Turning our hearts

"I will listen to what the Lord God is saying"

Church goers today likely heard scripture that resonates.

The story of Jesus praying alone on a mountain, while the disciples are struggling on a stormy sea far from him (Mt 14:22-33)—it’s the perfect picture of how many of us often feel. Faith says that the peace of Christ is always within, but our experience in this stormy world often says otherwise.

This is how Augustine described his own journey. “You were always with me,” he wrote, “but I was far from myself.”

We’ve all had intimations of a “central peace subsisting at the heart of endless agitation,” as Wordsworth put it. But such intimations are usually fleeting. Loneliness and despair sometimes spend the night, and like Mary Oliver, we feel “so distant from the hope of ourselves.”^[1]

Now and then, we might resolve to rekindle our practice of stillness and silence, to better attune ourselves to this central peace subsisting at the heart of our lives. If we stick with it, what was formerly only an intimation seems to swell to something more substantial and sure. A newfound courage emerges, and we sense, perhaps hesitantly at first, that we can step out into life’s difficulties with renewed courage.

“Lord, if it’s really you, command me to come to you on the stormy sea. I too want to be a bearer of peace in the turmoil of this life.” And for a moment, to our astonishment, we are one with Christ, doing what we previously thought impossible.

It doesn’t take long, however, especially in the early stages of contemplative practice, to be overwhelmed by the world again, and we begin to sink.

Paul reminds us in his letter to the Romans that “the word is very near you.” The Divine is not far away in heaven somewhere. No, “it’s on your lips and in your heart.” But when I am struggling or in pain, it’s the agitation not the peace that feels most real and close at hand.

What I need in those times is a practice of stillness that allows my agitated mind to settle into the peace subsisting in my heart. But this practice of stillness is not merely a kind of spiritual spa treatment.

Rather, this awakening to our deeper life enables a person “to live honestly and courageously with the challenges that are constantly thrown at us.”^[2] Practicing stillness and giving ourselves to the Divine within allows us to “come to ourselves,” to the central fact of Divine peace subsisting in our heart, so that we can live as awakened bearers of the same in a hurting world.

When the disciples fear they are seeing a ghost on the stormy sea, Jesus responds, “Take heart; it is I.” Later, Jesus will sum up his teaching this way:

“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

The question then is, “Where are we giving our attention?” and the answer determines whether the world overcomes us or we overcome the world.

The Psalm appointed for today begins with one of my favorite verses of all:

“I will listen to what the Lord God is saying,*
     for he is speaking peace to his faithful people
     and to those who turn their hearts to him.”  (85:8)

In a nutshell, this is what our practice in Contemplative Chapel is all about—turning our hearts to the One who is speaking peace, so that we can re-enter our tumultuous world as ministers of a healing peace and undaunted compassion.

All are welcome to join the new season of weekly Contemplative Chapel sessions beginning on Wednesday, August 19. Click here for more information and registration for the Zoom link.

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^[1] Mary Oliver, “When I am among the trees”

^[2] Rowan Williams, Easter Homily 2011