© March 13, 2008 by Norman Stolpe
At the Five Day Academy for Spiritual Formation in which I participated March 9-14, 2008, Liz Canham asked us to identify where we were in the cycle of orientation ► disorientation ► reorientation with which we had been examining the Psalms (per Walter Brueggemann). Among several steps I listed, major milestones were the deaths of my mother-in-law and my father along with the significant decline of my mother, the process of getting our third son Erik through college and launched into his own adulthood, and the advance planning for my “retirement” in about four years. Later the same day, Robert Benson asked us to what we were being drawn in the next season of our journeys. After extended silence in the presence of God, I wrote the following entry in my journal.
In the season that has begun to unfold within and before me, I will no longer be the son of living parents, nor the parent of a dependent child, nor the pastor of a congregation. Of the four defining roles of my active responsibility, I will only continue to be a husband.
Just writing this paragraph jolts me with the realization that the attention I have been giving to preparing for a “retirement” ministry and planning for relocation are misplaced. I have long talked about – and tried to practice – living each day so I will become the kind of old person others like to be with. I am just now seeing with acute clarity that I need to live these next transitional years so that I am the husband my wife wants to be with for another twenty years.
My daughter-in-law Rachel said something a few weeks ago about what a wonderful support and asset my wife Candy had been in our years of ministry – moving to places quite foreign to a Minnesota girl, such as New Jersey and Texas. And Rachel said, without rebuke, only awareness, that now it would be my turn to affirm, support and nourish this resplendent Grandma in her season. This is the time for me to find my fulfillment in her joy, just as she has found her joy in my calling for forty years.
My list of transitions in my reorientation illuminated the path with insight when asking “to what am I being drawn in the next season of my journey?” But I don’t think I could or should make a list of tasks, rather I am drawn to pay attention to this unfolding transition with this insight and intention.
We will still need to get Erik launched, relocate and find a “retirement” ministry, but I now see Candy’s place in that, not just as more important but as the perspective with which to guide the journey.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
My Rule of Life
I. Pray the Benedictine Hours to mark the whole day as holy
II. At Terce or Sext (open invitation in chapel at Sext on Wednesday)
.....A. Lectio Divina on the Lectionary texts for the coming Sunday
.....B. Prayer sequence
..........1) 1 page of the church membership list
..........2) 5 Psalms (review Psalter Tuesday, Thursday lap swim)
..........3) Lord’s Prayer and Prayer of Francis of Assisi
..........4) Centering prayer
III. At Compline or Terce record awareness of God’s presence for the day
IV. Thursday Sabbath (leisurely Lectio Divina and prayer, plus reading)
V. Annual silent retreat of 3-4 days
VI. Breath/Heart Prayer (Heidelberg Catechism Q&A 1 or the Jesus Prayer)
II. At Terce or Sext (open invitation in chapel at Sext on Wednesday)
.....A. Lectio Divina on the Lectionary texts for the coming Sunday
.....B. Prayer sequence
..........1) 1 page of the church membership list
..........2) 5 Psalms (review Psalter Tuesday, Thursday lap swim)
..........3) Lord’s Prayer and Prayer of Francis of Assisi
..........4) Centering prayer
III. At Compline or Terce record awareness of God’s presence for the day
IV. Thursday Sabbath (leisurely Lectio Divina and prayer, plus reading)
V. Annual silent retreat of 3-4 days
VI. Breath/Heart Prayer (Heidelberg Catechism Q&A 1 or the Jesus Prayer)
A Meditation on the Church’s Stigmata
“I carry the marks of Jesus branded on my body.”
Galatians 6:17
“We are … always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be visible in our bodies.”
2 Corinthians 4:10
Stigmata are not just raw wounds on hands, feet, foreheads, sides – they are where the suffering of Christ erupts physically, tangibly, visibly. They are not internal, spiritual or symbolic. Rather they are the external evidence of the spiritual reality of our brokenness. In Galatians 6:17, Paul is speaking personally of himself, whether these marks are the scars of the abuse he received in his missionary career (the safer, traditional view) or divinely imposed stigmata is not critical to this meditation. In 2 Corinthians 4:10, Paul seems to be speaking of others who have also been abused in their missionary ventures, but the expansive language suggests the whole community of the Church is involved. Paul would be the last one to diminish in any way Christ’s sacrifice, yet the suffering of the Church in the name of Christ does have a redemptive effect. (Colossians 1:24)
Connecting 2 Corinthians 4:10 with Galatians 6:17 and the stigmata brings me a whole new awareness of the connection of my personal brokenness with the brokenness of the community of the Church. In this reflection I am seeing the wounds of today’s Church as stigmata. This is where I am being drawn in my contemplation of the Psalms of disorientation and the ancient sign of broken bread in 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 (taken, blessed, broken, given). This is not to externalize and distance myself from the brokenness of the Church, rather it draws me even deeper into the Church’s brokenness as my own brokenness. I am not the healer sent to cure the brokenness in the congregations I have served. The Wonder Worker in Susan Howatch’s novel self-destructs even as he heals. Rather, I am broken along with the Church. Throughout my ministry I have been claiming the wounds and brokenness, the stigmata, of the Church as my own, regardless of how the people of any one congregation have responded. For God to draw me in this direction still leaves a mystery.
If the Church as the Body of Christ carries the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus can also be visible in the Body, then we should expect congregations to be broken, wounded, dysfunctional, pathological – and in the middle of that the life of Jesus appears. This is not just that people in the Church are sinners still in process of sanctification. Rather, it is that in the relationships and operation of the Church the community is wounded. The paradox of grace is that, while the stigmata of the Church are all too evident, people still recognize and embrace the life of Jesus in and through the community of the Church. That Christ redeems people when the wounds of the Church are visible is normal, to be expected, even necessary.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Tools for Spiritual Formation
In Answering God: The Psalms as Tools for Prayer Eugene Peterson writes that humans are tool-making and using creatures. “We use the scripture to hear what God says to us, and the sacraments to receive his life among us. … Prayers are tools that God uses to work his will in our bodies and souls. Prayers are tool that we use to collaborate in his work with us.” (1989, Harper-Collins, pp. 1-2)
Over the years I have found the tools of Lectio Divina, the Benedictine “Hours,” and Richard Foster’s Renovaré Disciplines especially helpful. So I have posted them here with references
Learning to Pray from the Bible
Over the years I have found the tools of Lectio Divina, the Benedictine “Hours,” and Richard Foster’s Renovaré Disciplines especially helpful. So I have posted them here with references
Learning to Pray from the Bible
Jesus gave “The Lord’s Prayer” to teach us how to pray (Matthew 6:9-13; Luke 11:2-4). Dietrich Bonhoeffer spoke of the Psalms as “Jesus’ Prayerbook.” The Apostle Paul’s prayers for the churches will challenge and stretch our prayer lives. The references are listed below.
· Romans 1:8-10
· Romans 15:5-6, 13
· 1 Corinthians 1:3-9
· 2 Corinthians 13:7-10
· Ephesians 1:15-23
· Ephesians 3:14-21
· Philippians 1`:2-5, 9-11
· Colossians 1:2-12
· Colossians 4:2-4
· 1 Thessalonians 1:2-5
· 1 Thessalonians 3:10-13
· 2 Thessalonians 1:2-4, 11-12
· 2 Thessalonians 3:1-2, 5
· 2 Timothy 1:3-4, 16-18
· Philemon 1:4-7
Praying the Benedictine “Hours”
Vigil (or Matins)
Observed by those who are awake at night. Use the darkness simply to be with God, aware of the Holy Presence in your quiet hours.
Lauds
Wake to thank and praise (laudate) God. This is the hour to spend some time in prayer and contemplation.
Prime
At breakfast take just a moment to look over your day’s calendar, asking God to be in all you attempt to do.
Terce
Midmorning is break time. Deeply breathe in God’s Spirit before returning to your morning’s tasks.
Sext
It is now noon and time to consider the whole world and its needs as you give thanks for your lunch.
None (rhymes with “stone,” sounds just like “known”)
In the afternoon we close down our work and turn toward home or get ready for supper. It is a time for forgiving, asking forgiveness of God, and letting go of the day’s events.
Vespers/Compline
Close the day with peacefulness, prayer, and perhaps a bit of bedtime reading. Entrust your life to God until you greed the morning again with thanksgiving.
Taken from Saint Benedict on the Freeway: A Rule of Life for the 21st Century by Corinne Ware, 2001, Abingdon, pp. 62-73)
A Short Guide to Lectio Divina
Select a scripture passage, perhaps the Gospel reading from the previous Sunday’s worship.
Lectio (Read): Read the passage carefully, getting the sequence and detail without thinking too much about the meaning. Imagine the time of day, season of the year, smells of the land, sounds of the countryside, the human touches – all the elements that would make this scene real to you. Transport yourself into the setting using your imagination.
Meditatio (Meditate): Read the scripture again. Why is there a record of this particular event or saying? What is the significance of this passage in the larger scheme of things? What does this piece mean? How does that affect an understanding of God? Of conduct? Do you see yourself in any of the characters in the passage?
Oratio (Pray): Allow your feelings to surface as you read the passage again. Do you feel happy, sad, angry or guilty? Silently or verbally talk this through with God; tell God what you feel about what you have read. Comment in you prayer on anything in the passage to which you respond.
Contemplatio (Contemplate): Sit quietly, breathe deeply and regularly, and let your mind go blank. As you quiet your inner self, simply listen in your heart. If you receive some impression or thought, quietly notice it; then focus your attention on remaining open. If you have no thoughts or impressions, return your mind to the scripture passage. After a while, open your eyes, rested and refreshed, expressing gratitude for your experience.
From Discover Your Spiritual Type: A Guide to Individual and Congregational Growth by Corinne Ware, © 1995 The Alban Institute, Inc.
Renovaré Disciplines
I have used these disciplines in a small group setting, including church ministry teams of just a couple of people. We read aloud the covenant and one of the common disciplines together each time. Whoever is leading shares a scripture passage, an appropriate reading and their own brief insight to introduce asking the corresponding question of examen. That begins the conversation that concludes with prayer. One theme or tradition is used at each session, taking them in order.
Covenant
In utter dependence upon Jesus Christ as my everliving Savior, Teacher, Lord and Friend, I will seek continual renewal through:
· Spiritual exercises
· Spiritual gifts and
· Acts of service.
Common Disciplines
Contemplative: The Prayer-Filled Life
By God’s grace, I will set aside time regularly for prayer, meditation, and spiritual reading and will seek to practice the presence of God.
Holiness: The Virtuous Life
By God’s grace, I will strive mightily against sin and will do deeds of love and mercy.
Charismatic: the Spirit-Empowered Life
By God’s grace, I will welcome the Holy Spirit, exercising the gifts and nurturing the fruit while living in the joy and power of the Spirit.
Social Justice: The Compassionate Life
By God’s grace, I will endeavor to serve others everywhere I can and will work for justice in all human relationships and social structures.
Evangelical: The Word-Centered Life
By God’s grace, I will share my faith with others as God leads and will study the Scriptures regularly.
Incarnational: The Sacramental Life
By God’s grace, I will joyfully seek to show forth the presence of God in all that I say, in all that I do, in all that I am.
Questions of Examen
Contemplative: The Prayer-Filled Life
In what ways has God made his presence know to you since our last meeting? What experiences of prayer, meditation, and spiritual reading has God given you? What difficulties or frustrations have you encountered? What joys and delights?
