The Slow Way Newsletter: Be Humble. Sit Down.
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unhurried thoughts
Contemplation is not trance or ecstasy, nor the hearing of sudden unutterable words, nor the imagination of lights. It is not the emotional fire and sweetness that come with religious exaltation. It is not enthusiasm, the sense of being “seized” by an elemental force and swept into liberation by mystical frenzy. These things may seem to be in some way like a contemplative awakening in so far as they suspend the ordinary awareness and...But they are not the work of the “deep self,’ only of the emotions, of the somatic unconscious.”
-Thomas Merton
Be Humble. Sit Down.
(A note for my readers: Because I know a large portion of you are white, and because I am in debt to my colleagues of color who are writing from a place of knowledge and experience I could never understand, I'm taking the liberty to speak to the white folks out there. To any BIPOC friends also here, thanks for your patience with me. I want to listen and learn, so feel free to reach out and share how this meditation felt for you.)
In his book New Seeds of Contemplation , Thomas Merton wrote about God awakening us through the act of contemplative prayer. Brother Merton said it this way, “It is not we who choose to awaken ourselves, but God Who chooses to awaken us.”
He’s talking about contemplation here, dispelling myths that a true contemplative experience will involve “emotional fire” or “mystical frenzy.” He’s clarifying that awakening doesn’t necessary look like being “‘seized’ by an elemental force and being swept into liberation…” The kind of awakening Merton wants us to understand is something taking place in the “deep self.”
I wonder about that this week, as we reckon with another black man’s life lost at the hands of a police officer. As white folks have been given another opportunity to listen and respond to the cries of their BIPOC siblings in this country who are desperate to be heard. Here we are again. As a white woman, what will I do with the voices of the oppressed?
I’m holding Merton’s words because they’re ringing true to me as we consider where the white church in America continually fails, remaining mostly silent as our black brothers and sisters groan for justice. Growing up evangelical, the greater voice of the Christian culture taught me to honor the “emotional fire and sweetness” that Merton speaks against. That emotional fire was enough to sustain my faith, until it wasn’t. Until depression and doubt and a view behind the curtain revealed the fallibility of the leaders I had so admired for what had once seemed to be faithfulness. Enthusiasm was taught as the height of faith, not just in the denomination of my youth, but all of the evangelical institutions that I allowed into my life. But enthusiasm can only carry a soul so long before its shallow energy deflates. Emotional, performative faith was a quick burn, all surface smoke caught in the next wind. To rediscover Jesus, I had to release all the show, the performative nature of faith that I had always been so good at. I had to humble myself in order to sink into a faith of substance, what I think Merton might mean when he speaks about the “deep self.”
I could probably wax eloquent on the problems of the White Evangelical Church in America for a long time, but if I needed to pin it down to one thing, its one true illness, I would say the Church is failing to live into the teachings of Jesus, teachings that call us to transformation of our deep selves, both individually and collectively. Instead, the focus continues to be on performative living, on being good. Everyday in the Church of the Internet, I watch the arguments over who and what is most “biblical” unfold across screens, condemnation of one another over liberalization or tainted doctrine, all while the White Church mostly ignores the hemorrhaging in our midst: abuse, racism, systemic injustice. I see too many White Christians focused on acting out holy ideas that aren’t rooted in a system of humility or a willingness to listen to voices outside of the places we are comfortable. And if the white, evangelical Church continues on this path, it will die as a collection of angry insiders, forgetting the message of Jesus.
This week I wrote in my Instagram about how it seems to me that the posture of prayer and the posture of anti-racisim is similar: Both begin with humility and listening.
If awakening in the contemplative life has only to do with encountering the presence of God, and nothing to do with performance or emotional frenzy, perhaps there's a simple, slow, transformative way to practice anti-racism, one that doesn't rely on the often shallow space of performance. (That means it's not the Bible studies, the "service," the loud prayers, the right beliefs that matter. It's the deep down transformation.) I think it starts with listening. Who are you listening to? Are you willing to have your mind, your experience, your outlook challenged?
Be humble, sit down. Be humble, sit down. Be humble, sit down. Sit down. Sit down.
That’s how my favorite version of Good Shepherd Collective’s “Brother" begins. And that’s where prayer begins also. There is no space for success in the work of prayer, only presence. You cannot force the transformation that God works in us. You can only wait in humility. You can put yourself in a posture of receiving. You can only sit down and listen.
If you are white, would you consider how you might have been shaped by a church experience very different than that of your BIPOC neighbors? And would you consider how you might practice anti-racism through the work of humility and silence this week? Practice being quiet and believing that you will never understand the systemic racism that individuals and communities of color experience every day, and which are so difficult for white folks like me to even recognize in daily life. Listen before you say something, before you argue, before you determine a position. Seek out the voices of black men and women and people of color who are telling you what they know to be true. Expand who you follow on social media. (I’m offering you a list of voices below.) Listen to podcasts, to friends who may experience the world differently than you do. Read books that challenge your experience. Dare to be a peacemaker by listening before you judge, before you claim to understand.
And let’s allow God to awaken us, giving us a faith that runs down into the depths of our knowing, the kind of awakening that comes from the Spirit, which is already hovering in the deep places, inviting us beyond performance, emotion, or life experience.
a slow practice
One of my first entrées into contemplative prayer began with Henri Nouwen's book Behold the Beauty of the Lord: Praying with Icons, which I read with my pastor Beverly Berry back in 2006. Nouwen challenged my understanding of what prayer could be, that it can and should encapsulate all of our senses, especially our sense of sight, which for those of us who see is the sense that we probably depend on most. Our culture is especially visually-driven. We are constantly watching the flashing images of our screens, the quickly passing advertisements of the highway. And the images of nature that inspire us often move too slowly for us truly see.
The power of praying with an icon is not found in its magic. There's no magic there. It's found in the gift of silence, of looking, of paying attention. When we pray with an icon, we aren't calling on God to make a picture carry holy weight. Everything around us already carries holy weight, we usually just aren't slow and deliberate enough to notice.
The gift of prayer is available outside of words. We can pray with an image without needing language, and for some of us, that is a fresh and freeing gift.
As we wrestle with the tenderness and outrage in our nation right now, and ask ourselves what role we have to play in building a country that is anti-racist and a place where all people can be given equal power and equal care, let's use art to help us encounter God's presence.
Yesterday, I was grateful that Stephanie Duncan Smith chose to share Mark Doox's iconography on her Instagram. I'd never been introduced to his work and I was blown away by the power and truth in it. This icon is called, "Our Lady of Ferguson."
To pray with an icon, set aside time in silence with the image in a place where you can look at it for a set period of time, 10-15 minutes is good place to start. Set a timer if that helps (I use the Insight Timer for all sorts of prayer practices.) If you're using a screen you may have the challenge of needing to refresh your feed several times, so if you can it could be helpful to print it out. It might also be helpful to have a journal or a pen a paper with you so you can jot down whatever comes to mind.
Spend the first few minutes asking God to give you eyes to see the truth of this image. Breathe deeply and slowly as you stare at it, noticing every detail you can, but not trying to come up with a "message." Just gaze at it. As you begin to feel the itch to move on, ask God to speak to you through one particular part of the image. If there seems to be something standing out "louder" than the others write down what it is. Then for your last five minutes sit with that thought, that image. What might God want you to see that you haven't seen before? What is the story of this picture that God is speaking to you?
It can also be helpful to practice praying with an icon with another person. Sit in silence for those fifteen minutes together, and then discuss after what you experienced.