The Gift of Recollection

Recollection is the simple action of calling yourself consciously into the Presence of God.  Acknowledge to Whom you are talking.  Be awake, be aware of His Presence as you begin your prayers.  The basis for recollection is twofold: Penitence, and Holy Detachment.  But our experience of both is always partial and incomplete.

I have tried to achieve perfect penitence.  The deeper I dig the more I find.  There is no way to confess all one’s sins.  No sooner are we through than something else pops up.  It is rather like the child’s toy with colored pegs in a board and a wooden mallet.  Strike down one, up pops another.  In the end, part of my confession must be that my confession, by force of nature, is incomplete.  I do my best and rely on mercy, grace, and the Blood of Christ to cover the imperfection of my confession.  I pray, “For these and all other sins which I cannot now remember, I am truly sorry” (BCP p. 447).  Even at that, retrospectively I wonder if I am sorry enough.  “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it? (Jer. 17:9). 

One cannot boast of one’s confession.  God knows the heart.  There are no merits from penitence that purchase the Presence of God.  The Presence is pure gift and comes at the mercy of the crucified Christ.  Can it be any other way?  Still we are called to enter into penitence as a doorway through which we must pass, muddled or not.  At least do your best, and do not willfully hold back anything from your God who loves you.

Holy Detachment is also by nature incomplete.  In the words of Henry Suso, “No matter how much one abandons, one repeatedly finds more of one’s self to abandon.”  Yet clinging to the materialism of our age, to our anxieties and worries, only blocks the entry of God.  Make your surrender as best you can.  Take whatever clings to you, whatever nags at your spirit and put it down at the foot of the cross.  Make your surrender at least for the present moment, for the now, and push all the cares of the world out of your heart for the time of prayer.  The more we try to live in the state of detachment from the cares of this world, trusting in grace, the happier we will be.  The more we embrace holy detachment, the more we will make our souls ready for the gift of the Presence of God.

The Presence of God is a gift.  It is a gift given in the Incarnation of Christ, “Lo, I am with you always”  (Mt. 28:20).  The Presence of God is the fundamental reality that is the ground of our existence, “In Him we live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17:28).  The Psalmist cries out, “Where can I go then from Your Spirit?  Where can I flee from Your Presence?  If I climb up to heaven, you are there.  If I make the grave my bed, you are there also.  If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost part of the sea, even there your hand will lead me and your right hand hold me fast” (Psalm 139:6-9).  From a spiritual perspective, the Presence of God all around us is a given.  We do not need to practice the Presence of God.  Rather we are called to practice the awareness of that Presence from Whom there is no escape.

That is only half of the secret, and secret it is.  Paul’s word for it was mystery.  Paul testifies that to the saints, “God willed to make known what are the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles: which is Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Col. 1:27).  The fact is that not only do we live in God, God also lives in us.  Jesus said, “At that day you will know that I am in My Father, and you in Me, and I in you” (John 14:20).  At what day?  That day is declared by Jesus in John 14:16-17, “And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever—the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him; but you know Him, for He dwells with you and will be in you.”  At the moment of our entry into personal faith in Jesus Christ the living God, the Savior and Redeemer of the world, the Spirit of God makes His home in our hearts. 

Paul speaks forth this glad truth; “You are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God dwells in you.  Now if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he is not His.  And if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness” (Rom. 8:9-10).  If by faith you have the Spirit of Jesus within you, you have also Jesus Himself within you and you have also the Father of lights dwelling in your soul, for God cannot be divided.  Jesus speaks the simple truth, “you will know that I am in My Father, and you in me, and I in you.”  Penitence and detachment make the way clear for the humble acknowledgment that we not only dwell in God, but that He dwells in us: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Recollection starts with the acceptance of the spiritual reality as a given.  There is nothing you need to do about it.  It just is.  Recollection calls to mind the perpetual Presence of God all around us and within us.  At the beginning of each time of prayer, of each approach to God, recall to mind that He is present all around you, right beside you and within you, within your very souls.  He is the liveable, breathable medium of our lives. 

