Advent: Talk 1

A talk delivered by Brother Bruno Clifton, OP on the first Wednesday of Advent, 6 December 2006 in Blackfriars, Oxford.

Both Marys and Marthas

As we come away from this busy Thanksgiving weekend, perhaps you, like me, found ourselves unusually busy, roasting turkeys, cooking, traveling, welcoming guests, attending family reunions, and (if possible) slipping off to our local parish for worship. Perhaps it became quite difficult to pray both Morning and Evening Prayer as usual. Time for Centering Prayer may have been compromised. Time within your lectio divina may have been shortened. William Menninger in The Loving Search for God: Contemplative Prayer and The Cloud of Unknowing, (New York: Continuum, 1998) gives us insightful words of wisdom as we ponder what we have experienced during the last three days:

My friend, in our loving search, we are neither Martha nor Mary. We are both. There are times when we are called to be loving God in the union of contemplative prayer, and there are times when we have to be busy about many things serving our brethren. Yet we must admit that Jesus, while certainly recognizing the need for both of these aspects, gives a preference to the loving, to Mary. This, he tells Martha, is the better part. There is, of course, a good reason for this and we have already spoken to you about it. The loving is primary and the activity must proceed from the loving. Remember, I told you that activity proceeds from being. Certainly there are times when Mary must work in the kitchen--but not when God calls her to some special time in the loving search, sitting at his feet in contemplative prayer. Martha, too, must do this, if her service is to be truly loving. The place of this loving prayer will be different in the lives of different people and it will even differ in the life of one person from time to time, depending upon where he or she is in the lovingsearch. (23)

Image: Sitting with Mary at Jesus Feet

November 30: The First Sunday in Advent

Tomorrow we begin a new Church Year, with the First Sunday in Advent. The Gospel to be read in many of our churches will be from St. Mark, Chapter 13: 24-37:

But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to
you I say to all: Keep awake.”

As we listen to our Lord Jesus describe the coming of the Son of Man, the time of his coming, and his admonishment to us that we should be on the alert, I thought about the fig tree growing outside my study window here at the lakehouse. A few days ago I took a good look at it as I was mowing and mulching the leaves fallen over the grass around it. It's branches are bare now, but in a few months, along about mid-April, it will begin to "put forth its leaves," and once again I'll know that summer is coming. But today, in late November, Jesus asks us not only to remember the way our fig trees announces summer's coming, but also to remember that he is coming too. Surprisingly, even Jesus (so He tells us) doesn't know, by way of prediction, the exact time; only the Father knows. It's for this reason that we must all be on the alert.

But what does it mean to be on alert? As Jesus tells it, being on alert is like waiting for a door knock. While it’s hard for me to imagine myself as a slave who’s waiting for his returning master to knock on the door, I do know a bit about waiting for other similar kinds of door-knocks. In 1976, after receiving my Ph. D., I had sent out over 800 resumes and applications to universities and colleges for a new job. I desperately needed employment. Every day I was on the alert to see what the mail might bring; every time the phone rang, I was alert, hoping it might be someone calling to tell me that I had a job. Eventually the right envelop arrived. In 1992 I was very much on the alert as I waited to hear whether or not I might be able to adopt Chelsea—on pins and needles, really! And just recently I’ve been put on alert to watch my blood pressure; it’s been rising incrementally now, and every day I have to take a reading to see how I’m doing; even to the point of keeping a daily log so that in the event the numbers jump, I must make haste to tell my physician right away. In short, like you, I know what it means to be on the alert.

Being on the alert means keeping one’s eyes wide open, making sure one’s calendar is fitted for new possibilities, reminding oneself that good habits often make one ready for new information and necessary adjustments. Be mentally, spiritually, psychologically, and physically open to the in-coming Kingdom of God. This is the kind of alertful, watchful living that Jesus wants us to cultivate.

