All By Myself

In the modern, secular, post-Christian West we love our individualistic delusions of grandeur. I can do it on my own. I don't need help. I don't need instruction. I'm perfectly capable of interpreting things. This is particularly true in religious and spiritual matters. We tend to think that we are the authority and our interpretation and opinion is equally valid with any other. The is a very peculiar idea. We don't take this attitude with anything else. Or, at least, very few of us do. Those that do take the "I know everything about everything" approach to life are generally understood to be either harmless fools or raging narcissists.

Let's have a thought experiment. Would you trust yourself to build a rocket and then get in it and fly to the moon? All of you out there who are engineers, think of something else. My undergraduate is a liberal arts degree that required one math class called "Math for Liberal Arts Majors". I can tell you with some certainty that 2+2 does equal 4. I also know, at a college level, that circles are round, squares are not. Now, let's say that like several of our friends you happen to be a NASA engineer working on the new shuttle (I almost called it a space-ship, but I don't want to hear about it). Okay, so you're a NASA engineer and I'm me possessing all the math and engineering skills that my beloved state requires as "minimum". I invite you over one day and take into my garage and show you the shuttle I have built (and to make it really ring true, with plans I got off the Internet). What would your reaction be? You may laugh and ridicule the abject stupidity of me attempting to design and build a functioning shuttle in my garage because I not only lack anything resembling proper materials but I don't have anything close to a rudimentary understanding of what is needed to construct functioning spacecraft. Or you may smile and patronizingly congratulate the village idiot on a job well done while you secretly hope I don't really intend to fly it and the 55 gallon drum labeled "Rocket Fuel" is really just my lawn clippings. Finally, you might tell me truthfully that I have not built a shuttle. What I have done is poorly construct a death-trap of duck-tape and tin foil mounted on a wheelbarrow that in some abstract way remotely resembles something that was used in a mid-century B-movie about space. You might add that even if I had the plans from NASA for the shuttle, I wouldn't be able to read them. You would remind me that you spent many years in school being taught by experts in the field how to read those plans. That you live and work in the field of space-stuff and even you, with a whole team of engineers, still get it wrong sometimes. But... what is the thing you wouldn't say? You wouldn't say that I have made a fine shuttle and if I believe that it will fly then it will. You won't tell me that rockets, however different, are equally capable of space-flight. You also won't tell me that it's up to each individual to decide how a space shuttle should be designed and built and that we should be give equal respect to all designs because all space shuttles are just different paths to the same moon. Why wouldn't you say that? Because it's stupid. It's very simple, if you don't follow the plan you can't build the shuttle correctly and it won't fly and it might blow up on take off. Sometimes (the Challenger) even if experts do follow the plan they've made accidents happen. To follow the plans, to design and build a shuttle, you don't just pick up a pen and paper and start drawing and assume that because you had math in high school you know all you need to know the leave the earth's orbit in your homemade ship. You learn, you educate yourself through reputable sources, through tried and true methods. You go to the people that are supposed to know what they are talking about and you ask questions and you listen and you discuss. And after many years of this you might be allowed to get coffee for the guys who are designing the next shuttle. 

My Homer Simpson Space Shuttle is the way (as ridiculous as it seems) many of us understand our spiritual lives. Most us possess what might be considered an elementary school knowledge of our faith (if we're lucky) yet we present our opinions on all matter religious as if we were the ranking theologian at the Angelicum. Many of us stopped our religious education before high school, which would put us at about a 6th grade level. Again, there are also many that have no religious, theological, or philosophical education, yet, we believe our opinion should be given equal weight to St. Thomas Aquinas or the greatest living theologian, Benedict XVI. Why? Why do we think this? You wouldn't ask a junior-high student to design a shuttle or handle your retirement accounts. So why do we trust a junior-high student with our soul? I don't trust myself to change my own oil. One of the dumbest statements I've ever heard in my life is the very typical, "I went to Catholic school, I know all about the Church". That's the equivalent of saying, "I took math in high school, I know all about quantum physics."

We must look to the experts. We must look to the tried and true. The experts I mean are the experts in the spiritual life- the saints. We must look to what God has provided us; the Church and the Scriptures and all that is contained within those two. If I'm not sure how to do something and I don't want to screw it up, I try to find someone who does know how to do it, because they've done it already and done it well. If I want to grow in my spiritual life I want to look to those who have already done it and succeeded. Read the lives of the saints. Read the works of the saints. Read your scriptures and receive the sacraments. Together these are blueprints for our lives.    

Signs of Life

Yesterday we got into a discussion about signs. It went back and forth over the topics of what signs are, should we look for signs, should we ask for signs, etc. On one hand Jesus tells the Pharisees that he will not be giving them a sign. This is not because he can't or there is anything wrong with signs, he is only telling them that they have been given signs non-stop for thousands of years, up to and including Himself and they ignored them. Why should they be given another? Essentially, Jesus is saying we don't need signs, everything we need has already been provided, just do it. On the other hand, in the lives of the saints and even the apostles, we find God offering them a non-coercive but easily understandable sign of His will for them to accept of reject. In our own lives, if we are honest, we (probably in hind-sight) can recognize the moments God made His will manifest to us in a particular way. So should we look for signs? The issue made me think of an analogy, follow me if you will:

What is a sign? Let's say it's something that gives evidence of a presence or offers a clue toward direction. For example, God giving you a sign that He is with you or God giving you a sign of His will, or rather the direction He wants you to move. On to the analogy:

Let's say I'm a soldier (I wasn't a soldier, I was a Marine, big difference). Anyway, let's say I'm patrolling through the jungle hunting an enemy platoon. I will pay attention in a way that is very different than a leisurely stroll through the park. I will look for indications (that would be signs) of the enemy's presence or direction; things like snapped twigs, over-turned leaves, a piece or thread on a branch, or boot-prints. These things are often so small that if I am not looking for them I would walk right by and possibly right into an ambush. To further the analogy, it's not enough that I be on the lookout for signs, I have to be trained and experienced enough to know what I'm looking for, otherwise I may mistake something for a sign that will send me in the wrong direction, or even worse, it could be a trick and a trap. What I'm getting at here is that recognizing and interpreting a sign or signs is much more involved than simply asking for them.

Very often if we are looking for a sign we will find one, and amazingly, it will tell us exactly what we want! Everything we are tempted to take as sign needs to be run past the Pathfinder, because he knows the difference. It would do us well to remember St. Paul instructing us that even if an angel should tell us something contrary to the gospel it is a lie and he is no angel but a demon of hell. A big part of a mature spirituality is the recognition that we don't know and in many ways can't know so long as we're on this side of eternity. We need a Pathfinder to help us read the signs correctly, so we don't walk into an ambush.

