When I was 14 I hit my first spiritual crisis. I had been confirmed the year in my Lutheran church and had started high school, my first exposure to a Lutheran school. My confirmation prep had been two years of catechism classes, in which we memorized (again) all the parts of the catechism (this had been a facet of Sunday School as well) and hundreds of Bible verses. By any standards I have witnessed since then, it was a rigorous intellectual preparation. We had Examination Sunday where, in place of a sermon, we were asked questions off of a list of at least a hundred which we were expected to either memorize or be able to articulate thoroughly -- or face the embarassment of standing mute in front of the whole congregation. That was a practice from earlier decades that our new pastor revived in my second year. One of the more dreaded questions was to recite all the books of the Old Testament. I rose to the challenge and knew my stuff.
So when I got to high school and found my Freshman Old Testament class not very much of a challenge, the crisis hit. Here I was, 14 years old, and I knew everything there was to know about God. I had conquered Luther's Small Catechism, and it seemed there was nothing else out there to challenge me. Now, basically, I had to hold on to this knowledge until I died.
I trust you can hear how laughable this is, but I felt it keenly and it made me depressed. I tried reading Luther's other works, and started to get frustrated that even though these were supposed to me authoritative documents for doctrine, no one was teaching them or studying them or encouraging that. I found in subsequent years, including college, that commentaries or Bible studies never really expected any intellectual advance beyond the point we attained in confirmation prep. And I realized I hungered for something beyond sheer memorization of the Ten Commandments, Apostles Creed, and catechesis on the sacraments. I really hungered for someone to show me how to live this out. These days I would call it discipleship. I wanted to share life with people who wanted God to lead them through life together.
I had no one, literally. I started listening to Christian radio every day, and became a devotee to a lot of the Bible teachers there, even though much of their doctrine turned me off and some of their voices grated on me. The music was very Lawrence Welk-ish, with a touch or two of very mild pop, so it really didn't appeal to me. Yet I listened because I was starving for connection, for fellowship, for answers, for direction, for peace. During the summer when I was 15, too young to work and home alone most of the time, I played solitare at the kitchen table and listened to Christian radio all day long, almost every day. I wrote letters to almost every ministry that gave their address and asked them to pray for me. It was actually a really depressing stretch as I think of it, but I believe that at least some prayers were offered for me, because my life did start onto a new trajectory about a year later.
My point in getting in touch with these memories is to share what is now one of the most precious truths to me about Christian life: There is always somewhere to go.
Years later I became familiar with St. Teresa of Avila's teaching on the mansions, or interior castles as she puts it, or the four waters -- all these ways she breaks down what God taught her about stages of spiritual growth. You know, I remember clearly the first time I read about this, including her seventh (and final) mansion, which she calls Spiritual Marriage. I think it was an entry in the Catholic Encyclopedia I read while researching for a paper. I was, at the time, also depressed that no Prince Charming had appeared and I was desperately afraid one never would. When I read that Teresa taught that few people reach Spiritual Marriage, I groaned inwardly: Great. Yet another joy I'll never have.
And here I am, about 34 years later, a fully professed Secular Carmelite. Now I have read and studied Teresa a bit, and I tell new aspirants, with great confidence, that there is always more. God always has some place for us to go. Our life of prayer is a life of seeking and being open, and God always will be leading us on and bringing us somewhere.
This morning I have to check in with myself and ask if I am feeling that. Am I believing that? I can't say that I am conscious of a burning desire to move forward.
I've been writing about overwork and being busy and clogged and tired and stiff, and I realize this might be a spiritual reflection. I mean, like a mirror to my interior. I'm pretty comfortable in life. I'm fairly connected with people. I have service and work that I love to do. I'm not bored. I'm learning. I either have a lot of things that make me comfortable, or I've figured out how to be comfortable enough without them. I manage to turn over to the Lord the stresses and distresses that come my way.
So, I don't have a lot poking me in the side, motivating me to want more.
I wonder though... Maybe I do, but I'm not feeling it. Maybe I don't really want to feel it. There's nothing wrong with not desiring turmoil. But if I apply my mind to this, and leave my feelings to one side for a bit, I know that God's adventures always leave me with an increase of peace, even if they come by way of increased tension for a time. I do, objectively, choose openness to God. I know my daughter is going to be an adult in basically one short year, and her growing independence will take her away from me. So I'm due for some changes soon.
This is probably going to be one of those blogposts I look back on and say, see, God was prepping me. I'm totally at peace with that, and really I don't want to get so caught up in finding everything all nicely settled that I miss it. I know with certainty that God has always been patient with me.
So, today I purpose to say, yes Lord. I open my heart to whatever More you desire for me, because I want to be able to offer you a wider heart through which you can give life through me.
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