Head in the Clouds, Feet on the Ground

I’ve been equally drawn-to and skeptical of Christian mysticism. I’m drawn to Hildegard von Bingen’s visual art and music, Julian of Norwich’s literary imagery, and Bernard of Clairvaux’s emphasis on unmerited grace. I believe in spiritual experiences, but I’m skeptical of the people I’ve met who claim to have had them but who then seem worse/more self-involved than before for having had one. I wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to say that they didn’t have a “real” spiritual experience, but it would seem that, at the very least, something was missed in the discernment process. I’ve also known people who start with Christian mysticism but end up going down a rabbit hole where the Christian designation no longer stands. However, I recently read a contemporary translation of a 14th century text of Christian mysticism/contemplation written by an anonymous monk, which I thought did a pretty good job of avoiding these pitfalls, The Cloud of Unknowing.

I read Cloud for a class, but wanted to be able to talk it over with a friend whose experiences with Christian mysticism/contemplative spiritual practices differed from my own. The first person I thought of was fellow Mbird contributor, Janell Downing, so I mailed her a copy. Janell, do you want to write a little about where you are coming from concerning mysticism and contemplative practices?

Janell: Sure! I think for a long time, I thought contemplative spiritual practices were used by people who just wanted to escape the hard things in the world. They were tossed into the category of “enlightened,” or “saint,” and therefore unreachable. They were also looked at suspiciously simply out of a lack of curiosity and my own personal self-righteousness. Who would want to spend so much time listening to their inner thoughts? That’s terrifying. Aren’t we supposed to avoid such self indulgences? Doesn’t God know our thoughts anyway? What’s the point of talking to Him about them? 

A year ago, I began a program to become certified as a spiritual director. This desire was birthed out of a spiritual stagnation and the need to experience Jesus in a personal and embodied way. I’ve lived twenty years now with a lot of theology. I LOVE studying theology. But there’s been a lack in my formation – my phenomenology. It was time to allow my experience of God and my concept of God to intertwine, however messy it would be. And to be able to do this with others in a safe, vulnerable and Christocentric space has been life changing. At the root of all of this has been learning about contemplation.

Joey: What you said about listening to one’s own inner thoughts gets at one of my hesitations about contemplative/mystical faith practices. Because I think you’re right that to do so can be terrifying, especially when we pay more attention to our thoughts and speculations about God than what we see in the person of Jesus Christ and God’s promises to/for us, as Martin Luther would attest.

The author of Cloud seems to agree, at least up to a point, as he writes, “I’m not saying that if a person thinks hard enough, he or she will succeed in the work of contemplation. I do not want people sitting around analyzing, racking their brains, their curiosity forcing their imagination to go entirely the wrong way…These people are dangerously deluded, and it would take a miracle to save them. God in his infinite goodness and mercy would have to intervene…such erring souls could succumb to madness, frenzied fits, or the devil’s lies.” 

I appreciate that he returns to this theme a few times throughout the book. “Be moderate. Don’t be harsh with yourself. Don’t strain your body or soul.” In many ways, I think he’s advocating for a kind of receptivity to God that springs from repentance more than anything else. “Your receptivity to God’s grace is nothing but a deep, powerful goodly sorrow (2 Cor 7:9-11).”

I’ve heard the criticism that Luther selectively used the mystical Christian tradition in building his theology, that he was “cherry-picking.” But to me, that’s not much of a criticism at all, in fact I think that’s exactly the way we should use much of Christian tradition and writings by mystics and theologians. It’s why I’m able to love and appreciate Luther, despite some of the things he wrote later on that fall flat for me or that I even find morally repugnant (the antisemitism, in particular). As the writings and thoughts of these individuals are not infallible, we don’t have to agree with everything. If, like Luther, we take the hierarchy out of it/democratize it in a way, then these writings can function more like the thoughts and feelings of our families, friends, and neighbors. We will sometimes be in total agreement, sometimes even have our minds/hearts changed, and other times we will think them utterly wrong, but we can still love them and learn from them.