In the second reading from First Corinthians, Paul opens the watchful eyes of our hearts and points out what we see when our eyes are wide open:

Just think—you don't need a thing, you've got it all! All God's gifts are right in front of you as you wait expectantly for our Master Jesus to arrive on the scene for the Finale. And not only that, but God himself is right alongside to keep you steady and on track until things are all wrapped up by Jesus. God, who got you started in this spiritual adventure, shares with us the life of his Son and our Master Jesus. He will never give up on you. Never forget that.

O, yes, our culture will tell us to look at stuff and things a’plenty in the next few weeks. Bombarded by discounts, incentives, and come-ons (not to mention nearly constant contradictory economic advisories and political anxieties) , we’ll be tempted to shut the door, turn the key, and disremember that Jesus is a door-, mind-, spirit-and heart-knocker. He’ll be tapping and jiggling the latch often during Advent, especially as he makes his rounds among the unemployed, the lonely, the poor, and the suffering. (Remember last Sunday's Gospel reading from Matthew 25.) If you make sure your door bell rings loudly or that the door-knock on your life is a real banger (loud enough to be heard over a good bit of noise), you’ll find the Master returning, again and again. Say hello to Him when He arrives! Greet Him with a “Come on in, Lord! So good to see you again!"

Image: Holman Hunt, The Light of the World

Introducing Centering Prayer to Richmond, Kentucky

On December 8 and 15, two upcoming Mondays, a group of us will be meeting at my home in Richmond, Kentucky, to begin an introduction to Centering Prayer. Using Thomas Keating's Open Mind, Open Heart as our foundation text, we'll also listen to Keating talking about Centering Prayer on two DVDs: The Method of Centering Prayer and The Psychological Experience of Centering Prayer.

As promised, now and again, I'll be posting what others say about Centering Prayer and sharing some of my own personal experiences. Here, for example, is a gift from William A. Menninger, a friend of Thomas Keating and Basil Pennington, who also helped many of us come to know the beautiful mystery and dynamics of Centering Prayer.

When we practice the simple meditation of contemplative prayer, we love God for Godself alone. We have no other motive. We seek no personal favors, no consolations. We do not pray for anything, not for the church, not for our friends, not for sinners. Simply, Nothing. Nothing. Nothing--but loving God. When we do this, dear friend, something very interesting happens. When we seek to love God above all things with our whole mind, heart, and strength, as Jesus tells us, that love spills over and we soon discover that we are also in God, loving our neighbor and ourselves. This is why when Jesus was asked what was the one great commandment, he had to give two commandments. He said, 'The second commandment is like the first: love your neighbor as yourself for the love of God.
(27)

Meninger, William A. The Loving Search for God: Contemplative Prayer and The Cloud of Unknowing. New York: Continuum, 1998.

Thanksgiving Day, 2008

In the middle of our travels this week, driving from Kentucky to Georgia and preparing for our family gathering at the lakehouse, June and I have not managed our time as well as we hoped. We did not avail ourselves of a Thanksgiving Service either in Kentucky or Georgia. O, yes, a dozen or so of our family will gather together here at Jackson Lake tomorrow, and in preparation June has been cooking and baking all day. I raked up the leaves this afternoon, and I'll be sticking the turkey in the oven sometime around 3:00 a.m. so that it'll be fully roasted by time we sit down around noon tomorrow. To my way of thinking, however, this more or less traditional Thanksgiving falls a good bit short of what Thanksgiving might mean. Somehow a big meal prefaced with a "holding-hands" grace doesn't seem up to the challenge of the Gospel.

Some in my extended family will, however, be doing another sort of Thanksgiving. To them, I say "Thank you for your distinctly Christian witness and worship." If perhaps, you like to join them in spirit, listen and watch Pastor Ron Lewis as he invites us to consider stirring up our Kingdom imagination this and every Thanksgiving by focusing on the guests and not necessarily the menu.

Image: Fritz Eichenberg, The Last Supper

Getting Ready for November 23, The Feast of Christ the King

This coming Sunday is a really big day because on November 23, many Christians—especially those who live within the commemorative rhythms of the Church Year--will be worshipping Jesus on the Feast of Christ the King, the last Sunday of the liturgical year.

