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During these days we are celebrating 'The Year of St Paul'.
It is an invitation to reflect prayerfully on his life and message. At first
sight, Paul may not appear to have a lot to teach us about prayer. I expect
that most of us see him in the light of his striking Damascus experience
and his subsequent mission to the Gentile world as a great man of action:
Saul, the unconverted, riding around the Sea of Galilee, but soon to carry
the good news, preached at that same lakeside, to the countries washed by
the Mediterranean. But if Paul is the great man of action, he is so because
he was first and foremost the great man of prayer.
Paul's conversion is a great turning-point in the history of salvation
as it unfolds in Acts. Luke describes it for us there no fewer than three
times. Moreover, he already links this Damascus experience and Paul's later
missionary travels in a very subtle way with prayer and the martyrdom of
St Stephen: 'As they were stoning Stephen,' we are told, 'he prayed, "Lord
Jesus, receive my spirit… Lord, do not hold this sin against them"'
- echoing the words of Jesus on the cross. But first we are reminded that
the witnesses 'laid down their garments at the feet of a young man named
Saul'. Augustine is surely right when he sees the hidden spring of Paul's
later conversion and missionary journeys in this prayer on the lips of the
first martyr.
Immediately after Saul's conversion, Luke also tells us: 'At this moment
[Paul was] praying.' He then returns to Jerusalem where we find him again
'praying', this time in the temple. It is there that he also hears the words
of the risen Jesus: 'Go, for I will send you far away to the Gentiles.'
But Paul's sin is always before him; his mind is filled with the thought
of Stephen, even as he prays: 'And while the blood of your witness Stephen
was shed,' Paul says to the Lord, 'I myself was standing by, approving and
keeping the coats of those who killed him.'
Paul distils the core of his teaching on prayer into a few sentences of
his Letter to the Romans. He first reminds us of our powerlessness: 'The
Spirit comes to help us in our weakness,' he tells us, 'for we do not know
how to pray as we ought.' Like Paul, we too, at prayer, come before God
in weakness, with open and empty hands and always ready to receive. Paul,
the apostle of the Gentiles, the great man of action, was Paul the vulnerable
- a weak human instrument empowered by God to fulfil a worldwide mission.
He speaks to us of his own frailty experienced in prayer, that enigmatic
'thorn of the flesh'. Three times he asked the Lord to free him from it,
only to be told: 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect
in weakness'; 'when I am weak,' Paul concludes, 'then I am strong.' Paul
glories, rejoices, even boasts of his weakness. It was his only claim on
the mercy of God.
This lesson was not lost on Thérèse. She writes:
At the beginning of my spiritual life when I was thirteen or fourteen,
I used to ask myself what I would have to strive for later on because I
believed it was quite impossible for me to understand perfection better.
I learned very quickly since then that the more one advances, the more one
sees the goal is still far off. And now I am simply resigned to see myself
always imperfect and in this I find my joy.
She too, like Paul, rejoiced in her weakness and knew, like him, that power
is made perfect in weakness. That weakness is our only claim on God's mercy.
Yes, it is true that we are powerless in prayer, and yet at the same time
we are all-powerful. Paul continues: 'the Spirit intercedes for us with
longings too deep for words.' Silence is the language of God; it is also
the language of those who listen to the Spirit in prayer, responding at
a level that cannot be expressed in words. And the profound mystery of prayer
opens up for us even further with Paul's final words here: 'He who searches
the human heart knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit
intercedes for the saints according to the mind of God.' We may express
this profound truth in words by Gerard Manley Hopkins, with a slight variation,
changing the poet's 'plays' to 'prays': 'Christ prays in ten thousand places,
/ Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his / To the Father through the
features of men's faces.'
Jesus speaks of this same intimate union between himself and us through
the Spirit at prayer. It is an intimacy so profound, he tells us, that it
even seems to exclude any intercession of Jesus himself for us: 'In that
day you will ask in my name; and I do not say to you that I shall pray to
the Father for you.' Jesus even explains why he will not need to intercede
for us: 'for the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me.' The
truth is that Jesus will not have to pray to the Father on our behalf, because
we are linked so intimately with Jesus in love that we are one with him.
