Category: Inner Life

Inner Life

Good and meek eyes

We have been in quarantine for four weeks already in our monastery at Sant’Anselmo. The new situation is challenging for us, like for everybody during the Corona pandemic. However, all monks are still healthy, and that makes us grateful and humble.

Every day I learn something new. For example, I noticed that in a crisis like this things surface that we can hide in normal times. Usually, there are many ways of avoiding in a community. Now this is no longer possible. We are – one could say – naked. On one hand, new parts of us appear–new creativity, spontaneity, a sense of responsibility, a readiness to selfless giving and support. On the other hand, our weaknesses that we do not want others to see, lie bare. I believe every relationship has secrets and that does not destroy it. Maybe in contrary. Now, however, we are together continuously, and are left uncovered. We see ourselves as we are, more aware of our bad habits–emotions erupt, perhaps from ancient tensions that were latent, but with which we could deal. In a situation of stress, it becomes more difficult.

What are the remedies? It helps me to remind myself that God is looking at us with his good and mild eyes. This is what I am also supposed to do: be good with myself, good and patient and meek. But also, be good and patient with my neighbors–To not judge them, to be merciful with them, to forgive them for how they are.

In paradise, we were naked in God’s eyes, but we did not notice it. When we let us be looked at by him, in these days, we can discover a new and good way to treat each other.

Lord, look at me. If I don’t like to see myself, look at me. If I don’t like to see the others, look at them. Your heart is so much bigger than ours. Cleanse me during this time, make my heart wider, my eyes milder and my faith deeper. Forgive me as I forgive my neighbors.

Prayer Pushed

There is a kind of prayer that has become very precious to me. In the German language it is called Stoßgebet, which means “pushed prayer.” In English, it is called ejaculatory prayer, an expression that stems from Saint Augustine. Iaculatorium is a “thrown, flung, hurled prayer”.

Unfortunately, it is not taught much anymore. However, it helps me often and a great deal. Its very characteristics are shortness and fastness. It is hearty and powerful; it “erupts”, so to speak, from the heart. It has the same mechanics as cursing, but it is actually its opposite. It is positive and directed to God. It wants to connect us with God. It is a prayer that breaks forth directly from our soul. It can have any simple content such as, “Bless me, Lord.” “Help me.” “Look at me.” “I love you.” “I need you.” “I trust you.” “Protect me.” You just speak it, not knowing what comes forward.

The Spirit too comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit itself intercedes with inexpressible groanings. (Romans 8:26)

This kind of prayer is very similar to the “Jesus Prayer” or praying the Rosary, which aims to help us pray constantly. They can go on and on in our heart and we can practice them continuously. Instead, ejaculatory prayer can be used at any time, in any situation. It is a one-shot prayer. You can do it while taking a shower, in the metro, before starting the car, before entering a door, before meeting a person. You have only to actively push it out. It needs a little physical effort, a spiritual-physical one, to get the prayer going. St. Peter invites us to cast the prayer.

Cast all your worries upon him because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:7)

I won’t end this post as usual with a prayer. Rather, I invite you to throw out your own prayer. Whatever comes forth will be right. Even “Lord, I don’t know.” Just utter what is on your heart, push it out, towards God.

I Put My Trust In You

In God we trust, I trust in God… how quickly are we ready to say that? Do we really mean it? To be honest, sometimes trust comes naturally to me, but other times, however, I have difficulty trusting. There are often good reasons not to trust–bad experiences, hurts of the past, knowledge of things and people, realism.

Better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in mortals. (Psalm 118:18)

Sometimes I find myself weak in trusting God. It is not because of God, it is because I trust rather myself, even more–my own intelligence, my experience, the things that give me security. Only when those things are taken away from me, do I realize what trusting God really means. One day, I came across this Psalm verse:

I put my trust in you. (Psalm 55:24)

The slight difference here is that I put my trust in God, which means, I do something. Trusting becomes an activity. I like that. I can do something for it. I am not condemned either to trust and to believe or to not have that trust at all. It is my decision whether I trust or not.