As June and I have been reading the appointed lections for the final two or three weeks in this Church Year, we've noticed that the Church is now deliberating thinking, praying, and acting eschatologically; that is, we're moving toward the Final Act while at the same time learning to make present everything that is to come. Living eschastologically means that we live not only with a hope for the “Eschaton” (from the Greek ἐσχάτου = last, final), but that we also wake up each morning already living well within the Ending. Biblically, the End began with birth of Christ, as St. Peter reminds us, "[Christ] was foreknown before the foundation of the world, but has appeared in these last times for your sake" (I Peter 1.20). Ever since the Incarnation, we are already living within God's trajectory toward the great Summing-Up, within what will be God's climaxing of the world. We're like surfers riding within the curl of a Great Wave, God's work in Christ.

As Chrstiains, to put it another way, we're really pilgrims going to the "Great Cathedral." God has started us out on our pilgrimage with Holy Baptism, and now we’re tramping along as people who have set out but not quite yet arrived at our goal. We live “inbetween,” betwixt the Starting Out and the Getting There. This means that we have entered the tension between what is already given and what is not yet given. As a consequence, our experience of salvation is interestingly ambiguous; paradoxically, we already have it and nevertheless we still don't have it yet. We have been saved, but we have been saved in hope. We already live--in Christ, in the Spirit--but we don't yet live fully. By living eschatologically we pray and work by “living inbetween,” inbetween the First Step and the Final Arrival.

So we have a clear orientation in life, even if it does not give us all the answers ready made. God has given us a basic stance or direction, like iron filings in a magnetic field. The future is set; liberated, we are moving toward wonderful freedom. Whatever we are confronted with and engaged by in life, we will always look beyond it to God, from whom and for whom we exist. We live in “the energy field of the future." We do our Scripture reading and lectio divina with “a hermeneutic of hope”; we allow the sacraments to establish and confirm us in “a praxis of hope,” and trusting that God is able to bring to completion “what God in his infinite wisdom and unfathomable grace, has begun,” as Christian Mostert describes us in Hope: Challenging the Culture of Despair (Australian Theological Forum Press, Adelaide, 2004).

Last Sunday as we prayed the collect for the 27th Sunday after Pentecost, the Church reminded us that before the Beginning and after the End, God is the One we may count on:

Almighty and ever-living God, before the earth was form and even after it ceases, you are God. Break into our short span of life and let us see the signs of your final will and purpose, through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

During the Eucharist on the Feast of Christ the King, we will hear Jesus tell us one story about the Great Summing-up as Matthew has remembered it in Chapter 25. We want to look at it now as we ask ourselves about our standing in the Summing-up:

34 Then the king will say to those at his right hand, 'Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35f or I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36 I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.' 37 Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39 And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?' 40 And the king will answer them, 'Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family (Greek: adelphon mou –– my brothers), you did it to me.'

Now living "in-between" and moving toward the Great Summation, you may also wish to pray the collect for the Feast of Christ the King:

Almighty and everlasting God, whose will it is to restore all things to your beloved Son, whom you anointed priest forever and king of all creation: Grant that all the people of the earth now divided by the power of sin, may be united under the glorious and gentle rule of your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Image: James B. Janknegt, Cast Our Crowns

November 16: The 27th Sunday after Pentecost

June and I are about to wind up our two-week stay in Santa Fe (we fly back to Nashville tomorrow), and it’s fair to say that we both have found it quite good for our souls. It's a great town for strolling. In spite of the myriad number of shops, bistros, cafes, malls, jewelry stores, bookstalls and stores, galleries, and assorted tourist traps, we've found the town saturated not only with lovely crafts and arts, but also with a quiet sacredness. Perhaps that’s because we’ve visited so many churches, some of which are the oldest in our nation. The city of Santa Fe was founded in 1610, and El San Miguel (St. Michael's) Mission Church was built between 1610 and and 1628. The Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, for example, will soon be celebrating its 400th anniversary; while we did not worship at St. John’s United Methodist Church, we have been told that its worship is vibrant, liturgical, and stunningly beautiful. Our Sundays at Christ Lutheran Church and First Presbyterian Church were Spirit-soaked, Christ-centered, and Father-directed. Our trips to the Monastery of Christ in the Desert and the Taos Pueblo were real treats. So, in due time, I’ll be adding these sacred places to our list of parishes and sanctuaries to visit.