Some will say, "If you're looking for signs you will see them whether they are real or not." This is true, at least to a degree, and on par with reading the horoscopes. What the person making this kind of assumption fails to note is the distinction in spiritual growth. A person in their spiritual infancy must be wary reading signs into everything because, like the inexperienced soldier, will see the enemy behind every rock and tree. The trained and experienced soldier knows what to look for and what to ignore, so it should stand to reason that he will "see" more signs and interpret them correctly. In the spiritual life this comes through taking time to study and learn but most importantly taking time to be in God's presence. Just as in tracking your enemy through the jungle, if you are on the right trail the sign will become more apparent and easier to read. And just like that patrol, the closer you get the louder and more distinct the signs are because they aren't just clues of a platoon that passed by hours ago but they are the actual sound of their voices and the rattle of their equipment.

Now, to get off the military analogy. Think about the Christmas song "Do You Hear What I Hear?" It's about signs and how we recognize and interpret them. The song begins with Creation asking the lamb if it has noticed what is happening. It goes on to the shepherds and the magi, all them being asked, essentially, "Did you read the signs? Do you get it?" They do, of course, because they were already on the path and they knew what they were looking for. They read the signs as clues to what was coming and when they got closer they finally understood what all the signs had been pointing to, or they recognized the direction they supposed to go and they went. The huge difference comes in with (not in the song, in real life) the ways the signs are interpreted. The shepherds, the magi, and others read the signs and came to see the Christ-child who will save the world. Herod (who couldn't read the signs and had to them explained by the magi because he didn't even notice them) interpreted the Child as a threat to his power. Just something to think about these last few weeks of Advent.    

Stupid Winter



 Photograph By Gary Norbraten


I dislike winter intensely. I also know that what we call winter and what most of the U.S. will call winter are two very different things. Well, that's why I live here and not there. Winter; why do I hate you? Let me count the ways: 1) cold surf, 2) wetsuits that make you look like a B-movie space ranger, 3) pants and shoes. This list is by no means exhaustive, feel free to add to it. Granted, our winter will last only about ten days over a three month period, but still, I had to bring the pineapple plants inside last night. Some people love winter. I'll bet that they love it for the same reasons I hate it and the love and hate of winter are really both the same spiritual response.

Spiritually, what is winter? It's the beginning of Advent. What is Advent? It's the season of preparation for Christmas. It is also the season of "ends". With the cold comes death. Think about the first cold-front that blows in. The time changes and that days are growing shorter and darker. The plants start to die or hibernate (well, not so much here, but I've seen movies where they did). The world is coming to a close, creation is going to sleep.

This is where the love/hate comes in... I hate winter because it means I have to anticipate Spring. I hate it because it means that everything is coming to a close and I have to wait for the new birth. I hate the cold because it tells me that the old is falling away. For the same reasons, some love the winter. They love the crispness or even the bitterness of the cold because it tells them that Spring is coming. They rejoice in the falling away of the old because it prepares for the new. I hate, they love, but really for the same reasons: we both long for Spring.

Where is Advent in all this? It is the preparation for Christmas. It is the dark before the dawn, the coldest part of night. It's no coincidence that St. John the Baptist's Nativity is around (it used to be ON) the Summer Solstice, that is the longest day of the year. John's birth signified the beginning of the end. The close of the Old Covenant is symbolized by the the days growing darker as we approach Christmas. We plunge into the dark days of waiting, wondering, and perhaps mourning, that is, asking if Spring will ever come, if we will survive the darkness. Christmas (for the woefully uncatechized, the celebration of Christ's nativity) is symbolically placed on the Winter Solstice (or now, December 25). Winter Solstice is the shortest day of the year. We celebrate the birth of Jesus on the shortest day of the year because upon his birth, every day the light grows stronger as the darkness retreats. Death turns to new life. Warmth overtakes the cold. The nativity symbolizes the new beginning, the New Covenant.

The question is how are we going to move through Advent this year? Are we going to rejoice that Christmas is near? Or do we find sorrow in knowing that there is still quite a bit of encroaching darkness to endure before the light returns? If we are honest, I would hope that what we are really doing is a bit of both. I hope that can let ourselves know a joyful longing. We can know that God is so close, yet so far. When we are sorrowful at the distance we find peace in His closeness. Before we become complacent at His nearness, we are reminded of how great the distance between us.

Three Little Birds

Before you read this I humbly request you listen to Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds".

So, our Clementine tree is full of fruit, and yesterday it looked like we should be able to pick it today. Every time I see that tree, with the fruit slowly ripening, it reminds to keep things simple. It reminds of the joy found in simplicity. The theological concept of simplicity ties in with the previous post concerning non-attachment. But talking about simplicity and non-attachment also brings up a host of issues that have to be worked out be each person on their own terms.

Simplicity is not being lazy, cheap, or irresponsible. The purpose of simplicity is to free us from the desires of the world so we can pursue God with our whole being. Simplicity, at least in large part, is pretty subjective. For instance you may really be attached to something like cars whereas I could care less about cars so long as it can carry surfboard and has an A/C. But then again, you could maybe careless about surfboards, or to a greater degree, living in place you can surf (that's a strong attachment). What this means is that to achieve a degree of simplicity of life is something we have to judge for ourselves in so far as we are able to measure the extent that we are attached to world and the extent to which the distractions of a hectic life impede spiritual progress. Simplicity is a major theme in contemplative religious orders; the simpler our lives the fewer things calling for our attention. A Trappist will own nothing and live in very sparse conditions because he knows that through a renunciation of material goods he is free of all the complications and distractions that come from them, he is simple.

How are we, the laity, supposed to achieve simplicity? After all, if we have a family we have to house, clothe, and feed that family. As much as I would like to, I don't think I could get away with wearing the same thing to work everyday. Because of where I live it would be nearly impossible to get rid of my car. So what can we do? In a very rudimentary sense this is where people like Dave Ramsey and a few others make sense (albeit at an extremely basic level). To get out of debt, to not owe anybody anything, to only have what you can pay for, this is a starting place only because lack of debt frees you. To remove the obstacle of financial debt is not only physically freeing but it is  huge mental burden released. Now you can concentrate on God instead of car payments (notice I don't say mortgage payments; I am a realist). I do know that when my mortgage is paid off I will have a party.

Back to the topic: Simplicity and non-attachment go hand-in-hand. To remove attachment is to simplify. To simplify is to begin to know true freedom; why? Because we know that the "Truth will set us free". Once we begin the process of simplification we begin the process of recognizing our buyer's remorse and return the lie we bought; that the world would provide contentment and stuff would make us happy and free.