Well, how can I do it? Putting something somewhere means to give it out of my hands and leaving control to somebody else. I give my trust away, to Him. My trust now lies on Him, with Him. This little move makes trusting more concrete and lively for me. When I am distrustful, I try to take all my confidence and place it into God’s hands. We don’t know if God will do exactly what we want him to do, but He will never disappoint our trust. He will never misuse our trust. He will never fool us.

Lord, let me put my trust in you. You are great. You are merciful. You love me. I know you invite me to trust you, in little daily things as well as in the big things of my life. Strengthen my trust in you.

Silent Cry

It is hard to suffer. It is harder when we cannot express our suffering, when the suffering is so strong that we have not even the strength to cry. I learned in emergency assistance courses that if you come to the scene of an accident, you should not necessarily turn first to those who cry the loudest. You should look for the people who don’t cry anymore. They might need your help the most.

During the period in which we meditate the passion of Christ, I feel encouraged to pray for all who silently suffer. Because Christ experienced the same, when he stood before Pontius Pilate, when he was flagellated, when he was mocked – so much so that the evangelist Luke interpreted the situation with the prophet Isaiah:

“Like a lamb led to slaughter or a sheep silent before shearers, he did not open his mouth.” (Acts 8:32; Isaiah 53:7)

What could he have said? The plot was made. Only his friends could see his suffering. It touches my heart that Jesus could not say anything. How much he must have suffered! All the ignorance and injustice as an “answer” to his healing and consoling! Sometimes the silent cry is the loudest. Days before, he still wept over Jerusalem – now he does not even weep.

No matter if our suffering is caused by others or self-inflicted, or if we just don’t know the cause at all, not being able to express our suffering is the worst. Contemplating the passion of Christ gives us consolation. When Jesus is entering Jerusalem together with his disciples, the Pharisees want him to rebuke and silence them. Jesus replied to the Pharisees:  “I tell you, if they keep silent, the stones will cry out!” Jesus encourages us to cry out our suffering. I don’t have to hold back. He invites me to do it in front of him, or in front of a good friend. Jesus hears me. He even hears the silent cry. He sees me. He even sees the smallest tear. And he will answer me.

Lord, I ask you to watch over those who don’t cry anymore, who suffer so deeply that they cannot even cry. And I ask for myself that you help me to express myself, my sufferings and my concerns without fear, with courage, and with hope.

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He rejoices in me—really?

It was a usual Wednesday morning. I was half awake, half asleep while I was saying prayers. All of a sudden, one verse strikes me:

“As a bridegroom rejoices in his bride
so shall your God rejoice in you.” Isaiah 62:5

I think how beautiful that is! I have witnessed bridegrooms rejoicing in their brides and brides rejoicing in their grooms. Such freshness of love! How beautiful it is when somebody rejoices in me, when it gives another joy to see me.

Then I am looking at myself, thinking: it was 33 years ago that I entered the monastery with butterflies in my stomach. But now? Not so much. At least while I am praying, I succeed in lifting up this longing to God, although I feel myself far away from this state. I share with God that I would like to be loved this way again, as the prophet Isaiah says: God rejoices in me. I want to feel it, to experience it, while knowing that all spiritual and mystic traditions say that experiencing and feeling it is not as important as believing in it. I end my prayers by starting my daily work and schedule with a new kind of curiosity: Would I see God today, in fact, rejoicing in me, in my being?

I was surprised how my day changed with this simple prayerful question! I felt peace, I felt joy. I saw good things happening around me. I did not pay too much attention to the bad things. It is a truth: God is happy with me and he rejoices in my being—and that changes everything. Often we don’t like ourselves—and for good reasons. Still, God loves each of us, and is happy to see us, to have us around him, to talk with us.

Lord, don’t let me forget how much you love me. “You did not choose me, but I chose you”, I hear you saying (John 15:16). I don’t know how I merit this kind of love—but it just fills my heart with great joy, serenity, and gratitude.

