Tag: Centering Prayer

UN-CENTERING PRAYER

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” February 8, 2024

Why is it that I feel free to write almost anything personal, sensitive, and embarrasing about most things except when it comes to my spiritual life? Why do I think that somehow that must be kept secret? As if somehow I am violating God or myself if I go there? But, wait a minute, my hope is that my spiritual life spills out all over the page whenever I write!. It certainly is not separate from my everyday world. Everything I experience is shaped by that wide and deep horizon.

So what do I keep to myself? Uh oh…here I go…challenging myself, so here it is. It is about my prayer life, or to be more specific, my attempts at a Centering Prayer life. For those who don’t know, centering prayer is a Christian version of meditation meant to lead to contemplation written extensively about by Father Thomas Keating, Cynthia Bourgeault, and Martin Laird among others in contemporary times. I say Christian version because every recognized major religion has a practice that is meant to lead to some kind of union with what is understood as ultimate reality. And honestly, I haven’t gotten there.

Yes, I have tried different methods of meditation, and I might even make a passable Buddhist. But at the moment, I am following the sage advice of the Dalai Lama who advises that instead of jumping from one path to another trying to find what “works” for you, it is best to return to one’s own tradition and commit deeply to it. There is already some kind of foundation for one there. I remember my beloved New Testament professor at Yale Divinity School, Luke Timothy Johnson, saying close to the same thing adding. ”We all meet at the same center.” And I trust these two implicitly. So for about eight months I have returned (I admit I’ve been here before) to the practice of Centering Prayer.

Let me tell you what I think the problem is. I have the quiet, the open time, and the supportive environment to delve into the silence. My phone provides the timer, complete with Tibetan bells, to get me started. But then I am tripped up in the very simple, one would think simple, centering prayer word. The practice teaches us to choose a word or a brief phrase to return to if your mind cannot quiet down and gives you too many thoughts or images to truly center oneself in silence. 

Many choose the Jesus prayer (“Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me”) or the simple name, “Jesus”, or another word like “grace” or even “help.” The word itself is less important than its function as a way to return oneself to the silence. I would hate to tell you how many words and phrases I have chosen to help me silence my mind. It can take only ten seconds into my twenty minute session when my mind starts questioning, then fighting, with my prayer word.

I am supposed to simply note my thoughts, but not engage or converse with them, and let them go. Return to the prayer word. Use it to keep my mind busy until the silence returns. But as soon as I return to the prayer word itself, the cycle continues… ”Why this word? It doesn’t feel right. I can’t synchronize it with my breath. Is there a better word for me?” I can see Father Keating shaking his head from beyond! Certainly I settle down in the session, but decide to try a different word, or phrase, next time.

I know there are people who use the same word for years and years. Cynthia Bourgeault said she does in one of her books on Centering Prayer. I have wondered if there are others like me who struggle with it. Perhaps it has to do with my life-long love of words and the desire to use the right one at the right time. I’ve considered asking someone else to just give me a word. But who am I kidding? The same process would begin and I would berate myself again. What does all this tell me about myself? That I do not trust the practice? That I am a self-defeating perfectionist or a control freak? That I might want to go back to the breath or substitute an image, a candle flame for example, for the word? But I seem to do best with my eyes closed. See, I am fighting already!

Okay, if anyone can relate, I’d love to hear from you. As for now, I will just let my embarrassment be. I am still longing deeply for God. It is what and who I am. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it? By the way, near the end of today’s meditation, I somehow tripped over a word. I don’t know where it came from. It could be heaven sent, for with it, my mind went silent. Have I found my word? Please pray for me tomorrow!

 

   

   

From Word to Image in Meditation

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters

The golden orb of the sun, just a shade darker than the flame on my Lenten candle, is rising through the trees. Light has been at the center of my morning silence. I began early today, around 3:30, with a timed twenty minute meditation often called Centering Prayer in the Christian tradition. The beautiful book I’ve been reading for the third time, Martin Laird’s Into the Silent Land, inspired me to try again. I’ve begun this practice many times before but found myself frustrated and giving up after a month or two. I was not too excited to begin again, but I have a stubborn streak!

I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I have a love/hate relationship with words and usually end up fighting with them. Although the meaning of the prayer word or phrase in this practice is not supposed to matter, I would inevitably wind up wrestling with it. Not helpful!

Today’s meditation was different. I began by lighting the candle and watching the flame for a few minutes. When the Tibetan bell rang on the timer, I closed my eyes. By then, the flame had been literally taken inside, as the image of a light that is stared at for a time seems to fix itself on the inside of your eyelids. At that point, this image of flame became my “prayer word” as I stayed with it and returned to it should a thought begin to distract me.

I imagined the light sinking down from my head into my heart, as advised by my teacher of long ago, Henri Nouwen. For the first time, this made sense to me, even physical sense. At this point, I felt the light grow, lighting and warming my whole chest cavity, shining outward as well as inward. Yes, I have a strong imagination, but I also believe in an indwelling God. Was this a gracious hint of that truth? I stayed with this sensation as long as I could, just a few minutes.

My prayer this morning is that I can walk through this day attending to, feeding, and shedding this light in places that need it. Like the Quakers, I do believe that we all hold the light inside, the flame which I understand as the warm love of God. Let’s build a benevolent conflagration!