There are varying levels of awareness in recollection.  Clearly the nature of our penitence and detachment will affect the depth of our recollection.  So also will the level of our experience.  Practice the awareness of the Presence of God by deliberately, consciously, recollecting yourself in His Presence when you pray and at other times on and off throughout the day.  The more you surrender yourself to the Presence of God without and within, the deeper will be your experience of Him.  Christ became incarnate and died for this purpose, that we might live consciously in union with God.         

Snakes and Vipers and Poisonous Creatures

A Reflection on Elements of Warfare in Teresa of Avila’s “Interior Castle”

You and I have had our share of wrestling with the snakes and vipers and poisonous creatures; but many children of the world, always giving into temptation, have no awareness of the role of tempters.  For the children of the world temptation and tempters are a joke.  Alfie’s song in My Fair Lady tells the story:

The Lord above made liquor for temptation,
To see if man could turn away from sin.
The Lord above made liquor for temptation, but
With a little bit o' luck,
With a little bit o' luck,
When temptation comes you'll give right in![i]

We live in a dangerous world.  And the dangers that confront us can be lethal.  Surrender to Alfie’s temptation can lead to ruined marriages, abused children, loss of jobs, and ultimately loss of life itself.  The joke is no joke.

Isaiah describes this world of ours as a Habitation of Dragons:

Thorns shall grow over its strongholds,

nettles and thistles in its fortresses.

It shall be the habitation of dragons

a court of owls.

And wild animals shall meet with howlers;

the satyr shall cry to his fellow;

indeed, there the night hag settles

and finds for herself a resting place.[ii]

We live our lives in the habitation of dragons, in the den of snakes and vipers and poisonous creatures, and when we approach the door of our Interior Castle they enter along with us.  By our long unperceptive association with them they have in a sense earned the right of entrance.   Our settled habits and accepted weaknesses are dangerous.  Teresa tells us that we are so accustomed to living with that vile horde that they enter the first rooms of the castle along with us, and make it difficult for us to “appreciate the beauty of the castle or to find any peace within it.”[iii]

Teresa gives us notice, “Remember that in few of the mansions of this castle are we free from struggles with devils,”[iv] and that “the devil’s intentions are always very bad, he has many legions of evil spirits in each room to prevent souls from passing from one (mansion) to another, and as we, poor souls, fail to realize this we are tricked by all kinds of deceptions.”[v]

            C. S. Lewis rightly remarks, “There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils.  One is to disbelieve in their existence.  The other is to believe, and to feel and excessive and unhealthy interest in them.  They themselves are equally pleased by both errors, and hail a materialist or a magician with the same delight.”[vi] 

As twenty-first century Anglican Christians, we are much more apt to err on the side of ignoring the reality of devils, than being spooked by Teresa’s clear teaching in this area.  The reason for Teresa’s concern is the negative effect that these devils have on our spiritual perception.  She says, “(I hardly know how to explain myself) because there are so many bad things—snakes and vipers and poisonous creatures—which have come in with the soul that they prevent it from seeing the light.”[vii]   Indeed, “being among such poisonous things, it (the soul) cannot, at some time or another, escape being bitten by them.”[viii]  That may at first glance be uncomfortable, but it is very important.  To change the analogy, if I know where the poison ivy is, most of the time I will try to avoid walking barefoot in it.  Most of the time.  On the other hand we have a propensity to think somehow that we are immune and become careless.

