the Psalms. Holding snippets of Ondara’s lyrics and the Psalms next to one another harmonize in my ears.
“Look toward me, and have pity on me,
for I am alone and afflicted.
Relieve the troubles of my heart,
and bring me out of my distress.” (Psalm 25:16-17)
“Hey, love, I'm ready now
Can't you see this riot
Inside of my veins
Hey love, I'm overcome
By desire
How must I wait?” (‘Lebanon’ by J.S. Ondara)
Sit with the pain. Let it gently touch the deepest recesses of your heart. It will crack the hard candy shell of your heart, revealing the vulnerable gooey center of your soul. The Psalmists put pen to parchment to bear the conditions of their souls in complete nakedness before the Mystery of God. J.S. Ondara is one such modern day Psalmist putting words to the path of conscious love.
This Tiny Desk Concert is for all of the brokenhearted (and mendedhearted) contemplative folks bearing witness to the wounds of love.
Arts and Articles
Feminine Tense by Avila (Avila): My brilliant friend, Brie Stoner, is one half of Avila. She is a contemplative whose theological brilliance shines in Avila’s latest album. A pop album that explores mysticism, feminine liberation, and embodied spirituality. It is layered, complex, and deeply pleasing to the ear. Play it loud and your sacred heart will breakdance.
‘The Age of Decadence’ by Ross Douthat (NYT): An interesting opinion piece about the stagnation of American society. I’ll pose one of Douthat’s statements in the article as a question: Is it “possible that Western society is leaning back in an easy chair, hooked up to a drip of something soothing, playing and replaying an ideological greatest-hits tape from its wild and crazy youth”?
‘Confessions of a Catholic Bartender’ by Derek Brown (America Magazine): Pull up a barstool and ponder the post of a barkeep holding space for conversations of depth and Mystery. (Hat tip to Poff)
Contemplify Update
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May the desert call to you from beyond the city's edge. The risk is in sight, for Mystery is both unknown and yet immediate. Wrestle with it.
The elders will show you the way, and it will appear foolish. Be a fool.
The days of insanity lure us into lament and movement with stillness and grief.
The world is on fire and needs holy fools now more than ever.
In Foolishness & Hope,
Paul
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