I’m not quite sure what church we’ll visit when in Nashville on Sunday; surely it’s June’s turn to make a choice for us. For those you attending a church that observes the reading of the lectionary, you may want to visit Journey with Jesus to preview the readings.

One of the books I bought at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert yesterday is The Pocket Thomas Merton, ed. with introduction by Robert Inchausti (Boston: New Seeds Pocket Classics, 2005). Although I don’t usually buy such little books, I found this one quite attractive, the sort of book I can easily carry around and read in the odd moments of the day. Quite frankly I’m pressed with the quality of selections Inchausti had made and would like to share some of them with you in the days ahead. Here’s a starter:

The deep secrecy of my own being is often hidden from me by my own estimate of what I am. My idea of what I am is falsified by my admiration for what I do. And my illusions about myself are bred by contagion from the illusions of other men. We all seek to imitate one another’s imagined greatness. If I do not know who I am, it is because I think I am the sort of person everyone around me wants to be. Perhaps I have never asked myself whether I really wanted to become what everybody else seems to want to become. Perhaps if only I realized that I do not admire what everyone seems to admire, I would really begin to live after all. I would be liberated from the painful duty of saying what I really do not think and acting in a way that betrays God’s truth and the integrity of my own soul. (No Man in an Island, 125-26)

Yesterday June and I took a drive up US Route 84 to the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. Working off a map from the Santa Fe's tourist office, we managed to get close, but then found ourselves a bit confused, unable to find a clear marker to the monastery. After getting some directions from a telephone lineman parked near Ghost Ranch, we headed out on a dirt road, not quite sure for a good while whether we were still on the right track. More than once we wondered if we should turn back. Finally we found a lone driver along the way who assured us that in three more miles we would arrive at the monastery. So after a 13-mile drive along a sometimes winding one-land road, we got there. Quite a ride; quite a monastery. Although we not able to stay for the afternoon office of Sext (we need to head back before the canyons darkened too much), we were able to visit the gift shop where Andy bought a few books.

Do visit the monastery online; your pilgrimage will give you a good idea as to what awaited us after our long drive.

Poem of the Week: George Herbert, "Prayer (I)"

PRAYER. (I)

PRAYER the Churches banquet, Angels age,

Gods breath in man returning to his birth,

The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,

The Christian plummet sounding heav’n and earth ;

Engine against th’ Almightie, sinner's towre,

Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,

The six daies world-transposing in an houre,

A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear ;

Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse,

Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best,

Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest,

The milkie way, the bird of Paradise,

Church-bels beyond the stars heard, the souls bloud,

The land of spices, something understood.

Source: Herbert, George. The Poetical Works of George Herbert.New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1857. 61-62.

Visiting Santa Fe Parishes

A week ago Sunday June and I worshipped at Christ Lutheran Church in Santa Fe, and yesterday we joined the people of First Presbyterian Church, located only a few blocks from where we’re staying. Both parishes describe themselves as “reconciling communities”; for Lutherans this means designation as a Reconciling in Christ congregation of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America and for Presbyterians a shared ministry in the Reconcilling Ministries Network.

Listening to NPR on the radio this morning, I heard Garrison Keillor read Wendell Berry’s “How to be a Poet.” As one of Kentucky’s own, Berry is surely a favorite, and this poem one I’ve loved to read and muse upon often. In many ways (though not all), it might be retitled “How to Practice Centering Prayer.” Give it your thoughtful reflection. Who knows, maybe you are both a prayerful person and a poet; after all, God graced the lives and witness of John of the Cross, Thomas Merton, and Charles Wesley in such fashion.

How To Be a Poet

(to remind myself)

Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.