Teresa tells us that “There are a multitude of ways in which he (the devil) can deceive us, and gradually make his way into the castle, and until he is actually there we do not realize it.”[ix]  Our own spiritual experience should tell us that our early warning signals need to be finely tuned.  When the moment comes that we realize we have been bitten by poisonous vipers it is time for us once more to visit the Room of Self-knowledge.  When we have been snake bitten, it is instructive to start where we are and trace our steps backward.  It is rather like trying to find something you have lost.  Walk backward in your  memory and try to find where that particular temptation began to arise.  Sometimes we don’t have to look very far; but at other times we may indeed pull on the end of that thread of memory and unravel a whole sequence of uncomfortable events.

There is a marvellous scene in the movie ‘The Iron Lady’ in which Lady Margaret Thatcher comments on habits.  She says, “Watch your thoughts for they become words.  Watch you words for they become actions.  Watch your actions for they become habits.  Watch your habits for they become your character, and watch your character for it becomes your destiny!”[x]  Our society tends to look for the origin of our problems in our feelings, but what biblical basis is there for this?  Jesus didn’t ask Peter, James, Andrew, or Judas how they felt about things; he gave them a choice, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”[xi] 

It is not that feelings have no importance, after all even a casual reading of the Psalms will make it clear that we are to take our feelings to the God who is the mender of broken hearts, and it is clear that feelings, both negative and positive can be a driving force in our lives, particularly when we don’t recognize and understand them.  Emotions run riot are a symptom of spiritual snake bite.  Note the Biblical emphasis: We are to rule our feelings; our feelings are not to rule us.  “A man without self-control is a city broken into and left without walls,”[xii] and “Be angry and sin not,”[xiii] and “For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands, for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”[xiv]   At every step of our life looking backwards and forwards we have the responsibility that comes from making choices, and each choice is an act of the will.

The search for the knowledge and Presence of God will lead us from time to time back to that room of self-knowledge.   A burst of ill-temper may be only the result of not enough sleep and a poor diet indicating a need for better care for some of the simple basics of life.  On the other hand a burst of ill-temper may uncover a whole thread of unresolved and unforgiven things that need to be resolved.  Some of these things may reach far back into our childhood and to the models set by our parents. 

It is a grace to hear the Lord say, "What do you mean by repeating this proverb concerning the land of Israel, 'The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge'?  3 As I live, declares the Lord GOD, this proverb shall no more be used by you in Israel.”[xv]  Through self-knowledge and the grace of God we can arm ourselves in the battle against the vipers, and by grace rule our feelings. 

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[i] Alan Jay Lerner, “My Fair Lady”, 1964

[ii] Isaiah 35: 13-14 (Note that the night hag in Hebrew is Le-Leeth, from which we get Lilith

[iii] Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle, E. Allison Peers, trans, and ed. (New York; Doubleday, 1989, p. 33

[iv] Ibid. p.41

[v] Ibid. p.40

[vi] C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996).    p. 15

[vii] Teresa, p. 40

[viii] Ibid. p. 41, (bracket added for clarity)

[ix] Ibid. p. 42

[x] “The Iron Lady”, Pathé, 20^th Century Fox, 2012

[xi] Luke 9:23

[xii] Proverbs 25:28

[xiii] Psalm 4:4

[xiv] 2 Timothy 1:6-7  

[xv] Ezekiel 18:2-3  

Teresa of Avila: Reflections on the Interior Castle

In Teresa of Avila’s “Interior Castle” there are seven mansions.  Each mansion represents a particular development in the life of prayer.  Teresa wrote primarily for the nuns under her care.  Nuns and monks have made a basic commitment to live in a community whose life is structured around the seven times of prayer that make up the Daily Offices.  That commitment to community and regular prayer forms the necessary foundation for the contemplative theology of Teresa.

The great mystery of Christian life is that we are the temple of the Holy Spirit,[i] and through the gift of the Spirit the Father and the Son come to us and make their home within us.[ii]  That is not only an objective fact based on Holy Scripture and the doctrine of the Church, but also a fact that is meant to be experienced subjectively in our personal experience in real time.

