LA ÎNCEPUT A FOST RELATIA

Dintr-o alta talmacire publicata de editura Sapientia. „Cale de îndumnezeire”.

Originalul: Eloi LECLERC, Chemin de contemplation.

„Nimeni nu poate pretinde să-i stea alături lui Dumnezeu. Dumnezeu, în bunătatea sa pe care gândul nu o poate cuprinde, a dorit să-l unească pe om cu el. Cine este oare Dumnezeu, ca să ne iubească astfel? Nu e dăruirea cea mai de seamă trăsătură a lui Dumnezeu, cea mai de seamă glorie a sa…? Viaţa divină curge înspre noi, vine să ne cuprindă ca un uriaş talaz. Să ne întoarcem, aşadar, privirea către marele proiect iubitor ce ne dezvăluie pe deplin Cine este Dumnezeu. Să ne ciulim urechile, ascultând „torentul ce se prăvăleşte înspre Izvorul său”, cum scria Claudel.

De-a lungul întregii istorii a lui Israel se afirmă voinţa lui Dumnezeu de a-i ieşi în întâmpinare omului, de a intra într-o relaţie de prietenie cu el, de a încheia o alianţă cu poporul său. În Vechiul Testament, Dumnezeu se dezvăluie, în primul rând, ca existenţă de sine stătătoare („Eu sunt”), ca Fiinţă Supremă, însă şi ca Persoană: entitate vie, receptivă, dispusă să intre în contact cu alte persoane. Dumnezeu se autodefineşte prin relaţie. Când Moise îi cere să-i spună numele, răspunde: „Vei spune fiilor lui Israel: Domnul, Dumnezeul părinţilor voştri, Dumnezeul lui Abraham, Dumnezeul lui Isaac, Dumnezeul lui Iacob, m-a trimis către voi. Acesta este numele meu pentru veşnicie, aşa voi fi invocat în veac de veac…” (Ex 3,15) „Eu sunt Dumnezeul părinţilor tăi, Dumnezeul lui Abraham, Dumnezeul lui Isaac şi Dumnezeul lui Iacob” (Ex 3,6).

Anunțuri

Emerging Church

By Richard Rohr

Returning to Essentials

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Hospitality is the practice that keeps the church from becoming a club, a members-only society. —Diana Butler Bass [1]

Practical, practice-based Christianity has been avoided, denied, minimized, ignored, delayed, and sidelined for too many centuries, by too many Christians who were never told Christianity was anything more than a belonging or belief system. Now we know that there is no Methodist or Catholic way of loving. There is no Orthodox or Presbyterian way of living a simple and nonviolent life. There is no Lutheran or Evangelical way of showing mercy. There is no Baptist or Episcopalian way of visiting the imprisoned. If there is, we are invariably emphasizing the accidentals, which distract us from the very “marrow of the Gospel,” as St. Francis called it. We have made this mistake for too long. We cannot keep avoiding what Jesus actually emphasized and mandated. In this most urgent time, “it is the very love of Christ that now urges us” (2 Corinthians 5:14).

Quaker pastor Philip Gulley superbly summarizes how we must rebuild spirituality from the bottom up in his book, If the Church Were Christian. [2] Here I take the liberty of using my own words to restate his message, which offers a rather excellent description of Emerging Christianity:

  1. Jesus is a model for living more than an object of worship.
  2. Affirming people’s potential is more important than reminding them of their brokenness.
  3. The work of reconciliation should be valued over making judgments.
  4. Gracious behavior is more important than right belief.
  5. Inviting questions is more valuable than supplying answers.
  6. Encouraging the personal search is more important than group uniformity.
  7. Meeting actual needs is more important than maintaining institutions.
  8. Peacemaking is more important than power.
  9. We should care more about love and less about sex.
  10. Life in this world is more important than the afterlife (eternity is God’s work anyway).

If this makes sense to you, you are already inside of Emerging Christianity.

 
References:

[1] Diana Butler Bass, A People’s History of Christianity: The Other Side of the Story (HarperOne: 2010), 64.
[2] See Philip Gulley, If the Church Were Christian: Rediscovering the Values of Jesus (HarperOne: 2010). This list is adapted from his chapter titles.

Adapted from Richard Rohr, “Emerging Christianity: A Non-Dual Vision,” Radical Grace, vol. 23, no. 1 (Center for Action and Contemplation: 2010), 3, 22.

You are invited!

Si nous essayions de nous purifier du bruit et des rumeurs…

„Seul le silence, le silence des choses, le silence de la nature, le silence de la lumière, le silence du chant des oiseaux lui-même, ce silence seul peut faire contrepoids à la folie des hommes.

(…) Il est absolument indispensable, si nous voulons garder notre équilibre, et si nous voulons être dans le monde le ferment d’une paix chrétienne, il est indispensable de revenir continuellement au silence.