Holiness: The Virtuous Life
What temptations have you faced since our last meeting? How did you respond? Which spiritual disciplines has God used to lead you further into holiness of heart and life?
Charismatic: the Spirit-Empowered Life
Have you sensed any influence or work of the Holy Spirit since our last meeting? What spiritual gifts has the Spirit enabled you to exercise? What was the outcome? What fruit of the Spirit would you like to see increase in your life? What disciplines might be useful in this effort?
Social Justice: The Compassionate Life
What opportunities has God given you to serve others since our last meeting? How did you respond? Have you encountered any injustice to or oppression of others? Have you been able to work for justice and shalom?
Evangelical: The Word-Centered Life
Has God provided an opportunity for you to share your faith with someone since our last meeting? How did you respond? In what ways have you encountered Christ in your reading of the Scripture? How has the Bible shaped the way you think and live?
Incarnational: The Sacramental Life
In what ways have you been able to manifest the presence of God through your daily work since our last meeting. How has God fed and strengthened you through the ministry of Christ’s ordinances? How have you been aware of the presence of God in the pain or suffering of another person? (This last question is my own addition drawing on the experience of living in the L’Arche Daybreak Community in Richmond Hill, Ontario.)
http://www.renovare.org/
Vigil (or Matins)
Observed by those who are awake at night. Use the darkness simply to be with God, aware of the Holy Presence in your quiet hours.
Lauds
Wake to thank and praise (laudate) God. This is the hour to spend some time in prayer and contemplation.
Prime
At breakfast take just a moment to look over your day’s calendar, asking God to be in all you attempt to do.
Terce
Midmorning is break time. Deeply breathe in God’s Spirit before returning to your morning’s tasks.
Sext
It is now noon and time to consider the whole world and its needs as you give thanks for your lunch.
None (rhymes with “stone,” sounds just like “known”)
In the afternoon we close down our work and turn toward home or get ready for supper. It is a time for forgiving, asking forgiveness of God, and letting go of the day’s events.
Vespers/Compline
Close the day with peacefulness, prayer, and perhaps a bit of bedtime reading. Entrust your life to God until you greed the morning again with thanksgiving.
Taken from Saint Benedict on the Freeway: A Rule of Life for the 21st Century by Corinne Ware, 2001, Abingdon, pp. 62-73)
A Short Guide to Lectio Divina
Select a scripture passage, perhaps the Gospel reading from the previous Sunday’s worship.
Lectio (Read): Read the passage carefully, getting the sequence and detail without thinking too much about the meaning. Imagine the time of day, season of the year, smells of the land, sounds of the countryside, the human touches – all the elements that would make this scene real to you. Transport yourself into the setting using your imagination.
Meditatio (Meditate): Read the scripture again. Why is there a record of this particular event or saying? What is the significance of this passage in the larger scheme of things? What does this piece mean? How does that affect an understanding of God? Of conduct? Do you see yourself in any of the characters in the passage?
Oratio (Pray): Allow your feelings to surface as you read the passage again. Do you feel happy, sad, angry or guilty? Silently or verbally talk this through with God; tell God what you feel about what you have read. Comment in you prayer on anything in the passage to which you respond.
Contemplatio (Contemplate): Sit quietly, breathe deeply and regularly, and let your mind go blank. As you quiet your inner self, simply listen in your heart. If you receive some impression or thought, quietly notice it; then focus your attention on remaining open. If you have no thoughts or impressions, return your mind to the scripture passage. After a while, open your eyes, rested and refreshed, expressing gratitude for your experience.
From Discover Your Spiritual Type: A Guide to Individual and Congregational Growth by Corinne Ware, © 1995 The Alban Institute, Inc.
Renovaré Disciplines
I have used these disciplines in a small group setting, including church ministry teams of just a couple of people. We read aloud the covenant and one of the common disciplines together each time. Whoever is leading shares a scripture passage, an appropriate reading and their own brief insight to introduce asking the corresponding question of examen. That begins the conversation that concludes with prayer. One theme or tradition is used at each session, taking them in order.
Covenant
In utter dependence upon Jesus Christ as my everliving Savior, Teacher, Lord and Friend, I will seek continual renewal through:
· Spiritual exercises
· Spiritual gifts and
· Acts of service.
Common Disciplines
Contemplative: The Prayer-Filled Life
By God’s grace, I will set aside time regularly for prayer, meditation, and spiritual reading and will seek to practice the presence of God.
Holiness: The Virtuous Life
By God’s grace, I will strive mightily against sin and will do deeds of love and mercy.
Charismatic: the Spirit-Empowered Life
By God’s grace, I will welcome the Holy Spirit, exercising the gifts and nurturing the fruit while living in the joy and power of the Spirit.
Social Justice: The Compassionate Life
By God’s grace, I will endeavor to serve others everywhere I can and will work for justice in all human relationships and social structures.
Evangelical: The Word-Centered Life
By God’s grace, I will share my faith with others as God leads and will study the Scriptures regularly.
Incarnational: The Sacramental Life
By God’s grace, I will joyfully seek to show forth the presence of God in all that I say, in all that I do, in all that I am.
Questions of Examen
Contemplative: The Prayer-Filled Life
In what ways has God made his presence know to you since our last meeting? What experiences of prayer, meditation, and spiritual reading has God given you? What difficulties or frustrations have you encountered? What joys and delights?
Holiness: The Virtuous Life
What temptations have you faced since our last meeting? How did you respond? Which spiritual disciplines has God used to lead you further into holiness of heart and life?
Charismatic: the Spirit-Empowered Life
Have you sensed any influence or work of the Holy Spirit since our last meeting? What spiritual gifts has the Spirit enabled you to exercise? What was the outcome? What fruit of the Spirit would you like to see increase in your life? What disciplines might be useful in this effort?
Social Justice: The Compassionate Life
What opportunities has God given you to serve others since our last meeting? How did you respond? Have you encountered any injustice to or oppression of others? Have you been able to work for justice and shalom?
Evangelical: The Word-Centered Life
Has God provided an opportunity for you to share your faith with someone since our last meeting? How did you respond? In what ways have you encountered Christ in your reading of the Scripture? How has the Bible shaped the way you think and live?
Incarnational: The Sacramental Life
In what ways have you been able to manifest the presence of God through your daily work since our last meeting. How has God fed and strengthened you through the ministry of Christ’s ordinances? How have you been aware of the presence of God in the pain or suffering of another person? (This last question is my own addition drawing on the experience of living in the L’Arche Daybreak Community in Richmond Hill, Ontario.)
http://www.renovare.org/
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Job: Wrestling With God
A Formative Exploration
Columbia Theological Seminary Spiritual Formation Certificate
© May 1998 by Norman Stolpe
My first serious encounter with the Book of Job came at age seventeen in a public high school World Literature class. The style of Christian faith I absorbed as a young person in the church where I grew up seemed to have little if anything to do with the challenges of the "human predicament" that I found increasingly enticing as I studied literature. Studying something from the Bible (Job) as literature that addressed this fascination was a profoundly integrating experience. I said to myself: "Ah ha! God does understand the pain of being human." The New Testament understandings of incarnation and Jesus' crucifixion became living realities to me. I have marked that as the beginning of my "adult faith," and I resonated with the way we looked at Job as a window on adult faith in this course.
Of all of the interwoven themes we looked at in Job through the week, I was particularly drawn to and moved by viewing the Book of Job as sort of case study on authentic relationship with God. I found this far more compelling and reasonable than trying to find a rationale for human suffering in the Book of Job. This took me back to the awakening moment in my seventeen-year-old experience with Job. Though I did not have the understanding, experience or maturity to appreciate it as much at the time, God's self-revelation and Job's overwhelmed response was what evoked the sense of satisfaction and integration that nurtured my faith at the time. Now, having pursued a life of contemplative prayer for several years as an adult, this most recent conversation with the Book of Job brought a sharp focus for me on my relationship with God.
The Longing to "See God"
Since adolescence I have been drawn to the theme in the contemplative tradition of the beatific vision, to be able to have a direct, spiritual encounter with God. This, of course, is a grace that is given by God, and no amount of meditation or ascetic discipline can manufacture an authentic experience. They merely prepare one to be ready to recognize and receive the gift. Yet, contemplative tradition presents the spiritual longing to "see God" as a legitimate motivation for pursuing the contemplative life. The popular notion is that such a vision of God is filled with bliss and delight. While the sweetness and wonder of intimacy with God permeates the writing of
many contemplatives, that emphasis is balanced by heavy encounters such as St. John of the Cross's dark night of the soul and Ignatius' understanding of consolations and desolations. I found the image of landings on a spiral staircase that descends into the depths in Thomas Keating's Intimacy with God (Crossroads, 1994) to be a very helpful tool for discerning God's presence when I am only aware of God's absence.
I have taken Jesus' Beatitude "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." (Matthew 5:8) as encouraging in me the longing to "see God." Kierkegard's explorations of this in Purity of Heart Is To Will One Thing (Harper and Row; 1938), helped me grow past seeing purity of heart merely as moral innocence but as being consumed by the single desire to "see God." My development of spiritual disciplines has been inspired by Psalm 37:4, "Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart." As God has increasingly become the delight and desire of my heart, I have tasted the "reward" of direct relationship with God, much as God said to Abram in Genesis 15:1, "I am your shield, your very great reward." (NIV)
I am intrigued by some of the encounters people have with God that are recorded in Scripture. Moses asked to see God's glory, to which God responds with this anthropomorphism, "While my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen." (Exodus 33:22-23) When Isaiah "saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty," he responded, ""Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!" (Isaiah 6:1,5) As I reflect on these kinds of accounts, I ask myself if I could stand the wonder and terror of a direct encounter with God. The answer at one level is "No! Of course not! You fool, you'd be consumed." And then I am reminded of the worlds of Abba Joseph, "If you will, you can become all flame," and I yearn for such total immersion in God.
John's Gospel starts with the impossibility of seeing God as a way of presenting Jesus as the one who shows us God. "No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known." (John 1:18) And Jesus says to Philip, "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, 'Show us the Father'?" (John 14:9) Taking this cue from the New Testament, I have made a point of soaking in the Gospels (not to the exclusion of the rest of Scripture, however) so I can be as fully saturated with Jesus as possible as the avenue for "seeing God."
In John 17:3 Jesus describes eternal life in terms of knowing God by knowing Christ. "This is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent." Paul echoes a similar idea in describing the consuming passion of his life in Philippians 3:1-11. "I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead." As I have pursued and cultivated my relationship with God, this focus has defined my personal sense of meaning. Jesus' words about eternal life and Paul's focus on the resurrection from the dead contrasts with the existential immediacy of Job. Yet, while Job does not speak of resurrection or eternal life in a New Testament sense, I find a connection between my hope of resurrection and the quality of intimate knowledge of God through Jesus Christ.
At a superficial level eternal life suggests a personal existence that extends without limit beyond the end we call death, and the resurrection from the dead points to a better life beyond this life. I am certainly not interested in denying or diminishing in any way the New Testament hope of a personal experience of the resurrection to eternal life; however, the way both Jesus and Paul link it with knowing Christ emphasizes a glimpse of God far outweighs an endless life without God.