Then, our prayer will be the prayer of Jesus himself. He will pray through
the Spirit in us and with us: 'When we cry, "Abba! Father!" it
is the Spirit himself who bears witness together with our spirit that we
are children of God.' The Father sees Christ praying in us, and us praying
in Christ through the Spirit. This is the deepest reality of Christian prayer.
Again, the lesson was not lost on Thérèse. As she prays,
she begs the Father: 'look upon me only in the Face of Jesus and in His
heart burning with Love'.
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LECTIO DIVINA:
A WAY OF DEPTH AND TRUST
A Methodist minister and member of the retreat team at 'Tabor', our
Carmelite house in Preston, Martin Wray has an MA in Christian spirituality
and is the author of Second Wind, a study of spirituality in the second
half of life. In this article, he introduces us to lectio divina: to its
origins and stages, and especially to the way in which it can be practised
in groups, noting that the church today is reawakening to this process of
immersing itself in Scripture.
MARTIN WRAY
Setting the scene
A group of people assembles on a circle of chairs in a softly-lit room
where quiet music is playing. They settle and compose themselves expectantly
around a simple display featuring an open Bible and some candles.
After words of welcome, the leader explains very briefly the nature of
what is to take place and then leads the group in an exercise of stilling
the body and the mind. People are invited to be aware of how they are feeling,
and what is happening around them. This includes paying attention to the
thoughts - perhaps anxieties and concerns - that are at the forefront of
their minds today. They are invited to name these concerns, silently, to
themselves, and to imagine them being 'handed over' to God - for them to
be held, a while, until they are ready to be taken up again. The people
are then invited to consider how their moods and feelings might affect the
way they hear the word of God.
This opening preparation might take ten or fifteen minutes, and is an essential
time of transition between what has been going on for people 'out there'
in their life and work, and what they are preparing to do now. This is the
beginning of a typical group, meeting regularly for lectio divina at Tabor
Retreat House, Preston.
A reawakening
It has been very noticeable, over recent months, how many of our regular
visitors and speakers have referred to lectio divina in their talks. There
has also been a considerable growth in the number of books and articles
published on the subject. It seems that the Spirit is reawakening the church
to the riches of this ancient discipline, and Christians seem increasingly
ready to respond.
It is hard to pinpoint exactly the origins of the practice. Certainly we
know that the early church perceived that there were different levels of
meaning in the scriptures which were described in different ways, but typically
as the literal, allegorical, tropological (moral) and anagogical (spiritual,
or hidden meaning). Although this is not lectio as we understand it, it
shows that Christians were beginning to pay attention to deeper levels of
communication in the word of God.
The practice of deep listening to Scripture is described by Cassian in
his Conferences (X:11; XIV:13). Since he is only passing on what he learned
from the desert fathers and mothers, we can assume that the practice was
well-known by the fourth century. From here, it found its way into the Rule
of St Benedict and became an essential part of monastic life in the west.
Indeed, according to this Rule (#48), a monk is required to devote up to
four hours a day to lectio, as part of the balanced Benedictine life.
It may, of course, be said that the Scriptures themselves contain the advice,
admonition and encouragement that led the first Christians to approach the
Bible in this more devotional manner. We are familiar, for example, with
Mary 'pondering in her heart' the meaning of events surrounding the birth
of Christ (cf. Lk 2:19.51). The idea of hearing the word, and obeying it,
is common from the words of Jesus himself in the gospels (cf. Lk 8:15; 11:28).
In Revelation, a distinction seems to be made between a mere 'reading' and
true 'hearing' of the word (Rv 1:3).
Seek, find, ask, taste
The form with which we are most familiar, however, is set out in The Ladder
of Monks by Guigo, a Carthusian of the twelfth century. Guigo identified
four steps in the practice: reading, meditation, prayer and contemplation.