Janell:  Yes, I think receptivity to God is the foundation of contemplative prayer, or in essence, centering prayer. Words like “consenting” or “yielding” are more helpful to me simply because of all the baggage I have around the word “submit.”  Because what we are practicing is letting go of our will and consenting to the Holy Spirit within us.

When the practice was first taught to me, my teacher, Rita, had us all close our eyes and imagine a place where we could be with Jesus. This is where I find the imagination super helpful. For the longest time, my place was akin to the Cliffs of Dover; wild and windy, rocky and rough terrain, cold, but alive. I don’t go to comforting and quiet places in my mind to meet Jesus because I am a person who needs to wake up and my creature comforts are strong. So there’s something about the vitality of the Cliffs of Dover that makes it easy for me to meet Jesus, even though I’ve never been there.

To be clear, I can’t picture His face. But I always sense His kindness and His strength.

For a year now, my centering word or phrase of truth has been “God is love.” Sometimes in prayer, it switches to “I am love” or “You are love,” depending on if God is saying that to me or I’m saying that to Him. My intent is to pray for twenty minutes three to five times a week. The centering word becomes a place of grace to return to when inevitably all of my thoughts and good ideas start rushing in. Rita tells us to picture a bowl and let the Holy Spirit blow over them. They’ll come back to us if we need them. For now, it’s the practice of returning and resting.

There is no “getting a word from the Lord,” or beseeching Him to do something. It’s all about learning how to be content.

What I’ve noticed for myself over just the past year of practicing this prayer, is I am slower to anger and less reactive and more responsive. There’s been an increased awareness of my belovedness and security in God. And I haven’t even begun to look at some of the research about neuroscience and centering prayer.

Centering prayer can be so helpful, truly the work of God, as we practice regularly sitting with Him in love, and returning to Him again and again when our thoughts pull us elsewhere. It’s a life-long discipline for sure. And funny enough, to your point about still learning from people of faith and loving them but not totally agreeing with them, centering prayer enables us to be detached in a healthy way while keeping Christ at the center.

Joey: So much to respond to in this, Janell!

I think one reason I wonder if centering prayer maybe just isn’t for me (at least not yet) is that any time I’ve been in situations where a group attempts such a thing, and we’re supposed to imagine ourselves somewhere else, I just can’t do it. I get distracted, and start thinking about other things. I appreciate that the author of Cloud writes that “contemplation is God’s work. He chooses which souls participate, and his decision isn’t based on individual merit. Without God’s intervention, no saint or angel would even think to desire contemplative love…He Wants us to see that he is all merciful and all powerful and can work however, wherever, and whenever he wants.” I also appreciate that he doesn’t imply that there is something inherently superior about this form of contemplative prayer. I think this understanding tracks with Rowan Williams’ quote that “the freedom of the Holy Spirit is uncircumscribed.” Centering prayer is a good practice for many, specifically if/when God wants it to be for that particular person in that particular moment, but for others, it could come up totally empty. As the Cloud author writes later still, “He knows our diverse needs and decides what best benefits each of us.”

And who’s to say that what benefits me now won’t change in the future whether that be tomorrow or 30 years from now? Again, it comes back to receptivity being the key, not just in contemplative prayer, but in the Christian life in general. The author of Cloud writes a couple pages later, “In short, let God’s grace do with you what it wants.” Maybe I should have another go at centering prayer with that as my phrase, “God, let your grace do with me what it wants,” and see if that helps?

I have tried this somewhat more successfully (just meaning with less frequent distraction than with picturing something in my mind) using the Jesus prayer (“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner”), which I was introduced to via Salinger’s Franny and Zooey when I was 16. Focusing on a short phrase is more natural to me than focusing on my breath or on imagining I’m elsewhere.