It is here that the power of Job's encounter with God compels me in my pursuit of the contemplative life. In his flash of hope in 19:26 Job asserts, "in my flesh I shall see God." Job's declaration after being encountered by God is, "Now my eyes have seen you" (42:5). This deep longing and persistent asking to see God is at the heart of God's approval of how Job "has spoken of me what is right" (42:7) Thus, the Book of Job not only approves but encourages seeking to see God.
Job also holds out the expectation of having that longing fulfilled. However, this is not some conventional piety. Seeing God is not something that can be controlled or commanded. It does not come in expected fashion nor is it comfortable. Without an explanation of what has caused his suffering, without the promise of personal participation in Paradise, before the restoration of his fortunes, Job finds resolution and satisfaction in God's direct encounter with him.
I have always had a hard time with the popular distortions of the New Testament's witness to resurrection into a heaven where people become angels or disembodied spirits. Part of my difficulty is how the focus shifts from God to humans. Such a perspective misses what Gustavo Gutiérrez asserts, “Not everything that exists was made to be directly useful to human beings ... [but] for the freedom and delight of God." (On Job, Orbis, 1987, p. 74) Certainly "heaven" is even more for God than earth is. So in a certain sense, the resurrection to eternal life that Jesus and Paul speak of is to be so absorbed or consumed by one's focus on God that questions such as location and duration cease to matter.
Thus Job, without knowing what the New Testament will eventually say about the resurrection to eternal life, samples it in God's encounter with him. Though Job's cry in 19:25-26 (" I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God.") is not a theological assertion of resurrection, God's response to it gives Job a taste that is consistent with how Jesus and Paul talk about knowing Christ in connection with resurrection to eternal life.
Seeing Christ's Presence in Suffering People
In 1992, along with my wife and youngest son, I had the opportunity to live for four months in the L' Arche Daybreak community in Richmond Hill, Ontario. A superficial view of the community was of about 50 "core members" with a variety of identified "mental handicaps" being cared for by a dedicated group of "assistants." However, at the heart of the L' Arche vision is the reversal in which the "assistants" are those in need of receiving God's grace which is mediated through the "core members." An essential ingredient in each weekly orientation session for those of us who were new "assistants" was to answer the question: How did you see the presence of Christ in the suffering of one of the "core members" this week?
That discipline was one of the most profound transformations of my entire life. It was much deeper than just a role reversal from a paternalistic giver to a humble receiver, though it certainly was that. It was an encounter with Christ as the "man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity" (Isaiah 53:3). Some of these were stunning, such as the glow that came over Dave when he put on an alb to assist in communion, which I mused to my wife must have been something like how Moses appeared after coming from the presence of God (Exodus 34:29). Others were more subtle; such as the community's grieving as they waited helplessly for Morris' impending death. Attaching labels and definitions to these encounters was difficult. Even more challenging was recognizing the reality of Jesus in unadulterated pain, not just the flashes of triumph over the pain: stares and even abusive comments of people outside the community, the frustration of wanting skills and experiences that would never be available, the indignity of uncontrollable bodily functions, language and emotions.
At seventeen, I was attracted to Job because it illuminated the "human predicament," particularly how to face and understand pain and suffering. However, I did not relate this to either the questions of injustice nor of God's special love for the poor and oppressed. Somehow, my definition of "the human predicament" was limited to those I thought were pondering what it meant to be human. I had somehow never included those who were just trying to get by day to day. I was concerned for practical compassion and justice and recognized God's priority on trying to get by day to day. I was concerned for practical compassion and justice and recognized God's priority on seen until receiving this spiritual direction in the experience of Daybreak.
Writing out of his Latin American experience, Gustavo Gutiérrez puts special emphasis on the poor and oppressed in his book On Job, which reminded me of a particular spiritual discipline I undertook in New Jersey after leaving Daybreak but for which I have not found a suitable substitute since moving to Milwaukee. In the church I served New Jersey I led a weekly lunch with worship for people off the street which we called "Bread and Bible:" a half-hour family-style lunch and a half-hour very simple worship. As my own spiritual discipline after each "Bread and Bible" I asked myself, "How was I able to see Jesus through one of the people at the table today." By talking about this awareness with others in the church who shared these sorts of ministries, we were able to enhance our sensitivity to God's presence among us, and God kept shaping us from the providers of physical resources to the receivers of spiritual riches.
The congregation I serve now is in the affluent suburbs of north Milwaukee, and the obviously poor and oppressed are not visibly at our doorstep. However, we do have urban ministry partnerships with several congregations in the city, and third-world partnerships with congregations in Haiti and Honduras. I have personally participated in these and had brief glimpses of God. Virtually all of those who have begun attending our church since I came as pastor have been people with obvious pain. That has been somewhat disconcerting to some who thought this congregation would appeal to successful suburban executives. I have also discovered God looking back at me in my relationships with these folk. However, they are less frequent, less intentional and less intense than my weekly experiences in New Jersey. While I still don't know what shape it will take, my reflections on Job have reminded me how much I need the spiritual discipline of relationships with the poor and oppressed for my own spiritual health.
Seeing God in the Impenetrable Darkness
In his Old Testament Guide to Job (Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), J. H. Eaton develops the picture of Job speaking into the "impenetrable darkness" (p. 25) to appeal to God for vindication which acknowledges "the power and mystery of God beyond human comprehension" (p. 17). As I plunged into Job again, I also found myself identifying with the craving to see God in the darkness. This is not the darkness of unpleasant circumstances, rather it is the darkness of God's absence and apparent withdrawal. It is the experience of having climbed into an elaborate cave with many labyrinthine passages, steep and slippery cliffs, and deep pools of icy water, and then to stumble hopelessly breaking the lamp. Eyes strain into the impenetrable darkness for any hint of light while groping along what may be a precipice or a broad arena.
Job expresses this experience in 23:8-9. "If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him." Thomas Keating suggests that this sort of experience is actually the work of the Spirit to bring us to a more mature level in which "we are capable of making a more complete surrender of that attachment or that aversion. ... In this way we reach a new level of interior freedom, a deeper purity of heart, and an ever increasing union with the Spirit." (Intimacy with God, p. 89)
Some months ago criticism of my ministry was at a peak and I had given up the expectation of continuing as pastor of this congregation. Suddenly I found renewed fervor for preaching and one particular sermon was especially energetic and even my critics acknowledged its power. Talking about this with my son David, we came to call that my "Janis Joplin message," after her singing of Chris Christopherson's Freedom's Just Another Word for Nothin' Left to Lose. Here, in a very small microcosm was that glimmer of seeing God at the moment of greatest darkness.
As a pastor I have accompanied people through many dark and painful experiences. The catalog is really quite predictable: divorce; rebellious children; suicide of spouse, friend, child, parent; debilitating illness or injury; loss of career; someone else's death; one's own death. However, my own life has been smooth in these sorts of areas. While painful, my sister's divorce and the subsequent trauma to her children has not obscured an awareness of God's presence and activity in their lives, nor has it threatened the smooth path our family has been able to live. Even in the current conflicts that have swirled around my two-year pastorate in Milwaukee, we have able to live. Even in the current conflicts that have swirled around my two-year pastorate in Milwaukee, we have encouraging and supportive. Thus, for me this question of seeing God in the impenetrable darkness goes beyond whether my current circumstances are comfortable or understandable.
Rather, looking to see God in the impenetrable darkness has more to do with God's own inscrutable mystery. That is, recognizing God's wild freedom that defies my ability to describe, define or predict. In the evangelical circles where I serve, the commitment to the authority and reliability of Scripture is all too often and easily reduced to proof-texts for a manageably reduced portrait of God. However, for myself, I find that the deeper I plunge into Scripture and the more seriously I take it, the less I am able to package God. As my reservoir of Scripture grows, the more important my pursuit of contemplative encounter with God becomes for me. This is not in any way a revelation beyond the data in Scripture, but a direct relationship that comes alive with all the ambiguity of a relationship with someone who is wild and free and powerful beyond my imagination.
Here, then, is the impenetrable darkness of choosing an intimate relationship with someone I can neither understand nor control. Someone who beckons me to a greater depth of intimacy that goes far beyond whether or not my personal circumstances are pleasant or whether the conditions of people in the world seem to reflect justice and peace, righteousness and mercy consonant with what I think I know of God's character. Like many Christians, I am fond of trying to identify signs of God's presence in the circumstances of my own experience and the events of life in the world, both historic and present. However, I as I grow in contemplative prayer, I find I must relinquish these tangible signs to see God directly, not through external circumstances, not through definable signs. This sort of prayer is the extreme sport of spirituality.
Discerning Authentic Occasions of Seeing God
The Book of Job presents Job's vision of God as authentic and discredits the claims of Eliphaz (4:15) and Elihu (33:4; 36:2) to have received a message from a spirit or vision that allows them to speak for God. The pursuit of a mystical or contemplative encounter with God is fraught with the dangers of subjectivity and deception. In the conflicts that have troubled the church I am serving, a number of people have claimed to have "a word from the Lord" or "a message from the Spirit" to tell us what to do. Often these are contradictory and mutually exclusive, and the debate all too easily degenerates into what I call "spiritual blackmail" of people asserting that their spirituality validates their claims. Both within Christianity and in other religions, many have claimed various visions from God, which often turn out to be fraudulent. Thus, looking at Job as a model for authentic relationship with God calls for discernment.
Consistency with the teaching of Scripture and witness of the Church is the obvious answer, and true enough as far as it goes, but variations in Biblical interpretation and disagreements among church traditions clearly show this is inadequate to resolve the question. In the conflicts of my present congregation, I have said that if we were all hearing the same Spirit, what we are hearing would be the same thing or at least it would fit together. If one person is truly hearing from God, it would be confirmed by other spiritually sensitive people. Again, this may be true enough, but our current conflicts demonstrate that alone is not the path to discernment.
Of course, these are strategic debates in which people marshal whatever arguments then can to support their positions, and that is different than discerning if one's own contemplative experience is an authentic encounter with God. But I do think that this illustrates that not all claims to or, for that matter, experiences of direct encounter with God are equally valid. Perhaps the greatest danger of all is self-deception, convincing myself that a mere psychological phenomenon is God, or worse yet that spiritual evil is God.
The New Testament talks about testing the spirits (e.g. 1 John 4:1-3) and a spiritual gift of discernment (1 Corinthians 12: 10), but the Book of Job does not present either evidence for the authenticity of Job's vision of God (in contrast to Eliphaz and Elihu) nor a discernment procedure. Rather, it seems to present God's encounter with Job as self-evident. Job has been calling for God, and when God showed up, Job recognized God. Furthermore, God speaks to Eliphaz (42:7-9) correcting Job's friends, and they seem to recognize this as God's voice as well. When God speaks, the human debate ends.
This is much like the corporate confirmation of the leading of the Spirit, I mentioned earlier. However, it goes much deeper than just that we who have been disagreeing now agree because we heard what God wants. Both Job and his friends are humbled by their encounters with God. Job's humbling validates his cry for a direct encounter with God. The humbling of Job's friends prompts repentance and reconciliation with Job. When the Apostle Paul writes about his vision, he immediately goes on to write about the "thorn in the flesh" that was sent to humble him (2 Corinthians 12: 1-10). So, somehow, humility is a key to discerning authentic encounters with God. They will not result in spiritual one-ups-man-ship or spiritual blackmail.
