IVP - Strangely Dim - June 2010 Archives

Pilgrimage of a Soul, Part Four

Here's the final entry in our conversation with Phileena Heuertz about her recently released Likewise book, Pilgrimage of a Soul.

***

(SD) How's it feel to have your first book coming out? What are you most excited about? Most anxious about?

 

(PH) It feels satisfying and terrifying at the same time. Satisfying because I've been true to myself in what I've written and furthermore in how I've lived. It feels terrifying because I'm offering myself to a large audience in a new way. Some of my friends, family and coworkers don't even know some of the things I've written in this book about myself, my life and my experiences. In putting my experiences--some of which are very vulnerable--and my voice out there in this way, I am subject to the response of others. Will my book offer healthy influence, stimulate positive change, encourage people to deepen their faith and relationship with God? Or will it bring criticism and judgment to my message, my life? Probably both.

I think publishing this book is a new experience for me of living into Jesus' exhortation to "count the cost and take up the cross." When we acknowledge the work of God in us and offer that witness to the world, we are subject to both: glory and shame, praise and ridicule. The life of Jesus demonstrates that so well, and as a Christian I want to follow him. As I attempt to follow him, what I find is that regardless of what others say or think about me (for the good or bad), I remain a beloved daughter of God--more and more I am convinced that nothing I do and nothing anyone else does to me or says about me can change that.

Christianity is not the moral achievement contest we tend to make it out to be. If it is, none of us will win. Easy to believe but hard to live. The test comes when we experience criticism and judgment. But the true self isn't swayed by the opinions of others. It's the false self that is tossed back and forth by praise and ridicule. This is what I'm learning.

Pilgrimage of a Soul, Part Three

Third in our series of discussions with Phileena Heuertz, author of the new Likewise book Pilgrimage of a Soul.

***

(SD) Can you give a quick glimpse into the seven movements you describe in Pilgrimage of a Soul? How do they intersect, and how do we recognize them as we're moving through them?

 

(PH) Awakening, longing, darkness, death, transformation, intimacy and union are seven movements that I've experienced in my personal spiritual journey. I believe these movements of the soul are universal to those who are attentive to them, and they support ongoing Christian conversion and growth. These movements can certainly be found in the Scriptures, but when they are personally acknowledged and experienced, we are on our way toward living the abundant life of which Jesus so often spoke. Though we can know about these movements, the better is to experience them. Experiential knowledge is the greatest knowledge. We can argue and debate head knowledge. But who can dismiss what one experiences? Pilgrimage of a Soul attempts to help us connect our head to our heart that we might be more aware of and experience more of the living God.

 

These seven movements or signposts in the journey are not really linear but more circular in nature. We could be in and out of one movement in almost any order. The spiritual journey is not so much about progressing from one point to another as it is about surrendering to ongoing transformation and union with God. These seven movements support us in that objective; and though these experiences are quite internal and symbolic, they have very concrete, external expressions in our daily life--this is the place where contemplation meets action.

 

To try and summarize these, "awakening" is the point in our journey when we see more clearly particular illusions in our life--more specifically, parts of our false self that we had previously been asleep to. "Longing" symbolizes the discontentment in us that desires more--more connection to God, self, others and the world in which we live.

 

Ancient Christian mysticism has always affirmed the gift of "darkness," which essentially clouds our senses of the consoling presence of God that we might be purified and grow in the spiritual faculties that relate to God on a deeper level. "Death" is the experience of final surrender to the illusion(s) we've awakened to. Though the illusory false self is just that--an illusion--our identity clings to it all the same. To let go of it is frightening because it's all we've known and we are less acquainted (if acquainted at all) with the true self. So there is no comfort in what is coming--it is too unknown to us. Death (in the spiritual journey and the final material death when our body dies) is the ultimate act of faith because it is a final gesture of trust and love in the One who is greater than us and knows us better than we know ourselves. By surrendering to the death of our illusions, we trust that new life--resurrection--will come, though we have no concrete guarantee of it.

 

"Transformation," then, is that long-hoped-for new life. Transformation is the period of living into greater truth--into greater awareness of the true self. "Intimacy" is the experience of growing deeper in love with God, self, others and the world. Anxieties, turmoil, defense mechanisms, pretensions and pathologies that previously plagued us have been settled--healed--and we are freer to know (God, self, others, the world) and be known (by God, self, others, the world).

 

"Union" is the experience of the fragmented parts of ourselves (identity, confused perceptions of God, broken relationships, misaligned vocation) coming together. In union we experience these previously broken places now restored, redeemed, made whole. We experience greater centeredness in the love of God--which permeates all of our life actions.