The Quaker Thomas Kelly wrote “Deep within us all there is an amazing inner sanctuary of the soul, a holy place a Divine Center, a speaking Voice, to which may continuously return.  Eternity is at our hearts, pressing upon our time-torn lives, warming us with intimations of an astounding destiny, calling us home unto Itself.”[iii]  That Light is Christ Jesus our Lord.  He is the light of the world.

In her book The Interior Castle, Teresa of Avila tells us, “I began to think of the soul as if it were a castle made of a single diamond or of very clear crystal, in which there are many rooms, just as in Heaven there are mansions.”[iv]  She goes on to say, “In speaking of the soul we must always think of it as spacious, ample and lofty; and this can be done without the least exaggeration, for the soul’s capacity is much greater than we can realize, and this Sun, Which is in the palace, reaches every part of it.”[v]

However not every soul is a glorious castle.   With its central dwelling place and surrounding rooms the medieval castle is an image of the interior life; but what of the ruined castle with its crumbling stairs and battlements and all of its wooden floors long since rotted out?  Evelyn Underhill remarks, “Some souls, like some people, can be slummy anywhere.  There is always a raucous and uncontrolled voice ascending from the basement, and a pail of dirty water at the foot of the stairs.”[vi]

The first order of business with the soul is housecleaning.  John testifies, “But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.  If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.  If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”[vii]

We come to the door of the castle through the grace of forgiveness and our acceptance of Jesus Christ as our Saviour and Lord.  That is only safe way to approach the door.  Teresa tells us, “As far as I can understand, the door of entry into this castle is prayer and meditation.”[viii]

If we are going to enter through the door we have to purposefully approach the door.  Prayer, to be prayer at all must be both conscious and intentional.  Teresa says,  “If a person does not think Whom he is addressing, and what he is asking for, and who it is that is that is asking and of Whom he is asking it, I do not consider that he is praying at all even though he may be constantly moving his lips.”[ix]  St. Benedict tells us, “Whenever we want to ask some favour of a powerful man, we do it humbly and respectfully for fear of presumption.  How much more important, then, to lay our petitions before the Lord God of all things with the utmost humility and sincere devotion?”[x]  What tends to be lost in our age is a sense of awe, and love without awe is a poor counterfeit.

There is in St. Teresa a fusion of awe and familiarity with her Lord.  She refers to her Lord as “His Majesty,” and at the same time refers to Him as “the Beloved.”  Too often in prayer we strive to reach that place of warm familiarity and intimacy without realizing that holy awe is an absolute necessity; and those who shy away from holy awe do not in truth recognize the God they seek to approach.  Teresa tells us that if we do not recognize the person we are addressing we are not praying, just moving our lips. 

That acknowledgment of awe runs through all of the Psalms and is a fundamental part of prayer.  It is not just a sense of awe in relationship with God in Trinity in Unity, or a sense of awe in God the Father alone.  We are particularly prone to sentimentalize our relationship with Jesus, but of Him the Psalmist declares;

Psalm 110   Dixit Dominus

1          The LORD said to my Lord, “Sit at my right hand, *

            until I make your enemies your footstool.”

2          The LORD will send the scepter of your power out of 
            Zion, * saying, “Rule over your enemies round about 
            you.

3          Princely state has been yours from the day of your 
            birth; * in the beauty of holiness have I begotten 
            you, like dew from the womb of the morning.”

4          The LORD has sworn and he will not recant: *

            “You are a priest for ever after the order of 
            Melchizedek.”

5          The Lord who is at your right hand

            will smite kings in the day of his wrath; *

            he will rule over the nations.

6          He will heap high the corpses; *

            he will smash heads over the wide earth.

