How an ordinary person awakens to life as prayer.  Continued from yesterday . . .

Two Muslim drivers picked me up early one spring morning at the Windsor Palace Hotel, crammed in among the once regal waterfront buildings along Alexandria’s bustling Corniche. On this northern coast of Egypt, Alexander the Great had mapped out one of the ancient world’s most important ports, linking Europe to Africa, and beyond, to the mysteries of Asia. Here, Cleopatra once entertained Marc Antony in her palace, and the great rabbi, Philo, once taught the Hebrew Scriptures. Here, too, Jesus may have played in the streets after fleeing the wrath of Herod with his parents, Joseph and Mary. Clement, Origen, and Athanasius taught the faith and formed vibrant and courageous disciples in the early years of Christianity.

Egypt. Land of the Pharaohs. Egypt. Land of slavery, death, and the desperate pursuit of life. Egypt. Land of exodus. I wondered what this land might hold for me.

More tomorrow . . .

How an ordinary person awakens to life as prayer.  Continued from yesterday . . .

As I looked out beyond the tiny part of the world I was feverishly trying to manage, I saw a world entering a season that was shaping up to be, by all accounts, a period of extreme testing. Around me I saw no shortage of leaders willing and eager to champion great visions and projects and plans—skilled politicians, scientists, activists, and managers, even religious leaders, with plans to guard us from suffering and build for us a future. But there were few I would call wise, few who could be called “great souls.” And those who were, were strange to the eye, formed more by an ancient and durable tradition than by the vicissitudes of a world in transition. They were not enamored with the popular and intoxicated by the latest trend. They were not dazzling experts, effective and efficient by modern standards. In fact, they seemed unmoved by such things. It’s not that they were ignorant of the world around them. On the contrary, they seemed to be the best observers of the world, deeply immersed in ordinary life. They were simply anchored firmly in an alternative reality. And when they spoke, theirs was a voice of wisdom that came from the edge—that is, they spoke for God and lived a life of hope from the margins of society.

“Find them,” the Light whispered. “Learn from them.”

So, granted a sabbatical by my congregation, and given the freedom by my generous family who knew how badly I needed it, I turned my back on what had become of me and set out to become wise.

From my ebook, Returning to the Center: Living Prayer in a Distracting World---The Spiritual Memoir of a Twenty-First Century Christian.  Download it here free.

More tomorrow . . .

As an introduction to how one ordinary person can awaken to life as prayer, here's the first in a short series of posts excerpted from my little book, Returning to the Center: Living Prayer in a Distracting World---The Spiritual Memoir of a Twenty-First Century Christian.  Download it free here.

I knew from history that those who were truly great did not set out to be great. We remember few who built great buildings or managed great projects or discovered great things. Those who stand tallest in our collective memories were great souls. I also knew the truth made clear at every funeral I’ve ever done: few are remembered for the things they thought mattered, the hours they spent at work, the ambitions that drove them, even the money and possessions they acquired. Those who are remembered well are those whose lives bring us hope and show us love—those who are generous of spirit, those who are wise.

More tomorrow . . .

From my journal | Tuesday, May 29, 2007 | Iona, Scotland Begin by greeting the Beloved.  Follow your easy breath, in and out.  Survey your whole body, beginning with the toes and ending with the nose.  Release all tension.  Sink into the Presence of God.  Gently breathe, giving your thoughts the freedom to come and go. Like snowflakes, you may notice them but you can’t hold them.  Simply let them fall.

If the Devil brings ugly things, lusts, lists, or pride into your mind, you can find freedom by telling him that you know what he’s up to.  Smile at him.  Laugh at him in the confidence that greater is He who is in you than all the hosts of the Devil.  The Devil cannot abide when you jeer him.

Return to the Beloved.  Open your heart to love.  Become drunk with love.  The demons are terrified when they encounter a soul aflame with love.  Love will tame the wild beasts—your mind, your commands, your will cannot.

Wait, wait, wait until you reach the silence which is the voice of the Beloved, then on the inhale speak inwardly, “Jesus,” and on the exhale, “Mercy.”  Repeat, following your uncontrolled breath as you rest in God.  When the restfulness begins to come to a natural conclusion—or you sense the need to do so—simply bring your soul to an awareness of its body again.  Thank the Beloved Trinity and re-enter the day.

eBook excerpt-- I’d resolved to become holy, but it didn’t take long for the ordinary tasks of ministry to bury the light that entered me that day.  And because I had no one to show me the way, I slipped back into a life that, while fruitful on many levels, left me increasingly dissatisfied.  Over the course of the next decade and a half, ministry became subtly yet increasingly colorless and drab, sometimes downright dreary.  Not entirely, of course.  In fairness to the God who’d called me and to the people I served, there were enough bright spots to keep my heart in the work.  But bright and lovely as these persons and experiences were, they still couldn’t mask the widening gap between who I was called by God to be and the life I was actually living.

When crisis finally came knocking that day late into the second decade of my ministry, I took a long, sober look at myself and saw a person who’d set out as a pastor but who along the way had become a manager—a fairly competent manager, but still a manager.  I was able to write memos, lead meetings, organize events, raise money, supervise staff, and keep track of details.  I was running a relatively successful church organization, teaching at a nearby seminary, writing, and consulting.  In addition, I’d kept track of a remodeling project in our home, and was helping our teenage sons negotiate their path to adulthood.  On top of this I also did what I could to provide the home environment that made it possible for my wife to teach fulltime while she took night classes to complete her credential in special education.

ReturningtotheCenter - ImageBut all this just helped to mask the crisis within and assure me that for all intents and purposes people were pleased with my work, and that I was, by most measures, successful.  I could have been quite pleased with myself but for the light that once had pierced me.  What light remained would allow me no real pleasure in my status or achievements.  It showed me that little I was doing really required God.  And none of it needed a saint.  I had become laughable, precisely the oxymoron I’d resolved not to become those many years before.  I was stretched terribly thin—like too little butter spread over too much toast.  And, while in many ways successful, I knew I was truly failing, not only in what God required of me but also in what my family, friends, and congregation truly needed.  It became increasingly difficult for me to assure myself that the life I was living was the life the Light intended for me.

Desperate, I opened the door and embraced the light of God that lives inside the terror of every crisis.  Fifteen years earlier I hadn’t known what to do with the light of God that pierced my heart and whispered to me of holiness.  I hadn’t the foggiest idea then how to become a saint, and I didn’t know a soul who could show me how.  A decade and half later I figured I at least knew where to look for a few great souls.  And so, I determined to track them down . . . or die trying.