the gate of heaven is everywhere

The gate of heaven is everywhere...
 including at the heart of our being

At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us… It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely…I have no program for this seeing.  It is only given.  But the gate of heaven is everywhere.   
                                                            Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander

 

Abbot Lot came to Abbot Joseph and said: 'Father, according as I am able, I keep my little rule, and my little fast, my prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and according as I am able I strive to cleanse my heart of thoughts: now what more should I do?' The elder rose up in reply and stretched out his hands to heaven, and his fingers became like ten lamps of fire. He said: 'Why not be totally changed into fire?'

                                                             From the Sayings of the Desert Mothers and Fathers

A friend once questioned a reference I made to "the heart of being," and my description of it as that place where God dwells in each person. She asked, "Where do you think that place is within us? Can you point to or imagine an actual physical location?" It was an interesting question and I realized that when I have spoken of this "heart of Being" I typically point to the left-center of the chest, that place where the human heart muscle beats away and pumps life-giving blood. 

The human heart has long been a symbol for the indwelling presence of God. The metaphor speaks on many levels of vitality, love, the flow of life within our flesh, and the flow of life-energy joining all beings. In the Hebrew scriptures there are many references to the heart. One of my favorites comes from the prophet Ezekiel who uses what seems to have been a common Hebrew notion of hearts growing "hardened," calloused by pride, self-seeking, and fear. Ezekiel speaks of the power of God to not only soften hardened hearts but, when needed, to grant us a new heart:

I will sprinkle clean water upon you, 

and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses, 

and from your idols I will cleanse you. 

A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; 

and I will remove from your body the heart of stone 

and give you a heart of flesh. 

I will put my spirit within you...          Ezekiel 36 25-26

A spiritual "heart transplant," I suppose one could say. And who hasn't felt a need for that from time to time? I especially notice here that what is given is a "heart of flesh."  It speaks of a heart that feels, a heart that loves, a heart that expresses mercy and compassion, a heart that is vulnerable and open to love in this life and in this world. A heart that is willing to hurt and ache with love.

Another level on which the metaphor of the heart speaks is the fact that our heart beats without our own conscious effort. It simply happens, without our direction, unless otherwise impacted by injury or illness. It is a meaningful analogy for the movement of God's own Spirit at the center of our lives, flowing and bestowing gifts without our own conscious awareness, and well beyond our efforts to control it.

For our part, to practice bringing our awareness to God's presence at the heart of our being can profoundly transform the way in which we live our daily lives. To practice attentiveness to  that "point of nothingness" at the center of our being can deepen our capacity to live from this center, and to live from this heart of love. It is what can tip the scales of our lives toward compassion, wisdom, generosity and mercy. It is what I imagine Abba Lot means in the story above when he asks: "Why not be totally changed to fire?"

The ancient Gnostic worldview held that this inner spark or light of God demands release from the fallen, sinful, fleshy realities that come from being human. They taught that  this indwelling presence of the Spirit at the heart of our being is held captive by our physical being, and believed that there was special spiritual knowledge and practice that would bring about its rescue and release.

Jesus revealed a Way that was entirely different. He did not teach a separation between the spirit and flesh, or between the divine and the human. He taught and embodied the union of these realities. 

Jesus did not disparage embodiment. Instead, he showed what it looks like to live each moment from the heart of the God-presence within us, uniting our divine and human natures. He showed through his own acts of self-offering love what it means to see this same heart in others as we live. He excluded no one from this vision and understanding; he taught that such a life is possible for all. He proclaimed a "kindom" of God already present within us and among us, and the will of God "done on earth as it is in heaven."

Jesus made abundantly clear that it is possible for each person to live from this place, to live with such great love, just as he did. This is not something we have to achieve, or earn, or some secret knowledge we must learn. It is a gift already given. Our capacity for such fullness of life is already promised. We must simply be attentive and open enough to receive it and allow it to pass through us.

As Christians, we can and should go so far as to say that when we speak of "Christ" we speak not only of one historical moment and person--the full union of divine and human realities in the person of Jesus of Nazareth--but we speak of all those lives and historical moments through which this union is revealed. When we come to deeper awareness of what lies at the heart of our being--our "original blessing"--and receive the gifts God has already given us, we become one with Christ. Put even more directly, we become Christ present here and now. We may also then come to see, as Merton describes so beautifully above, that "the gate of Heaven is everywhere," including deep at the center of our lives.

passing judgment

A brother in Scetis committed a fault. A council was called to which abba Moses was invited, but he refused to go to it. Then the priest sent someone to him, saying, "Come, for everyone is waiting for you." So he got up and went.

He took a leaking jug and filled it with water and carried it with him. The others came out to meet him and said, "What is this, father?" The old man said to them, "My sins run out behind me, and I do not see them, and today I am coming to judge the errors of another."

When they heard that, they said no more to the brother, but forgave him.

From Daily Readings with the Desert Fathers. Edited by Benedicta Ward SLG. Templegate Publishers: Springfield, IL.


This story feels like a sister story to the story of Jesus being confronted by the religious leaders and a crowd who are about to stone a woman caught in the act of adultery. Jesus disarms and dismantles the deadly tension and vicious judgment of the moment by simply saying "Let the one who is without sin be the first to cast a stone at her."

An enduring axiom of the Christian faith is this: "We are all sinners in the sight of God." We've grown less comfortable with such a statement in our current era where we are much more inclined toward statements of self-affirmation and self-confidence. To identify oneself as a sinner feels rather self-deflating and self-defeating. Many in the church would rather speak of our inherent goodness and blessedness in God, and many outside of the church would say that one of the great problems with Christianity is that it has held human nature in such low esteem.

