Tag Archives: God
So beautiful is the still hour of the sea’s withdrawal, as beautiful as the sea’s return when encroaching waves pound up the beach, pressing to reach those dark rumpled chains of seaweed which mark the last high tide.
We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanence, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth and fluidity–in freedom in the sense that dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern. The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what it was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now.
Today’s reading from Celtic Daily Prayer suggests a problem many of us struggle with in our spiritual lives: the gravitational pull of the past and present which distracts us from the current movement of the Spirit. I wonder if that’s not, in part, what Jesus had in mind when he said, “[I]f I do not go away, the Advocate will not come to you.” John 16:7. As long as Jesus remained physically with the apostles, they were trapped in the memory of their failures or lost in their Messianic expectations for the future. God had something quite different in store for them.
The past and the future bind us in a kind of Pushmi-pullyu struggle. We hear this in our churches regularly. “I really liked the music before they changed it” or “I’m really worried about the direction our new minister is moving the church.” I think we do something similar in our own lives. “I was not brought up in a home where reading the Bible was important so that’s just not a big part of my spiritual life.” “Maybe once the kids are gone we will go to church more regularly.” We feel the gravitational pull of the past and the present, sometimes longingly, sometimes full of anxiety, but always distracting us from the present moment.
Sometimes, we encounter the diversion of longing for a time when we felt really close to God, or when church offered a more meaningful experience. In Letters to Malcolm, C.S. Lewis compared this to shouting “Encore!” to God. We tell the Almighty things were better before, and want Him to make it like it used to be. Lewis wrote, “It would be rash to say that there is any prayer which God never grants. But the strongest candidate is the prayer we might express in the single word encore. And how should the Infinite repeat Himself? All space and time are too little for Him to utter Himself in them once.”
Whether we find ourselves diverted by the past or the future, we confront the difficulty of locating God (and ourselves) in the present moment. The movement away from the immediate always assumes that God’s presence today will not suffice. We go chasing after a richer yesterday or running away from a distressing tomorrow, and run the risk of overlooking the presence of the Spirit today. Perhaps we undervalue the advice of the psalmist: “Be still and know that I am God.”
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2012 James R. Dennis
But when a man with all his resolution rises up from his sins and turns wholly away from them, our faithful God then acts as if he had never fallen into sins. For all his sins, God will not allow him for one moment to suffer. Were they as many as all men have ever committed, God will never allow him to suffer for this. With this man God can use all the simple tenderness that he has ever shown toward created beings. If he now finds the man ready to be different, he will have no regard for what he used to be. God is a God of the present. Meister Eckhart, Counsels on Discernment (Counsel 12).
My Dominican brother, Meister Eckhart, lived from around 1260 to about 1327. A teacher, a preacher, a mystic and a theologian, he wrote on the subjects of metaphysics and spiritual psychology. Along with St. Bede the Venerable and St. Anselm, he serves as an icon of the intellectual spirit of the medieval period. Like many who challenged the Church to think in fresh ways, he paid a heavy price for his ideas. The Franciscan-led Inquisition charged Eckhart with heresy, although he apparently died before the verdict.
In this passage, Meister Eckhart writes about the stunning nature of God’s forgiveness, offering us an appropriate Lenten reflection. Most of us are accustomed to thinking of forgiveness the way it works in the world. The forgiveness of our brothers and sisters is often reluctant, half-hearted, and incomplete. Eckhart assures us that God’s forgiveness operates immediately and without reservation.
We often struggle with this notion, just as we strain against the idea of the “good thief” who was crucified alongside Jesus. Jesus assured him, “Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” Luke 23: 43. There’s something about this last-minute conversion that we really struggle with. After an entire lifetime mired in sin, as death approaches, the notion that one can turn things around upsets our sense of fairness.
The parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32) and the workers in the vineyard (Matt 20:1-16) similarly challenge our notion of equity. Like the elder brother in the story of the prodigal, this just doesn’t seem right to us. As Eckhart points out, however, God will not refuse those who repent with all their resolution. Our instinct tells us there’s got to be some penalty for all that history of sin and disobedience. Meister Eckhart answers that God is just not interested in “all that history.”
Mother Teresa said, “We need lots of love to forgive, and we need lots of humility to forget. It is not complete forgiveness unless we forget also. As long as we cannot forget we really have not forgiven fully.” We pray for God to forgive us as we forgive those who’ve harmed us. As we live into the Christian life, we encounter in God’s kingdom something much richer and more loving than fairness or justice. We find mercy and grace. If we will only place our feet in this water, the river of forgiveness will sweep us away.
Most of us will find this notion of complete forgiveness terribly challenging. We struggle to let go of past wrongs and insults. We strain to share the grace of the present moment. It’s not an easy way; it’s the way of the Cross.
Lord, have mercy on me, a poor sinner.
James R. Dennis, O.P.
© 2012 James R. Dennis