When I go into my room and close the door and pray to my
Father in secret (Matthew 6:6), what do I take with me? Many would say I must take nothing,
no worries, no thoughts, no agendas, no lists of things to do or buy, no
friends or enemies. But this is not true. Although I set these busy things
aside, they are with me still.
What I do strive to pare away in prayer are my preferences, all
the things by which I like to define myself: my love of eggplant and Motown, for
example, my dislike of politics and progressive jazz. My true self is beneath
all these extras. My true self is my human beingness* and I share it with all
those other image bearers out there, in other words, everybody. I am not alone
with God. I am praying in a crowded room.
Then when prayer is over and I open my door, I can see that
holy face everywhere I look because I held it to me in prayer.
C.S. Lewis famously said,
“Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor
is the holiest object presented to your senses.” (From The Weight of Glory)
When, just a few years ago, I first read these words,
I instinctively knew them to be true. More than true, I believed them to be
crucial to our lives together. Every person I see is holy. How could it be
otherwise? We are created in God’s image. Holiness is our birthright, our
calling and our nature. The kingdom of God is predicated on this holiness.
Back to my theater references from Part I. Long ago, I worked in a book store. In
that environment, I necessarily became familiar with a great many more books
than I would just by following my own preferences. I read books on business,
science, sewing, sports, and even acting. It was part of the job.
One day at my lunch break, I picked up Michael Shurtleff’s
famous work Audition and read the
most extraordinary thing. He writes,
“The desire for love, to give or receive it, and preferably both and
simultaneously, is the chief propellant in human beings." Love? Not money? Not power?
“…because he first
loved us…obviously” I yelled back at the page.
Shurtleff went on to say, "An actor had best learn that love comes in all
forms, and in many more forms than he himself admires". He wanted his students to use this desire in their work. In
fact, he said that the only way to be a good actor was to acknowledge this fact
and work it into every scene.
So love actually** is everywhere.
This teacher was describing an atmosphere, a context in
which we humans operate, a mist of desire for each other that connects us and
triggers our understanding of and need for each other. This is what acting is about: that
desire, that understanding. This is also a gift of faith.
When are you most authentic with another person? Is it when
you’re half paying attention, scrubbing the floor, changing the oil in your
car? Is it when you’re thinking about your job, your mother, your child? Of
course not. You are your most genuine self when you are fully aware of the other person, physically aware of them as a physical being, emotionally aware of them
as an emotional being, intellectually aware of them as an intellectual being
and spiritually aware of them as a spiritual being.
As a contemplative, I have a very big stake in the human
race. I can no longer brush certain people aside as I pursue my goal of a
better world. I can’t hear some and tune out others. I certainly can’t divide
the world up into the righteous and the unrighteous. If our humanity is so
bound up with the desire to love and be loved, surely that signals the presence
of the God who is love within us.
A fellow parishioner recently asked me about the Order of
Julian of Norwich, a contemplative order of monks and nuns in the Episcopal Church with which I
am affiliated as an Associate. I described the Order, its function, history, charism.
My friend wanted to know when the sisters and brothers went out to work in the
community. As I answered in the negative, I could see her shut a door against the
Order, and, I suppose, against my vocation in it. To my friend, a Christian has to be an activist in the community; only
social work counts, prayer isn't enough.
To have a vocation to prayer is seen by her, and, I suspect, by a great many others, as self-indulgent, blind -- even lazy. When I pray, when I
meditate or open Scripture, I am doing so with and for all of humanity. There
is no other way. If I am to face God honestly, I cannot separate myself from
even one other person. To have a
vocation of prayer is to feel strongly for your neighbor. There are many ways to
take care of our fellow beings; this is my way.
*I cannot use this term without proper attribution. Abby Wambauch (pictured above) of the US Women's National Team (soccer) said she would put all her human beingness out on the pitch to win gold for the USA at the 2012 Olympics. She did.
** Referencing the movie. Obviously.
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