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Showing posts with label contemplative prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contemplative prayer. Show all posts

Monday, March 15, 2010



















Comment on NYT articles on Contemplatives--personal statement replying to Ross Douthat

by Peter Menkin

This article from “The New York Times” (NYT) was noted on a list read by this writer. Here is an editorial comment of a more personal kind to The Times piece, found here under the title Mass Market Epiphany on a NYT blog.

The article by ROSS DOUTHAT published March, 2010, starts:
Mysticism is dying, and taking true religion with it. Monasteries have dwindled. Contemplative orders have declined. Our religious leaders no longer preach the renunciation of the world; our culture scoffs at the idea. The closest most Americans come to real asceticism is giving up chocolate, cappuccinos, or (in my own not-quite-Francis-of-Assisi case) meat for lunch for Lent.

This, at least, is the stern message of Luke Timothy Johnson, writing in the latest issue of the Catholic journal Commonweal. As society has become steadily more materialistic, Johnson declares, our churches have followed suit, giving up on the ascetic and ecstatic aspects of religion and emphasizing only the more worldly expressions of faith. Conservative believers fixate on the culture wars, religious liberals preach social justice, and neither leaves room for what should be a central focus of religion ­ the quest for the numinous, the pursuit of the unnamable, the tremor of bliss and the dark night of the soul.
This writer’s notations and comment for Ross Douthat posted originally as an email:
Are we contemplatives coming into fashion, for here is an article that is backward compliment for contemplatives?
I suppose the literary world's preoccupation with confessional and personal experience also jars with the quiet, even private though community practice of the contemplative life, and continues at odds with contemplation. Religion is not in fashion, but contemplation, so the article implies—saying really both should be. Narcissi are not a real or valued element of the contemplative way for union with God. Ours is a self involved American way, and maybe we should say, Tch, Tch.
The contemplative way is a life of surrender, and individualism is not a road to surrender. Not as I understand it.
I am happy to see the conversation by article in The New York Times and will look at the paper itself to see the comments.
The contemplative life is not just about union with God, alone, as in everything mystical. It is a form of being, and though the mystical may be sought or practiced by many, to a great degree it is a whole way of life, of seeing the world. The life with God is not solo, per se.
There is a photograph I've got on my computer by amateur photographer Henry Worthy, Oblate, who lives in London, of a woman standing gazing away from the camera on what is a spring day. She is looking at a field of flowers. She is seeing the world, and it is being done in God's presence with a sense of his presence. I call this the sense of creation. God is creator.
Again, the work of Arthur Poulin, a Camaldolese Priest and Monk makes in his painting work contemplative statement, even call it reality. I call this vision. Father Arthur lives and works in Berkeley, California at Incarnation Monastery. His work is found at the I. Wold gallery in St. Helena, Napa, County. They are also found at Immaculate Heart Hermitage, Big Sur, California.
So as I dare to make these remarks as comment to the article, and I am glad for Ross Douthat’s posting, I guess the writer knows little about the Camaldolese Oblate witness. For the number of these Benedictine Oblates was small when I began about 16 or so years ago; now there are so many more: Maybe 500 or so.
My point is that this is a lot of contemplatives, and they are in the world, being a light to the world and a presence for good. If I am right in recollecting, there have not at any time in history that great a number of contemplatives, but the writer's point is broader. He suggests there be a more serious exercise in religion, an inspired one. As for me, Christ is inspiration as Christ is truth. The heart is moved.
To go on, we are in America so distracted a society, a society that is individualistic and seeks diversion and distraction, that it is likely that the writer Ross Douthat's thesis is even more genuine. Note cell phones and their ubiquity.
I think it would be enough if more people said, felt, and sought God in a sense that they began to recognize that God loves them. For God does love them. For me, this is an important recognition, not Epiphany, for that this is a friendly universe is a helpful starting point for a larger faith. I think Mr. Douthat is asking that we all seek a larger faith. Is that not to a degree what Lent is about, a return and seeking larger faith. We look towards Easter.
Addendum:
From The Times…
Ross Douthat joined The New York Times as an Op-Ed columnist in April 2009. Previously, he was a senior editor at the Atlantic and a blogger for theatlantic.com. He is the author of "Privilege: Harvard and the Education of the Ruling Class" (Hyperion, 2005) and the co-author, with Reihan Salam, of "Grand New Party: How Republicans Can Win the Working Class and Save the American Dream" (Doubleday, 2008). He is the film critic for National Review. A native of New Haven, Conn., he now lives in Washington, D.C.
Image (1) Photo of monks at Communion by Henry Worthy. (2) Photo of woman at contemplation by Henry Worthy. (3) Painting "Radiant Light" by Father Arthur Poulin, OSB Camaldolese. (4) Ross Douthat by Susan Etheridge for The New York Times.

Thursday, June 12, 2008


One of "older" poems,
On Contemplation and about my Apartment in Mill Valley, California USA

this tells of contemplative prayer, the experience of rising like a hawk, or soaring, as does the hawk. God comes closer to humankind, humankind comes closer to God. That seems an unusual statement in our times, nonetheless, the Lord is here whether we know it or not.

I moved from the apartment on the third floor as place of viewing the hawks and place of prayer, to an apartment on the third floor at the other end of the building, place of viewing the hawks and place of prayer. I don't seem to see hawks so much anymore, yet I believe there is a soaring sense of beauty in prayer. God is near, often.

