The Ecstatic Faith of Rumi

Following up on yesterday's post about Samir Selmanovic’s new book, "It's All About God" What can we learn from those who pray from within another tradition?  How do the mystics transcend the God-boxes of religion, while living fully and freely and unashamedly from within their traditions?

The 13th-century-Persian-Sufi-mystic (jeez, too many adjectives!), Rumi, is one of those.

Here's one who can help us transcend the resurgent religious wars of this 21st century.  And here's a podcast interview between Speaking of Faith's Krista Tippet and  Dr. Fatemeh Keshavarz.  A delightful romp with Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī as professor Keshavarz explores the way Rumi improvises on the Islamic tradition in ways that transcends the divisions of today's world.

Click here for the podcast.  The site includes reading and a video performance of Rumi's poetry.

Prayer as an “Easy Tour”

From my journal | Tuesday, May 22, 2007 | St. Marcarius Monastery, the desert of Skete, Egypt

The key to prayer is to stop trying, stop seeking, stop posturing, and simply open to Christ, greet him adoringly, and then let my love for him carry me blindly, trustingly, wherever he leads.

Matthew the Poor calls pure prayer, prayer of the heart, contemplation, an “easy tour”—something so simple it is nearly unbelievable by the sophisticated mind (From Orthodox Prayer Life).

“It requires a simple and easy-going soul that can go on, caring little how or where it goes. This may be likened to walking in the dark in simple faith, making no use of the sense, mind, or imagination. It is as though a blind man were guided to walk along a path free of stumbling blocks or other impediments without boundaries on the left or right—a path that is seldom trodden by anyone. This blind man may have a simple heart, a clear conscience, a serene mind, and a calm imagination. In this case, he would advance rapidly forward in faith without confusion, as an open-eyed man would do. But if the blind man were a sophisticated, skeptical, and fanciful philosopher, he would grope his way with a stick, and because of the existence of ditches, barriers, or wild beasts, he would stumble on the way. After a while he would prefer to sit down rather than walk on.”

As helpful as methods for prayer may be (and in many cases, necessary for the beginner, and for those who get stuck or lost along the way), it is love above all that leads the praying person across the final leap toward real oneness with God, a leap no method can span.  Love then, and do so simply . . . let love carry you across until there's only Love.

The Nakedness of Pure Trust

God is love.  And so, prayer, the pursuit of God, is also a pursuit of love. Relationships then are the school of prayer.

There's a Sufi tale about a young man who came to a Sufi master seeking the life of prayer. "Have you ever fallen in love with a woman?" the master asked.  "No, not yet.  I'm only 18," replied the seeker.  "Then go and do that first." (for this tale see the Speaking of Faith interview with Dr. Keshavarz)

I'd like to think I can go the other way: love God and I'll learn to love others.  Frankly, it seems safer, purer.  But it can be more self-deceptive; I can hide behind my piety.  So, the Sufi mystic's got something right.  Love another truly and you'll learn the path to God. Experience the free-fall, the frightening tumble into vulnerability before the other.  Nothing between you.

Become "naked and unafraid" (Genesis 3).  This is the way of prayer . . . fragile and humbling, difficult and painful.

Love, and you'll find yourself right in the middle of the way of prayer.

Seek the face of the other whose love threatens to undo you, whose love will ask you to pull down the masks and illusions, challenging the falsehoods and pretentions.  For ultimately the mind with all its games stands dumb before the mystery that is God, and only love can carry you across the final abyss.

Love is "where God is encountered in the nakedness of pure trust."  Thomas Merton, see:

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