In a practical sense, think about the things that pull at you the hardest. I mean, of course, the bad things, not things like family or community. Although even these can be detrimental to the extent they distract us from our real mission, to know God. See what I mean about it getting difficult? Anyway, go back to those things that pull and distract, the useless things. How about the TV or the Internet? How about work (yes, Dad, I said work)? For an example I'll use TV. Most of us know we spend too much time watching TV and even if we don't (don't know or don't admit), we would probably agree that at a point we are using TV as a distraction. Let me qualify this by saying I am the last person that is going to say something like we shouldn't watch TV because it isn't productive. The Cult of Productivity is one the deadliest heresies in American culture. But, instead of TV you could be engaged in something that you are really passionate about, something that leads you into the eternal (like creating art or music, for instance). It is also possible that what takes the place of TV could be nothing. How may of us would love time to do nothing? Use the time to take a walk or sit on the patio, learn to enjoy the world God has created for us.

If nothing else, Advent is beginning in week or so, use the time to lose something and gain something. See how you like it.       

You're Killin' Me, Man

Original Painting by Jeff Montgomery

Now that the ranting is over, on to more important things. I alluded to non-attachment earlier and to the fact that insanity lies in continuing to do things we know don't work in the hope that THIS time it will work; essentially, we are insane. I also understand that to many people the idea of non-attachment or disciplines that include ascetic* practices are like dirty words, horribly offensive to the modern ear. But it doesn't need to be. In fact it should be welcome. The world has convinced us all to walk around with our heads up our... in the sand (that's better, but the imagery isn't as powerful).

I'm going to assume that no one reading this is a monk or cloistered nun, that I can focus primarily on those of us slogging it out in the ruins of Mammon. In a world that is built on the lie that more and newer equals happiness and contentment, the question is not just how can we practice non-attachment, but why? With all the gilded-crap that modern American life has to offer, why would I purposely limit my gluttonous life-style? After all, by the time the bottomless pit that is my carnal pleasure becomes a problem, they'll have invented a pill to fix it. The obvious, or maybe not, reason is that I know this is not reality. I know that such a life doesn't really make me happy (a moment) or content (an underlying state-of-being).

See, non-attachment is not simply denying myself all manner of pleasurable things. In fact, it only begins as denial. Denial is the infant stage of non-attachment. In its immaturity, non-attachment is the proverbial teenager: whiny, preachy, and without a real understanding of itself. The basic denial has to mature. In maturity, non-attachment is true freedom (like riding in a '76 Lincoln Continental between San Bernadino and San Diego). The true freedom comes from not being held hostage by vice. Freedom is the ability to move towards God unimpeded. Our attachments bind us; hold us back. Here's a simple example: if I define myself by what the world thinks of me, if my self-worth is dependent on meeting my cultural definition of success, I am not free to jump into the "Great Ocean" to quote the Dali Lama. My attachment to the world and to the successes of the world will hold me in chains on the shore. Once I am freed from an attachment to success as the world defines it, that attachment is no longer binding on me. This is a large part of what Jesus means when he says we have to "die to ourselves" in order to live.

To be non-attached does not mean that I have to become a stoic, joyless, hermit. The opposite should be true (again, issues of maturity here). Let's say I can accomplish the feat of destroying my attachment to particular people.  The modern instinct is to say, "That's horrible". Actually it's another of those pesky paradoxes of faith. The freedom from attachment to people doesn't make me without love or indifferent to others. Rather, freedom from attachment to a person or persons frees me to really love them, that is to love them without possession. As long as I am attached to a person, my love for them is contingent on whether that person fulfills my ideal of whatever attached me to them in the first place. However, if I am non-attached, I have relinquished an attachment to them that is dependent on an ideal created in my own mind. I would argue (though not here, for the sake of space) that much of the divorce and discontent in our culture is the result of attachment and when the object fails to live up to the ideal, to the fantasy, we are discontented. But if we are in a state of non-attachment (which really means a total attachment to God) we are able to love as God loves, or at least as close as we can get on this side of sanctity. To love as God loves is love without qualification. As Jesus says, "...to love and not count the cost."

The goal of non-attachment is not to free us to be indifferent, but to give ourselves away. It is the freedom to love and not demand or dominate. It is to love and not require or qualify. Every attachment binds us to a spiritual state that demands justification and keeps us from being what we are created to be. Every attachment we break allows us to enjoy the things of creation even more because we are not married to a preconceived notion or outcome. Each attachment we leave behind does not say, "You are useless, and unimportant and I leave you" but instead says, "I want to know you for what you really are, what you were created to and not what I imagine or demand you to be".

The challenge is to find the things we are attached to. What do we hold in such esteem that any deviation from expectations leaves us angry or discontent? Find it and leave it, or at least your attachment to it. I used to be discontented at living on the Gulf because it wasn't San Diego or Tamarindo. I learned that I was holding on to something that never actually was and it never would be. Once I realized that the Gulf is the Gulf, I loved it and don't want anything more. 

*asceticism (ascesis)- the practice of penance, mortification, and self-denial to promote greater self-mastery and to foster the way of perfection by embracing the way of the cross (CCC).

The Difference Difference Makes

Gary Norbraten http://www.blaryphotography.com/

"Emerald peaks polish heaven. I wander,
sweeping clouds away, forgetting years,

looking for the ancient Way. Resting
against a tree, I listen to stream water,

black ox dozing among warm blossoms,
white crane asleep in towering pines.

A voice calls through river-tinted dusk,
but I've descended into cool mist alone."

Li Po, Looking for Yung, the Recluse Master

I lied. Last week I said we would discuss practical ways to begin a practice of detachment. Well, we're not, at least not totally. What I want to focus on is the concept of different, of Other, particularly as it relates to our spiritual lives.

If we are going to pray and meditate, if we are to be able to let go we need a situation that invites letting go. We need a moment that invites ascension. We know when we are in a place that calls us into the Other. The Druids called it the Threshold; a place not exactly a place in a time not exactly a time. The Threshold is where heaven and earth meet, where the eternal touches the temporal, where the Other enters the Ordinary. Of course, this can happen at any time, whenever and however God chooses. But in the same way that prayer does not command a response from God, it does prepare us to better receive God; we can prepare a place that better enables us to enter into that Threshold. In essence this is what the church building is supposed to do. This is the intention of any sacred space. The intention is to elevate the heart and mind to the eternal, to the Other.

Many of us like to pretend that we aren't affected by things like the way a space is designed or the style of music we hear in reference in a given circumstance. I thought that. Then I realized (and maybe you're different) I am very much affected by sights and sounds, or as the popular saying goes with regard to the Church with "smells and bells". Perhaps I'm just not capable of separating the physical and spiritual. The world I inhabit physically does infect my spiritual life. However, I can't really see this as wrong or bad, after all, we are both physical and spiritual beings. Much of what we know and love begins with the senses. That being said, my contention is that a major hurdle for many of us (I know for me) in spiritual growth is a sense of the Other.

