Contemplating Meditation

So I've talked about my prayer beads before, and how they have helped me develop a prayer and meditation routine at a level that I have never been able to approach or maintain while in Fundamentalism. As I have continued to examine the concept of Christian contemplation, I have been surprised by the rich tradition of contemplation/meditation throughout Church history.

Part of exploring this concept occurred this past Lenten season when I began to participate in a church service called "Taizé" (pronounced Ta-ZAY).

I had no idea what to expect the first time I went to a Taizé service.  In fact, I brought my then 7-month-old son with me - partially because I thought there would be child care available, and secondly because it was right at his bedtime and I assumed he would sleep through it.  (Neither of which happened, of course.) 

Anyway.  The program I picked up on entering the sanctuary said, "Please enter the worship space in reverent silence. You are invited to use the icons, candles, cross and altar as 'windows' to the Presence of God."  In the altar area of the church there were 4 apparently Orthodox-style icons, each surrounded by many small candles. It was very quiet and still.

Once the service started, we sang simple, repetitive songs a capella whose texts were usually Psalmic in nature and whose tunes evoked monastic chant.  The songs alternated with a leader reading a scripture passage, a brief one-paragraph lesson, and a brief prayer. The main portion of the service is a period of silence ended by a bell.  That's right - silence.  At least 20 minutes of the 30 minute service, to be exact.  After the silence: The Lord's Prayer, invitation to pray individually around the altar, another song-prayer-song, and the service is closed.

Honestly, it's an introvert's paradise.  No one has to talk to anybody else, yet we all feel a kinship with each other singing and praying together.  It's solitude and community at the same time.

I was intrigued after the first experience, despite having to deal with a squirmy, occasionally noisy child the whole time. Why the icons?  Why the long silence?  Where did that complex yet deceptively simple music come from?

Upon returning home that night, I turned to Wikipedia and read that Taizé is a village in France; a Swiss man began a monastery there in the 1940's whose focus was to "live in the spirit of kindness, simplicity and reconciliation".  It was also unusual in that there were both Catholic and Protestant brothers there. The monastery took care of WW II refugees until the Nazis kicked them out; after the war they returned and continued their work. In the 1960's their monastery, because of their simple message, became a place of pilgrimage for many Christians - especially youth.  The community draws on traditions of multiple groups of Christians, which explains the mix of icons, candles, and quasi-chant in a small-town American protestant church.  I was fascinated.

The contemplation and meditation time was so rejuvenating that I spent the next month or so trying to find an artist to commission a triptych of Christ's birth, crucifixion, and resurrection for me to use at home for contemplation and meditation with prayer beads.  (I finally realized that the kind of quality I wanted was way out of my price range, and bought reprints of famous artwork instead.)  And I bought a few candles. And then I bought some incense cones...  Before I knew it I had a whole ritual developed at home. 

The next project? A prayer garden - a secluded outdoor space surrounded by favorite plants.  While researching that little undertaking, I discovered that there are whole books written on the subject (not to mention the rich history of plants in cloisters and monasteries).  Between my interest in medicine and my love of plants, I think I might have made a good nun back in the day - except for the whole getting married thing.  But there's always the New Monasticism...

I am still astonished that this important portion of historical Christianity is so new to me.  And I'm even more astonished at how enriching the practice of contemplation is - this restorative time of reflection has been making an extraordinarily difficult time in my life much more bearable.  How very sad that Fundamentalism doesn't value any of it.

Ordinariness

I've wondered off and on if the Episcopal church I attend is an anomaly.  Though it isn't perfect, the reverence for God, the kindness to others and the care for the less fortunate make it such a comforting and Spirit-filled place to be.  But then I start doubting that it's the norm (or even common) for Episcopal churches.  I suspect I think that because I frequently get horrified diatribes from people who think I go to a spiritually dead, apostate church.  It's really exhausting to deal with the assumptions made by people who have never been to a liturgical worship service, don't know what the Book of Common Prayer is, and don't care to think beyond what they've been told about churches other than their own.

