November NonRequired Reading List
Contemplify / NRR #84
“Asked by the Pharisees when the Kingdom of God would come, Jesus said in reply,
"The coming of the Kingdom of God cannot be observed,
and no one will announce, 'Look, here it is,' or, 'There it is.'
For behold, the Kingdom of God is among you."
— Luke 17:20-21
Thomas Merton said Zen is the very atmosphere of the Gospels, and they are bursting with it1. Certain stories and parables exemplify his point. The passage above shows the Good News is goosed with Zen.
When the Pharisees ask Jesus a “when” question, Jesus responds with timelessness and boundarylessness. Jesus flits about, saying the Kingdom of God is nothing that can be observed, pointed at, or announced, and yet, behold! See the Kingdom among you. Jesus is astute enough to know that questions of when and where break the ice for the expectations of a why. The Kingdom has no where and does not show up when asked for or explain itself when asked why? This iridescent Kingdom permeates the atmosphere in and around you. It hangs like salt in the ocean air, you part your lips and a warm gust rushes to speckle your tastebuds.
“Enlightenment is permanent because we have not produced it, we have merely discovered it.” writes Tibetan Buddhist teacher Chögyam Trungpa.2 This is not an attempt to conflate Tibetan Buddhist enlightenment and the Kingdom of God as one and the same, but I do believe they like to sing around the same campfire. What I am saying is this, the Kingdom of God is locationally atmospheric. The Kingdom of God is discovered, not produced. It is sung through you, not sung by you.
The Kingdom of God is always a surprise in waiting. It is lightning flashing across the sky, endarkenment breaking through clouds, it is even somehow in the suffering of a first century revolutionary Palestinian Jew executed on a tree. It is life, it is death, and it is resurrection. The atmospheric Kingdom of God is all discovery, all surprise. The work of leaven in the dough or mustard seeds is to surrender the whens, wheres, and the whys for the illogical and whyless way of how. How then shall we live in the whyless way day-by-day in a world breathing the poisoned air of dominion and the fresh air of the Kingdom?
In the amphitheater of my mind I often hear Barry Lopez say, “Do what creatures do, go where there is life.” The Kingdom of God as far (and near) as I can see it is a contemplative radial of connection pulsating in an atmosphere in and around a person, place, or community. Plotinus first trimmed the tree of this connection, but the Franciscans watered this “great chain of being” into a living mandala. Franciscan Richard Rohr writes,
“All the other sentient beings also do their little things, take their places in the cycle of life and death, mirroring the eternal self-emptying and eternal infilling of God, and somehow trusting it all. If we can recognize that we belong to such a rhythm and ecosystem, and intentionally rejoice in it, we can begin to find our place in the universe. We will begin to see, as did the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, that “Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God.”3
Therefore let us be like the common bush (or cacti) afire with God.
We find our place in the universe by getting small. Here is a practice to try. Put your face on the floor. Feel the dust particles cling to your cheek, see the rolled out cheerios and dings on the hardwood floor. The weathered ankle of a kitchen chair. Slowly lift your face a few inches to the kneescratcher level of couches, bookshelves, fish tanks, and look—your first visible plant! Keep going up the walls; paintings, icons, family photos, and look—your first glimpse of a window! Your eyeballs burst with life beyond your walls. Rush outside and take in the colors before you. Keep raising your eyes (and why not your arms too) to the trees, birds on a wire, and the blue blue sky. You can begin every day this way. A solid reputation as the local yokel in your neighborhood might follow. When you connect with what is before you; dust, wood, plants, animals, neighbors, trees, sky, etc. the Kingdom becomes atmospheric. You can try to see it in your newsfeed with global updates4, but it collapses with suffering. Start with what is before you and then pan out. Unless you have mastered this, the news of the world will overwhelm your heart upon reception. This type of shattering makes it difficult to see the Kingdom among us (and your place in it) within the commons. Start small with what is before you. A heart fixed like a mirror can cast back what stands and moves before it, what is within reach. This paradoxically allows the rays of solidarity to radiate outward while reflecting them back upon your heart.