Over the years of learning about my particular mix of spiritual gifts, I have become comfortable talking about pastor/teacher and wisdom as my gifts. However, I have felt particularly deficient in discernment. I frequently misread other people and situations. I frequently miss cues that could have tipped me off to particular needs to be addressed or opportunities to be seized. So I have looked to others who seem more gifted in this area to alert me to what is going on in people. Over the years, I have had three Roman Catholic spiritual directors who have fulfilled this function in connection with my contemplative life. However, especially among the cerebral evangelicals I serve with, talking about this seems to raise suspicions and incredulity rather than empathetic discernment.
While the qualities of humility and mutual self-evidence are helpful hints at discernment in Job, this most recent experience with Job has left me asking questions about discernment in my own contemplative prayer. Of course, discernment can't be reduced to some series of tests with a score to determine the authenticity of a mystical encounter with God. That would negate both faith and the mystery of the impenetrable darkness. That would reduce an intimate relationship with a wild and free God to an abstract theological construct. Yet, I see the need for discernment to avoid heading down the wrong path, thinking I am going with God but actually just chasing my own imagination or worse.
What to Expect when Seeing God
God speaks to Job out of the whirlwind (38:1; 40:6). The special effects people in the movie industry as well as the hyper-literalists might scale this back to audible words from a tornado. Certainly a tornado is a wonderful picture of wild and free power. No one willingly embraces intimacy with a tornado. Yet, our whole technological society with its fixation on measuring and explaining all phenomena, reads things like Job and asks, what did Job see and hear? If we played back a video, what would come out on the screen? Clearly, these are the wrong questions. They are just another way of trying to capture the wild and free God with definitions, whether scientific or theological. Yet, people who are serious about wanting to see God do ask what to expect, and books such as Thomas Keating's Intimacy with God try to give some guidance for answering that question in a spiritually responsible fashion.
In my own journey of contemplative prayer, I have had occasions that have seemed to me to be little snatches of direct encounters with God. I have felt physical tingling and release through my whole body, not unlike sexual intimacy. I have occasions of seeming to be in some sort of trance in which I knew I was fully awake and alert and yet completely unaware of my immediate surroundings. I have more often found solutions to dilemmas that were troubling to me or insights for ministry immediately after times of centering prayer. I have experienced an ebbing away of tension and an upwelling of peace and calm during centering prayer. I have also experienced the spiritual or emotional terror of someone I was ministering to during these times. However, these experiences are the exception. More often my prayer times are a quiet solitude, keeping my attention on God but not experiencing anything extraordinary. I certainly know that I cannot do anything to compel these experiences to come, but I must wait in the silence for God. I also know that these experiences are not the goal of contemplative prayer but are merely a gracious byproduct of intimacy with God. I also know that while they share some commonality with the experiences of other contemplatives, they are not some expected pattern prescribed for me, nor that I can prescribe for others.
What was it that Job actually experienced when God spoke to him out of the whirlwind? That, of course, is a modern question, and answering it is not the purpose of the text. However, I believe Job suggests that seeing God is an overwhelming reality, much like embracing a tornado.
Columbia Theological Seminary Spiritual Formation Certificate
© May 1998 by Norman Stolpe
My first serious encounter with the Book of Job came at age seventeen in a public high school World Literature class. The style of Christian faith I absorbed as a young person in the church where I grew up seemed to have little if anything to do with the challenges of the "human predicament" that I found increasingly enticing as I studied literature. Studying something from the Bible (Job) as literature that addressed this fascination was a profoundly integrating experience. I said to myself: "Ah ha! God does understand the pain of being human." The New Testament understandings of incarnation and Jesus' crucifixion became living realities to me. I have marked that as the beginning of my "adult faith," and I resonated with the way we looked at Job as a window on adult faith in this course.
Of all of the interwoven themes we looked at in Job through the week, I was particularly drawn to and moved by viewing the Book of Job as sort of case study on authentic relationship with God. I found this far more compelling and reasonable than trying to find a rationale for human suffering in the Book of Job. This took me back to the awakening moment in my seventeen-year-old experience with Job. Though I did not have the understanding, experience or maturity to appreciate it as much at the time, God's self-revelation and Job's overwhelmed response was what evoked the sense of satisfaction and integration that nurtured my faith at the time. Now, having pursued a life of contemplative prayer for several years as an adult, this most recent conversation with the Book of Job brought a sharp focus for me on my relationship with God.
The Longing to "See God"
Since adolescence I have been drawn to the theme in the contemplative tradition of the beatific vision, to be able to have a direct, spiritual encounter with God. This, of course, is a grace that is given by God, and no amount of meditation or ascetic discipline can manufacture an authentic experience. They merely prepare one to be ready to recognize and receive the gift. Yet, contemplative tradition presents the spiritual longing to "see God" as a legitimate motivation for pursuing the contemplative life. The popular notion is that such a vision of God is filled with bliss and delight. While the sweetness and wonder of intimacy with God permeates the writing of
many contemplatives, that emphasis is balanced by heavy encounters such as St. John of the Cross's dark night of the soul and Ignatius' understanding of consolations and desolations. I found the image of landings on a spiral staircase that descends into the depths in Thomas Keating's Intimacy with God (Crossroads, 1994) to be a very helpful tool for discerning God's presence when I am only aware of God's absence.
I have taken Jesus' Beatitude "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." (Matthew 5:8) as encouraging in me the longing to "see God." Kierkegard's explorations of this in Purity of Heart Is To Will One Thing (Harper and Row; 1938), helped me grow past seeing purity of heart merely as moral innocence but as being consumed by the single desire to "see God." My development of spiritual disciplines has been inspired by Psalm 37:4, "Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart." As God has increasingly become the delight and desire of my heart, I have tasted the "reward" of direct relationship with God, much as God said to Abram in Genesis 15:1, "I am your shield, your very great reward." (NIV)
I am intrigued by some of the encounters people have with God that are recorded in Scripture. Moses asked to see God's glory, to which God responds with this anthropomorphism, "While my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen." (Exodus 33:22-23) When Isaiah "saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty," he responded, ""Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!" (Isaiah 6:1,5) As I reflect on these kinds of accounts, I ask myself if I could stand the wonder and terror of a direct encounter with God. The answer at one level is "No! Of course not! You fool, you'd be consumed." And then I am reminded of the worlds of Abba Joseph, "If you will, you can become all flame," and I yearn for such total immersion in God.
John's Gospel starts with the impossibility of seeing God as a way of presenting Jesus as the one who shows us God. "No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known." (John 1:18) And Jesus says to Philip, "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, 'Show us the Father'?" (John 14:9) Taking this cue from the New Testament, I have made a point of soaking in the Gospels (not to the exclusion of the rest of Scripture, however) so I can be as fully saturated with Jesus as possible as the avenue for "seeing God."
In John 17:3 Jesus describes eternal life in terms of knowing God by knowing Christ. "This is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent." Paul echoes a similar idea in describing the consuming passion of his life in Philippians 3:1-11. "I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead." As I have pursued and cultivated my relationship with God, this focus has defined my personal sense of meaning. Jesus' words about eternal life and Paul's focus on the resurrection from the dead contrasts with the existential immediacy of Job. Yet, while Job does not speak of resurrection or eternal life in a New Testament sense, I find a connection between my hope of resurrection and the quality of intimate knowledge of God through Jesus Christ.
At a superficial level eternal life suggests a personal existence that extends without limit beyond the end we call death, and the resurrection from the dead points to a better life beyond this life. I am certainly not interested in denying or diminishing in any way the New Testament hope of a personal experience of the resurrection to eternal life; however, the way both Jesus and Paul link it with knowing Christ emphasizes a glimpse of God far outweighs an endless life without God.
It is here that the power of Job's encounter with God compels me in my pursuit of the contemplative life. In his flash of hope in 19:26 Job asserts, "in my flesh I shall see God." Job's declaration after being encountered by God is, "Now my eyes have seen you" (42:5). This deep longing and persistent asking to see God is at the heart of God's approval of how Job "has spoken of me what is right" (42:7) Thus, the Book of Job not only approves but encourages seeking to see God.
Job also holds out the expectation of having that longing fulfilled. However, this is not some conventional piety. Seeing God is not something that can be controlled or commanded. It does not come in expected fashion nor is it comfortable. Without an explanation of what has caused his suffering, without the promise of personal participation in Paradise, before the restoration of his fortunes, Job finds resolution and satisfaction in God's direct encounter with him.
I have always had a hard time with the popular distortions of the New Testament's witness to resurrection into a heaven where people become angels or disembodied spirits. Part of my difficulty is how the focus shifts from God to humans. Such a perspective misses what Gustavo Gutiérrez asserts, “Not everything that exists was made to be directly useful to human beings ... [but] for the freedom and delight of God." (On Job, Orbis, 1987, p. 74) Certainly "heaven" is even more for God than earth is. So in a certain sense, the resurrection to eternal life that Jesus and Paul speak of is to be so absorbed or consumed by one's focus on God that questions such as location and duration cease to matter.
Thus Job, without knowing what the New Testament will eventually say about the resurrection to eternal life, samples it in God's encounter with him. Though Job's cry in 19:25-26 (" I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God.") is not a theological assertion of resurrection, God's response to it gives Job a taste that is consistent with how Jesus and Paul talk about knowing Christ in connection with resurrection to eternal life.
Seeing Christ's Presence in Suffering People
In 1992, along with my wife and youngest son, I had the opportunity to live for four months in the L' Arche Daybreak community in Richmond Hill, Ontario. A superficial view of the community was of about 50 "core members" with a variety of identified "mental handicaps" being cared for by a dedicated group of "assistants." However, at the heart of the L' Arche vision is the reversal in which the "assistants" are those in need of receiving God's grace which is mediated through the "core members." An essential ingredient in each weekly orientation session for those of us who were new "assistants" was to answer the question: How did you see the presence of Christ in the suffering of one of the "core members" this week?
That discipline was one of the most profound transformations of my entire life. It was much deeper than just a role reversal from a paternalistic giver to a humble receiver, though it certainly was that. It was an encounter with Christ as the "man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity" (Isaiah 53:3). Some of these were stunning, such as the glow that came over Dave when he put on an alb to assist in communion, which I mused to my wife must have been something like how Moses appeared after coming from the presence of God (Exodus 34:29). Others were more subtle; such as the community's grieving as they waited helplessly for Morris' impending death. Attaching labels and definitions to these encounters was difficult. Even more challenging was recognizing the reality of Jesus in unadulterated pain, not just the flashes of triumph over the pain: stares and even abusive comments of people outside the community, the frustration of wanting skills and experiences that would never be available, the indignity of uncontrollable bodily functions, language and emotions.
At seventeen, I was attracted to Job because it illuminated the "human predicament," particularly how to face and understand pain and suffering. However, I did not relate this to either the questions of injustice nor of God's special love for the poor and oppressed. Somehow, my definition of "the human predicament" was limited to those I thought were pondering what it meant to be human. I had somehow never included those who were just trying to get by day to day. I was concerned for practical compassion and justice and recognized God's priority on trying to get by day to day. I was concerned for practical compassion and justice and recognized God's priority on seen until receiving this spiritual direction in the experience of Daybreak.