Now, I get to rant. One of my pet peeves is bad liturgical music and bad liturgy in general. I know there are plenty of arguments from both sides and I know that the mass is valid even if I don't like the music or think the mass lacks reverence, etc. So save the argument, this is purely personal taste. I just hope you will at least understand my point even if not agreeing. The mass is a Threshold. It is where the Other and the Ordinary meet. The problem is we are so infected with the Ordinary that we don't recognize the other. This is why a church shouldn't be a glorified high-school gym. This is why I shouldn't hear the same music at mass that hear on the radio. When I walk into the church I should be invited into the Other. I should know that I am in a sacred space. I should know that I am somewhere different. I would imagine anyone who has been to many of the old churches in Europe or Mexico understands the difference I'm talking about versus the average suburban American parish. I'm not saying it can't be done with modern style, it can, I've seen it, just not often. So I'm going to give you a thought experiment:

Imagine walking up to the door of a Gothic or Romanesque church that is 800 years old. Imagine the gargoyles and every other intricate detail carved into the stone. Try to see the spires that climb so high you nearly get vertigo looking up at them. Hear the creaking and feel the weight of a thirty-foot carved wooden door that is older than our country. You step inside and notice the cool silence only broken by the echo of steps on centuries old stone. You smell the lingering scent of incense and the warmth of the sun filtered through stained glass depictions of bloody saints holding their own severed heads or angels armed for medieval combat. Imagine dim light coming from gas chandeliers suspended by yards of heavy chain. Hear the reverberation of a single note struck on a low bell. The priest comes in a solemn procession behind the crucifix that is the Church's legion standard and ahead of the cloud pouring through the tinkling chains of the incensor, his robes and vestments sliding across the stone floor. He begins a low chant in a language that is not spoken but is eternal. The mass begins. You know something is about to happen. You know that Ordinary was left when the door was opened and the Other is here. Not just here in a vague spiritual sense, but here in a physical, tangible way; in sights, smells, and sounds. You know that you stand on the Threshold.

This is very different than walking into a modern parish. Imagine, if you would, but you probably don't have to imagine, simply remember last week, the nondescript double-steel doors, oddly similar to the ones at your kid's school, because they came from the same Home Depot. Note the feel of the aging low-pile carpet that you remember being a very hip color palate twenty years ago, now it just looks dated and gross. But don't worry, you won't have time to notice it before someone you have never met comes up to shake your hand and welcome you and had you a "worship-aid". As you move from the foyer (it used to called a narthex) into the church (again, the nave) you notice the comfortable stadium style pews arranged in the organic "round", so everyone can see better. You nearly genuflect out of habit, then realize you have no idea where the tabernacle is. As you prepare for the sacrifice of the mass you can't help but hear the many conversations going on around you so you try to concentrate on the crucifix that is the more palatable "Resurrection Jesus" who looks oddly like the lead singer from Alabama. The signal that mass is about to begin, a lady in a dated pantsuit will ascend to the Ikea podium and welcome everyone by asking that they turn off their phones and say "Hi" to those around them. Then, the first chord of the guitar is strummed, signaling the procession of clergy in tablecloths dancing down the isle in front of a clapping deacon who is singing "Jesus Loves Butterflies" two notes slow. After an obligatory bow to the alter and the banners with the latest Catholic PC slogan , the priest can get to what's really important, telling a few jokes to get everybody excited...

It's not that the modern mass is wrong or that it's invalid in any way. It just doesn't seem to invoke a real sense of the sacred, at least not for me. It doesn't make me think, "This is truly where heaven and earth meet." This is because from the moment I walk in the door there is more a feeling of a town hall meeting or a "praise and worship" session than an encounter with the Mystery of mysteries. I have to ask, why am I here? Am I here to be entertained? Am I here to move further into an ever-widening mystery that is our faith?

What a difference difference makes.    

Simplify, Man. Simplify

A saying that gets thrown around a lot, without much thought it seems: The Definition of Insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

And just a little something to further illustrate the point; from the Desert Fathers:

Abba Anthony said, "The time is coming when people will be insane, and when they see someone who is not insane, they will attack that person saying: You are insane because you are not like us."

So, basically, we are all insane. I'm going to be picky for a moment, so bear with me. We all want to be happy. Even people who revel in their misery want to be happy, they just have a twisted notion that being miserable can make them happy. Now for the picky part. I don't like the word happy. I don't like it because it doesn't mean what we think it means. Happy is a derivative of an Old English word that means accident; or something that happens, hence happy. To be happy is a momentary occurrence. It is fleeting. Finding $20 on the ground is a happy moment, not a lasting sense of peace and fulfillment. Properly, we are after either contentment or joy. Both terms denote an underlying state not affected by externals. I can have joy in the midst of suffering, I cannot be happy in the midst of suffering (unless I am really clinically insane, even then, I'm not happy, I'm crazy). Again, what we are really after is contentment and joy.

What makes us insane? What is it that we are doing over and over expecting different results? For most of us, I would say, "Everything". We want a joy that is by its very nature Otherworldly yet we only look for it in this world. We think that some-thing is going to bring us contentment when it is really some-One. We know this, we just pretend we don't. Because this is a blog and not a philosophical or theological discourse on the nature of ascetic practice, I'm not going to spend any more time on this, I'll just get to the point of this post:

Things don't bring contentment, fleeting happiness, yes, contentment, no. When I get a new surfboard I'm like a kid at Christmas but I my joy does not live and die based on having a new board. What I'm getting at is simplicity of life. Oddly enough, every serious religious tradition in the world teaches simplicity of life as major force in moving toward God which is moving toward joy. When we simplify our lives through ascetic practices or even just in the spirit of "clearing away the clutter" we are doing more good for ourselves than we realize. To remove something from our lives is to free us. Much of our society is focused on addiction. Companies want us to suffer from addiction: addiction to technology, fearing you'll be left behind without the latest and greatest. There is addiction to entertainment and to being entertained; how often do we (or our kids) groan "I'm bored, there's nothing to do" when in reality we are culture of spectators, we watch what someone else does, we don't do it. How much stress do we cause ourselves over the material things that clutter our lives? We may not recognize it, but the material clutter quickly causes mental clutter and that results in spiritual clutter. Without giving example after example I'm going to relay a parable that illustrates it well, I think:

A Buddhist monk writes (paraphrase): We must seek to be detached from material things. As soon as we own something we find we must keep it with us, or we may lose it. The next think we know we have to leave for some reason, but we can't allow our precious possession to be unprotected, so we build a wall around it. Now that we have a wall, people (all of whom have their own things) will wonder what we have that is so precious that it has to be protected by a wall. Now we worry that they will try to climb the wall and steal our thing so we become afraid to leave, because we need to watch the wall. But, we have to leave, so we hire a guard to watch the wall. Then we have thoughts about the guard wondering what is behind the wall he is guarding, he might steal it for himself! The very person we hired to protect it! Well, better hire another guard to guard the guard. What if they form a conspiracy? And on and on until one day we have peoples and nations killing each other because someone MIGHT have something better than them behind their wall. All of our thoughts and our lives become consumed with the thing s we have, the things we want, and the things others have. And we have no peace.