The Kingdom is not only for watching, for you create it by your witness and active participation. Cultivating a Kingdom atmosphere of contemplation happens when a song shoots up to the rafters and you dance like somebody’s proud of you, when you steep in the concentrated silence between turns of a card game, when you drive a neighbor home from the grocery store, when you read a poem that spins your mind on edge, when you touch your beloved with the lightness of a feather, when you walk toward the person whose name you can never remember, confess boldly, laugh together and connect again, when you craft a letter like a sculptor, when you see a child’s sleepy smirk reticent to laugh so early in the morning, when you feel it in the blankets holding the pieces of you together, when you taste it in roasted squash seeds, when you feel the residual relief in your chest when the hum of the refrigerator ceases, or when you bear it in a Mennonite choir nailing the hell out of a hymn but decor and history has not prepared them to shake their asses in joy, so the celebration lives on in another song.5
This Kingdom witness list was written in me this past month. I start with my life and expand my heart out to the world. Another list exists and overlays the first, further enfleshing the Christ always among us. An aunt on at the intersection collecting money for her niece’s funeral, the man sleeping in the bushes behind the bus shelter, divisive news rhetoric spinning talking heads, the suffering in Israel and Gaza, violence brutal and grotesque. The floods of Kenya displacing thousands. The mass expulsion of Afghans from Pakistan. These are the desperate cries that I am touched by, there are countless others.
Both lists go on and on and on. Both lists are witnessed and participated in by those who seek to live in the Kingdom of God. There is in actually only one list. Life, death, and resurrection. It is the only way I know how to name things appropriately in the Kingdom of God. When it comes to the Kingdom, the power of that term is irrefutable, but for the purpose of my little life the ‘g’ has suddenly gone silent. Many have gone that direction before me, but the bare-chested vulnerability of the Nazarene smolders strength in a bond that goes where there is life without a king, only kin. Speaking from experience there is a lot more mystery and stumbling in this path than triumph.
Alice Walker nails the how of faith in Kin’dom living for me when she writes, “expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise.”
Contemplify is a basecamp of contemplatives with a one-man shoveling shop behind it. It is both. A basecamp of wily contemplatives seeking to kindle the examined life, and, the work of running a contemplative shop of podcast episodes, practices, and readings born of passion, allurement, and disciplined poking about. I cannot help myself but keep pouring my little life into Contemplify. Check out the ways to support Contemplify by caressing the button above. Becoming a paid subscriber is a kindness and show of support. It both humbles me and keeps the lights on. Some folks want to support just for the sake of supporting Contemplify (raising my glass at the thought of that), but paid subscribers are also automatically invited to the weekly Lo-Fi & Hushed Practice Session on Wednesday mornings. Good, clean, unglamorous contemplative fun.6
November NonRequired Reading List
Life of St. Anthony of Egypt by St. Athanasius of Alexandria (Get it at the Public Library or Audible)
St. Anthony is the Willie Nelson of desert contemplatives. He was a popular figure who legend always carries the day. When I was reading Sonorous Desert my ears prickled my brain with new possibilities - How can I listen to the desert tradition with new ears? So I went back to ‘Desert Tony’ as my confrere in audiobook form. The stories are relentless of ascetical practices, wrestling with demons, overcoming temptations, the path of purification, and the journey towards holiness.
In this round with this text, listening rather than reading added to the mythical nature of how I imagined St. Anthony’s life. The images I traversed across most extensively in my mind’s projector was the ‘inner mountain’ where St. Anthony had his cave and the ‘outer’ mountain where a community of monks surrounded him seeking wisdom and counsel. Taking the literal and the metaphorical in stride, I was attuning to the sounds of his inner mountain as the place of combat with demons, sweetness of the dark stillness and silence, and fasting. The outer mountain as the place of community, miracles, hearing confession, and instruction. The sonorous infusions along his life point to the vivacity of the desert as place, metaphor, and teacher in the contemplative way.
Life of St. Anthony of Egypt is foundational reading for Christian contemplatives for understanding this pillar of Christian monasticism and the fierce teachings of desert spirituality through the voices of the wind, river, critters, tempters, friends, and other subtle sounds.
Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear: Poems from Gaza by Mosab Abu Toha (Get it at the Public Library or City Lights Bookstore)
I was notified of Mosab Abu Toha because of City Lights Bookstore (also his publisher). I read one poem, then another, and another until I hit the endnotes. The urgency, the swift beauty, elder honoring, and traumatic imagery of his poems burrowed inside and started little fires of rememberance. Mosab is a Palestinian poet and essayist who lives in Gaza. Mosab was relentlessly calling for a ceasefire in Gaza, bravely sharing stories, photos, and his art before being detained and released by the IDF as he and his family sought safety. His poems have been written on placards around the world calling on global conscious bystanders to stop, listen, and feel.
The title poem, Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear, will do just that; give you pause to stop, listen, and feel. Responsiveness is the reader’s choice.
If you are picking up the pieces of your heart’s solidarity in the suffering, read Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear. If hatred burns within you, read Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear. If you don’t know what to do, read Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear. Mosab Abu Toha is a mighty poet, I am sorry that it took such tragedy for me to find his work.