Writing out of his Latin American experience, Gustavo Gutiérrez puts special emphasis on the poor and oppressed in his book On Job, which reminded me of a particular spiritual discipline I undertook in New Jersey after leaving Daybreak but for which I have not found a suitable substitute since moving to Milwaukee. In the church I served New Jersey I led a weekly lunch with worship for people off the street which we called "Bread and Bible:" a half-hour family-style lunch and a half-hour very simple worship. As my own spiritual discipline after each "Bread and Bible" I asked myself, "How was I able to see Jesus through one of the people at the table today." By talking about this awareness with others in the church who shared these sorts of ministries, we were able to enhance our sensitivity to God's presence among us, and God kept shaping us from the providers of physical resources to the receivers of spiritual riches.
The congregation I serve now is in the affluent suburbs of north Milwaukee, and the obviously poor and oppressed are not visibly at our doorstep. However, we do have urban ministry partnerships with several congregations in the city, and third-world partnerships with congregations in Haiti and Honduras. I have personally participated in these and had brief glimpses of God. Virtually all of those who have begun attending our church since I came as pastor have been people with obvious pain. That has been somewhat disconcerting to some who thought this congregation would appeal to successful suburban executives. I have also discovered God looking back at me in my relationships with these folk. However, they are less frequent, less intentional and less intense than my weekly experiences in New Jersey. While I still don't know what shape it will take, my reflections on Job have reminded me how much I need the spiritual discipline of relationships with the poor and oppressed for my own spiritual health.
Seeing God in the Impenetrable Darkness
In his Old Testament Guide to Job (Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), J. H. Eaton develops the picture of Job speaking into the "impenetrable darkness" (p. 25) to appeal to God for vindication which acknowledges "the power and mystery of God beyond human comprehension" (p. 17). As I plunged into Job again, I also found myself identifying with the craving to see God in the darkness. This is not the darkness of unpleasant circumstances, rather it is the darkness of God's absence and apparent withdrawal. It is the experience of having climbed into an elaborate cave with many labyrinthine passages, steep and slippery cliffs, and deep pools of icy water, and then to stumble hopelessly breaking the lamp. Eyes strain into the impenetrable darkness for any hint of light while groping along what may be a precipice or a broad arena.
Job expresses this experience in 23:8-9. "If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him." Thomas Keating suggests that this sort of experience is actually the work of the Spirit to bring us to a more mature level in which "we are capable of making a more complete surrender of that attachment or that aversion. ... In this way we reach a new level of interior freedom, a deeper purity of heart, and an ever increasing union with the Spirit." (Intimacy with God, p. 89)
Some months ago criticism of my ministry was at a peak and I had given up the expectation of continuing as pastor of this congregation. Suddenly I found renewed fervor for preaching and one particular sermon was especially energetic and even my critics acknowledged its power. Talking about this with my son David, we came to call that my "Janis Joplin message," after her singing of Chris Christopherson's Freedom's Just Another Word for Nothin' Left to Lose. Here, in a very small microcosm was that glimmer of seeing God at the moment of greatest darkness.
As a pastor I have accompanied people through many dark and painful experiences. The catalog is really quite predictable: divorce; rebellious children; suicide of spouse, friend, child, parent; debilitating illness or injury; loss of career; someone else's death; one's own death. However, my own life has been smooth in these sorts of areas. While painful, my sister's divorce and the subsequent trauma to her children has not obscured an awareness of God's presence and activity in their lives, nor has it threatened the smooth path our family has been able to live. Even in the current conflicts that have swirled around my two-year pastorate in Milwaukee, we have able to live. Even in the current conflicts that have swirled around my two-year pastorate in Milwaukee, we have encouraging and supportive. Thus, for me this question of seeing God in the impenetrable darkness goes beyond whether my current circumstances are comfortable or understandable.
Rather, looking to see God in the impenetrable darkness has more to do with God's own inscrutable mystery. That is, recognizing God's wild freedom that defies my ability to describe, define or predict. In the evangelical circles where I serve, the commitment to the authority and reliability of Scripture is all too often and easily reduced to proof-texts for a manageably reduced portrait of God. However, for myself, I find that the deeper I plunge into Scripture and the more seriously I take it, the less I am able to package God. As my reservoir of Scripture grows, the more important my pursuit of contemplative encounter with God becomes for me. This is not in any way a revelation beyond the data in Scripture, but a direct relationship that comes alive with all the ambiguity of a relationship with someone who is wild and free and powerful beyond my imagination.
Here, then, is the impenetrable darkness of choosing an intimate relationship with someone I can neither understand nor control. Someone who beckons me to a greater depth of intimacy that goes far beyond whether or not my personal circumstances are pleasant or whether the conditions of people in the world seem to reflect justice and peace, righteousness and mercy consonant with what I think I know of God's character. Like many Christians, I am fond of trying to identify signs of God's presence in the circumstances of my own experience and the events of life in the world, both historic and present. However, I as I grow in contemplative prayer, I find I must relinquish these tangible signs to see God directly, not through external circumstances, not through definable signs. This sort of prayer is the extreme sport of spirituality.
Discerning Authentic Occasions of Seeing God
The Book of Job presents Job's vision of God as authentic and discredits the claims of Eliphaz (4:15) and Elihu (33:4; 36:2) to have received a message from a spirit or vision that allows them to speak for God. The pursuit of a mystical or contemplative encounter with God is fraught with the dangers of subjectivity and deception. In the conflicts that have troubled the church I am serving, a number of people have claimed to have "a word from the Lord" or "a message from the Spirit" to tell us what to do. Often these are contradictory and mutually exclusive, and the debate all too easily degenerates into what I call "spiritual blackmail" of people asserting that their spirituality validates their claims. Both within Christianity and in other religions, many have claimed various visions from God, which often turn out to be fraudulent. Thus, looking at Job as a model for authentic relationship with God calls for discernment.
Consistency with the teaching of Scripture and witness of the Church is the obvious answer, and true enough as far as it goes, but variations in Biblical interpretation and disagreements among church traditions clearly show this is inadequate to resolve the question. In the conflicts of my present congregation, I have said that if we were all hearing the same Spirit, what we are hearing would be the same thing or at least it would fit together. If one person is truly hearing from God, it would be confirmed by other spiritually sensitive people. Again, this may be true enough, but our current conflicts demonstrate that alone is not the path to discernment.
Of course, these are strategic debates in which people marshal whatever arguments then can to support their positions, and that is different than discerning if one's own contemplative experience is an authentic encounter with God. But I do think that this illustrates that not all claims to or, for that matter, experiences of direct encounter with God are equally valid. Perhaps the greatest danger of all is self-deception, convincing myself that a mere psychological phenomenon is God, or worse yet that spiritual evil is God.
The New Testament talks about testing the spirits (e.g. 1 John 4:1-3) and a spiritual gift of discernment (1 Corinthians 12: 10), but the Book of Job does not present either evidence for the authenticity of Job's vision of God (in contrast to Eliphaz and Elihu) nor a discernment procedure. Rather, it seems to present God's encounter with Job as self-evident. Job has been calling for God, and when God showed up, Job recognized God. Furthermore, God speaks to Eliphaz (42:7-9) correcting Job's friends, and they seem to recognize this as God's voice as well. When God speaks, the human debate ends.
This is much like the corporate confirmation of the leading of the Spirit, I mentioned earlier. However, it goes much deeper than just that we who have been disagreeing now agree because we heard what God wants. Both Job and his friends are humbled by their encounters with God. Job's humbling validates his cry for a direct encounter with God. The humbling of Job's friends prompts repentance and reconciliation with Job. When the Apostle Paul writes about his vision, he immediately goes on to write about the "thorn in the flesh" that was sent to humble him (2 Corinthians 12: 1-10). So, somehow, humility is a key to discerning authentic encounters with God. They will not result in spiritual one-ups-man-ship or spiritual blackmail.
Over the years of learning about my particular mix of spiritual gifts, I have become comfortable talking about pastor/teacher and wisdom as my gifts. However, I have felt particularly deficient in discernment. I frequently misread other people and situations. I frequently miss cues that could have tipped me off to particular needs to be addressed or opportunities to be seized. So I have looked to others who seem more gifted in this area to alert me to what is going on in people. Over the years, I have had three Roman Catholic spiritual directors who have fulfilled this function in connection with my contemplative life. However, especially among the cerebral evangelicals I serve with, talking about this seems to raise suspicions and incredulity rather than empathetic discernment.
While the qualities of humility and mutual self-evidence are helpful hints at discernment in Job, this most recent experience with Job has left me asking questions about discernment in my own contemplative prayer. Of course, discernment can't be reduced to some series of tests with a score to determine the authenticity of a mystical encounter with God. That would negate both faith and the mystery of the impenetrable darkness. That would reduce an intimate relationship with a wild and free God to an abstract theological construct. Yet, I see the need for discernment to avoid heading down the wrong path, thinking I am going with God but actually just chasing my own imagination or worse.
What to Expect when Seeing God
God speaks to Job out of the whirlwind (38:1; 40:6). The special effects people in the movie industry as well as the hyper-literalists might scale this back to audible words from a tornado. Certainly a tornado is a wonderful picture of wild and free power. No one willingly embraces intimacy with a tornado. Yet, our whole technological society with its fixation on measuring and explaining all phenomena, reads things like Job and asks, what did Job see and hear? If we played back a video, what would come out on the screen? Clearly, these are the wrong questions. They are just another way of trying to capture the wild and free God with definitions, whether scientific or theological. Yet, people who are serious about wanting to see God do ask what to expect, and books such as Thomas Keating's Intimacy with God try to give some guidance for answering that question in a spiritually responsible fashion.
In my own journey of contemplative prayer, I have had occasions that have seemed to me to be little snatches of direct encounters with God. I have felt physical tingling and release through my whole body, not unlike sexual intimacy. I have occasions of seeming to be in some sort of trance in which I knew I was fully awake and alert and yet completely unaware of my immediate surroundings. I have more often found solutions to dilemmas that were troubling to me or insights for ministry immediately after times of centering prayer. I have experienced an ebbing away of tension and an upwelling of peace and calm during centering prayer. I have also experienced the spiritual or emotional terror of someone I was ministering to during these times. However, these experiences are the exception. More often my prayer times are a quiet solitude, keeping my attention on God but not experiencing anything extraordinary. I certainly know that I cannot do anything to compel these experiences to come, but I must wait in the silence for God. I also know that these experiences are not the goal of contemplative prayer but are merely a gracious byproduct of intimacy with God. I also know that while they share some commonality with the experiences of other contemplatives, they are not some expected pattern prescribed for me, nor that I can prescribe for others.
What was it that Job actually experienced when God spoke to him out of the whirlwind? That, of course, is a modern question, and answering it is not the purpose of the text. However, I believe Job suggests that seeing God is an overwhelming reality, much like embracing a tornado.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Images of My Pastoral Ministry
Response to an Assignment from my Spiritual Director
© September 15, 2006 by Norman Stolpe
Shepherd
This is clearly the controlling image to which all of the others attach. Some of the power of the shepherd is linguistic. The word “pastor” is the English rendition of the Latin base for “shepherd.” A shepherd pastor feeds, leads to safety and nourishment, tends the wounded, rescues the wandering, protect from threats. A shepherd pastor knows and loves the sheep.