I like the idea that in certain forms of prayer, we don’t need very many words. The author of Cloud gets at this in one of my favorite parts of the book: “When a person is terrified by fiery catastrophe, someone’s death, or something similar, they cry out for help. That’s obvious. But what do they say? I can promise you a person in danger won’t pray a long string of words or even a word of two syllables. Why not? When desperate, you’ve got no time to waste. At your wits’ end and scared to death, there’s no time for babbling or big words–you’ll scream, “Fire!” or “Help!” and this one-word outburst works best.” Because, he adds on a helpfully pastoral note, “God always hears a shriek of pain and helps the soul in agony.” Though, I’d once again want to clarify that God isn’t predictable, so that doesn’t mean we’ll receive help in exactly the way we want.

On a similar note, I know you are only saying that in the specific context of centering prayer “There is no ‘getting a word from the Lord,’ or beseeching God to do something. It’s all about learning how to be content.” But I want to make sure that no one reads this as saying there is no place for petitionary prayers that actually hope for something other than ourselves to change. I have heard this line of thought extended outside the realm of centering prayer into daily prayer life, and I think at that point it becomes toxic, and leads to hopelessness. If all we can expect out of any form of prayer is to learn to be content in all matters, we are missing many vital streams of our faith tradition, and missing out on real relationship with God. It is good to learn to be content in certain things, but I think it’s akin to spiritual death to feel that way about everything.

I do think you’re right that a healthy amount of detachment is helpful in our relationships, specifically when, as you said, we are able to keep Christ at the center. I recently re-listened to an older talk of Paul Zahl’s where he gets into what seems to me a Christian vision of detachment, specifically in regards to loving others well, and ultimately dying well. Saying that if we can “cleave to those things that are abiding” rather than getting stuck on the non-lasting things of this world, it would be better overall for us and for those we love. But I think there’s an obvious distinction from a more Eastern view that all attachment or desire is a problem. For Christians, it’s only a problem when these attachments and desires become disordered.

Janell: First of all, I have to say I love that you found out about the Jesus Prayer by reading Franny and Zooey when you were sixteen. I wish I had read that book in my teens. But like most books, they arrive to us when we need them. The fact that Salinger writes the Jesus Prayer into the story of Franny really speaks to our disordered attachments and loves and hope for change. When I first read that line about her being so sick of ego, ego, ego, and everyone wanting to make a splash, and how much she wished she had the courage to be a nobody – it struck something in me. In a way, all these forms of contemplative prayer are ways to have our imagination re-imagined by the Holy Spirit. It is about “letting God’s grace do with us as He wants,” as you said earlier. I think it takes an incredible amount of faith and courage to return to that phrase, that – petition! Again and again. Because that means we are intentionally letting God reorder our attachments. This is why centering prayer can be so difficult and painful. It’s private and intensely personal, and also public and affects those around us to the effect we are connected. 

However, I do take comfort that in all of this, what emerges is a deeper knowing of God and ourselves. Even though the author of Cloud makes a point to remind us, “ And you’re in no position to understand him. So sit back down. Be still.”

I think what I mean is in our wrestling with God, letting ourselves be seen, letting Him find us within the interior garden of our hearts, there is deep knowing. We’re east of Eden now and our souls are full of shame. But there is a gentle Gardener who is looking for us with an alarming amount of persistence and patience. 

I could be wrong, but I hope that in all our sitting still, “even among these rocks, our peace in His will, even among these rocks,” as T.S. Eliot would say, Jesus would say that He knew me. Even among all the disordered desires, that piece by piece He could put them back together. For me, the re-ordering feels right in my body but also downright exhausting. It feels slower…patient, like one piano string being tuned and then on to the next one. (Recently, it took three hours for my piano tuner to tune my piano. And she did it twice). I was thinking about the incredible amount of care and attention our Father puts into “tuning” us children. So much listening, over and over, until we strike a note of unspeakable beauty that resonates with Him, sounding like a far off yet familiar kingdom. 

And in those dark nights of the soul, when we can’t feel Him and there’s nothing but darkness, may we “with the sharp spear of (my) love, never stop beating on the cloud of unknowing that is between you and (your) God. Don’t give up, for any reason, regardless of what happens.” 

If I am that annoying downstairs neighbor banging my broomstick on God’s living room floor for a season, (some do this their whole life), then so be it. At least He would say that He knew me. I think God is allowed to have His moments of Selah too.