"How to be a Poet" by Wendell Berry from Given. © Shoemaker Hoard, 2005. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

November 9: The Twenty-sixth Sunday after Pentecost

The week has gone by so quickly, and only late last night did it dawn ("midnight"!) on me that I had forgotten to remind ourselves that we might look forward to today’s lectionary readings by taking a look at Daniel B. Clendenin’s commentary at Journey with Jesus. So now that we’re only hours away from listening to the readings during worship, perhaps we might consider Clendenin’s considerations something like “after-we've heard" reflections. At any rate, take a look if you’re inclined. I’ll do my best to post Clendenin’s musings for next Sunday sometime tomorrow.

When it appears as though nothing happens in Centering Prayer

June and I are staying for two weeks in the Villas de Santa Fe near the Palace of the Governors in central Santa Fe. As nearly always, I awoke about 5:00, fixed a cup of strong coffee, sat down comfortably in a somewhat overstuffed chair, turned out the room light, closed my eyes, and began centering prayer. Not much happened during the next twenty minutes. When my internal alarm let me know that twenty or so minutes had gone by, I opened my eyes; the room was filled with a grayish early morning light, letting me know that it was cloudy outside. Importantly, I was aware that not much had happened while in centering prayer. And while I felt rested, that in itself is not unusual. Indeed, it is often not unusual that not much happens while one is centering in prayer.

It's here that Thomas Keating's words in Intimacy with God provide us with some clarification as to what is going on:

The sense of rest is relative, so we have to deduce our deep absorption in God through other signs. One of these is the swift passage of time. We sit down and thoughts keep going by. Since we have not learned to ignore all prerecorded commentaries, the thought comes, "This isn't much of a prayer today." And yet as the beeper goes off at the end of our prayer period, it seems like we had just sat down. When we do not notice the passage of time or when it seems very short, we must have been in a deep place. Time is the measure of motion, of particular objects going by. When there are a lot of thoughts, prayer seems long. When we are aware of a lot of thoughts and prayer still seems like a short time, then we have been firmly centered. Remember the great gospel teaching: the Kingdom of God is not in grandiose experiences, but in the passage of ordinary time. This is where the seeds of grace are growing. God intervenes in our prayer, but not so we would notice it. The deeper our prayer actually is, the more it habitually drops out of our ordinary awareness. When we experience spiritual consolation, this is our interpretation of the divine action within us. Hence it is conditioned by our cultural background, temperament, and personal history." (95)

As Keating often reminds us, we enter centering prayer without expectations; we enter only with our intention to be with God. And with God, we can be assured that his healing is often done quietly, without fanfare, ever so gently in the silence of his love.

Image: R. C. Gorman, Angelina II

A Prayer for our President-elect, Barak Obama

Almighty God, most holy Father,

we pray today for President-elect Barak Obama, asking
that You, the infinite font of wisdom, might grant him wisdom daily;

that You, the loving God of all, might grant him love for you and for others, including our enemies;

that You, the holy and righteous God of justice, might empower him to do what is right in all that he does;

that You, the Lord, might grant him the charisma of insight to lead in this turbulent world and time;

that You, the Healer, might grant him the grace of reconciling damaged relations in this country and in the world about us;

that You, the God of Life, might grant him a commitment to act for all -- the unborn and born, the young and old, the civilian and the soldier -- to preserve life and honor that each of us is fashioned in the image of God;

that You, the Father, might grant him the time and wisdom to father his two young daughters and love Michelle, his wife;

and that You, the God of all comfort, might grace him and his family as they mourn the loss of his grandmother.Lord, hear our prayer;

through Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. A men.

[This prayer was originally posted by Scott McKnight on Jesus Creed and has been lightly edited.]

Lectio in the pocket

As some of you may notice, our blog has recently been expanded to include posts and commentary on Centering Prayer. This morning we begin also to include observations and notes on Lectio Divina, another practice that many who pray the Daily Office find exceptionally helpful in the formation of their life in Christ.

