Journey Center Blog

Last week I was having coffee with a good friend, who is a Buddhist. She was brought up Baptist, and left as a teenager as her thirst for deeper experience of ’something meaningful’ eluded her in the Christianity her family professed. We began to speak about lent,and shared stories about what we were both taught — laughing ruefully about the similarities between Southern Baprtist and Irish Catholic concepts of sin and repentance.  I was telling her how eye and heart-opening it was for me to discover that the real meaning of repent is to change focus/direction–to change the direction in which I am looking for happiness. That opened up a conversation about the Buddhist idea of detachment/non-attachment and the  Christian teachings about the false self and the ways in which this wounded part of us addictively searches for happiness/meaning/fullfilment. My friend said– isn’t there a story about that in scripture? So she took out her laptop, opened a Bible site (I didn’t know there was such a thing) and we found  The Rich Man story in Mark 10:21-21.

Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said,’You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ When he heard this, he was shocked, and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

My friend and I sat and read this over and over–I think we were doing Lectio Divina in the coffee shop– and it brought tears to our eyes. For us, it made another connection between our spiritual paths–neither of us really knew before that this teaching was in Christian scripture–so this deepens and expands our own conversation. But what moved us both–was Jesus ‘compassion and love– so poignant as he looks at this man, understanding the goodness of his heart and his devotion–and how he was still captured by what he owned.  We were right there– feeling in our own bodies the shock of coming up against what we were attached to and unable to release. Part of what moved me so much was this man’s shock –and then grief. I get the feeling that he not only did not realize Jesus would ask him for this–but that he may have, in that moment, discovered something very painful about himself– that he was possessed by his possessions. I see him walking away, and nursing this new knowledge about himself in his heart–does he stay with it? Can Christ’s loving gaze help him to stay with this awareness, and perhaps lead to some healing/ Or in his pain does he shut down, and perhaps cling even tighter to what he discovers he believes he needs.

I notice that I pray for this man– 2,000 years ago–and so I pray for myself and all of us who want so much to repent–and who are still holding on for dear life to what prevents us from following our deepest heart’s desire. The love on Christ’s face accompanies me in that prayer– and so I hope, in this moment, that the transformation Christ promises can occur in me.  My Buddhist friend said that for her, she will incorporate that loving gaze into her own practice-.I like that– I see Jesus holding her in love as she practices meditation and blessing her too. Whatever our path and practice, may that gaze of Love tend us and accompany us and gently help to unravel that crack in our defended hearts when we are shocked and grieved into facing our own limitations. May we all discover that which truly brings happiness and fullness of life. I give thanks for lent and this time of learning what true repentance invites all of  us into.

“Prayer is not asking for what you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can’t imagine” (Kathleen Norris)

Nine years ago, when I turned 50, I began to say a prayer: “Great Spirit, take away from me anything that interferes with my becoming who I came here to be, so that I can do what You want me to do”. It was a scary prayer-as I had no way of knowing what would follow-but it was what came to me whenever I got quiet.  Soon after the prayer began to take up room in my heart, my spiritual director taught me Centering Prayer, and consenting to the presence and action of the Spirit in my life became a daily prayer practice. 

As someone called to and committed to the contemplative journey,  I continue to discover, sometimes to my dismay and sometimes amusement, the ways and places in which I still try to control my journey with the Holy. I hope –and pray–that at some point in this long unravelling of the false self/ego I will be brought to the place where in fact I can more fully trust and surrender. Years ago a friend who was a therapist told me that no one would undertake therapy if they fully realized what it was going to be like. I think the spiritual journey may sometimes be like that too—so I just continue to ask for help in following this mysterious path into unimaginable places . I don’t know what you are doing, Spirit, but something inside of me keeps saying YES! (My Irish Nanna would say, “God help me!)