Enter into God's Rest

 "Let us listen to the voice of God; let us enter into His rest."

This is the way we begin the invitatory psalm on Saturday of weeks two and four of the Liturgy of the Hours. It evokes Psalm 95 (which typically is the psalm prayed at this point), where we exhort each other to "listen to the voice of the Lord, do not grow stubborn" [and not end up like the people to whom God said] "They shall not enter into my rest." Who were they? People whose hearts went astray, who challenged God and provoked God, regardless of seeing him in action, people who did not know his ways.

It also evokes Hebrews chapter 4 where we read that there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God. Our Sabbath rest is our union with the Blessed Trinity, opened to us by Jesus and modeled for us by Jesus, to which we are drawn by the Holy Spirit to our identity as sons and daughters of the Father. 

I woke unusually early this morning and listened to a 50 minute teaching on YouTube which a Facebook friend of mine happend to post. What drew me was the title: Becoming a Non-Anxious Presence. The title comes from the work of an Internal Family Systems psychologist (something else I've been learning about within the last year), and in my mind it struck me as equivalent to someone who embodies hope. That's language that makes my spiritual antennae perk up. And while I've pulled a minor imitation of mi Madre Teresa of Avila in not going back to re-read my recent posts, I feel like I have been developing a life theme right now of letting go of anxiety in its various manifestations. 

So, yeah. This Vineyard minister, apparently right before shut downs affected public gatherings in the UK in 2020, is teaching here on the need for contemplative silence and prayer in leadership and life, to operate from a place of listening to the voice of God, not with a goal of fixing problems. 

Consider the witness of martyrs, like Ss. Perpetua and Felicity. The account of their martyrdom shows them basically in a state of ecstacy so profound that they do not feel physical pain. Now, I do not take that as a guarantee that martyrs do not feel fear or pain (the Carmelite martyrs of Compiègne certainly had to steel themselves to approach their deaths). But there is also the Scriptural account of Stephen, the first martyr, who saw heaven opened and Jesus standing there. This is an extreme example of entering God's rest in the midst of turmoil, and I believe it is an example left to us by God on purpose. It doesn't glorify death; it reminds us that we have nothing to fear. If death and hell have lost their sting, then there is nothing before which we ultimately must cower. 

What we must journey through is purification of our attachments, or as Comer puts it (referencing St. Ignatius Loyola), our journey to freedom. Purification frees us for union with God; purification frees us for service, for ministry, for life to flow through us. We cease being reactive, of being determined by problems, by fears, by other people's issues, by the rage machine. 

It was a good talk. Where does it leave me?

Human formation is really important. If we think that all we need is correct doctrine or right worship or receiving sacraments, or any of these other things that are all objective, we don't get the whole picture. For good life, we need good human formation, good ground in which the seed of truth is sown, grows, and bears fruit. 

I personally need to examine my drive to produce. I've been on overdrive. God is calling me to slow down and rest in Him. And to not make prayer "more work to do." I think there's a danger for Carmelites and for intercessors to make prayer always about "work." 

Fasting is, in part, about letting go and letting God. "Letting God" is such an ironic expression. But to take God seriously at the level of relationship, every day I need to realize, to touch, the reality of his presence with me, and to once again acknowledge that I am partnered to him, apprenticed to him, and that once I catch his eye on me (the gospel has eyes, as St. John of the Cross says) I am drawn once again into the drama that is my unfolding life in him. And sometimes I'm just tired and can't even focus my eyes. And still he is with me. 

I have also been reminded how anxious my thinking can be. I remember back in the 90s I tended to specialize, at work, in trying to mentally solve problems in other departments that weren't even my responsibility. Seeing big problems just laying out there, apparently unattended, is a huge anxiety trigger for me. It is part of how I try to calm myself through overwork. Insert rueful laugh. I am drawn back to the realization that I am not the Savior of the universe, I just belong to Him. He is the master orchestrator, and I am available to Him in whatever way our partnership asks of me. 

Lent isn't over; it's barely under way. So for now I guess this is enough...