Reading is the study of Scripture. Meditation is the action of the mind
and reason to investigate the word's hidden truth. Prayer is the work of
the heart 'attending' to God. Contemplation is not strictly our action at
all, for in it 'the mind is somehow elevated above itself - in God…'
Guigo sums up the stages as follows: 'Reading seeks, meditation finds, prayer
asks, contemplation tastes.' And these four actions, or movements, have
characterised the spiritual exercise of lectio divina ever since.
Lectio is recommended, or urged upon readers, by many of the great spiritual
writers. The Carmelite Rule urges each brother to 'stay in his own cell…pondering
the Lord's law day and night and keeping watch in prayer' (#10). Indeed,
lectio divina is an integral part of Carmelite spirituality. In the English
medieval Cloud of Unknowing, the anonymous author writes: 'Beginners and
those a little advanced who do not make the effort to ponder God's word
should not be surprised if they are unable to pray… reading or hearing
the Word of God must precede pondering it and without time given to serious
reflection there will be no genuine prayer.'
'We are where we are'
Our group reflected on moods and feelings, and how they might affect our
hearing of God's word. Few of us will achieve a kind of Ignatian-style 'balance'
- a total openness to God's word - and even fewer of us will be able to
do this all the time. So we will not approach lectio, or any type of prayer,
in a completely neutral frame of mind. There is always 'stuff' going on
for us, whether it is general anxiety about life and work, or specific concerns
for ourselves, family or friends. Inevitably, this will affect how we hear
God's word; our preoccupations and our moods will predispose us to hear
one thing over another.
Consciously or unconsciously, we may in sadness be listening for consolation;
in despair, for encouragement; in regret, for assurance - or even, perhaps,
condemnation. This does not mean that any of this is wrong, or mistaken.
God may indeed have that very word for us today. Becoming aware of moods
and feelings is not a means of encouraging self-condemnation or guilt. It
is, rather, an open acknowledgement of how we are. 'How we are' is not right
or wrong: we just need to accept the place in which we find ourselves, mentally
and spiritually, on any given occasion. All of our concerns form the context
for our hearing, and there can be no hearing without a context. 'We are
where we are', as the saying goes. In this personal reflection, which is
part of knowing ourselves, we are recognising that this has some bearing
on what we hear in Scripture and how we hear it. Cassian writes in his Conferences
(X:11): 'it is not reading that allows us to penetrate into the meaning
of the words, but our own experience we have previously acquired from daily
life.'
Lectio in practice
So, what happens in the group practice of lectio divina? First, as already
mentioned, there are the words of welcome and the stilling of body and mind.
Then, it is essential to allow a few minutes for the group to reflect, in
an unhurried and non-judgmental way, on the various places in which they
find themselves today. After this, the group refocuses by joining in a spoken
prayer for the guidance of the Spirit.
Next, the leader will read the passage for the day, which will be printed
out. It has become our custom to use the gospel for the following Sunday.
The use of some kind of lectionary reduces the risk of our unconsciously
selecting passages of a certain kind. The passage is read slowly and deliberately,
usually twice. It is true that the group has the passage in print, but some
will prefer simply to listen. This perhaps takes us back to the monastic
roots of lectio, when few would have had access to written scripture, or
the ability to read it for themselves. Monks would listen carefully to the
lessons read in the Office and memorise verses or sections - perhaps greater
portions than we would be able to memorise today.
The group is then invited to reflect in silence for several minutes on
what has been heard, or to reread the passage for themselves several times.
We listen for a verse, phrase, or single word which seems to have resonance
for us. Something will nearly always take our eye or ear, and stand out
from the page for us. We do not choose the word: it might be said that the
word 'chooses us'. At this stage, we do not really know why this should
be so; and we do not yet pay much attention to the reason for it. Members
of the group are then invited to speak their word or phrase into the silence
of the group, without elaboration or introduction, and without any reference
to whatever might already have been said. As the words drop into the silent
space, one is struck by the ways in which God speaks to each person present
as they open their mind and heart to the word.