Coach (pastor-teacher)
Ephesians 4 put pastor and teacher together as a single office that might be comparable to a modern coach. Teaching is not merely cognitive, it is affective; it changes people’s thinking, feeling, being, living. The coach motivates and guides people toward spiritual maturity, effective ministry, practical discipleship. The coach observes and guides in making adjustments, points people to beneficial resources and exercises, models the disciplines others can follow. The coach also builds cooperation and camaraderie among the team members, helping them appreciate the unique gifts each one brings to the team. The coach succeeds when the team and each member succeeds.
Pilgrim Guide, Accompanier, Companion, Partner (spiritual director)
Pilgrimage of journey is a common and helpful way of understanding the spiritual life. In this role, the pastor is the experienced guide who knows the path and the handholds on the cliffs firsthand. Besides giving direction, warning of danger, the pilgrim guide points out the inspiring views, the delightful discoveries of the journey. A wise guide knows that other pilgrims have valuable knowledge and insights to be shared. And the guide is not always “in charge” but accompanies with conversation, presence and partnership.
Old Man of the Mountains (story teller, poet, encourager)
As I am aware of my energy waning, I pray that the wisdom that I have come to accept as my spiritual gift is waxing. I have been blessed with a wide variety of experiences, relationships, interests and readings. As Jesus did with his parables, the “old man of the mountains” juxtaposes stories with peoples experiences, doubts, wounds, gifts, insights. The stories more that the “teaching” stimulate mind, heart and even body to stretch, challenge, comfort, encourage seekers and stumblers. The story teller’s voice leaves people relaxed and a peace. Unlike the images of shepherd, coach and guide, the “old man of the mountains” may not be directly involved in the activities of the listeners but provide a refuge for refreshment.
Odysseus Lashed to the Mast
Eugene Peterson uses this image to wrestle with calling, vocation and ordination. Regardless of how enticing the distractions, the pastor stays with the Church, and as much as possible the congregation. The responsibility for the spiritual well being of individuals and the congregation cannot be abandoned just because it is painful or difficult or because something else (even another congregation) is more attractive. This is a living model of the rich and joyful harvest of long term fidelity and commitment.
© September 15, 2006 by Norman Stolpe
Shepherd
This is clearly the controlling image to which all of the others attach. Some of the power of the shepherd is linguistic. The word “pastor” is the English rendition of the Latin base for “shepherd.” A shepherd pastor feeds, leads to safety and nourishment, tends the wounded, rescues the wandering, protect from threats. A shepherd pastor knows and loves the sheep.
Coach (pastor-teacher)
Ephesians 4 put pastor and teacher together as a single office that might be comparable to a modern coach. Teaching is not merely cognitive, it is affective; it changes people’s thinking, feeling, being, living. The coach motivates and guides people toward spiritual maturity, effective ministry, practical discipleship. The coach observes and guides in making adjustments, points people to beneficial resources and exercises, models the disciplines others can follow. The coach also builds cooperation and camaraderie among the team members, helping them appreciate the unique gifts each one brings to the team. The coach succeeds when the team and each member succeeds.
Pilgrim Guide, Accompanier, Companion, Partner (spiritual director)
Pilgrimage of journey is a common and helpful way of understanding the spiritual life. In this role, the pastor is the experienced guide who knows the path and the handholds on the cliffs firsthand. Besides giving direction, warning of danger, the pilgrim guide points out the inspiring views, the delightful discoveries of the journey. A wise guide knows that other pilgrims have valuable knowledge and insights to be shared. And the guide is not always “in charge” but accompanies with conversation, presence and partnership.
Old Man of the Mountains (story teller, poet, encourager)
As I am aware of my energy waning, I pray that the wisdom that I have come to accept as my spiritual gift is waxing. I have been blessed with a wide variety of experiences, relationships, interests and readings. As Jesus did with his parables, the “old man of the mountains” juxtaposes stories with peoples experiences, doubts, wounds, gifts, insights. The stories more that the “teaching” stimulate mind, heart and even body to stretch, challenge, comfort, encourage seekers and stumblers. The story teller’s voice leaves people relaxed and a peace. Unlike the images of shepherd, coach and guide, the “old man of the mountains” may not be directly involved in the activities of the listeners but provide a refuge for refreshment.
Odysseus Lashed to the Mast
Eugene Peterson uses this image to wrestle with calling, vocation and ordination. Regardless of how enticing the distractions, the pastor stays with the Church, and as much as possible the congregation. The responsibility for the spiritual well being of individuals and the congregation cannot be abandoned just because it is painful or difficult or because something else (even another congregation) is more attractive. This is a living model of the rich and joyful harvest of long term fidelity and commitment.
Camera as Icon-Eye into Spiritual Reality
Rome Pilgrimage Formative Reflection
Columbia Theological Seminary Spiritual Formation Certificate
© July 8, 2004 by Norman Stolpe
I wrote in my paper on Elizabeth Canham’s book Heart Whispers: Benedictine Wisdom for Today that I wrestled with what to do about a camera for the pilgrimage. I wanted to be a pilgrim savoring and relishing spirit enriching experiences, not a tourist preoccupied with documenting the sights. For one thing, the density of sights was so intense that even the most avid photo-tourist would have to be selective. I quickly began to see that my camera could be a kind of icon-eye to sharpen my acuity for sacramental images, that is the tangible sights that offered insight into God’s spiritual reality that touched me. I still ended up with about 150 pictures, some of which undoubtedly are touristy. However, I have selected six that I have enlarged for framing to use for a personal prayer center.
Above the stairway leaving the Monastery and Church of St. Benedict in Subiaco is a statue of Benedict with an inscribed blessing for those who visit. I certainly felt the light of God’s blessing as I visited each place on this pilgrimage, which I hope to take with me everywhere I go. Though not a major piece of magnificent sculpture or a central attraction, this became to me an icon of the purpose of this pilgrimage, to purposely bask in Christ’s light.
I was captivated by the smiling expression of Christ in the ceiling mosaic at Santa Croce in Gerusalemme (Church of the Holy Cross) and the ceiling fresco at the Monastery of St. Benedict. I took these as windows to Christ’s smile on me as I yearn to be close to him amid the realities of pastoring a struggling congregation and trying to launch a floundering nineteen year old son into adulthood. It spoke to me of Psalm 147:11, “The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him.” They allow me to adopt for myself the expression Brennan Manning extracts from the apostle John, “I am the one Jesus loves.”
The cross is the most widespread and readily recognized Christian symbol, and crosses and crucifixes were ubiquitous in Rome. Many were highly ornate, and others were elegant in their simplicity. When our guide pointed out the absence of crosses in the catacombs, I was a little surprised, which helped me attend to and appreciate some of their more common symbols: the Good Shepherd, Chi Rho, birds, people at prayer and worship. But I was enthralled by two crosses. One was on the Pascal Candlestick in St. Paul’s Basilica dating from 1186 CE and reputed to be the first known crucifix depicting Jesus on the cross. Its primitive presentation gives me a sense of immediacy, of entering with the sculptor into the suffering of Jesus. The other cross that fascinated me was the one hanging over the altar in the upper Church of St. Benedict in Subiaco. Its unusual shape and texture seem to be an extension of the rock walls of the cliffs and caves that remain exposed and unadorned, congruent with St. Benedict’s three years in his stone hermitage. With the symbols of the four evangelists on the four arms of the cross and Christ portrayed in resurrection if not ascension glory, this cross conveys to me the hope of the Gospel. Its earthiness and luminescence fuse the realities of my daily living with hope, not just of ultimate redemption but of flashes of present glory.
All over Rome we saw flags proclaiming “pace” (peace). In one of the churches many hundreds of written prayers were tucked in every crevice and heaped in a deep accumulation around the base of a statue, even post-it-notes stuck to the hem of the statue’s robe. A mother was helping a young girl write a prayer and try to get it on to the statue. One prayer open on the base read in Italian “peace in Iraq.” Pagan grave markers were inscribed “D.M.” (to the gods) but in the catacombs and other Christian burial markers read “IN PACEM” (in peace). Our group talked often about our yearnings for peace in the world and in the Church, not just between Protestants and Roman Catholics, but among the people of our congregations. The floor grate in the baptistery of Sts. John Lateran which read “CHRISTUS PAX NOSTRA” (Christ our peace) evokes my longings for peace and centers that longing in Christ. Whether that specific casting is that ancient or not, this site goes back to the time of Constantine, the Fourth Century. Turmoil has plagued the world, the Church and the lives of individual Christians through all these centuries, yet this piece blends my prayers for peace with those of these generations of Christians, and it centers me in Christ so I can be at peace within, even when surrounded by turbulence.
Relics as Icons of the Communion of Saints
As Protestant pilgrims, most of us out of the Reformed tradition, visiting the holy sites around Rome prompted comparisons and examination of how to reverence and be formed by relics and holy sites. I don’t believe any of us climbed the “Santa Scala” (Holy Steps) on our knees, yet I felt comfortable and appropriate genuflecting as we entered each church, before going to see the sights. I made a point of spending some time praying in each church, and where kneelers were provided, I used them. In my own congregation I lift my hands in worship when a hymn directs glory to God and I cross myself when I receive the Lord’s Supper. These are not common among Disciples of Christ, but I feel congruent doing them.
The pilgrimage took me to many graves: St. Paul and St. Peter, the catacombs, Francis and Clare, Ignatius of Loyola, hundreds of Popes in St. Peter’s Basilica. I didn’t fit with either the curious tourists or the pious Roman Catholics, yet I was moved and sensed the blessing of Christ’s light at these places. As I puzzled at my responses, I considered how we in the United States now consider “ground zero” of the World Trade Center in New York City to be a “holy site” and a “shrine.” To build St. Peter’s Basilica over Nero’s Circus makes a “holy site” of this place where Christians died for their faith, perhaps not unlike the Americans who died in a symbol of capitalist faith in New York. It’s more than respect or even reverence, it’s connection and solidarity.
In Chiesa Gesú (Jesus Church) where St. Ignatius of Loyola is interred, a glass case under the altar contains three clearly visible skulls and a number of bones. As best we could tell these were from early Jesuit martyrs, though we were not able to get specific information. Reflecting a bit on church history, I realized they may well have been martyred by Protestants. In the Vatican Museum’s room commemorating the religious wars is a painting of Franciscans being hung by Protestants. The face of the monk awaiting his noose was positively radiant, conveying a powerful sense of the privilege of dying for Christ, much like Stephen in Acts 7:55-60. Accustomed to thinking of Protestants martyred at the hands of Roman Catholics, I grieved the murder of these brothers in Christ and the violent divisions the Church has not escaped. Though I did not know the owners of those skulls, I had somehow connected to three people who, like me, were hungering for and vigorously pursuing spiritual intimacy with Jesus. These tangible relics conveyed to me the personal reality of distinct individuals and their costly devotion of Jesus.
Of all of the holy sites, this sense of connection was strongest for me at the catacombs. As we walked those passages, passing the crypts and niches, I kept saying to myself, “a person, a fellow Christian lived and died and was buried in each of these spots.” The family chapels and tiny crypts for children evoked for me the love and grief that was celebrated and remembered in these tunnels. Certainly my modern, Protestant sensibilities contribute to my appreciation that the artifacts and artwork (relics) left here were those made and used by the Christians of the Second and Third Centuries. Here was no shrine constructed later and out of joint with the origins. Here I was seeing and touching the lives and deaths of my Christian forbearers, with as little between us as possible. Not only was their hope of resurrection almost palpable, but so was their joy of living as Christ’s people in a time before Christianity was popular, when it was at times even dangerous. When one of the women in our group began singing “For All the Saints,” I hoped we would swell into it, but the practicalities of going single file through twisting tunnels, without a song leader or words, precluded a rousing chorus. But here, of all the holy sites of Rome, I most felt surrounded by the great cloud of witnesses of Hebrews 12:1.