Think about it. Next week we'll discuss some ways to ease into a spirit of detachment and asceticism.

Empty Your Cup

There is a story in the Zen Buddhist tradition that goes like this:
There was a Master who received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. It was obvious to the Master from the start of their conversation that the professor was not so much interested in learning about Zen as he was in impressing the Master with his own opinions and knowledge. The Master listened patiently and finally suggested they have tea. The Master poured his visitor's cup full and then kept on pouring.
The professor could no longer restrain himself, "The cup is over-full, no more will go in!"
"Like this cup," the Master said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

For the last couple of weeks we've been having an unusual flat spell. The waves have disappeared. This was wreaking havoc on my system. Then I began to think of it another way; as a fast or a desert. I am trying to see the lack of waves as a teaching moment. At first it's annoying. Then it's confusing. Next comes sadness. After sadness comes acceptance. Finally, there is realization that though the waves are absent, they aren't gone and they will come back.

The Absent Wave is a tangible reminder of the spiritual desert or dark night of the soul. Before I get into this I want to make a distinction real quick: there is a difference between a desert and a dark night. The desert is a place of isolation and desolation where the dark night is a loving abandonment. The dark night is something usually reserved for those saintly people who are so near to God that the final stage preceding a total mystical union is a period of darkness where God asks for pure faith, faith without consolation. The desert is a place that anyone who is honestly seeking God will experience. In life we may travel through one big desert or many little ones. For my purposes I'm treating the absent wave more like a desert experience.

The old cliche of "distance makes the heart grow fonder" is true in many ways (it is also false in many ways, but I'm not getting into that). The absence of waves, the absence (presumed) of God in the desert, doesn't mean they are gone, leaving us forever, but only that they are not here, now. Their presence is not felt. In the desert or on the beach, we must wait. We learn patience. We practice faith. We come to understand our longing. In fact this is where we come to understand whether or not we have a longing.

Of course it is preferred to have surf over flat seas. It is preferred to know God's continuous presence over isolation and spiritual abandonment. I would never deny this. However, as much as I prefer surf to flat I have to realize that the flat spells are an important part of the surfing life. The flat spells are like fasting; they teach us to wait. They teach us to have a hopeful anticipation. They also teach us that we don't cease to be surfers because there are no waves. A big leap in our maturation as a surfer is moving through the flat spell and not losing the surf-ness.

A big part of our spiritual maturity is moving through the desert and not losing our faith. The first wave after a flat spell is always wonderful. It's like being home again. But if we never go through the desert, if we never sit through a flat spell, eventually we become complacent, we expect that the waves will always be there. The result is that we never mature. It a parent never lets go of a child's hand the child will never really learn to walk. Once the parent does let go, what happens? The kid is scared. Maybe he falls a few times. But in the end, because the parent let go, the kid isn't just walking but running and jumping. If God never lets go, never pulls back to see if we'll take that next step on our own, we will never learn to walk.   

Other Surfers

Thomas Merton once said that in life, with every person you come in contact with, you have the opportunity for that moment to be heaven or hell for that person. Every interaction you have throughout your day moves that person closer to or further away from God. Now is the time to ask yourself which way you are sending people. Now I'm going to tie this into surfing. There several distinct character-types in the surfing world. Even if you've never surfed, you ought to be able to identify with one of them. I hope you'll catch the analogy of these types to people in our spiritual lives and how each one is illustrated in Merton's assertion. I'm not going to tell you which one I am. We're all sitting in the same line-up. We're all trying to catch the same waves.*

Type 1: The Newbie- This person is just learning. They are awkward and unsure. They make a lot of mistakes and can get in the way. They have caught their first wave and are hooked. It is youthful enthusiasm. They won't catch the best wave, they may not even catch that many waves, but they have a certain contentment that is contagious. They are happy just to be there. They are over-joyed at surfing whitewash on a wave an experienced surfer wouldn't even paddle for. The wave is still awe-inspiring mystery and every encounter is the best thing ever.

Type 2: The Guru- This guy is a seasoned veteran. He doesn't need the biggest or best wave. He'll let you have it. It doesn't matter, whatever wave he takes is going to look like the wave of the day. He's not fighting with the wave, he's in a mutual embrace with the wave. For this surfer a session is no longer about wave-counts and tricks or the people on beach seeing what he just did; surfing is about surfing. He is genuinely happy to see any surfer catch a good wave and have fun. His surfing is the relationship of the lover and the beloved.

Type 3: The Old Guy- He's the one set up ten-yards behind everyone else so he gets first pick of the waves because, he's earned it. He gripes about the conditions; the waves were better/water was cleaner/beaches less crowded when he was younger. The kids' shorts are too long. There are too many people in the water. Why don't they go somewhere else? After all, he's been surfing here for years. He's one of the guys that make a beginner not want to come back. His actions teach the kids that waves are property and you don't have to share. In many ways, he's forgotten why he loves surfing, now it's more habit.

Type 4: The Pro- Well, first, on the Gulf Coast there are no pros, so I'm being sarcastic. The Pro is the guy that believes himself to be of professional ability. In many ways the Pro is the Old Guy before he got old. He will have the latest board technologies that are advertised in magazines. He will wear the the latest in current surf-fashion and have all manner of advertising on his board, truck, and clothing even though he's not sponsored by any of them. He may be a very talented surfer, but he's a jerk. He believes that his talent means he has right-of-way on any wave he chooses and everyone should marvel at his greatness. When he is surfing he makes sure everyone knows it. If another surfer catches a good wave he sees it as a personal affront and seeks to establish dominance. Where the Guru embraces the wave, the Pro attacks it. His surfing is a battle with the ocean for supremacy. The wave is an object to be used.

Type 5: The Kook- Just like the Pro only he sucks. He is all advertisement, no content. Calling himself a surfer and looking/acting the part is an attempt to feed his ego. The Pharisee of surfing.

Type 6: The Betty- Though the Betty is usually female for the purposes of this metaphor it is not restrictive. Betty is not really a surfer. Betty owns a surfboard. Surfing is an excuse for Betty to paddle her board out in the middle of half-a-dozen men in her bikini. She may try for a wave, she may not, but that's not the point. The point is: did you see me in my bikini?

