Reflections on Being Called

I'm (again) in the middle of many books! The two dominant ones are Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston and The Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris.

The Cloister Walk is fascinating, with the author's Protestant faithful perspective on the liturgy of the hours and monastic living. She seems more catholic than she lets on! She discusses the saints and humanity in beautiful language, and what she says speaks to me in unexpected ways. Here's one example, from a discussion of Jeremiah:

"All of us, I suspect, have times when we're made to suffer simply for being who and what we are, and we become adept at inventing means of escape. ... Jeremiah reminded me that the pain that comes from one's identity, that grows out of the response to a call, can't be escaped or pushed aside. It must be gone through. He led me into that heart of pain, forcing me to recognize that to answer a call as a prophet, or a poet for that matter, is to reject the authority of credentials, of human valuation of any kind, accepting only the authority of the call itself." (p.38)

A few pages later:
"Walter Brueggeman, in a book on the prophets entitled Hopeful Imagination, suggests that 'a sense of call in our time is profoundly countercultural,' and notes that 'the ideology of our time is that we can live "an uncalled life," one not referred to any purpose beyond one's self.' I suspect that this idol of the autonomous, uncalled life has a shadow side that demands that we resist the notion that another might be different, might indeed experience a call. Our idol of the autonomous individual is a sham; the truth is we expect everyone to be the same, and dismiss as elitist those who are working through a call to any genuine vocation. It may be that our culture so fears the necessary other that it has grown unable to identify and name real differences without becoming defensive about them."

These words speak to my own internal struggles with a vocation and how it is perceived. All of us know that choosing religious life is countercultural--who else gives up sex, money, and power? But, of course, there's more to it than that. In my heart, there is the knowledge that if I don't listen to this calling, even if it leads me back to where I started, I will not be happy. I will not be at peace with myself and with God. Despite any hardships that listening to the call might bring.

A new type of prayer

I'm reading all sorts of things in preparation for classes this fall. One of the books is Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom by John O'Donohue.

Celtic spirituality is quite different from much of the history of western Christian spirituality. A striking difference is the unity of body and soul. Western theology is so hampered by dualism - whether we like it or not, this way of thinking has invaded Christianity.

O'Donohue speaks of how our body is not separate from our soul in any way, but he says that our body resides in our soul. I'm still working that one out, but it is a beautiful image.

He offers a way to pray:

Your body is in the soul, and the soul suffuses you completely. Therefore, all around you there is a secret and beautiful soul-light. This recognition suggests a new art of prayer: Close your eyes and relax into your body. Imagine a light all around you, the light of your soul. Then with your breath, draw that light into your body and bring it with your breath through every area of your body.

(p. 49)

Books!

Oh, I can't believe it's been a week since I last posted.

I guess that means that life has been busy after returning from the time away.

But here I am again! To start off, I thought I would discuss some of the books that I managed to get through. First, I listened to Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt by Anne Rice in the car on the way home, beginning Easter day. It is a fascinating novel written from the point of view of Jesus as a seven-year-old boy.


There are some negative aspects to the work, which I will discuss in a moment, but the positive characteristics outweigh them. Jesus is a young boy here, and so he doesn't have complete knowledge of who he is, and who is Father is. He is learning throughout this book the story of his birth as he grows in knowledge that he is divine. I think it is valuable because it presents a believable story to help us understand how Jesus is both human and divine--that he didn't know everything from the moment of his birth, but came to know himself just like each of us must.

The most prominent negative aspect is this: Rice uses the apocryphal gospels alongside the canonical gospels to explain these events. For instance, it comes up several times that Jesus brought clay birds to life (from the Proto-Evangelium of James). It's an odd story, and one that we do not accept as authentic to the gospel tradition.

Having said that, I understand the purpose of including the story of birds come to life in this work: it illustrates how Jesus learns of who he is. As a small child playing with clay, he wishes for his toys to come to life. He doesn't yet understand that his wishes are within his power because he is divine! The use of that image for this novel makes sense to me, even if I don't really believe it happened.

Theologically, everything else in the novel is faithful to the Catholic tradition.

I'm excited to read the second installment... Christ the Lord: The Road to Cana.


(Photo credits: St. Joseph and the Child Jesus from www.katsuya-art.com)