THE CONTEMPLATIVE LIFE involves the discipline and willingness to let the Spirit “cleanse the doors of perception,” to use William Blake’s phrase, so that when we look we see with the eyes of our heart into the heart of whom or what we see. Or said another way, when we look in this way, with a soft-heart, we are consenting to be penetrated by the mystery, truth, and depth of whom or what we see. And by our consent, we cooperate with the impetus of grace to become a passionate participant in the reality of what we see: the grand, the beautiful, the awe-inspiring, the inconspicuous, the common, the unjust, the tragic, the horrific whichever the case may be.

The late Carmelite William McNamara described contemplation as taking “a long loving look at the real.”1 When we hear this description it is easy to slip immediately into the assumption that when we gaze at someone or something with love that the subject or object of our beholding no doubt must be pleasing, beautiful, stunning, or delightful. But the contemplative’s loving look, which involves noticing, beholding, appreciating, and the willingness to be moved, is non-discriminating. The contemplative or mystic looks at each one and everyone, at each thing and everything, from the simple to the sublime, in the same loving way: with the desire to be broken open by the ineffable truth, vulnerability, and inner mystery of what they see and to respond fully to it.

Our contemplative gaze might evoke wonder – a starfield in a night sky in a place far away from city lights. It might evoke deep sympathy – a young child whose face is filled with panic and smeared with tears in response to being separated from her parents at the U.S. – Mexico border. Our beholding might call forth awe – a massive, swirling murmuration of starlings performing their exquisite skydance overhead. It might call forth heartbreak and anger – a TV news story showing a transgender woman being beaten to the point of unconsciousness by a violent mob ends with breaking news reporting that a month later she has been found murdered. Our long, loving look at the real might bring forth a profound sense of humility and reverence – a man stops, turns around and walks ten feet back to a man he passed who sits crumpled on a stoop, takes off a pair of nice shoes, bends to say something and to give the shoes to the homeless man, then walks a bit lighter to work in his stocking feet. It might bring forth gratefulness or joy or deep peace – a child climbs into the holy hollow of her grandmother’s midsection and hunkers down as if that place were second only to the lap of God. It is such beholding that holds wonder and compassion together as partners for life.

Contemplatives knowingly move through their days and lives with susceptible hearts in order to be broken open by the epiphanic nature of reality and in order not to be fortified from that which demands to be seen, in order not to be separated from the ones who are lost to our sight, to our concern, to our compassion and long to be recognized, to be cherished, to be known. The mystic is receptive and responsive to the mystery — whether it presents as wonderful or frightening — to the meaning behind the mystery, and to the mercy within the meaning that we can sense but never fully grasp. Instead the mystic revels in being grasped by the murmurations of divine presence and the intimations of grace.

~ Dan

1 This line is often attributed to Walter Burghardt, S.J. but it is from William McNamara. See The Human Adventure: Contemplation for Everyman, Ch. 2. © 1974.

♦ Goodpeople, if this reflection or others from THE ALMOND TREE enriches your life in some small way, please pass it on to others you think might also appreciate it. Thank you.

VIDEO DIVINA — A MOVING MEDITATION I think there is enough musicality in the cinematography to stand alone as a moving meditation. But I suppose if you are going to have a soundtrack for your skydance, Pachelbel’s Canon is a worthy choice.