Wade looking at the Indian Ocean along
Plettenberg Bay, South Africa, last summer. (crg)
On
a recent visit with my family of origin, I heard the usual stories rolled out
by my older siblings, putting me in my proper place as the “baby of the
family.” One sibling surprised me by a new take on an old story. Being the
youngest, I sat in the front seat of our old Hudson with our parents on a
cross-country drive, apparently considered a privileged position by my sister
and brother. At one point, given my vantage point, I saw a body of water and turned
to them in the back seat, exclaiming excitedly, “Hey kids! Look at the too-lah!
Look at the too-lah!” We long ago decided that “too-lah” must have come from
the word “toilet,” then my only frame of reference for a body of water.
On
this telling, however, one of my siblings added the word “condescendingly”—that
I had “condescendingly” turned to them to announce this wonder. Miffed, I
replied, “How can a toddler be condescending?” My other sibling had a different
interpretation, that I was simply imitating the tone my parents took to convey
something exciting to us kids.
This
story came to me as I am currently reading The Dark Night of the Soul by
St. John of the Cross. A bookmark not many pages in reminds me I’ve tried to
read it before. In the past I’ve made the common mistake of understanding “dark
night” as simply a period of suffering externally imposed, but, at the same
time, it is a spiritual practice detaching ourselves from anything that is not
God (including moving beyond our mental images of God “to the state of the
progressives”), while welcoming God’s transforming love of our souls. At least,
that’s one way of putting it.
One
by one and day by day, as I read the sins or “imperfections” that may come with
the spiritual life, I am realizing that I am guilty of each one of them. The
first listed is pride, how the contemplative novice may be so excited by what
she or he is learning that they prematurely become spiritual teachers rather
than doers. That very nearly silenced me as a writer of these “progressive
Christian reflections,” much as reading and writing about Zen Masters in
recent years almost nudged me to enter their silence.
I
realized that my readers may be enduring what my siblings did when I was a
child, hearing, “Hey kids! Look at the too-lah! Look at the too-lah!” I get so
excited by what I’m learning, if not always practicing, that I want to write
about it.
I
overheard a monk acerbically say of spiritual author Henri Nouwen, “I wish he
would stop writing about wanting to pray and just pray!” In his book, Reaching
Out, Henri offered a kind of defense, which I’ve quoted before:
I found some consolation and encouragement in the
words of one of the most stern ascetics, the seventh-century John of the
Ladder, who lived for forty years a solitary life at Mount Sinai. In his
chapter on discernment, step 26 of his spiritual ladder, he writes: “If some
are still dominated by their former bad habits, and yet can teach by mere
words, let them teach…For perhaps, being put to shame by their own words, they
will eventually begin to practice what they teach.”
A
half century ago I visited a progressive Baptist congregation whose pastor offered
a good job description of his work. Along with other ministerial
responsibilities, he was given time to explore theology and spirituality on
behalf of the congregation and share those insights from the pulpit.
So,
even if I may not have the exact word for God or the exact words or best practices
for the spiritual life, I can still lean over the front seat of the Hudson and
shout excitedly to all of you, “Hey kids! Look at the too-lah! Look at the
too-lah!”
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