Each of these is a gross generalization of surfers. These are the people you encounter in the water. Some enhance your surfing, others distract. In reality most of us are probably a combination of a few of these stereotypes. When I think about what Merton said I have to ask myself which one I am. Am I a newbie, still full of wonder and awe? It's possible to maintain that innocence (maybe?). But there is a danger there. If I remain a newbie people will be attracted to my joy and want to surf, but they may also be turned away by lack of real understanding, my nievete. Am I a guru? I would hope that we all read this and think we want to be the guru (but if we already think we are, we're probably dishonest). I hope that my surfing, my attitude in the line-up, my overall surfness draws people into the water. I'm not old enough to be an Old Guy and I really hope I'm not heading that direction. I hope my surfing never becomes a source of resentment and holier-than-thou judgmentalism. I would be genuinely saddened to think my behavior had ever made a newbie or a grom (kid that surfs) feel unwelcome in the water. I would also hope I'm not the Pro. This one dangerous because I am good and I know it. This kind of attitude has a very real possibility of turning into a self-rightousness and an arrogance that not only scare the beginners away but anger the veterans that can help me move past the level I'm stuck on. I know I'm not a Kook, and hope you aren't either. I guess, in the end we should be striving to be the Guru. At least we're on the right path even if we haven't got there yet.  

Anybody out there who is a surfer, I'd love to get your take on this. What are the different character types you've encountered? Is this assessment close to true, or way off?

*Obviously, the line-up is metaphor for our spiritual life and the wave is metaphor for God.

Surfing Junk

My Brother, Making the Most of Not Much
If you see him, tell him he looked fat.

Whenever I tell people that I surf the response is generally the same; "Where do you surf?" I don't know if they might have noticed, but there is an ocean down the street. It's huge. Then the inevitable comment, "There's no surf in the Gulf." My uncharitable side wants to respond "Good, then stay out of the water" but I usually just smile and say, "You're right" and leave it at that. Of course there is always the pseudo-surfer, the poseur, or in the industry jargon: the kook. This is the person that assures me that they are a surfer but they don't surf in the Gulf because there are no waves. Usually this is followed with, "I only surf when I go to Hawaii". As the conversation goes on I find they haven't been to Hawaii in five years and have only ever been once. I don't mean to impose or rush to judgment but if you live here and only surf in Hawaii and the last time you were there was half a decade ago, guess what... you're not a surfer! You are a person who has surfed. Owning a pair a surf-trunks (a.k.a. boardshorts) does not make you a surfer any more than owning a crucifix makes you a saint. In fact, this is the hypocrisy that Christ condemned the Pharisees for. The Pharisees were more concerned with looking holy than actually being holy, they were more concerned with performance-art than prayer. "What's the point," you say?

The world is full of people who are forever waiting on ideal conditions: "I'll go when the waves are better", "I need a new board", "I don't feel God's presence". The problem is that ideal conditions rarely happen. Ideal conditions are rare because they so heavily depend on or subjective definition of ideal. If we are waiting on a perfect wave before we will get in the water we will wait our lives away. There is always an excuse, a way out. An attitude of waiting for perfect timing or perfect conditions creates a habit. There is an underlying issue here: if we say we are a surfer, that we want to surf, but never go because we are waiting on the perfect wave, it will never come. And even if it does, we won't know what to do with it because we don't know how to surf. Here's one further, if we've never surfed, I'd wager we wouldn't even recognize a perfect wave when it did come.

So... connect this to our spiritual lives...

It's simple, surf the junk. If we are only willing to enter into our spiritual lives when conditions are perfect (whatever that means) we never will. There are days (or months or even years) when God seems distant, possibly absent and our prayer is an act of the will because emotion is gone. There are days when the waves are small and we think there's no point: this is when we are really surfing. The moments that test our faith are when our faith grows and is strengthened. The decision to enter into a contemplative life must be an act of the will. It cannot be simply a reaction to external stimulus. It is another paradox of faith that we are often closer to God the more distant He seems.

God offers us consolations (in many cases) because our faith is weak and needs something tangible to get us going. My favorite (living) philosopher, Peter Kreeft, said in a lecture over the weekend that "Mystical experiences are almost certainly less important than you think they are". He was getting at the concept faith constantly rewarded is no faith at all. If we are relying on emotional highs to keep us coming back to God, there is no faith there, rather we are treating God like a supernatural drug-dealer: I'll keep coming back as long as you keep providing a high, but if you stop, I'll leave. The little things we do everyday are what brings us closer to God. The little things prepare us for the big things. If we can hold on in the dark, we can run in the light. If we learn to surf the junk waves we are prepared and we are effortless dropping into the eternity of a hurricane swell. After a while we realize that God is present everyday, all the time and we can stop wasting our lives waiting on perfect waves and know there is perfection in every wave. We realize that everyday we're in the water is the perfect day.

P.S. Just a little post-script here. The references to God's distance or absence refer to a spiritual occurrence traditionally known as the Dark Night. This is may or may not be experienced by someone who is close to God. It is NOT the absence of God felt (or not) by someone who has rejected God in their lives. It is the spiritual proving-grounds, the final battle before the ultimate victory.

What is a Contemplative Life?

Gary Norbraten http://www.blaryphotography.com/

As I've been writing these few posts it hit me that I haven't taken the time to actually discuss what this contemplative life I'm trying to sell is all about. I'll tell you first, and I hate to ruin it for you, it's not about laying around in hammock all day in varying degrees of sobriety. Before we get into what constitutes contemplative life we need to know what we mean by contemplation. Before we define contemplation we have to define prayer, as contemplation is form or fruit of prayer. So, here we go...

Prayer, as defined by the Church, is "the life of the new heart" and "ought to animate us at every moment". It is the "elevation of the heart and mind to God in praise of His glory" (Catechism of the Catholic Church 2559-2565). Prayer is essential to the process of becoming contemplative to the degree that we really become aware of what we are doing and who we are talking to. It's not about words or lack of words or whether everyone else hears you or not. St. John Chrysostom said, "Whether or not our prayer is heard depends not on the number of words, but on the fervor of our souls". Let me offer a few descriptions of contemplative prayer:

From the Catechism: Contemplative prayer is...
"... the prayer of the child of God, of the forgiven sinner who agrees to welcome the love by which he is loved and who wants to respond to it by loving even more." (2712)
"... the simplest expression of the mystery of prayer." (2713)
"... silence." (2717)
Romano Guardini defines it as an attempt to "apprehend the nature of God, to grasp the meaning of the Kingdom of God, to gain insight into the condition of man and an understanding of one's own place in the pattern of things, to obtain a true picture of the world" (The Art of Praying, 110). Also from the Art of Praying:

When contemplative prayer is rightly practiced it sooner or later tends to become very simple... Step by step, however, the subject of contemplation will become both simpler and more compelling. Our thoughts will diminish in number but gain in depth and concentration. The words will come more sparingly, and ultimately the inward prayer is resolved in silence or even in something which goes beyond the duality of speech and silence (110). 

