We all sat there for a minute or two thinking. Fr. Bill picked Isaac Hecker, for obvious reasons, being a Paulist and all. One of the six other people there mentioned John Paul II, and I admittedly cringed a little inside. He was far too traditional for my tastes, particularly his strong stances against contraception and the ordination of women, as well as his position that gay sex is something gravely sinful. He was also critical of liberation theology, and is almost always the first name invoked by more traditional Catholics who aren't as inspired by Pope Francis. (Although, to be fair, he did some things I like, too, such as reaching out to other religions and apologizing on behalf of the Church for many of its wrongs over the centuries.)
I had a hard time picking one at first. There are so many things for me that stand out. There's the Trappist monastery in Lafayette. There are numerous passages from the New Testament that really inspire me. There are saints and mystics like Francis and John of the Cross. The list goes on. I finally decided on Thomas Merton. For one, his books, which have been instrumental in reviving popular interest in Catholic mysticism, helped get me interested in learning more about Christian contemplativism. And during my first stay at Our Lady, his book Living Bread really helped me to understand the deeper meaning and symbolism of the Eucharist. I also mentioned that I like how outspoken he was against war and violence, and privately thought he was a good balance to John Paul.
Next, we did some lectio divina, reading the gospel for Sunday and reflecting on it:
As Jesus was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind man, the son of Timaeus, sat by the roadside begging. On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, "Jesus, son of David, have pity on me." And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he kept calling out all the more, "Son of David, have pity on me." Jesus stopped and said, "Call him." So they called the blind man, saying to him, "Take courage; get up, he is calling you." He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus. Jesus said to him in reply, "What do you want me to do for you?" The blind man replied to him, "Master, I want to see." Jesus told him, "Go your way; your faith has saved you." Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way. (Mk 10:46-52)
We read it two or three times. The first time, we meditated on it; and after some time, Fr. Bill had us say whatever word or phrase stood out to us the most. Then we read it again and Fr. Bill asked us what questions came up for us. And the third time, we read it and offered what it was saying to us. We all found it an incredibly rich passage for various reasons, each of our insights complementing the others. The passage that stood out most to me was, "Master, I want to see," which reminded me of Gregory Palamas, who, for thirty years, was said to pray, "Enlighten my darkness." And I found myself wondering if the author of Mark's gospel intended a deeper level of meaning to the obvious miracle.
Fr. Bill noted that Jesus had his disciples call the man over, which he saw as a call for us to reach out to others. He also pointed out that, unlike the rich man, who was called by Jesus to follow him and didn't because he had many possessions (and was in essence possessed by them), Bartimaeus, who had nothing but his deep faith, followed Jesus on 'the way' despite being to go on his way. Bartimaeus, through a combination of his prayers, conviction, and wisdom (illustrated by his recognition of Jesus as the great spiritual teacher he is), receives his sight and follows Jesus on 'the way,' seeing not only with his eyes, but with his heart. For me, it's detailing an awakening experience, which I think is illustrated when Jesus tells the man to go on his way and he immediately follows Jesus on the way.
For the praise and adoration, we did the office of the hours (no live music), which I really enjoyed. There were two readings which he delegated to me and another person. Since I'd mentioned the influence Merton has had on me, I was nominated to read a passage from Recollections of Thomas Merton's Last Days in the West:
[B]eing attentive to the time of the day: when the birds began to sing, and the deer came out of the morning fog, and the sun came up... The reason why we don't take time is a feeling that we have to keep moving. This is a real sickness. ... We must approach the whole idea of time in a new way. We are free to love. And we must get free from all imaginary claims. We live in the fullness of time. ... The whole thing boils down to giving ourselves a chance to realize that we have what we seek. We don't have to rush after it. It was there all the time, and if we give it time, it will make itself known to us. ... There is, in all this, a sense of the unfolding mystery in time, a reverence for gradual growth.
I saw the truth in those words in my own life: how we treat time as a commodity and an enemy, and how important having the space and freedom to live in the fullness of time is for our spiritual lives. I saw in it my own attraction to monastic life, where the entire day is designed to give one the space and time for this reverence and spiritual growth to unfold. You free yourself from worldly concerns and obligations, setting aside all extraneous things. You take the time every day to stop and pray, in community and in private, from before dawn to the setting of the sun, constantly reflecting on God and God's presence in each and every moment. Praying, like Bartimaeus, to see the path before us.
I took that, and the coincidence that I mentioned Merton earlier in the evening, as a sign that choosing to come to Open Sanctuary was the right choice.
After Open Sanctuary, everyone decided to go to Apex for drinks and food. I really enjoyed the discussions I had, especially with Fr. Bill. We talked about the challenges St. Philip faces; his effort to reach out to young adults in Portland; last Sunday's homily, which some obviously misunderstood; and some of the difficult times he had when he was pastor at a parish in LA. I felt a lot of empathy for him, and really want his efforts to succeed, both for his benefit and for the benefit of St. Philip.
We all migrated across the street to Double Dragon after Fr. Bill left, and continued our discussions. I felt like I made some real connections this time, particularly with Kate, who shares my love of Dostoyevsky, and Stephen, who I'm trying to connect with my friend Brian. Brian works at Shinola's Detroit location, and Stephen makes a living repairing watches and would love to get a job there in order to be closer to his family in Chicago. I also found his story of his dream/vision of fighting against God just before moving to the Pacific NW interesting. In it, he was fighting to get away from God, who said that he'd let him go if he won. But God won, and Stephen found himself on an unexpected spiritual path. It reminded me of my similar, albeit less dramatic, struggle with God.
Besides it being a really enjoyable evening, it also has me thinking more about my own spiritual growth and ways I can be more involved. I'm already a regular at Fr. Michael's B- group and volunteering once a month as a Eucharistic minister; and Fr. Bill is encouraging me to be a part of an upcoming Discipleship Training Group. Although I'm not sure being in any kind of leadership role is my cup of tea, the thought of it has me flirting with the idea of starting up some kind of contemplative group, where we get together once a week to meditate, pray, and discuss contemplative classics like The Cloud of Unknowing, Ascent of Mount Carmel, Abandonment to Divine Providence, Open Mind, Open Heart, etc.
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