7          He will drink from the brook beside the road; *

            therefore he will lift high his head.[xi]

A common problem with contemporary Christians is the tendency to enter through the gate and never go beyond the courtyard.  Teresa tells us that, “Many souls remain in the outer court of the castle, which is the place occupied by the guards; they are not interested in entering it.”[xii]  Part of the problem is that they have not been taught to enter the castle itself.  All of their attention has been focussed on the necessity of entering through the gate, rather than dwelling in the castle, and much effort is spent on attempting to relive the initial experience of conversion, rather than pursuing the more arduous business of living with Christ in the interior of the castle. 

Teresa tells us that many “reptiles” also enter through the gates with us.  By reptiles Teresa is referring to the thousand preoccupations of worldly people “for they are very much all the time filled with their preoccupations, for they are very much attached to them, and, where their treasure is, there is their heart also.”[xiii]  Prayer at this stage remains difficult and arduous because of the variety of distractions that come from our attachment to the world.  Entry into the first floor of the castle is no protection.  Teresa tells us that the reptiles come through the very doors of the castle with us, “Eventually they enter the first rooms on the lowest floor, but so many reptiles get in with them that they are unable to appreciate the beauty of the castle or to find any peace within it.”[xiv]

There is one room on the first floor of the castle that is most important, and that is the room of self-knowledge: Teresa says, “I do not know if I have explained this clearly; self-knowledge is so important that, even if you were raised right up to the heavens, I should like you never to relax your cultivation of it; so long as we are on earth, nothing matters more to us than humility.”[xv]  You will visit this room frequently and occasionally spend a great deal of time there.  “Yet one can have too much of a good thing, as the saying goes.”[xvi] 

It is in the room of self-knowledge that humility is acquired, yet if you gaze only at yourself you will lose perspective and perhaps even become prey to the Accuser who is always looking for an open window to enter.  You must leave the room of self-knowledge seeking the vision of God and his glory in order to even understand the meaning of your self-knowledge.  “So long as we are buried in the wretchedness of our earthly nature these streams [of misery] of ours will never disengage themselves from the slough of cowardice, pusillanimity and fear.  We shall always be glancing around and saying: “Are the people looking at me or not?” “If I take a certain path shall I come to any harm?” “Dare I begin such and such a task?” “Is it pride that is impelling me to do so?”[xvii]

Our context within the created order must also be understood, and understood with both balance and appreciation for the wonders that God has made, including ourselves, and with an understanding of the nature of the evil that we encounter in the world.  It is not enough to view ourselves in isolation, although that is essential; one must view one’s self in the context of humankind.  Benedictine balance calls us to moderation and balance, not to a focus on grim self-knowledge alone.  It is important to accept the grace of God already evident in the experience of each one of us.  St. Paul speaks a great truth when he says, “By the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain.”[xviii]  We have come this far by grace, through the gate, across the castle grounds, through the castle door itself and into the Room of Self-knowledge. 

That in itself is a great accomplishment.  But we must not rest there but hear also that our God proclaims that we are precious in his eyes, honoured, and that he loves us;[xix] and even more than that, through the effective work of redemption and grace we are already beautiful in his sight.  Self-knowledge demands that we not only see our need for penitence and transformation but that we also see the glory of that ongoing transformation already at work in our lives.

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[i] I Corinthians 6:19-20  

[ii] John 14:23 “Jesus answered him, "If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.”

[iii] Thomas Kelly, A Testament of Devotion, (New York: Harper and Row, 1941), p. 29

[iv] Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle, E. Allison Peers, trans, and ed. (New York; Doubleday, 1989),  p. 28

[v] Ibid.

[vi] Evelyn Underhill, The House of the Soul, (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1930), p. 19

[vii] 1 John 1:7-9  

[viii] Teresa. p. 31

[ix] Ibid. p. 32

[x] The Rule of St. Benedict, CH. 20:1,2

[xi] The Book of Common Prayer 1979, p. 753-754

[xii] Teresa. p. 31

[xiii] Ibid. p. 32

[xiv] Ibid. p. 33

[xv] Ibid. p. 38

[xvi] Ibid.