Alright, so that is contemplative prayer, but what is contemplative life? It is simply the living-out of the prayer. If you are woefully unsatisfied with that answer, I understand. This is like teaching someone to surf. I can explain the mechanics of surfing in less than a minute, I can even show you what to do in a couple of minutes. Now try to do it. Like surfing, contemplation is a profoundly simple concept but a very difficult practice. Again, what is contemplative living? In New Seeds of Contemplation the Trappist monk Thomas Merton says, "It is an awakening, enlightenment, and the amazing intuitive grasp by which love gains certitude of God's creative and dynamic intervention in our daily life".

There is a film (I use the term loosely) that everyone should be made to watch. It's called Surf's Up and it stars talking, surfing, animated penguins. Before you roll your eyes (wife of mine), remember that the Church commands that because God is the author of all truth we are obligated to recognize truth from wherever it comes. Anyway, there is a scene where the old master of the surfing penguins is asked how to determine the best surfer on the beach. He laughs and responds, "It's the one having the most fun." The contemplative life is not about being better or more or further than others. The best contemplative life is the one closest to God and therefore, in the purest and most theologically correct form of the word, it's the one having the most fun.

Dragonfly Paradox

The picture (it's awesome isn't it) was taken by an incredible local photographer named Gary Norbraten. There's a lot more of his work here: http://www.blaryphotography.com/ his site is also linked at the bottom of the page. Trust me, you won't be disappointed. What always amazes me about photography is the ability to capture a single moment, an instant, in a constantly moving world. The ripples in the water, the wings of the dragonfly, these are object always in motion but in the photograph, they are still. It is when everything is still and everything is quiet that we begin to notice subtle movement. Think about sitting in an airplane (I recently flew to and from Luxembourg with my family; a nine-hour flight with two kids is a penance). The plane is moving at a mind boggling speed (at least to me it is). The earth is moving, the clouds are moving, but we hardly notice it. Now, think about standing on a corner waiting to cross the street as traffic whips by. That is movement you really notice. If we run with the wind we don't feel it. It's not until we stop that we know the wind is blowing.

A great paradox of our spiritual lives: it's not until we learn to be still that we can know the movements of God. It's not until we come to a stand-still that we really begin to move. We have to be willing to listen for the "still, small voice", but we can't hear it if we don't stop talking. For us modern-type Americans there are few things more difficult than to be still. We don't like it. Stillness makes us uncomfortable. A nagging feeling that we should be doing something, anything, so long as it moves in some direction that we can label accomplishment washes over us the moment we try to sit. We don't like it because it is quiet, it is stillness.

The question is why are we so afraid of stillness and silence? In our world of iphones and emails and TV and the multitude of daily distractions we face there is a siren-call opportunity to never know stillness and silence. Well, my best guess, and let me know if you think I'm way off base; we are scared of what we might find in the silence. St. Bonaventure is attributed as saying (paraphrase) that if you "ask a man about his image of God you are more likely to get his image of himself". The frightening aspect of still-silence is that we must accept God as He comes, which also means facing ourselves as God sees us. All of our illusions of who God is begin to fall away and we realize that even if we know creed and sacrament very often we have made God in our image instead of the other way around. We have to take Him as He has revealed Himself to us. We don't get to pick and choose, that option has not been left open. However, He has chosen to reveal Himself in a way that is without coersion, so we are able to hold on to our idols.

Back to the photograph. We are like that that dragonfly perched on the tail end of a tiny stick in a great, moving stream. We convince ourselves that we like our pinpoint existence because we are afraid to leave the perceived safety of our little stick. We know there is an ocean around us. We think we can be planted firmly in our shaky tower and we won't be washed away. But as soon as we take the first step off the branch we realize that our stick was never any consolation. It was false security, a cardboard castle. We realize that there's nothing be afraid of by letting go, by dying to the pathetic world we've created. Playing in the ocean is so much more fun than hiding on the beach.          

Perfectly Imperfect



 I love where I live. I love that I can wear shorts all but a few days of the year. I love that my kids can collect cicada skeletons off the leaves. I love that I can grow citrus trees in my yard. And I love that most of the year the temperature in the Gulf is 85 degrees. It's nearly perfect.

But the trade-off for wearing shorts all year is that the insects never die. The trade for being able to take the kids down the street and see alligators in the bayou is that there are alligators in the bayou. Like I said; nearly perfect.

I could surf here the rest of my life and be fine. It's not California and it's not Hawaii. That's fine. The water is almost always warm and the crowds are light. Nobody here has delusions of being the next world champion surfer, so everybody just has fun. The local vibe is relaxed. Not a bad thing when you're relaxed, not a good thing when you want something done. It's not perfect. Nowhere is; and that's the point.

Nowhere in all of Creation is perfect and it has nothing to do with the location. The lack of perfection is us. If we run from place to place always searching a better place, we're doomed to fail. As the "prophet" Buffett said, "Wherever you go, you take the weather with you." (I quote Jimmy Buffett a lot). It may be silly, but there is truth there. As long as we are imperfect no place will ever alter that. 

In reality, all of Creation is perfect. It has to be. If God created everything and declared it "good" and the things created have no free-will (like rocks and oceans and geckos) then they are exactly as they were created to be. In fact, they are more perfect than we are because their very existence is the fulfillment of the Divine Will.

The problem isn't with them. It's with us. Our perceived imperfection in Creation is a reflection of our own imperfection. Unlike the trees and waves and monkeys we are destined for greater things. Unlike the created order, we do not fulfill our created purpose because unlike the created order, we don't have to. We get hit twice here: in our hearts we know we are meant for something greater and our restless searching for a perfect spot on the map is how that longing is lived out. We are looking for heaven. We're not looking for the wrong thing, we're looking in the wrong place. The second hit is that no matter where we go, well, there we are. St. Augustine says "Our hearts are restless until they rest in You". Anything else is "striving after wind", as the Philosopher warns. Searching for contentment in worldly things is like taking the wrong medicine for your illness: not only is not curing you, but you just get sicker wondering why it isn't working.

For all the lack of contentment and longing we face that leads into sorrow and distress, there is a great cosmic joke being played. The moment we begin to recognize the futility of pursuing worldly contentment and turn inward; the moment we cease to look at God and look to God, everything changes. The imperfect world that could never satiate our hunger for the really good, true, and beautiful pulls back its veil to reveal what was there all along. When we change the world changes. The place we couldn't wait to leave becomes the place we love and it doesn't matter where that is because we understand that St. Palm-Tree and St. Dolphin are united in the will of God and therefore perfect. We understand that it is the love that makes for perfection, not the place. Besides, we're just passing through.  