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I Will Wake the Dawn

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“I will sing and chant praise.  Awake, my soul; awake, lyre and harp!
I will wake the dawn.” Psalm 57:8-9

This is a bold claim—to wake the dawn. As if the dawn would not get up by itself. As if it would not wake me.

How do I feel in the morning? Sometimes full of joy and looking forward to the day’s events; sometimes worried and concerned, often just tired. For some of us the dawn is a relief because we could not sleep well.

In order to wake the dawn, I have to be up before the dawn. I have to be awake before the sun even wakes me. It is bold because as humans, we are part of nature and mother sun is huge and powerful. To be ahead even of her is an amazing thing.

The Psalm seems to point directly to Jesus Christ. The women discovered His rising from the dead “as the day was dawning.” This discovery, the resurrection of the Lord, brought a new light to their life that changed everything. It was truly a dawn of a new life. But when they discovered the empty tomb and the angel sitting there, the Lord was already risen. That means He had risen before the dawn. It means He is greater than the sun and moon; he is even before the sun. He is the true sun. He is the true light.

When we get up very early in the morning, when we wake the dawn – with our praise, with our joy –  we join the Lord. We can sense something of this new, everlasting, imperishable life. We are filled with joy because Jesus is even stronger than day and night, stronger than life and death. In Him all of this was created and finds its fulfillment.

Dear Lord, when I am tired and not motivated to wake up, let me think of you. You are ahead of me. You are ahead of this day, so I know that everything will be good. Let me be close to you. Let me be with you at the place where you have been even before all life was born. You give me a light and a life that cannot be destroyed, by no one and by nothing. Let my singing and chanting be an expression of this joy. Let me get up early. Let me wake the dawn.

Foolish Fears

During the summer months, we Benedictines here at Sant’Anselmo in Rome sometimes change the language of our prayers. We pray in English instead of Latin or Italian as we usually do because we have many international guests. The change of language always brings new discoveries and findings as I pray. Recently at our morning office when we chanted the hymn “As daylight fills the morning sky”, one sentence struck me. It goes:

May angry words and foolish fears
Be exorcised by heartfelt tears.

My attention was raised by the “foolish fears”. I was thinking: Yes, fears, for a Christian, are always foolish. Why should we be afraid? Of whom should we be afraid? “What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword?” says St. Paul (Rom 8:35). And he continues: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Rom 8:38-39).

If we look at Christ soberly, calmly, trustingly, there is no reason for us to be afraid. God is with us, he is in us; he has died for us and freed us from the slavery of sin and death. How could he give us more? How could he have proven more that he loves us? So, I tell my fears: “Yes, you fears that creep up once in a while upon me: Know that you are foolish. I don’t need you.” Of course, when we look with concerns on what is going on in the world: we might have some fears. I am not saying that there are no justified fears. Sometimes they function to warn us or to bring us the right energy level, for example, stage fright. Still, in the end, fears are foolish if we deeply trust in God. In his presence, our fears vanish. “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom 8:31)

Lord, I place myself right in the middle of your presence. Let me be bold in trusting you. Fear is not a Christian’s business. Instead courage, freedom in word and deed, and trust are fruits of your spirit. Any other spirits are foolish. Let me always live in this spirit. Let me set my foot on the water, as you have called me to do.

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Embracing the Cross

Sometimes there is a lot on our plate. Sometimes it is just too much what we have to bear. It is then that we realize what Jesus meant when he said everybody has to carry his cross. During my sabbatical time a couple years ago, I had the privilege to visit Glendalough, a 6th century monastery village in Ireland. Nestled in beautiful landscape are ruins of monastery houses and chapels and also a tall cross about twelve feet high. I was told if one was able to wrap one’s arms around the cross while making a wish, the wish would become true. I tried this, along with many others, but to be honest, I forgot the wish I had and I forgot if it later became true. Still it was a nice ritual.