Thank God We Left the Garden by Jeffrey Martin (Get it at Martin’s bandcamp)
If John Steinback picked up a guitar and took to the stage, he would sound like Jeffrey Martin. That is how one folksinger summed him up. Thank God We Left the Garden is a complete album (I’ve already listened to it once all the way through in the wee hours of the morning touching up the NonRequired Reading List). The first tune welcomes the listener to the world Martin is pilgrimmaging. You might want to stretch , pull up your socks, and prepare for the walkabout. The subtle bones of it may sneak up for some, others will feel the strength of their incarnation immediately.
I was already a fan when my buddy told me that Jeffrey Martin had a new album out. It arrived the morning after I had a dream about leaving a garden. Thinking little of the connection at first, I started spinning the album and felt a slow simmer. Like I was extracting the graceful words and absorbing them for my own lack, in layers below sight, I was being nourished. When I finally heard the song “Sculptor” I had to pull over the car and cry. For me, for you, for the planet, for the losses we all bear. When the last lines of the album were sung, ruminations hovered over a slow burn.
Thank God We Left the Garden is for contemplatives who listen intently to lyrics to unlock a door inside. Buying this album directly from Martin is a boon for an artist in the days of streaming. (hat tip to Aaron for alerting me to this new album, and changing the trajectory of month)
Contemplify Update
Season Four is getting down to the last few sips. What a gift. As always you can find the complete list of Contemplify episodes here and below are the five most recent episodes of Season Four.
Listen to the Rice, the Rice Will Teach You Everything with Lucien Miller (Season 4, Ep 12)
In Hard Times, In All Times, Eat Sacred Words with Carmen Acevedo Butcher (Season 4, Ep 11)
Kim Haines-Eitzen on Practicing the Cello in the Dark and Sonorous Deserts (Season 4, Ep 10)
Lerita Coleman Brown on Waiting for a Word in the Heart (Season 4, Ep 9)
Lo-Fi & Hushed Contemplative Practice Session (September 2023 / Autumn Equinox) (Season 4, Ep 8)
All episodes are available from Contemplify through Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get the snazziest podcasts.
Arts & Articles
CONTEMPLATIVE SUMMIT (Spiritual Wanderlust): Advent might just be my favorite liturgical season. It is an opportunity to bask in the sweet darkness and the growing light. If you are seeking some Advent wisdom, allow me to shovel the way to the door of the Contemplative Summit, December 7 - 10. In this free virtual event you will hear teachings from such luminaries as Omid Safi, Carmen Acevedo Butcher, Ilia Delio, and many more. Also, this old chunk of coal adds his Midwestern voice to the choir of contemplatives. I am the final session on December 7th. The event is free to attend live, with the option to purchase the teachings.
‘FORKS’ / SEASON 2 EPISODE 7 (The Bear): The Bear is a tv show. All I see in the series is the paschal mystery. Episode seven is entitled ‘Forks’ and is perhaps the most moving episode of a scripted series I have seen in many moons. Subtle impact. Importance of culture. Of service. I am still thinking about it, and when I do, my heart is strangely warmed.
A STILL SMALL VOICE directed by Luke Lorentzen (YouTube): A trailer of a documentary that follows a hospital chaplain over the course of a year.
LO-FI & HUSHED WINTER SOLSTICE SESSION (Contemplify): Each Wednesday some of us gather in the early hours to practice. We call it Lo-Fi & Hushed. We take a mystical poem into lectio divina and over the following days offers reflections for the good of all, for the good of self. The Lo-Fi & Hushed Sessions near the solstices and equinoxes are open to both free and supporting subscribers. The next one is approuching, the Lo-Fi & Hushed Winter Solstice Session is Wednesday, December 20th, 2024. Learn more here.
For behold,
the Kingdom of God
is among you.
Trying to write like sculptor,
Paul
All Bookshop links give a kickback to a local New Mexico bookstore and to Contemplify. What a kindness.
Merton wrote this in a letter to D.T. Suzuki
Trungpa, Chögyam. Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism. Shambhala Publications, 1973, p. 3
Most global updates are massive woes.
I sure do love lists.
I’ve just listened to Thank God We Left The Garden all the way through, nourished my soul. Red Station Wagon, Garden, and Sculptor have had multiple listens already. Thanks for the review Paul, this album will accompany me through this Australian summer!
Hi, Paul. I enjoy your Comtemplify emails and your podcasts. I especially like the line in this one where you say, "The Kingdom of God is discovered, not produced. It is sung through you, not sung by you." So true. I would like to offer a suggestion. Take as only that and not a criticism. I would find it easier to refer to your footnotes if they were at the end of the pertinent section rather than at the tail end of the page. I dislike scrolling to see the footnote then scrolling back to find where I left off reading. It's even more difficult on the phone than on the laptop. Otherwise. I enjoy reading your work. Please keep it up.