**If you like the photo above, check out G-Town Surf (link below) for awesome local photography and art. Updated daily.  

Banana Tree Mystic

Before we begin, the title is meant to be catchy. I am not in any way implying that I am a mystic or that banana trees bear any innate mystical qualities (unless, I suppose you could smoke them).*

There is something about laying in a hammock sipping margaritas from a mason jar while a breeze comes through banana leaves. This was yesterday and a fairly common position to find yourself in (for those of us living around here). Laying there enjoying the afternoon got me thinking; thinking about our cultures, travel posters, and faith.

Why do we love pictures of hammocks strung between two trees? Why do we relish the notion that we could be in that hammock? Is it fantasy? Or escapism? Jimmy Buffet once commented in an interview that "everyone wants to live the Jimmy Buffet Life (is that copyrighted?), but even Jimmy Buffet doesn't live the Jimmy Buffet Life." Well, I'm going to posit to you that it is something else. My assertion is that it is the beginning of the contemplative life.

"Whoa!" you say, "back the heresy truck up a little!"

We have all been duped. We have been taught throughout our lives the philosophy of the "Protestant Work Ethic". If you are not producing you are wrong. Everything you do must be in reference to some tangible yet-to-be-realized goal in the near future. To not do this is to commit the grievous sin of sloth. The worst thing a person can possibly be is "lazy". Here's the problem: sloth isn't just laziness. Sloth is the Latin Acedia and it is a spiritual laziness that "goes so far as to refuse the joy that comes from God" (CCC 2094). In fact, what may be misunderstood as the virtuous life of hard work, perseverance, etc. may actually be sloth. How can we claim to know God, to have a relationship with His Son if we never take time to acknowledge Him except for an hour on Sunday (if that)? How many marriages fail because "he's never home" or "all he worries about is his job"? What kid grows up and says to his parents, "I really appreciate you going to the beach with me and attending my games and having family dinners, but I sure wish you had spent more time at work because my life is incomplete seeing that you never bought be that video game." Same thing with God.

Soren Kierkegaard said "If I could prescribe only one medicine for all the world's ills it would be silence". That is why we look longingly at the picture of a deserted beach or a mountain top, deep down it represents what we know is the antidote to the disease of mammon that we have contracted by way of our spiritual adultery. This is the very same reason we immediately justify our behavior with "sure that's nice, but who has time for that" or "nobody really lives like that". We are scared. We are frightened of what (or Who) we might find in the silence. The world is full of distractions and we eat it up, anything to keep out mind occupied on things of false importance and off of God. It's hard to listen if we're always talking. What we should be doing is running to the silence. 

What in the world does this have to do with some idiot drinking margaritas in a hammock? It's a beginning. It's a start. St. Bonaventure begins his The Mind's Road to God with the idea that God can be seen through His creation. The beginning of the contemplative life is knowing God even in His lowliest works. God tells Job to ponder His work of creation. Christ asks us to contemplate the lilies and the sparrows. St. Francis calls to sing the Canticle of the Sun. It's also about how the world has convinced us to turn everything upside down; to trade the Truth for a lie. 

So go. Be silent. You might like it.**

*This is a joke. I am not condoning smoking banana leaves to achieve mystical states (besides, everybody knows you smoke the peels, not the leaves).

**If you want some help getting started I have a link to a booklist. I would also suggest going to Dr. Peter Kreeft's site (link below) and listening to the free MP3 downloads, particularly the ones on Prayer for Beginners and The Sea and Spirituality.

What We're Doing Here...

We are all called to be contemplatives. We are all invited to contemplation, seriously, we are: look it up (Catechism of the Catholic Church 2558). How that takes shape is different for each of us, but always oriented to that same Place, the same Person because it is initiated by only One Person: The Person.

The Father, in His infinite wisdom and humor, much to my wife's annoyance*, made me a surfer. I know what you're thinking and you're wrong. Surfing is not a sport, is not a pastime, it is a sub-vocation, a calling, a prayer that combines the totality of our being. It is "deep calling on deep". He made me a surfer because that's how He could get me. He could reveal Himself to me in a way that I won't run from or fight, that I will embrace. There are few moments more wrapped in meditation than surfing alone on an empty beach (warm water and empty breaks make up for lesser-surf; Gulf Coast: High-five!). I decided to use this meditation as the first post in History of Jason in the hopes that it sets a tone (and yes, I know that all analogies eventually break down; it's a meditation not a philosophical treatise):
God is like the waves. He comes to me constantly, whether I'm ready to surf or not. Each wave is an invitation to surf. The wave is clean and perfect and all of Creation is contained in this moment. It will pass harmlessly by if I let it. I don't have to catch it. The wave is beautiful, inviting, playful, and caressing. It is also deadly and unyielding. I can't close my eyes and make it go away. I can't claim it doesn't exist and not suffer the consequences. The wave, like God, is coming and I can't stop it. I can only react. I can run from it. I can let it pass. Or, I can catch it. If I run, it will catch me and it will crush me. If I let it pass I may miss out on the ride of my life either because of fear or laziness. But if I catch it, I am in another world...
To catch the wave I have to commit, totally and without reservation. If I balk or hold back I'll be worse off than if I had just let it pass (because now I know). In reality, very little of what I do is catching the wave. I really just set up and it catches me. All I can do is be ready and willing. If I approach the wave on my terms I get a short, sloppy ride at best or a bone-crushing wipe out at worst. But if if I do it right, if I take the wave's offer, it pulls me in and holds me. If I go with the wave instead of fighting it, it just continues to open up, giving more and more of itself. Eventually, the last section begins to flatten out and just time because my legs can't handle any more.
I talk about the wave changing and opening up; in truth, it never changed. The wave is, and was, always open, always exactly what is. It never changed, I changed. I changed the moment it picked me up and I moved into eternity. In the wave there is no time, all time is now, all reality is here, everything is present; and it's good. Just like the fleeting moments of contemplation, I can't stay in the wave forever, not yet, I couldn't handle it. Just like with God, after that period intense closeness, He lets me go and I can never go back to way I was was before the I took that first stroke into the wave.
Surfing is not an individual event. It's a relationship. I have to know the wave. I have to touch the wave and be willing to become completely immersed. I have to give myself over totally to the wave, anything I hold back will only make the relationship weaker. The Wave gives everything, all the time. What kind of surfer would I be if I hold back?


*I'm joking (mostly). My wife has never been anything but supportive of every half-baked scheme I've ever dreamt up. She has NEVER in our 5 years of marriage told me I couldn't go surfing.