As with so many things, the truth is likely found somewhere in the tension-filled middle: we are both "sinners" and "saints," we are both broken and blessed. We are each capable of causing great wounds in ourselves and others, and we have all been guilty on some level of seeking to satisfy our own "personal programs for happiness" (to borrow a choice phrase from Father Thomas Keating) and shoring up our false selves and personal idolatries.

We are also capable of astounding creativity and blessing the world with our love and compassion. There are gifts that we are each given by the Spirit that, if freely shared, serve to reveal the truth of who we are individually and collectively as children of God.

Judgment diminishes the truth in ourselves and in our neighbor. We do it so easily, and sometimes it is quite literally "passing judgment" as we do it in fleeting moments while we pass one another on the street or bring someone to our minds eye along with feelings of jealousy, anger, fear or resentment that we may have surrounding that relationship.

Forgiveness becomes a transforming possibility when we are freed of our judgment, and remember another axiom of the Christian faith: "We are all beloved in the sight of God."

know-it-all

Abba Amoun (of the place called Raythu) came to abba Sisois saying: 'When I read Scripture, I long to prepare elaborate comments, so that I will be ready to answer questions about it if I am asked.' The old man said, 'There is no need. It is better to speak the word simply, with a good conscience and a pure mind.'

From Daily Readings with the Desert Fathers. Edited by Benedicta Ward SLG. Templegate Publishers: Springfield, IL.


The desire to have right answers at the ready, the desire to be relevant and responsive to a given situation, the desire to be seen as in-the-know -- these are very common human desires. So, we might be sympathetic of Amoun in this confessional and transparent moment when he acknowledges a longing that may be driven more by self-centeredness or self-protectiveness than faithfulness.

He makes me think of those moments that often arise in the course of weekly sermon preparation when I find myself struggling for just the right words to illustrate a point, or when I feel like I need to do just a bit more research on a thought in order to "back it up." Sometimes it can be important to find a good word and sometimes a bit more research is exactly what is needed, yet, oftentimes these desires are arising more from ego-consciousness, my need to prove myself or shore myself up in the eyes of others.

Abba Sisois responds with gentle and wise counsel: speak simply, with a good conscience and a pure mind. I wonder if this may mean, at least in part, speak truthfully and simply from your understanding and insight rather than trying to speak what you think you should say or what you suppose others would like you to say.

Speak from the heart of your true self. Trust that God has given you (and each person whose path you cross) truth to speak with your life. Your speech may be with words, and it also may come through your actions, or through simply being present to another in their time of need.

You and I need not have all the answers, and we don't need to prepare well-defended answers just in case someone asks us the questions we may most fear. God simply asks that we speak the truths and understandings we have come to know in love, and then live with curiosity, listening for the truth spoken through others and through the world.

want to be blissed-out?

This entry will begin a series of entries reflecting on the tales of the fourth century Desert Mothers and Fathers. These women and men went to the deserts of Egypt, Syria and Palestine to practice their Christian faith during the time when Christianity was becoming the faith of the Roman Empire. To put it differently, Christianity was becoming Christendom. These desert dwellers seemed to move in a different direction as they prayed, worked, and taught those who came out to seek their wisdom and insight. Their stories continue to challenge and inspire others who seek to life lives faithful to the Way of Christ today.


It was said of abba John the Dwarf that one day he said to his elder brother, 'I should like to be free of all care, like the angels who do not work, but ceaselessly offer worship to God.' So he took leave of his brother and went away into the desert.

After a week he came back to his brother. When he knocked on the door he heard his brother say, 'Who are you?' before he opened it. He said, 'I am John, your brother.' But he replied, 'John has become an angel and henceforth is no longer among men.' Then John besought him, saying, 'It is I.'

However, his brother did not let him in but left him there in distress until morning. Then, opening the door, he said to him, 'You are a man and you must once again work in order to eat.' Then John made a prostration before him, saying, 'Forgive me.'

(This story is from Daily Readings with the Desert Fathers, edited by Benedicta Ward SLG, Springfield: Templegate Publishers, 1988.)


I remember my first visit to a monastery. I expected serene, quiet, still, praying monks. They were there, yes, but in some moments these same brothers were also boisterous, hard-laboring, playing, moody monks. They reminded me very much of congregations I have been a part of, and they reminded me sometimes of my family. Their life together involves deep prayer and doses of stillness, silence and solitude, but it also includes hard work - sometimes tedious and monotonous work - and the day-to-day, mundane decision making that easily fills the waking hours of our lives.

None of the great spiritual paths in this world promise a blissed-out release from the quotidian labors of life. If you meet a teacher, a pastor or priest who promises you such an angelic escape, it might be best to run the other way!

The Way of Jesus, like other great spiritual paths in this world, calls us into a deeper, more wakeful engagement with ourselves, our fellow human beings, and the work we are each given to do. When Jesus invited those first disciples to follow him he asked them to "fish for men," which they soon found out meant touching lepers, comforting the grieving, eating at tax collector's tables, and getting into some rather sticky situations with the religious and political powers of that day. They had to work at being disciples.

Even when the disciples got an affirming glimpse of the deep, eternal and expansive sea of love that Jesus embodied - such as in that moment of transfiguration on the mountaintop - Jesus asked them to take that love right back into the messy demands of life.

We are not angels. Thank God we are human beings! Bless you in your labors, your loves and your journey this day.