[xvii] Ibid. p. 39

[xviii] I Corinthians 15:10

[xix] Isaiah 43:4

Come Ye Disconsolate

Come, ye disconsolate, where’er ye languish,

Come, at the shrine of God fervently kneel;

Here bring your wounded hearts; here tell your anguish;

Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, light of the straying,

Hope when all others die, fadeless and pure;

Here speaks the Comforter, in God’s name saying,

“Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure.”

Come, ask the infidel what boon he brings us,

What charm for aching hearts he can reveal,

Sweet is that heavenly promise Hope sings us—

“Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal.”[i]

The last verse of this fine old hymn was changed by Thomas Hastings in his Spiritual Songs for Social Worship in 1831, probably because of the implication of calling non-believers ‘infidels.’  I’m not suggesting that we start doing that, but neither do I want us to miss the point of the Irish poet Thomas Moore.  What does that embarrassing line ask?

“Come, ask the infidel what boon he brings us,

What charm for aching hearts he can reveal.”

That is indeed the question!  We are first of all loath to admit that those who are not Christians are infidels, and once having surmounted that insurmountable obstacle we are loath to admit the infidel has no boon to offer, no charm for aching hearts.  The word ‘infidel’ comes from the Middle English ‘infidele’ and means unbelieving.  No other religion, no infidel, offers the comfort that is an essential element of Christian faith. ‘He leadeth me:  O blessed thought!  O words with heavenly comfort fraught!  Whate'er I do, where'er I be, still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me.”[ii]

We live in a world fraught with many fears.  Hear the words of the Psalmist: “Destroy, O Lord, divide their tongues; for I see violence and strife in the city.  Day and night they go around it on its walls, and iniquity and trouble are within it; ruin is in its midst; oppression and fraud do not depart from its marketplace.”[iii]  We need the reassurance that “Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal,’ and we need those “words with heavenly comfort fraught.”  After all, let me ask you, where can you go but to the Lord? 

The words of the Psalmist sound surprisingly like the evening news.  We live in the midst of Babylon.  There is violence and strife in the city; there is iniquity, trouble, ruin, oppression and fraud, and today there are many voices declaiming the moral decay of our society.  As a society we are like so many drunks sitting on bar stools mourning the fact that we are having a problem with alcohol and calling for another beer.  It’s not that we don’t see and to some extent even understand the situation we are in, but we have seemingly lost the will to do something about it.  But we Christians are in the world but not of the world.[iv]  There is a difference between the believer and the hopeless infidel.

The place to start is in persistent humble prayer.  The Psalmist cries, “But I call to God, and the LORD will save me.  Evening and morning and at noon I utter my complaint and moan, and he hears my voice.”[v]   The Hebrew way of reckoning the day started in the evening and The Book of Common Prayer does the same, which explains why the first services of Christmas and Easter are on the Saturday evenings before the Feast Day.   In the midst of the spiritual dangers of our society we are to cry out, we would say, “morning, noon, and night.”  The day is to be encompassed in prayer.

The Psalmist exhorts us, “Cast your burden on the LORD, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved.”[vi]  The Psalmist prays, “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.”  He confesses, “In God, whose word I praise, in the LORD, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can man do to me?”  Neither the Psalmist, nor Jesus in the Gospels, are naïve about the very real dangers.  Jesus tells us, “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.”  The Christian living in a world with infidels filled faces very real dangers and today there are many who are martyrs the world over, especially in Muslim lands.  As hard as it is to hear, there are worse things than suffering pain or the loss of life.  The martyrs know what boon the infidel brings; they know what charm the infidel offers for aching hearts.

