"SEEING" IS BELIEVING

The Third Sunday in Lent

In her book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell and Know (not a formal part of my Lenten reading), Alexandra Horowitz mentions in an aside that she meditates daily. She casually uses several technical terms from Buddhist tradition, assuming her readers will be familiar with them. You don’t have to know anything about Buddhism to read the rest of the book, but it helps to have a dog.

In our secularized culture, since Buddhism denies the existence of God, Buddhist meditation isn't threatening . You can refer to it in polite society, over cucumber sandwiches, and be admired for how urbane you are.

Many people are unaware of the long tradition of Christian meditation. Those who are often view it as something specialized, done in monasteries or cloistered convents—places far removed from the daily life of Christians.

Meditation isn’t mysterious. You don’t have to have monks chanting in the background or sit a certain way so your chakras are properly aligned. The one thing necessary is a desire to be with God—the only thing Buddhists don’t require!

Having said that, one of the most sensually enjoyable meditations I ever had was—as the matter of fact—at a monastery; St Andrew’s Abbey, in Valyermo, California, to be exact. I was there to lead a retreat and had sent the participants off to an afternoon of complete silence. I went for a walk down the road, which was lined with tall aspens. The sun was shining and there was a gentle, desert breeze. The aspen leaves shivered in the wind and the sunlight danced on their colors. I was struck by the beauty of the scene, and sat down under one of the trees. For over an hour I simply watched—and found myself praying. Though not Franciscan in my sensibilities, I couldn’t help but to praise God for the beauty shimmering in the trees above. Over and over one thought—one sentence of prayer—lingered in my mind and heart. “Thou Who hast created such subtle beauty, O Lord, hast created all things.” The words are far from profound, but those small aspen leaves gave me a fresh glimpse of the One Who created the far-flung planets. I wanted to stay, “lingering with my Lord,” to use St Teresa’s happy phrase, but the abbey bell called me back.

Meditation, in our tradition, leads us to pray. There are many “types” of Christian meditation (one of the best guides is Bede Frost’s The Art of Mental Prayer), but all lead to the same place—prayer, time spent with God. In the easiest type of meditation, we use our minds to bring us to prayer. In a place we can be quiet for a bit, we ask the Lord to be with us, and then we think about something for a few minutes—a few verses of Scripture, the sound of the river we’re sitting next to, an incident from the life of a saint, what a great voice Deborah has—anything will do. As you ponder in God’s presence, you will find yourself wanting to talk. Do. You’re praying. Say what you want, tell God what you think—and then—shut up. Be polite and give God a chance to respond. While He usually won’t speak in words, He will often share something of Himself with you.

If you do this regularly—say a couple of times a week—you’ll begin to notice, over time, subtle changes in yourself. Meditation is not principally a time to petition the Lord, but to spend time with Him (and sometimes a petition will come naturally—though usually not about things like how much good you could do for others if He would just let you win the lottery). The more time you spend with Jesus, the less time you’ll spend wanting to sin. Don’t worry—you won’t blind anybody with your halo just yet, but the problems of your life will appear in a broader perspective. Your food will still have the same amount of calories, but you may find yourself eating a bit less and enjoying it a bit more.

If you persist in meditation, after a year or two it would be good to pick up a book like Frost’s, because you’ll begin to see changes in your spiritual life and will need some guidance. But for most of us, most of the time, meditation allows us to open our eyes and “see” what we most often just “look at.” Seeing leads us to understand, and understanding, St Anselm said, leads us to faith.

Happy Third Sunday.