Later somebody showed me the picture taken from the event and suddenly I realized what I actually did: I embraced the cross! This is the meaning of the ritual—if we embrace our cross, which always seems to be big – too big –, if we manage to fully take it on and accept it, our wish will be fulfilled. It means we will be okay. What will happen will be good for us. We will be ourselves instead of running away from ourselves, avoiding our cross. The cross is heavier if we don’t accept it. Instead, the suffering, if voluntarily accepted like Christ did, is a way to redemption. Seen from this perspective, it becomes again true what Jesus said: My yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Mt 11:30). It is difficult to accept our cross; it requires some stretching on our part, but we will be able to do it.

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“My yoke is easy.” (Mt 11:30)

Lord, You Know Me

It is wonderful to have a friend who knows you well, with whom you have walked for many years. With whom you can share everything; who knows your story. With whom a conversation does not start at zero, you can just jump into it. To have a person who understands and who knows you, is a great gift of God.

However, sometimes not even a friend can reach my heart. This is an odd experience. Sometimes we are just left with ourselves, left alone. We cannot find a partner that adequately responds to our feelings, our story, our thoughts, situation or needs. But these moments that can be filled with darkness and sadness can also turn into a very precious experience. The situation breaks us open to realize that our loneliness is not an accident, but the reflection of our deepest call as human beings that goes beyond what another human being can grasp or understand. We realize that our loneliness touches the dimension of God; it is a result of the fact that we are immediate to God. This is the monk’s moment. The term monk stems from the Greek word “monachos” which means “single, solitary”.

Through God’s grace, we are able in these moments of aloneness to talk to Christ or to God and find his ear. And his response is always exactly what we need. We realize: HE understands, HE knows. His presence resonates with everything I utter and express. I feel understood, appreciated, loved. I feel liked by him as by a good friend. But even better, and in a perfect way. Nothing is missing.

One of my favorite Psalms comes to mind:  Lord, you know me. You understand my thoughts from afar. You formed my inmost being. My very self you know. (cf Psalm 139).

As we leave this our inner “cell”, which is more than a room, we become open for any kind of God-filled relationship. We feel connected with the world and with everybody or everything that crosses our way. Because we are connected again with ourselves and with God.

Lord, you are my best friend; you are better than any friend ever could be. Give me good friendships and help me to maintain them. Open my heart to you when I feel lonely. Let me not give in to despair or sadness, but instead make me seek your presence. You know me. You understand me. How precious this is for me to know!

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It Is a Blessing To Will

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We know those inner dialogues. Whether they take place between cerebrum and cerebellum, or between “spirit” and “flesh”, they make us wonder. Even Saint Paul said, “We do not always do what we want to do. I am carnal. What I do, I do not understand. For I do not do what I want, but I do what I hate.” (Romans 7:14-15)

Jesus himself knows: “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.” (Matthew 26:41) But what if the will is also weak? It is amazing how much we can accomplish with our will, if only we will it. “Where there’s will there’s a way.” Our will can help support our nature, our flesh, even transcend it and reach heights we have never imagined before. However, what if our will is weak? We realize, even the will is part of our nature.

Those questions come into play not only when we have a hard time to get up from the couch, but whenever we try to improve our lives, change a bad habit, and try to practice something good. Interestingly, St. Benedict is not overly enthusiastic about the human’s will, he is rather skeptical. To be exact, he does so when he mentions “one’s own will”. “Hate the urgings of self-will”, he says (RB Prologue 60), and recommends:

The second step of humility is that a man loves not his own will nor takes pleasure in the satisfaction of his desires; rather he shall imitate by his actions that saying of the Lord: I have come not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me (John 6:38). RB 7:31-32

This is the key. Our will cannot save us. It is all about joining our will to God’s will. Our will in itself is nothing, maybe not even good. But if we do what God wills, he gives us the strength to really do it. Or rather we should say: He himself will do it, within us and through us. It is a blessing to experience, “I will.” It is a blessing to have a will. It is a blessing to do God’s will.

Dear Father, your will be done. Let me not get lost in the many things I will. Let me not get lost in my flesh’s desires. Remind me of your will and let me trust anew, that your will is good for me. Let your will be my will. It feels so good to be in synch with your will.