Well, a few weeks ago, I was out of town on a trip and decided to find an early service with a local Episcopal congregation before my responsibilities began elsewhere.  I wasn't that optimistic, honestly, because the early services are usually the more formal Rite I service.  I don't mind a Rite I service, but I feel I usually connect better with a Rite II.

The church was small.  I got there a little late, and felt a bit awkward at first.

But then.  Oh, then, the Spirit was there in that service.  The people were warm, and honest, and down-to-earth; not only is that a bit out of the ordinary for many churches, it was extremely out of the ordinary for this part of the country. God spoke directly to me in the readings and the homily.  I realized it was by Divine appointment that I was there that morning - and I don't use that phrase lightly like I used to.  I was filled to the brim with grace that morning.

The reverence for God, the love for other people, the kindness - it was all there.  Just like my current church. Now I'm not saying that other churches or denominations aren't/can't be characterized by the same sort of love, but in these two very different churches a thousand miles apart, the same Spirit was there, and it was a holy time. 

And I'm sad for people who refuse to see it.

They're Fundy-ing Errybody Over Here

So, that Pope Francis.  He seems a decent fellow, eh?

Well, I like him, anyway. I was especially astonished by his plan to wash the feet of prisoners in an Italian juvenile detention facility for Maundy Thursday (the day we liturgical types celebrate the Last Supper).  It was already a big break from the usual Papal tradition of washing the feet of upper-level bishops in St. Peter's Basilica.

When it actually happened however, he ended up washing the feet of two prisoners who had the audacity to be women.

But before I get ahead of myself - something I've noticed on all the news articles I've read online about Pope Francis is that the comments repeatedly contain people stating, essentially, "I'm not catholic/Christian, but this guy is intriguing/has my respect/is someone I could follow."

So a great many non-catholics (myself included) see his actions and we are impressed. We think this seems more consistent with what God is concerned about.  We feel more inclined to think kindly of people who purport to follow God and by extension get a better sense of who God Himself is.  Even many atheists are responding positively to this Pope.

Who could possibly be unhappy with this?

The Fundamentalists Traditionalists.  And boy, are they Un. Happy.

I laughed and laughed and laughed when I read these news stories, because wow, have I been there.  I'm also learning quite quickly that there are Fundamentalist-types in every stripe of Christianity and they all use the same tricks.  Like this one:

"By disregarding his own law in this matter, Francis violates, of course, no divine directive," Peters wrote. "What he does do, I fear, is set a questionable example." (italics mine)

Ha!  Questionable example!  This guy could be the Dean of Men at Fundy University with that little phrase.  I even googled "canon lawyer Edward Peters" to see what he looked like, because reading that made me picture fat wobbly jowls. (He doesn't have them.) I hear that the Pharisees thought that Christ healing on the Sabbath was a pretty questionable example too.

Even more upset was the Reverend John Zuhlsdorf:

"This is about the ordination of women, not about their feet," wrote the Rev. John Zuhlsdorf, a traditionalist blogger. Liberals "only care about the washing of the feet of women, because ultimately they want women to do the washing."

That's right. You wash a woman's feet and before you know it she'll be wearing the cassock herself.  Yay! Slippery slope!  Always a favorite.

Traditionalists are lamenting the loss of the days of the sedan chair, the elaborate - read: expensive - papal garments, and the full use of the Latin rite.  They are so unhappy that they are (carefully) criticizing the Pope. (Because disobeying the Pope is apparently a lesser sin that washing the feet of a woman*.)  Though I guess I can kinda see where they are coming from.  I mean really, if a solid gold pectoral cross and being carried around among the masses was good enough for Jesus, it ought to be good enough for Pope Francis. 

Seriously though, traditionalists yet again show who their real god is.  It isn't the God of all Creation; it isn't Jesus Christ the Righteous; it isn't the Holy Spirit of Truth.  It's a knee-length skirt sedan chair and an ermine-trimmed cape; it's the KJV a church service held in a dead language.

As one particularly astute commenter also stated, "Jesus wasn't exactly a traditionalist."  Indeed.  He rather upset them on a regular basis, I understand.  Funny, that.

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*Which makes me suspicious of how highly women are valued, frankly.  Been there, experienced that too.