Les hommes pourraient se rencontrer et se retrouver frères infailliblement, dans la mesure, justement, où chacun consentirait à se démettre de lui-même en écoutant l’appel de sa vie intérieure.

Quelle merveille si chacun pouvait, le matin, en se recueillant au plus intime de lui-même, se charger de toute la lumière du Christ et écouter, comme dit saint Ignace d’Antioche, les mystères de la clameur qui s’accomplissent dans le silence de Dieu.”

Maurice Zundel, „un prophète pour notre temps”… pas si connu après tout.

 

CENTERING PRAYER

http://marcthomasshaw.com/index.php/2017/09/20/secret-weapon-prayer/

Part of the instructions for the practice of Centering Prayeris to find a sacred word that signals a consent for the action and presence of God within. Some practitioners use “love” or “grace” or “light.”

A "Secret Weapon" Of Centering PrayerThe anonymous author of the 13th century classic The Cloud of Unknowing simply uses the word God.

Teachers of the practice instruct students to choose a word that is generally free of emotional charge or baggage because the aim to facilitate the movement into silence.

So you start with these strategies early on in the practice: “ok, I’m gonna enter into silence, and then when my thoughts take over, bump them out with the sacred word, and return to the silence. Lather, rinse, repeat. OK, I got this. Just bump ’em out of the way. I’m gonna be super enlightened in no time.”

While the instructions for the practice are pretty simple, what can be a little more difficult to learn is the how of Centering Prayer that can help make the practice a little more fruitful.

I am careful not to use the word “effective,” because the notion of doing something to achieve a goal or a particular outcome is precisely the kind of logical-linear strategic thinking that the practice itself helps us transcend.

Over the years as I continue my practice the one component that can get easily lost is that of disposition. As with all things, our intention matters. This is one aspect of our lives we bring to every act and interaction.

Intention. Disposition.

We bring it to making breakfast and packing lunches. We bring it to the drive to work. We bring it to the conference call. We bring it in entering a room.

In the contemplative life, each of these acts, however simple, becomes an opportunity for devotion, for receiving or passing on the beauty of the Beloved. This is the awareness or headspace that grows with the practice.

Early on in the practice, I’d introduce or reintroduce the sacred word impatiently, mildly annoyed when I got so far off track with some inner resentment or lingering argument or embarrassing moment from the past.

After several years it became clear that my intention, my disposition, mattered deeply. There is a piece of the Centering Prayer instructions which is easy to gloss over. Step three instructs us to introduce the sacred word ever-so-gently.

This becomes almost like a skill that is sharpened, the ability to introduce gentleness. We speak the word ever so gently. We notice our own missteps throughout the day: anger, annoyance, yelling, guilt, anxiety, whatever, and watch ourselves and then return to the present moment ever so gently.

In our time of strategy and productivity and efficiency, what a profound dimension of our lives to expand, what a quality to bring into the world, what a disposition to grow: gentleness. There is a strength to gentleness that refuses to be pulled this way and that by circumstances. It’s a disposition that requires security and trust to maintain.

In a way, this is the “secret weapon” of Centering Prayer. Bringing this disposition of gentleness, humility, and receptivity both deepens the experience of the practice and expands these capacities throughout the day. It’s like planting a seed.

It becomes a way to respond to stress, to enact forgiveness, to respond to arguments and hostility. In a sense, the mystical path is one that requires us to die to our attachments on a granular level in preparation for the great death to come, that when the time comes to move into the next phase of the great journey home, we can release this one, we can turn the page and let it go ever so gently.

By Marc Thomas Shaw

Going Further

Rich Lewis on the third step of Centering Prayer

Anglican Rector Chris Page on gentleness as strength

Poem: Hagia Sophia by Thomas Merton

Author: Pema Chödrön

You may have noticed, however, that there is frequently an irritating, if not depressing, discrepancy between our ideas and good intentions and how we act when we are confronted with the nitty-gritty details of real life situations. One afternoon I was riding a bus in San Francisco, reading a very touching article on human suffering and helping others. The idea of being generous and extending myself to those in need became so poignant that I started to cry. People were looking at me as the tears ran down my cheeks. I felt a great tenderness toward everyone, and a commitment to benefit others arose in me. As soon as I got home, feeling pretty exhausted after working all day, the phone rang, and it was someone asking if I could please help her out by taking her position as a meditation leader that night. I said, “No, sorry, I need to rest,” and hung up.

It’s not a matter of the right choice or the wrong choice, but simply that we are often presented with a dilemma about bringing together the inspiration of the teachings with what they mean to us on the spot. There is a perplexing tension between our aspirations and the reality of feeling tired, hungry, stressed-out, afraid, bored, angry, or whatever we experience in any given moment of our life.