Peter, who himself was going to suffer martyrdom, asks us, “Now who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good?  But even if you should suffer for righteousness' sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled, but in your hearts regard Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame.  For it is better to suffer for doing good, if that should be God's will, than for doing evil.”[vii]

Put your trust alone in Jesus.  Life is transitory.  Heaven is for ever, and heaven is real.  “Sweet is that heavenly promise (that) Hope sings us—Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal.”  That is why, among other reasons, that St. Benedict tells us to “Prefer nothing whatever to Christ.”[viii]

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[i] Thomas Moore, Irish Poet in Sacred Songs, 1816

[ii] Joseph H. Gilmore, 1834-1918

[iii] Psalm 55:9-11  

[iv] John 17:16

[v] Psalm 55:16-17

[vi] Psalm 55:22  

[vii] 1 Peter 3:13-17  

[viii] The Rule of St. Benedict, Prologue

Nilling and Willing: The Spiritual Challenge

            I ran into an apt but unusual word in a fresh translation of St. Augustine’s Confessions by Garry Wills.  The word is, “nill” for “will not”, or for “negate.”  Here is the sentence that I find so remarkable:

“This is all I wanted, to nill my own will, will yours.”[1]

            How difficult that is!  For Augustine it was as painful a process as it is for us.  He says, “But where I was going no ship or carriage or walking could take me … Not only going but arriving there was simply a matter of willing it—but willing it with a strong and unified will, not a partial and wounded will, one jerking and lunging, part of it surging, part of it sinking,”[2] 

On this side of the decision to surrender there is uncertainty; we cannot see the way before us, and looking at ourselves we cannot see how we can possibly take the next step.  What Augustine discovered with much despair and tears was that “there is a sickness of the soul, weighed down by compulsions that impede its response to the truth.  In that sense there are two wills, each halfhearted, each lacking what the other has.”[3]  Within each one of us there are those same two wills struggling against each other.  With Augustine we cry out, “Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.”

            But this was neither academic nor impersonal.  He says, “But I, in my hesitation over whether to serve the Lord at last, as I had long been disposed to do, was the same man willing as was nilling, both were me.  For my willing was as halfhearted as my nilling.  I was at war within, was exiled from myself.”[4] 

What was it that held him back?  “The triflingest things, the very hollowest things of the hollow-headed, had stalled me – my entrenched lusts, plucking me back by my fleshly clothing, whispering low: Can you cast us off? And: From this moment, never more to be with us!  And: From this moment, never to do this! … they no longer flaunted themselves before me on my way, but were tittering behind me, as if furtively picking at me while I pulled away from them, trying to make me look back.”[5]   

We may think that we do not struggle with the same things that Augustine was struggling with, but we have our own interior conflicts.  One of the problems with making up our minds to actually diet is our difficulty with accepting that what is called for is a surrender to a new pattern of living, not just doing without a few things until we get our weight down to a more comfortable level.  With Augustine hear the voice of our favourite temptations saying, “Can you cast us off? And: From this moment, never more to be with us!  And: From this moment, never to do this!”  Temporary dieting is one thing, surrendering to a new way of living is another.

There is in Augustine’s Confession the pain of abandonment of long fondled lusts and desires that tugs at the human soul (psyche – soul, self).  This is not easy stuff to endure, but the warning of St. Benedict sounds in my ear, “death lies close by the gate of pleasure.”[6]  Augustine then hears Lady Self-Control teasing with smiling insistence, “Why do you stand alone, which is no standing at all?  Throw yourself on him!  Do you think he will not stay your fall?  Give up fear, and throw yourself—he will catch you, and will heal you.”[7]

            The surrender when it comes, comes with sweet relief.  He picks up the book in the garden and reads, ‘“Give up indulgence and drunkenness, give up lust and obscenity, give up strife and rivalries and clothe yourself in Jesus Christ the Lord, leaving no further allowance for fleshly desires.’  The very instant I finished that sentence, light was flooding my heart with assurance, and all my shadowy reluctance evanesced.”[8]  It is at this point that he finally is able to declare, “This is all I wanted, to nill my own will, will yours.”[9]

            The conflict of St. Augustine is the conflict of everyman.  That is the crunch point … willing and nilling, that calls us all to renewed surrenders.  Letting go is scary, because, after all it is the self that we are letting go.  It is Jesus who said, “Whoever would save his life (psyche – soul, or self) will lose it, but whoever loses his life (soul, or self) for my sake will find it.”[10]  We are hard learners and often must reach the point of utter helplessness before we let go, be still, let drop, relax, and know that he is God.[11]  Then, O the blessed relief of being out from under.