Though I think Benedict and Francis would probably be appalled, or at least surprised and dismissive, to see what has been built in their places, I did have a certain sense of congruence in Subiaco and Assisi. The subdued, restrained frescos seemed to fit their emphases on humility and simplicity far more than the gilding and coronation in the churches of Rome. My prayers in the chapels of the Monastery of St. Benedict and the nave of the Basilicas of St. Francis and St. Clare were warmly satisfying. I found it especially powerful to pray at Francis’ tomb. The accruements of the shrine could not distract from the direct simplicity of his rough stone sarcophagus. By contrast, the hardest church for me to pray in was St. Peter’s Basilica. It was not that the artwork offended my Protestant sensibilities. Actually, much of it was beautiful and moving. It was not even the constant flow of people with their chatter and camera flashes. Rather the sheer abundance of beautiful, wonderful and significant things made focusing difficult. I did spend a positive half-hour in the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament which was set aside specifically for prayer. But even there, the density of visual stimuli made anything like centering prayer impossible for me. However, a nun who was praying there seemed totally absorbed in her prayers, unperturbed by all the distractions.
Fellow Pilgrims as Icons of the Communion of Saints
The advanced readings about St. Benedict and St. Francis were wonderful preparation for visiting Subiaco and Assisi. It was not just a question of being knowledgeable, but of connecting and relating to them as partners in the Communion of Saints and as fellow pilgrims following Jesus. Especially in the cave of the shepherds (I found the sculptures in Benedict’s cave just too overwhelming), I felt I was sitting with Benedict looking out over the valley and listening as he taught not just shepherds but me, especially about being gentle with myself and others as we make the Christian pilgrimage together. Perhaps more than anything I saw in Assisi, the fresco portrait of Francis in St. Gregory’s Chapel in Subiaco was like a magnet, pulling me toward this saint. As I gazed at his face, I said, “Here is someone I want for a friend. Here is someone I can trust.” Since we know more about Francis from what others said and wrote about him than from his own words, it was harder to get a sense of listening to him teach. But perhaps that’s how he’d rather have it. “Live like this,” he’d say, rather than a lot of words. Perhaps more than anything, I felt Francis’ joy.
My youngest son attended Jesuit College Preparatory School in Dallas, I use a Jesuit retreat center close to Dallas for personal silent retreats, and I have used Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises for my own spiritual formation as well as to help others who have sought my spiritual guidance. So inadvertently discovering Ignatius’ tomb at Chiesa Gesú was serendipitous. It seemed to me to make a complete set: Benedict and community life, Francis and exuberant faith in action, Ignatius examen of conscience for spiritual formation.
While the ancient saints folded me into the Communion of Saints (Peter, Paul, the Christians of the catacombs, Benedict and Scholastica, Francis and Clare, Ignatius) my fellow pilgrims were essential to experiencing the Communion of Saints afresh. Discovering that Rebecca Cole-Turner had been at Wheaton College as an undergrad while I was there in grad school made for an instant bond. As we talked and discovered we both had young adult children struggling to get their lives underway and directed, made us prayer partners on the same parenting pilgrimage. When Bob Anderson shared the flounderings and need for unified vision of the congregation he pastors, I immediately felt encouraged. The similar needs of the congregation I pastor were neither exceptional nor hopeless. Mike Fitze and I might seem to be at opposite ends of the contemplative-activist spectrum, but his exuberance, blending with that of St. Francis, energized and buoyed me every day.
Pilgrimage as Icon for My Personal Journey
The pursuit of this Certificate in Spiritual Formation has been something of a pilgrimage in and of itself. As much as I have enjoyed and appreciated it, I am glad it is coming to a conclusion, not because I am tired of it, but because of feeling the approaching satisfaction of completion of a goal pursued over time. During these seven years, I have journeyed from an associate ministry, largely in Christian education, to serving as a solo pastor, from the Presbyterian Church (USA) through a non-denominational congregation into the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), from a Yankee to a Texan.
First Presbyterian Church of Mt. Holly, New Jersey, where I served as Minister of Nurture for seventeen years, had a staff of three pastors, a music director, an administrator and two lay ministers. For the most part we were a good team, and I was comfortable as a team player. With the enthusiastic blessing of the leadership of that church, I went to MorningStar Christian Church in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with the expectation of a pastoral role as shepherd and coach. Not long after arrival, a small but vocal and powerful group called for me to be a CEO-executive director pastor, which just did not fit me. Moving on was painful for the church as well as for me and my family. Central Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) where I have been the pastor since 2000 has also struggled to find a future oriented vision and direction. Old disputes erupted in January of 2004 and people on both sides departed, along with some who just didn’t want to hang around in a contentious atmosphere. While all of the substantive and relational issues are not totally resolved, there is now a sense of wanting to stick together and move forward. However, no clear unifying vision or mission is rising from the congregation or its lay leadership. In contrast with our experience in Milwaukee and some of the history of this congregation, the leaders and most of the congregation have determined that the solution is not another pastor. Instead they have not only said they want me to continue, they want me to point the way to the future.
After some prayerful soul-searching and intentional steps of discernment, my wife (and our son) and I are convinced God has called us to serve this congregation at this time, and we have committed ourselves to God and the church for this end. This brings me to the realization of a new phase of my pilgrimage. After having been a collaborative team member, God has put me in a place beyond my comfort zone, but I do not believe it is beyond what God has called and gifted me to fulfill. That is to be an initiating, visionary leader without becoming an autocratic CEO kind of pastor.
As I read about the Abbot in the Rule of St. Benedict in advance of this pilgrimage, I was challenged and instructed. On the pilgrimage I tried to pay particular attention to the leadership of Benedict and Francis. In my prayer and contemplation times each day on the pilgrimage I gave attention to how God might be shaping me for this new challenge for my leadership.
In my times of lectio divina on the pilgrimage, one of the passages I worked with was 2 Kings 2:1-14 (one of the lectionary readings for that Sunday we were in Rome), which is the account of Elijah being taken up to heaven. I identified a lot with Elisha. He was to become “the man of God” in a hostile and threatening time as the successor to one of Israel’s most powerful figures. Just as he asked for a double portion of Elijah’s spirit, I prayed for the filling and equipping of God’s Spirit. As Elijah is taken from him, Elisha cries out “My father! My father!” articulating the human loneliness of his new responsibilities. I, too, feel alone in a way different than I have felt before as I sense the leaders of this congregation watching me to discover where to follow. Elisha receives the sacramental sign that God is with him when he not only sees Elijah taken from him but receives his mantle, the tangible tool by which God’s power was exercised. When he heads back across the Jordan River, Elisha cries out, “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?” As I looked through the icons of each day of this pilgrimage, I also asked, “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?”
I saw the blessing of light from St. Benedict and the smiles of Christ. I saw the centrality of the rhythm of the cross: crucifixion and glory. I saw the peace of being centered in Christ. I saw myself welcomed in the Communion of Saints, with the same access to the same God that Peter and Paul, the Christians of the catacombs, Benedict and Scholastica, Francis and Clare, Ignatius and Calvin all trusted and loved and found sufficient for their challenges. In answer to the lonely cry of Elisha, I heard the encouragement of the other pilgrims in our group as well as even the cheers of the leaders of the congregation I am serving.
After Elisha asks, “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?” he strikes the river with Elijah’s mantle and it opens ahead of him. The Lord God of Elijah is present and working with him. The point of an icon is to be a sort of spiritual spectacles through which the spiritual reality of God may be perceived. These icons, whether the ones I selected to photograph or the holy sites and relics I saw or the people past and present who are the Communion of Saints, were truly windows through which I could see the God who will be with me on this next stage of my pilgrimage.
Columbia Theological Seminary Spiritual Formation Certificate
© July 8, 2004 by Norman Stolpe
I wrote in my paper on Elizabeth Canham’s book Heart Whispers: Benedictine Wisdom for Today that I wrestled with what to do about a camera for the pilgrimage. I wanted to be a pilgrim savoring and relishing spirit enriching experiences, not a tourist preoccupied with documenting the sights. For one thing, the density of sights was so intense that even the most avid photo-tourist would have to be selective. I quickly began to see that my camera could be a kind of icon-eye to sharpen my acuity for sacramental images, that is the tangible sights that offered insight into God’s spiritual reality that touched me. I still ended up with about 150 pictures, some of which undoubtedly are touristy. However, I have selected six that I have enlarged for framing to use for a personal prayer center.
Above the stairway leaving the Monastery and Church of St. Benedict in Subiaco is a statue of Benedict with an inscribed blessing for those who visit. I certainly felt the light of God’s blessing as I visited each place on this pilgrimage, which I hope to take with me everywhere I go. Though not a major piece of magnificent sculpture or a central attraction, this became to me an icon of the purpose of this pilgrimage, to purposely bask in Christ’s light.
I was captivated by the smiling expression of Christ in the ceiling mosaic at Santa Croce in Gerusalemme (Church of the Holy Cross) and the ceiling fresco at the Monastery of St. Benedict. I took these as windows to Christ’s smile on me as I yearn to be close to him amid the realities of pastoring a struggling congregation and trying to launch a floundering nineteen year old son into adulthood. It spoke to me of Psalm 147:11, “The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him.” They allow me to adopt for myself the expression Brennan Manning extracts from the apostle John, “I am the one Jesus loves.”
The cross is the most widespread and readily recognized Christian symbol, and crosses and crucifixes were ubiquitous in Rome. Many were highly ornate, and others were elegant in their simplicity. When our guide pointed out the absence of crosses in the catacombs, I was a little surprised, which helped me attend to and appreciate some of their more common symbols: the Good Shepherd, Chi Rho, birds, people at prayer and worship. But I was enthralled by two crosses. One was on the Pascal Candlestick in St. Paul’s Basilica dating from 1186 CE and reputed to be the first known crucifix depicting Jesus on the cross. Its primitive presentation gives me a sense of immediacy, of entering with the sculptor into the suffering of Jesus. The other cross that fascinated me was the one hanging over the altar in the upper Church of St. Benedict in Subiaco. Its unusual shape and texture seem to be an extension of the rock walls of the cliffs and caves that remain exposed and unadorned, congruent with St. Benedict’s three years in his stone hermitage. With the symbols of the four evangelists on the four arms of the cross and Christ portrayed in resurrection if not ascension glory, this cross conveys to me the hope of the Gospel. Its earthiness and luminescence fuse the realities of my daily living with hope, not just of ultimate redemption but of flashes of present glory.
All over Rome we saw flags proclaiming “pace” (peace). In one of the churches many hundreds of written prayers were tucked in every crevice and heaped in a deep accumulation around the base of a statue, even post-it-notes stuck to the hem of the statue’s robe. A mother was helping a young girl write a prayer and try to get it on to the statue. One prayer open on the base read in Italian “peace in Iraq.” Pagan grave markers were inscribed “D.M.” (to the gods) but in the catacombs and other Christian burial markers read “IN PACEM” (in peace). Our group talked often about our yearnings for peace in the world and in the Church, not just between Protestants and Roman Catholics, but among the people of our congregations. The floor grate in the baptistery of Sts. John Lateran which read “CHRISTUS PAX NOSTRA” (Christ our peace) evokes my longings for peace and centers that longing in Christ. Whether that specific casting is that ancient or not, this site goes back to the time of Constantine, the Fourth Century. Turmoil has plagued the world, the Church and the lives of individual Christians through all these centuries, yet this piece blends my prayers for peace with those of these generations of Christians, and it centers me in Christ so I can be at peace within, even when surrounded by turbulence.
