What to do when fear, anger, and resentment inhabit the heart

From my journals, Tuesday, November 6, 2007 I am again humiliated. It's not so much my sins I see but my poverty of love. I enter my heart but find it full of pride, anger, fear, resentment. Where is my Love, my Lord Jesus, who promises to dwell there? Was he ever there? He has vanished? Or, has Love gone deeper in, leading me on, deeper, deeper, past my ego's many layers?

So what am I to do?

Lament my sins?  The obstacles?  God's elusiveness?  My ego's expansiveness)?

There's nothing to be won by this---only the spiral into real despair.

No, instead, love still more. Follow the passion of your heart. Love leads you on; your heart must find the Beloved . . . and only Love can guide you along this twisting path. The saints testify that Love is the only true guide. You can trust them; they've been down this path and found what you seek.

A good guide to the life of prayer

I've stumbled upon a book that parallels my own teaching on prayer.  And since my own book is bogged down or delayed, I suggest you pick it up.  John Main (deceased) and I've read much the same historical material and come to similar conclusions and practices drawn from the wellspring of historic Christian spirituality. From the Amazon.com review:

This is his classic book on how to practice contemplative prayer, or Christian meditation. Stepping aside from the busyness of our daily lives and being still in the presence of God is the key to discovering our true selves and knowing God as 'the ground of our being'. This book offers a twelve step programme in learning meditative prayer, but as the author says, it is not so much about mastering a set of techniques, or escaping from life's challenges and difficulties, or cultivating a self-conscious piety. Its purpose is to teach us how to be at peace with ourselves in order that we might let the presence of Christ flood our whole lives and our relationships.

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Dance with me: what prayer is meant to be

Here's a poem from 2008 envisioning the awakening that is prayer:

Dance With Me

And this is what I saw—

Leviathan leaping, full length, in radiant delight, up from the dark depths of Mystery.

The night sky, clear; the moon full, casting its silver light across the whale-fractured sea.

And then she crashes, full length. A million silver shards dancing their holy glee.

As she disappears again into the dark, silent depths, to soak in Thee.

Why then pray like some dead fish in this, God’s sea?

Dance, fly, play, plunge. That’s what prayer is meant to be.

Another exercise in awakening

Take time to explore your experiences of “coming home”. The home you’ve known may not be a place you wish to return to. But what would it be like to come home to a place where you were known and loved and embraced? Have you ever tasted a moment of homecoming or is such a moment still a dream? Try to recall a time when you “awakened” to a sense of peace and happiness.

• Perhaps you were a child and you awoke on Christmas morning full of expectation and desire.
• Maybe it was the morning after your wedding day and you awoke to birds singing, sun shining, and you basked in the warmth of your beloved sleeping beside you.
• Could it be the time you “woke up” and realized you get paid to do work you enjoy so much you’d do for nothing?
• Maybe you can recall a moment when the light of Christ came to you and you awakened to a sense that in that moment you found yourself exquisitely, unexplainably happy.

A little practice for awakening

The images of homecoming, invitation, and waking from sleep are central to spiritual awakening.   Each image probably has powerful connections to your own life. So, sit with them for a while. Don’t hurry.

Here's a little exercise:

You might explore some of your earliest experiences, those you could label as experiences with God.

I remember vividly a “wake-up invitation” that came to me when I was a teenager, probably thirteen or fourteen. I thought I had things figured out and God was one thing I figured was certainly out—I was an atheist. But on a family fly-fishing trip in the San Juan Mountains of western Colorado, I was tromping through the high country chasing rainbow trout with Stan, an old family friend, and an expert fly-fisherman. I respected him greatly and knew he was not a religious man.

It had just rained and, though soaked to the bone, I can still recall the fresh scent of the slippery willows and pine trees we were crashing through. The sky had opened up and boasted a dazzling rainbow set against a bright blue sky.

Stan stopped and said half to himself and half to me: “Sometimes I’ve a sense that I’m involved in something much greater than I am.” And then he headed back down along the trail.

That moment holds a special place in my life; it’s the first invitation to come home to God that I can remember.

What moment or moments can you point to when light broke into your life, even if it was for no longer than a flash of insight?  Where were you?  What was happening?  What did that moment plant in your soul?  Did something shut it down or did something open it up further?