Naropa, an eleventh-century Indian yogi, one day unexpectedly met an old hag on the street. She apparently knew he was one of the greatest Buddhist scholars in India and asked him if he understood the words of the large book he was holding. He said he did, and she laughed and danced with glee. Then she asked him if he understood the meaning of the teachings in that book. Thinking to please her even more, he again said yes. At that point she became enraged, yelling at him that he was a hypocrite and a liar. That encounter changed Naropa’s life. He knew she had his number; truthfully, he only understood the words and not the profound inner meaning of all the teachings he could expound so brilliantly.

This is where we also, to one degree or another, find ourselves. We can kid ourselves for a while that we understand meditation and the teachings, but at some point we have to face it. None of what we’ve learned seems very relevant when our lover leaves us, when our child has a tantrum in the supermarket, when we’re insulted by our colleague. How do we work with our resentment when our boss walks into the room and yells at us? How do we reconcile that frustration and humiliation with our longing to be open and compassionate and not to harm ourselves or others? How do we mix our intention to be alert and gentle in meditation with the reality that we sit down and immediately fall asleep? What about when we sit down and spend the entire time thinking about how we crave someone or something we saw on the way to the meditation hall? Or we sit down and squirm the whole morning because our knees hurt and our back hurts and we’re bored and fed up? Instead of calm, wakeful, and egoless, we find ourselves getting more edgy, irritable, and solid.

To be continuedRésultat de recherche d'images

The Jesus story is the universe story

By Richard Rohr

The Mystery of the Cross
Sunday, April 23, 2017

It is a wisdom that none of the masters of this age have ever known, or they would not have crucified the Lord of Glory. —1 Corinthians 2:8

Jesus’ life, death, and raising up is the whole pattern revealed, named, summed up, and assured for our own lives. It gives us the full trajectory that we might not recognize otherwise. He is the map. The Jesus story is the universe story. The Universal Christ is no threat to anything but separateness, illusion, domination, and the imperial ego. In that sense, Jesus, the Christ, is the ultimate threat, but first of all to Christians. Only when we follow Jesus through his life, death and resurrection will we have any universal and salvific message for the rest of the earth.

The lead up to and the follow up from the cross is the great interpretative key that makes the core pattern clear. It’s no accident that we have made the cross the Christian logo, because in the revelation of the cross, many great truths become obvious and even overwhelming, even though we do not want to see them.

Those who “gaze upon” (John 19:37) the Crucified long enough—with contemplative eyes—are always healed at deep levels of pain, unforgiveness, aggression, and victimhood. Contemplative gazing demands no theological education, just an “inner exchange” by receiving the image within and offering one’s soul back in safe return. C. G. Jung is supposed to have said that a naked man nailed to a cross is perhaps the deepest archetypal symbol in the Western psyche. [1]

The crucified Jesus offers, at a largely unconscious level, a very compassionate meaning system for history. Without such cosmic meaning and soul significance, the agonies and tragedies of Earth feel like Shakespeare’s “sound and fury signifying nothing” or “a tale told by an idiot.” The body can live without food more easily than the soul can live without such transformative meaning.

If all our crucifixions are leading to some possible resurrection, and are not dead-end tragedies, this changes everything. If God is somehow participating in the suffering of humans and creation, instead of just passively tolerating it and observing it, that also changes everything—at least for those who are willing to “gaze” contemplatively.

We Christians are given the privilege to name the mystery rightly and to know it directly and consciously, but in many ways we have not lived it much better than other religions and cultures. All humble, suffering souls can learn this from the flow of life itself, but the Christian Scriptures named it and revealed it to us publicly and dramatically in Jesus. It all depends on whether you have “gazed” long and deep enough at the paradoxical mystery of life and death.

 

Gateway to Silence:
I am crucified with Christ.

References:

[1] See Jerry Wright, “Christ, a Symbol of the Self,” C.G. Jung Society of Atlanta Quarterly News (Fall 2001), 6-8. Jung wrote extensively about Christ as archetype; Wright’s essay offers a brief overview of key ideas and resources. Available at http://www.jungatlanta.com/articles/fall01-crist-symbol-of-self.pdf

Adapted from Richard Rohr, Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality (Franciscan Media: 2008), 185-187

Résultat de recherche d'images pour "geronda"

Easter Sunday

Resurrection

Jesus said to her, „Woman, why are you weeping?
Whom are you looking for?… Jesus said to her, „Mary!”
John 20: 15, 16
Painting by Mathias Gruenewald, Retable d’Issenheim

Reflexion by Henri NOUWEN
WHEN YOU FORGET YOUR TRUE IDENTITY as a beloved child of God, you lose your way in life. Insecure and frightened, you act not freely, but out of fear.
You become preoccupied trying to please others and you lose the confidence to be yourself. You work hard to avoid rejection, or abandonment, and you may cling to people more from fear than freedom. In making compromises you may please people but lose touch with your original blessing, the connection to the deep and everlasting love of God.
Jesus announces to us, „Do not be afraid. I dwell in you till the end of time.”
 
Alleluia! Christ is risen, and we are no longer afraid.