Relics as Icons of the Communion of Saints
As Protestant pilgrims, most of us out of the Reformed tradition, visiting the holy sites around Rome prompted comparisons and examination of how to reverence and be formed by relics and holy sites. I don’t believe any of us climbed the “Santa Scala” (Holy Steps) on our knees, yet I felt comfortable and appropriate genuflecting as we entered each church, before going to see the sights. I made a point of spending some time praying in each church, and where kneelers were provided, I used them. In my own congregation I lift my hands in worship when a hymn directs glory to God and I cross myself when I receive the Lord’s Supper. These are not common among Disciples of Christ, but I feel congruent doing them.
The pilgrimage took me to many graves: St. Paul and St. Peter, the catacombs, Francis and Clare, Ignatius of Loyola, hundreds of Popes in St. Peter’s Basilica. I didn’t fit with either the curious tourists or the pious Roman Catholics, yet I was moved and sensed the blessing of Christ’s light at these places. As I puzzled at my responses, I considered how we in the United States now consider “ground zero” of the World Trade Center in New York City to be a “holy site” and a “shrine.” To build St. Peter’s Basilica over Nero’s Circus makes a “holy site” of this place where Christians died for their faith, perhaps not unlike the Americans who died in a symbol of capitalist faith in New York. It’s more than respect or even reverence, it’s connection and solidarity.
In Chiesa Gesú (Jesus Church) where St. Ignatius of Loyola is interred, a glass case under the altar contains three clearly visible skulls and a number of bones. As best we could tell these were from early Jesuit martyrs, though we were not able to get specific information. Reflecting a bit on church history, I realized they may well have been martyred by Protestants. In the Vatican Museum’s room commemorating the religious wars is a painting of Franciscans being hung by Protestants. The face of the monk awaiting his noose was positively radiant, conveying a powerful sense of the privilege of dying for Christ, much like Stephen in Acts 7:55-60. Accustomed to thinking of Protestants martyred at the hands of Roman Catholics, I grieved the murder of these brothers in Christ and the violent divisions the Church has not escaped. Though I did not know the owners of those skulls, I had somehow connected to three people who, like me, were hungering for and vigorously pursuing spiritual intimacy with Jesus. These tangible relics conveyed to me the personal reality of distinct individuals and their costly devotion of Jesus.
Of all of the holy sites, this sense of connection was strongest for me at the catacombs. As we walked those passages, passing the crypts and niches, I kept saying to myself, “a person, a fellow Christian lived and died and was buried in each of these spots.” The family chapels and tiny crypts for children evoked for me the love and grief that was celebrated and remembered in these tunnels. Certainly my modern, Protestant sensibilities contribute to my appreciation that the artifacts and artwork (relics) left here were those made and used by the Christians of the Second and Third Centuries. Here was no shrine constructed later and out of joint with the origins. Here I was seeing and touching the lives and deaths of my Christian forbearers, with as little between us as possible. Not only was their hope of resurrection almost palpable, but so was their joy of living as Christ’s people in a time before Christianity was popular, when it was at times even dangerous. When one of the women in our group began singing “For All the Saints,” I hoped we would swell into it, but the practicalities of going single file through twisting tunnels, without a song leader or words, precluded a rousing chorus. But here, of all the holy sites of Rome, I most felt surrounded by the great cloud of witnesses of Hebrews 12:1.
Though I think Benedict and Francis would probably be appalled, or at least surprised and dismissive, to see what has been built in their places, I did have a certain sense of congruence in Subiaco and Assisi. The subdued, restrained frescos seemed to fit their emphases on humility and simplicity far more than the gilding and coronation in the churches of Rome. My prayers in the chapels of the Monastery of St. Benedict and the nave of the Basilicas of St. Francis and St. Clare were warmly satisfying. I found it especially powerful to pray at Francis’ tomb. The accruements of the shrine could not distract from the direct simplicity of his rough stone sarcophagus. By contrast, the hardest church for me to pray in was St. Peter’s Basilica. It was not that the artwork offended my Protestant sensibilities. Actually, much of it was beautiful and moving. It was not even the constant flow of people with their chatter and camera flashes. Rather the sheer abundance of beautiful, wonderful and significant things made focusing difficult. I did spend a positive half-hour in the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament which was set aside specifically for prayer. But even there, the density of visual stimuli made anything like centering prayer impossible for me. However, a nun who was praying there seemed totally absorbed in her prayers, unperturbed by all the distractions.
Fellow Pilgrims as Icons of the Communion of Saints
The advanced readings about St. Benedict and St. Francis were wonderful preparation for visiting Subiaco and Assisi. It was not just a question of being knowledgeable, but of connecting and relating to them as partners in the Communion of Saints and as fellow pilgrims following Jesus. Especially in the cave of the shepherds (I found the sculptures in Benedict’s cave just too overwhelming), I felt I was sitting with Benedict looking out over the valley and listening as he taught not just shepherds but me, especially about being gentle with myself and others as we make the Christian pilgrimage together. Perhaps more than anything I saw in Assisi, the fresco portrait of Francis in St. Gregory’s Chapel in Subiaco was like a magnet, pulling me toward this saint. As I gazed at his face, I said, “Here is someone I want for a friend. Here is someone I can trust.” Since we know more about Francis from what others said and wrote about him than from his own words, it was harder to get a sense of listening to him teach. But perhaps that’s how he’d rather have it. “Live like this,” he’d say, rather than a lot of words. Perhaps more than anything, I felt Francis’ joy.
My youngest son attended Jesuit College Preparatory School in Dallas, I use a Jesuit retreat center close to Dallas for personal silent retreats, and I have used Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises for my own spiritual formation as well as to help others who have sought my spiritual guidance. So inadvertently discovering Ignatius’ tomb at Chiesa Gesú was serendipitous. It seemed to me to make a complete set: Benedict and community life, Francis and exuberant faith in action, Ignatius examen of conscience for spiritual formation.
While the ancient saints folded me into the Communion of Saints (Peter, Paul, the Christians of the catacombs, Benedict and Scholastica, Francis and Clare, Ignatius) my fellow pilgrims were essential to experiencing the Communion of Saints afresh. Discovering that Rebecca Cole-Turner had been at Wheaton College as an undergrad while I was there in grad school made for an instant bond. As we talked and discovered we both had young adult children struggling to get their lives underway and directed, made us prayer partners on the same parenting pilgrimage. When Bob Anderson shared the flounderings and need for unified vision of the congregation he pastors, I immediately felt encouraged. The similar needs of the congregation I pastor were neither exceptional nor hopeless. Mike Fitze and I might seem to be at opposite ends of the contemplative-activist spectrum, but his exuberance, blending with that of St. Francis, energized and buoyed me every day.
Pilgrimage as Icon for My Personal Journey
The pursuit of this Certificate in Spiritual Formation has been something of a pilgrimage in and of itself. As much as I have enjoyed and appreciated it, I am glad it is coming to a conclusion, not because I am tired of it, but because of feeling the approaching satisfaction of completion of a goal pursued over time. During these seven years, I have journeyed from an associate ministry, largely in Christian education, to serving as a solo pastor, from the Presbyterian Church (USA) through a non-denominational congregation into the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), from a Yankee to a Texan.
First Presbyterian Church of Mt. Holly, New Jersey, where I served as Minister of Nurture for seventeen years, had a staff of three pastors, a music director, an administrator and two lay ministers. For the most part we were a good team, and I was comfortable as a team player. With the enthusiastic blessing of the leadership of that church, I went to MorningStar Christian Church in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with the expectation of a pastoral role as shepherd and coach. Not long after arrival, a small but vocal and powerful group called for me to be a CEO-executive director pastor, which just did not fit me. Moving on was painful for the church as well as for me and my family. Central Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) where I have been the pastor since 2000 has also struggled to find a future oriented vision and direction. Old disputes erupted in January of 2004 and people on both sides departed, along with some who just didn’t want to hang around in a contentious atmosphere. While all of the substantive and relational issues are not totally resolved, there is now a sense of wanting to stick together and move forward. However, no clear unifying vision or mission is rising from the congregation or its lay leadership. In contrast with our experience in Milwaukee and some of the history of this congregation, the leaders and most of the congregation have determined that the solution is not another pastor. Instead they have not only said they want me to continue, they want me to point the way to the future.
After some prayerful soul-searching and intentional steps of discernment, my wife (and our son) and I are convinced God has called us to serve this congregation at this time, and we have committed ourselves to God and the church for this end. This brings me to the realization of a new phase of my pilgrimage. After having been a collaborative team member, God has put me in a place beyond my comfort zone, but I do not believe it is beyond what God has called and gifted me to fulfill. That is to be an initiating, visionary leader without becoming an autocratic CEO kind of pastor.
As I read about the Abbot in the Rule of St. Benedict in advance of this pilgrimage, I was challenged and instructed. On the pilgrimage I tried to pay particular attention to the leadership of Benedict and Francis. In my prayer and contemplation times each day on the pilgrimage I gave attention to how God might be shaping me for this new challenge for my leadership.
In my times of lectio divina on the pilgrimage, one of the passages I worked with was 2 Kings 2:1-14 (one of the lectionary readings for that Sunday we were in Rome), which is the account of Elijah being taken up to heaven. I identified a lot with Elisha. He was to become “the man of God” in a hostile and threatening time as the successor to one of Israel’s most powerful figures. Just as he asked for a double portion of Elijah’s spirit, I prayed for the filling and equipping of God’s Spirit. As Elijah is taken from him, Elisha cries out “My father! My father!” articulating the human loneliness of his new responsibilities. I, too, feel alone in a way different than I have felt before as I sense the leaders of this congregation watching me to discover where to follow. Elisha receives the sacramental sign that God is with him when he not only sees Elijah taken from him but receives his mantle, the tangible tool by which God’s power was exercised. When he heads back across the Jordan River, Elisha cries out, “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?” As I looked through the icons of each day of this pilgrimage, I also asked, “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?”
I saw the blessing of light from St. Benedict and the smiles of Christ. I saw the centrality of the rhythm of the cross: crucifixion and glory. I saw the peace of being centered in Christ. I saw myself welcomed in the Communion of Saints, with the same access to the same God that Peter and Paul, the Christians of the catacombs, Benedict and Scholastica, Francis and Clare, Ignatius and Calvin all trusted and loved and found sufficient for their challenges. In answer to the lonely cry of Elisha, I heard the encouragement of the other pilgrims in our group as well as even the cheers of the leaders of the congregation I am serving.
After Elisha asks, “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?” he strikes the river with Elijah’s mantle and it opens ahead of him. The Lord God of Elijah is present and working with him. The point of an icon is to be a sort of spiritual spectacles through which the spiritual reality of God may be perceived. These icons, whether the ones I selected to photograph or the holy sites and relics I saw or the people past and present who are the Communion of Saints, were truly windows through which I could see the God who will be with me on this next stage of my pilgrimage.
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