Mantra

For anyone at the end of their rope, the prayer that works is correct prayer. Other traditions depict God as humble enough to say “I am as my servant thinks of me. I am with him when he remembers me.” At the very least, for us, this means: the way that makes life manageable and serene is the right way. A grateful heart is one that knows suffering well enough to desire its diminishment for all. The advice “pray constantly” was not a mandate that should worry us. Instead, it’s an acknowledgement that, when you repetitively pray a single phrase, it will work its way inside you and become self-generating. Those working with a mantra will notice an initial period where the words compete with their worries. Then they’ll notice that, with a bit of gentle insistence, compulsive thought will diminish and the word will flourish. Mantra may attach itself to automatic movement–to rosary beads passed through the fingers, to items placed on shelves, to heartbeat or breath–and this will happen to the point where the words and thoughts themselves become sporadically unnecessary. In the press of responsibilities, focused intent will preserve a mantra that will mentally come and go. But the mantra will eventually flip–beneath all sound, always the quiet is wordlessly chanting the word, and you will simply listen. Of course, of that silence, it is correctly said: “You can show devotion to Christ, but you can’t stay.” The frustration implied there is part of everything, and the humble know the truth of it. [bxA]

There will be plenty of time for doing and thinking. God will glorify his own name. If your worries rise before the sun, say “the Lord himself will fight for you, you have only to keep still.” Zen masters report that, after the first experience of emptiness– the need to return to normalcy afterwards makes them feel “utterly ruined and homeless.” It is no wonder the Lord said “Foxes have dens, birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” The Lord’s heart, pierced by the lance, flowed with blood and water until it was empty. In the ancient world, temples were usually full of riches–but when Jerusalem’s temple was sacked, the Holy of holies was found empty. In a way that is only verifiable by experience, the mind of Christ is empty too. Contemplation is a gift, the temporary feeling of interior emptiness. Recollection turns that emptiness into a portable practice. Obedience is emptiness in action. Humility is emptiness that practice has rendered quickly accessible.

When you wake, say “morning by morning he wakens, wakens my ear to listen as one who is taught.” How many of us hoped to uplift our mind and heart to God, only to find the light of prayer making our shadow apparent? Brokenheartedness, friends, is the bride of the Word. Of the practitioner, too, Isaiah’s words would apply “He looked for justice, but saw bloodshed, for righteousness, but heard a cry.” Your own suffering will help you see the anguish of others. Jesus said “the poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me.” For those who think about this verse, meaning abounds. But Jesus is beginning to viscerally contend with his impending suffering and death. For those who can feel it, the silence behind these words is weighty indeed.

Whenever you begin your work, Look to Christ and say “he must increase, I must decrease.” You will begin to see what motivates your words and actions. Compulsive thought will clarify itself. Dealing with this will be the source of a great deal of inner work–some of it obviously spiritual and downright laudable. But at the end of the day, that is all “self.” And self is not an adequate muscle for humility. John said “Among you is one whom you do not know.” For a great many unresolvable mysteries, the apostles had a name, and it was “Christ.” Unknowing, nondoing, nonbeing–these are a person. Just as, psychologically, the Trinity was for Jesus–a transcendent personality both within and beyond him–so Christ is for us.

When work gets intense, say “I live, but not I, Christ lives in me” Thoughts, emotions, and sensations aren’t ours, and they aren’t rightly used to reinforce an ego story. All thought, all emotion, all sensation is Christ’s. When we can’t bear it, there is one within us who can: he sets his face like flint, and learns the lesson of aversion. Things arise and he lets them go–he’s learned the lesson of attraction. He breathes, listens and feels. Times of trouble will come, but when they do, it will be for that hour that we came into the world.

When distractions deprive the day of its prayerfulness, say “Father, why have you forsaken me” Practitioners say “I believe, help my unbelief.” Anyone in the thick of it–who isn’t connecting to what once caused happiness, is not admitting atheism, but instead embracing impermanence. Non-being purifies existing, non-doing purifies action, and unbelief, though it feels like “doubt” on an ego level, purifies belief. All flesh is like the grass. Prophesies, tongues and knowledge will all pass away. The Lord took impermanent flesh, suffered, died, was buried, descended, rose as a stranger, then ascended. Faith, hope and love will not die, but they will be changed. Impermanence is eternal–it’s a truth more enduring than even “selves and identity.”

When people’s shadow emerges, say “Father forgive them, they know not what they do.” The community, see, is a mirror: and you will only respond generously when you see yourself in them. Are people attached to their preferences? So are you. Do people become angry when their plans are frustrated? So do you. What are the circumstances that find you cynical? What are the circumstances that find you judgmental? The “fullness of time” is not exclusively pleasant, and “the acceptable time” that witnesses God’s help will not be a time of abundant inner resources. Jesus was objectively, physically suffering, and he said “Father forgive them.” For us who’ve suffered less than that, admitting (in tight spots) that we, too, become jerks–this is the least we can do to be with Christ. So we say “Father forgive us, for we know not what we do.” That unknowing, when it becomes cause to diminish suffering, will become great strength.

When needs go unmet, say “I thirst.” Anger is unadmitted sadness, sadness is unfulfilled need, need highlights vulnerability, and vulnerability teaches us control and security are not guaranteed. Work remains for anyone who is, as yet, unaware of this. Meanwhile, for those pushing too hard, eat and sleep, lest the journey be too much for you. The Lord knew what we needed before we asked. In a deep sense we, ourselves, were the ones unaware. It’s a truism unless it’s simply true: in prayer, we learn to listen–not just to God, but to ourselves.

And when you must choose between suffering and prayer, entrust yourself to the one who prays when you cannot. Say “into your hands I commend my Spirit,” and go through the motions till the day is done. The Lord said “Do not worry. Who, by worrying, can add one hour to his span of life?” Just as those with addictions say powerlessness is the first step, so those with selves discover, after much faltering, that “giving up self” should be the first step. Viscerally, you will know what Jesus meant when he said “blessed are you who weep, for you will laugh.” The spring in each believer–the one that made their eyes a fountain of tears–will well up with laughter, life, gratitude. With persistence, the truth comes to light: All that’s not ego is the Almighty.