[I am in a reading phase for the next chapter of my book on Sontag; it covers her second collection of essays, Styles of Radical Will, which I am finding increasingly indebted to Jean-Paul Sartre's major philosophical works Being and Nothingness and St. Genet, so I am studying these along with Sontag's collection and a wonderful book on apophatic theology in contemporary literature by Christopher J. Knight. So in the meantime I will be giving my thoughts to the blog to keep the writing flowing. Enjoy, dear friends!]
I love the following quotation from Benedictine brother David Steindl-Rast that I recently found; he writes: "What is truly a part of our spiritual path is that which brings us alive. If gardening brings us alive, that is part of our path, if it is music, if it is conversation...we must follow what brings us alive." I realize that for me as an Anglican Christian and non-sectarian contemplative, the process Steindl-Rast addresses here is what I would label (theologically-speaking) as sanctification. If we prayerfully do that which "brings us alive," we do it in the Spirit and with gratitude; we are becoming sanctified via Christ's agency in us and He through us sanctifies the activity we are doing. It is that simple and that profound at the same time.
Reading and studying the works of May Sarton and Thomas Merton are what first taught me this valuable lesson that Steindl-Rast has reminded me of today. Sarton believed that writing itself was a spiritual practice, especially poetry, and that we set aside the routine time of writing as a sacred and uninterrupted period of each one of our days. Sarton is completely correct, and she occasionally had to be quite gruff with people who wanted to disrupt that important time. I tend to feel the same way; I like to keep mornings for writing and I get very upset when, especially during the semester, someone wants my Saturday mornings, which is often the only sustained time I have to write all week during term. So if I too am gruff to keep that time sacred, I apologize but am not really sorry.
As writers and contemplatives, we have to keep our "alive" time and practices, whatever they are, sacrosanct so that the processes that restore and renew us and bring us more in line with what God wants for and through us can happen. Yes, I am an introvert, and probably on the extreme side of that spectrum of extrovert/introvert. Indeed, my blog probably reads strangely to those who are truly or extremely extroverts, but then again, aren't most writers who find their best fellowship with their notebooks (paper and virtual) introverts?
Which brings me to another practice which keeps me alive (apart from worship on our Sabbath, which is its sacred space and deserves another space and time to discuss more fully), and that is the time I devote to exercise. I have learned through ill health and particularly being hospitalized twice with pancreatitis (a potentially deadly disorder) that my time at the gym exercising with my trainer has to be set aside and made a kind of sacred space as well. I sometimes pray before or during my exercise time to sanctify that activity, although I am not always or consistently prayerful while working out at a gym. I know that God has put people like my trainer Aaron Newman and my gym Catalyst Fitness in my life for the reason to keep me healthy in body as well as mind and soul. For that, I am truly grateful.
Happy reading and exploring what acts bring you alive today and always!
See, what you’re talking about here is just what I’ve been missing lately. Too often I let myself get pulled into busywork, and on the other hand mindless amusement, both of which are alienating in their own ways. But even if I don’t always get the chance to do the really meaningful things I intend to - there’s the Zen practice of bringing mindfulness to the most ordinary tasks so that they become religious acts. (I’m sure that there’s a Christian monastic equivalent but I don’t know what it’s called.) Easier said than done of course.
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