It is almost summertime here in Northern California. We have a heat wave. 92 today.




Apartment on the Third Floor
by Peter Menkin


This apartment, top, third floor
one among hawks who build
nests
has sun. This

room gets afternoon light;
morning, too, streams
in creating simplicity.

The hawks sit in the
trees, communing.
The world goes on, in steel
complexity.

Warm, here just roof above,
and
among the trees in
company of hawks

who nest. One hawk
sits
on a branch, lit by engaging
moments of
sun; spring newness amid
the gray manmade
world that impedes yet connects
the eternal life.

Thank you morning through
daylight to night,
bright stars for a promise
of goodness.
God.

Witnessing the light.
I remark to you of
divine moments.

We enter mansions heavenly, just flesh
and spirit.
Ascending.










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One of my "older" poems,

this about contemplative prayer is about my third floor apartment in Mill Valley. I moved to another, larger apartment on that same third floor about three years ago. I still have the views. I still practice contemplative prayer. I still believe that there is an element of movement of God towards we humans, and we humans towards God.

As individuals one seeks God, and God makes Himself available. I think you'll find, reader, that the poem below has many sides to it and a few dimensions. A work revised this year 2008, I hope you like it, and I look for comments. With thanks.



Apartment on the Third Floor
by Peter Menkin



This apartment, top,
third floor one among hawks
who build nests
has sun.

This room gets afternoon light;
morning, too, streams in creating
simplicity.

The hawks sit in the trees,
communing.
The world goes on, in steel complexity.

Warm, here just roof above,
and among the trees in company
of hawks who nest.

One hawk sits on a branch,
lit by engaging moments of sun;

spring newness amid the gray
manmade world that
impedes yet connects the eternal life.

Thank you morning through daylight
to night,
bright stars for a promise of goodness.
God.

Witnessing the light.
I remark to you of divine moments.

We enter mansions heavenly,
just flesh and spirit.
Ascending.



Wednesday, January 31, 2007


A Prayer like a Poem, or a Poem like a Prayer...


If you have religious inclinations, you may agree with me that in the Christian faith we wait on God. We wait on Christ in the mystery of the unknowing that many people of faith experience. I have had to remind myself, many time, to wait on the Lord. I have had to remind myself that not having answers is part of the reality of faith. I have had to remind myself that "my ways are not your ways," so says the Lord. I hope you like this poem about waiting on the Lord.


Waiting on the Lord
By Peter Menkin

The earnest prayer
I offer is to receive
The mysterious, majesty
Of God in a quiet
Way of silence.

To wait on the Lord,
This special time,
A set aside for me
And my soul to know
You are.









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Thursday, August 03, 2006


On preparation and entry to contemplative prayer: a Poem...

Welcome to a more personal poem, written at an urban monastery, the study house of Camaldolese Monks. I wrote this poem with the thought of following the preparation and entry into contemplative prayer.

What better time to do so than on retreat in the year 2002 at Incarnation Monastery in Berkeley, California (San Francisco's Bay Area). I hope you like this memory of prayer, which appears to be relevant to my prayer life today. I say "appears to be" because every preparation and entry into such prayer is not the same. Yet it is similar enough for the poem to have validity today.

You can find this poem on my personal web page http://www.petermenkin.com/ . The page is not complete at this time, still a work in progress. It will contain many poems, some that have not been posted on the web previously.


On Retreat (revise)
by Peter Menkin

I: Preparation

Attend with the ear of your heart
Listen in the silence
at night or daytime
through trials and living.
This Rule brings God, the Lord
closer. Labor of obedience:

Before beginning a goodwork,
pray earnestly.
We are the Lords counted
sons and daughters.
The path offers good gifts,
open your eyes to the light.

Arise from sleep.
The Rule offers the voice
from heaven this day.

II. Prayer of request and confession

So much strife, the world
encroaches and wearies
with wearing. Stains.
Run on with life's light;

I seek this lightness
of being
that darkness and death
not overtake me.
The uncommon call, hear
his voice--do not harden your heart.

Mercy that gives and opens,
says receive these words, so offered.
Learn the fear of the Lord
in everyday living--even a moment in time.

Day star Benedict,
man of God speakingacross
centuries in holy words:
For a man or womanin days journey; arise

my soul and spirit to
join this way.

III. Place of retreat begins its Work

Quiet sounds of the house
reflect the Spirit resting
upon this place:
The birds talk
of here, hear them outside. Yet the quiet
envelopes with support
sinking to the bone.

Peaceful quiet, peaceful sounds.
Drench me arena,
a sanctuary amid
urban sounds: jet overhead,
passing car all these present
yet distant.

The tension of retreat:
subtle, strong, weak, resiliant.
I rest, await renewal again.

IV. Seeking the Lord

There is quiet, no hardsound--strong silence
of solitude and work.
This earthly strength
reveals heaven.Christ's spirit
rests on this place.

V. Waiting on the Spirit

Inner life jangles, twitches,
aware of soothing Spirit.
Waiting.Grace that underlines
living.

Ask for waters
that spring from abundance.
Quenches.

VI. Faith in God begins

Our meditation moves
to contemplation: today
let it be unto me;
so morning prayer starts.
I ponder my desire
for release from earthly pain,
find out about flesh again,

discovering the Spirit
holds other fruits: Wait
on the Lord.

Can one know, glimpse--the great yes
of vastness greater
than mountains and hills.
Creation, all being.
Spark, starburning bright,
the soul groans.


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