 Willing and Nilling and the Bondservant

            I have long been drawn to an image of commitment in Exodus, “When you buy a Hebrew slave, he shall serve six years, and in the seventh he shall go out for nothing … But if the slave plainly says, ‘I love my master, my wife and my children; I will not go out free,’ then his master shall bring him to the door or the door post.  And his master shall bore his ear through with an awl, and he shall be his slave forever.”[12]  Forever is a very long time.  Lord, I would be your slave, your bondservant forever. 

            I note the mixed, very human motives.  The master has given the servant a wife and she has born him children in his servitude.  He loves his master, and he also loves his wife and children.  I can’t help reading this with a little “upstairs, downstairs” overtone from my own cultural background.  To be downstairs in that context is not to be in a place of disgrace, but in a place where one’s service gives positive shape and meaning to one’s life. That is a far cry from the abusive slavery of the American South.  Take for instance the character of Bunter, Valet to Lord Peter Wimsey, in the Dorothy Sayers novels.  Bunter is an honourable and admirable man.  As for me, I am the bondservant of the King and it is my delight to serve Him! 

I am drawn particularly to the finality of the decision; one bears visibly the mark of his slavery by wearing an ear ring.  The New International Version translation of Psalm 40 picks the theme up with clarity, “Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but my ears you have pierced; burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require.  Then I said, ‘Here I am, I have come—it is written about me in the scroll.  I desire to do your will, O my God, your law is written in my heart.”[13] 

In effect, with Augustine, I pray, “This is all I wanted, to nill my own will, will yours.”  You, Jesus, my Lord, give my life the only meaning I have.  My life is hidden with you in God.[14]  You, are in your Father, and you are in me, and I in you.[15]   

            There is implicit suffering both in the Surrender of the Christ to his bond service to the Father, and in my own humanity and weakness.  From time to time I shrink from suffering, but with Paul, “I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church.”[16] 

The surrender to your will, O my God, and the sufferings you endured are reflected in the Letter to the Hebrews where Psalm 40:6-8 is directly applied to you.  You lived your earthly life in perfect surrender to the will of your own Father, you taking the form of a servant[17], nilling your own will, and praying for us and in us, “Remove this cup from me.  Yet not what I will but what you will.”[18] 

You in me, and I in you; you make for me the perfect surrender that I cannot make but only desire, but desire it I do, and strive for it ‘I will’ to do, praying my own prayer in your words, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”  You bid me follow you, and then you give me the grace to do so, saying, “Work out your own salvation in fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.[19] My Lord, “This is all I wanted, to nill my own will, will yours.”[20]

  

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[1]                 Garry Wills, Saint Augustine: Confessions, (London:Penguin Classics, 2006), IX, 1:7.

[2]               Ibid. VIII, 5.

[3]               Ibid.

[4]               Ibid.

[5]               Ibid.

[6]               The Rule of St. Benedict, Ch. 7, On Humility

[7]               Ibid.

[8]               Ibid.

[9]               Ibid. IX, 1:7

[10]             Matthew 16:25

[11]             Psalm 46:10

[12]             Exodus 21:2, 5-6

[13]             Psalm 40:6-8

[14]             Colossians 3:3

[15]             John 14:20

[16]             Colossians 1:24

[17]             Philippians 2:7

[18]             Mark 14:36

[19]             Philippians 2:12b-13

[20]               Garry Wills, Saint Augustine: Confessions, (London:Penguin Classics, 2006), IX, 1:7.