When all who wish have spoken their word, and after perhaps a third reading
of the text, the members of the group are invited to find a quiet place
in the building or outside, in which to reflect more deeply on what they
have heard; this will be for about half an hour. This process of deeper
listening leads us into prayer. We might ask God if there is something else
we need to hear in the passage, and then talk to God about what we have
heard. Why has this word spoken to me today? Why do I need to hear it? With
which part of my life does it connect? Is there an invitation here for me,
or a challenge, or something else? What do I hear? Finally, putting the
rest of the passage aside, we rest in our word, not thinking about it or
wrestling with it now, but turning it over and over silently in our hearts,
and allowing it to take deep root within us.
Food of life
Although Teresa of Avila does not specifically mention lectio divina, many
of her observations and teachings on prayer, and her own love of the gospels,
give insight into the process and make lectio a logical extension of Teresian
prayer. In particular, what is happening in this period of deepening reflection
is very close to her description of the prayer of recollection in The Way
of Perfection, where she describes the gradual withdrawal of the faculties
to focus on the interior presence of God (cf. WP 28:4). Teresa later seems
to refine this description by distinguishing between 'acquired' and 'infused'
recollection. The former is ascetical (something we ourselves are able to
do), the latter mystical (a pure gift of God). So, in this process of pondering
the word that we have heard, what is happening may perhaps be described
as a transition between the two types of recollection (cf. IC IV:2-3).
Pondering
This process is often described as 'rumination'. Images of eating, chewing
and digesting are quite common in writing on lectio. It is, of course, an
image found in Scripture itself, but thoughts of regurgitation do not always
lend themselves to elegant description! Indeed, one recent book on lectio
divina is entitled, Eat This Book! However it may be described, this is
a deep pondering over many possible facets and implications of the hearing
of the word. It leads to a quiet 'sitting with' the word, in the presence
of its Speaker, and waiting…
Sharing and trusting
At a given signal, the group re-forms into the circle. Members are now
invited to share whatever they wish from what has arisen out of their reflection.
Naturally, it is important not to put pressure on people to share what may
be uncomfortable for them, and so a gentle invitation, to those who wish
to do so, is made. In practice, we find that nearly everyone does - though
it should be kept in mind that by now the group has a regular core of members
who have come to know and trust each other. Trust is essential here; and
for new members, or a new group, the leader will already have stressed the
need for confidentiality.
Certain conventions are observed here, which may be reiterated at this
point. We listen carefully - as deeply and attentively as we can, and without
interrupting - to what each person has to say. We do not comment on another's
contribution, not because we do not appreciate it or value what they have
shared, but to avoid moving the focus of the group from a reflective to
a more intellectual mode. This is heart-sharing, not head-discussion. When
a person has spoken, we observe a short silence, to allow what we have heard
to 'settle' into the group. Sometimes, a wider discernment becomes possible
as we hear the testimony of others and recognise that our own hearing may
have become skewed through our particular preoccupations or predispositions.
When all who wish to share have done so, the text may be read again to
remind us that, whatever we have heard, it has a context in the passage
from Scripture. Finally, members are invited to offer silent prayers for
the person who happens to be sitting alongside them and, if time allows,
to offer brief intercessions out loud.
It is our experience that a regular sharing with others in this kind of
spiritual discipline of listening becomes life-giving for those who come.
There is a depth of listening and attention in the group which creates a
profound atmosphere of trust, mutual acceptance and expectancy which is
hard to describe. The atmosphere in the room is quite unlike that of any
other group session, and the movement of the Spirit in the hearts of those
who gather is almost tangible. The whole process lasts about an hour and
a half, and then closes in thanksgiving:
We thank you, Father, for the ways in which you have graciously spoken
to us today. Give us the courage and grace to practise in our lives
the truths we have heard in our hearts, through Christ, your Living
Word. AMEN.
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MOUNT CARMEL VOL 57. NO.2
APRIL - JUNE 2009
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