For some time now I’ve been doing what I call “lectio in the pocket,” a simply way of extending lectio throughout the day. Usually I practice lectio with a cup of coffee almost immediately after waking up in the morning. On most mornings, after taking a “pre-viewing” look at one of the lectionary readings for the day, I settle on one and slowly begin to read. I don’t necessarily read it all the way through, but often just enough to note something that the Holy Spirit suggests as important, perhaps a word, a phrase, maybe a sentence, sometimes a verse or two. After a few minutes of quiet consideration, I then write out the word, phrase, or sentence onto a little piece of paper and stick it in my pocket so that I can carry it with me during the day. As a consequence, I find that I often am reminded of it throughout the day. When I reach in my pocket to get my car keys, there it is: ready for reflection again. When I look for some change to buy a newspaper, I find it again and then find myself reconsidering its importance. When I work around the house and put something else in my pocket—a pencil, a receipt, a grocery list—I find it again. And again I reflect on what the Holy Spirit is suggesting, recommending, asking me to pray over and act upon.

I've taken a photo of this morning's "lectio in the pocket"; tonight's third reading is from Luke 13, and it begins at verse 18. I read only verses 18-19. That was enough for the Holy Spirit to say, "Stop right there, Andy, and mull over what Jesus is saying here to you throughout the day. Write his words down and put them into your pocket. Mull over them today; see what Jesus is saying to you. Listen to Jesus' words to you today and put them into practice as best you can with the Spirit's guidance." At the end of today's lectio, I will scribble a few words or thoughts on the back of Jesus' words for me. Maybe tomorrow I'll share them with you.

My “lectio in the pocket” scribbling is often pretty bad, and sometimes I do a bit of doodling; but it’s good enough for me to decipher, and often I’m glad I took the moment or two to write out the day’s lectio and stick it into my pocket, usually my left-front pants pocket because I’m left-handed. You may want to give it a try, no matter how “handed” you are.

Thomas Keating on the "Third Movement" of Centering Prayer

In Intimacy with God, Fr. Keating describes what he calls Centering Prayer's "third movement." Within Centering Prayer this interior movement is a gift from God that provides theraputic unloadings of psychic debris. Many who practice Centering Prayer share Keating's awareness of the gift which he elaborates upon here:

I call this third moment in the circular movement of Centering Prayer "the unloading of the unconscious." "Unloading" refers to the experience of psychic nausea that occurs in the form of a bombardment of thoughts and feelings that surge into our awareness without any relationship to the immediate past. That lack of connection with the source of painful thoughts or feelings is what identifies them as coming from our unconscious. Evacuation of this primitive material is the fourth moment of the circle. Having carried this emotional pain for twenty or thirty years (or longer), the evacuation process may be extremely painful, but if it is prepared for by the discipline of a practice like Centering Prayer on a daily basis, then the trust in the Divine Therapist is there to enable us to handle it. We just have to put up with the turbulence; when it is possible to return to the sacred word, we return to it and start the circular process once again. (79)

Thomas Keating: Centering Prayer

In Intimacy with God (New York: Crossroad Publishing Company, 1996) Thomas Keating explores what often occurs within many who practices Centering Prayer.

Rest grows deeper as our trust in God deepens, and the emotional doubts about our self-worth, impressed upon us in early childhood by various rejections or excessive competition with other siblings, begin to relax. Because the rest is so profound, the body rests as never before. The body is the storehouse of the emotional pain of early life as well as the consequences of trying to deal with that pain through coping mechanisms such as repression and compensatory activity. As a result, the hardpan of defence mechanisms around the emotional weeds of a lifetime begins to soften, the body's extraordinary capacity for health revives, and the psyche begins to release its waste materials. Our awareness during prayer becomes a channel of evacuation similar to the evacuation channels of the physical body. The psyche then starts to disgorge the undigested emotional material of a lifetime in what might be called an attack of "psychic nausea." Early emotional traumas were never fully digested, integrated, or evacuatedbecause as infants and children we could not articulate our pain. We could not speak yet, or if we could, we did not have the language or the courage needed to express what we felt. Unarticulated emotional experiences that are traumatizing may be pushed into the unconscious where their energy remains. Emotions are energy. They can only be dissipated by acknowledging or articulating them. (78-79)