Faith and Our Fathers

By now you're probably aware that, here at Strangely Dim, we like to celebrate things. Months, donkeys, friends. And books, of course. In this post we're celebrating books and an actual holiday (can you handle that much partying all at once?). Yes, kiddos, this Sunday is Father's Day. I for one would like to say thanks to my dad--for his love, support and wisdom. Also for reading my blog posts. And I would like to say to all you readers: if you haven't bought a card yet, there's still time. But you should go soon, because if you wait till Saturday night or Sunday morning, the only cards left will be the ones that whistle "Yankee Doodle Dandy" when you open them. If you haven't bought a gift yet--no problem. We just happen to have a suggestion.

Wisdom Chaser: Finding My Father at 14,000 Feet is a book about fathers and sons, about the struggle to love and be loved, about the struggle to accept ourselves as we are. And it's written by Nathan Foster, son of spiritual formation leader and bestselling author Richard Foster--a designation Nathan would not have appreciated a few years ago. Though known and revered by many for years, Richard was largely a mystery--and even a source of anger and bitterness--to Nathan, who couldn't understand what the big deal was about his father, and who resented the work that kept him from their family. Nathan writes:

For the first two decades of my life, I didn't really know my father. He was like a serious, silent ghost. . . . The world seemed to know more of the man I grew up with than I did. . . . As I became a young adult, my father and I seemed to have no time or interest in getting to know one each other. We had nothing in common.

 

But then, on a whim of Nathan's, they started to climb mountains together. Colorado's 14,000-foot mountains--the Fourteeners--to be exact. In the process, Nathan navigated his twenties, including marriage, career choices and some major pitfalls, and learned a lot about himself and his father. Here's a peek:

The whole notion of pacing myself was so simple, yet it sparked a revolution, a cosmic shift in the way in which I attempted to love my life. My string of failures was about to end. I was learning how to hike. I was learning how to live from a man I had determined had nothing to teach me.

Wisdom Chaser celebrates the unique (read: sometimes awkward, sometimes tumultuous but powerful and loving) relationship between fathers and their children, and Nathan's funny, brutally honest writing makes it an inspiring read. It's a great gift to say thanks to your dad for the wisdom he's given, and apologize for all the times you failed to appreciate that wisdom. (Unless, of course, your dad hates to read. Then this is probably not a good gift idea. In that case, I suggest a set of steak knives.)

Of course, while we do love to celebrate at Strangely Dim, and while we are big fans of dads, we also recognize that in this broken world, Father's Day is not always a happy day. For those of you grieving an unreconciled or abusive relationship, or mourning the death of a really wonderful father, we are so sorry for your pain. I'm particularly reminded of this this week, as a friend of mine passed away; Father's Day comes just eleven days after her death, and will no doubt be a day of sadness for her dad, instead of celebration.

For those who are hurting, and for all of us, Father's Day can ultimately point us to our true, perfect Father: the one who is always for us, who teaches us with perfect wisdom, who never fails. Margot Starbuck, Likewise author and one for whom Father's Day has not always been the happiest of days, gives us some good perspective in The Girl in the Orange Dress:

Like Israel, I had deduced from my difficult human circumstances that my Father had forsaken me. Hopeless, I had cried out with Zion, "The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me" (Isaiah 49:14).
     Straight-faced, the Father asked me, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb?" (Isaiah 49:15). It sure felt that way. "Even these may forget [the Lord assured me], yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palm of my hands" (Isaiah 49:15-16).

So whether you're celebrating or grieving on this Father's Day, know that you are loved by the Father of us all. In that sense, happy Father's Day, from all of us at Strangely Dim.

Target Temptation

Last night I was shopping at Target for some mundane items like dish detergent and a mouth guard (yes, I grind my teeth at night). I had purposed to walk straight over to the "pharmacy" and "cleaning" aisles, pick up my stuff and march directly out. But of course the clever marketing mavens (of which I am one) know that it is much harder to make a beeline to the practical items when you have to walk past all the newest fashions and toys.

I succumbed to the siren song of the new, starchy, clothes department, even though I know Target's clothes are likely made in sweatshops across Asia, usually sized too small for me and generally don't last more than three washes. And yet, there it was. The poster of the happy girls whose lives seemed so full now that they had that cute shrug and skinny jeans. Maybe my life would be better with these things. . .

And here's the scary part of my story: I started hearing a voice in my head. It said things to me like, "There's no harm in looking," and "You might as well try a few things on." Then once I was in the changing room it said, "Wow, that looks absolutely horrible on you. You need to lose weight so you can buy cute clothes like this and feel good about yourself." Then it said, "Maybe if you try on something else on you'll feel better. How 'bout you go get a different size/color/style." And so I did. I thought long and hard about spending my savings on a sweater. And I wondered, am I the only one who hears these kinds of voices? Then I remembered a book that does what most good books do--reminds me I'm not alone in my struggles (or perhaps in my insanity).

A few nights ago I was reading from Margot Starbuck's new book, Unsqueezed, where she reminds us of how insane our culture is and how backward it is to value our bodies for what they look like instead of how they function in service to God and others. In it she says:

"The fourth chapter of Luke's Gospel describes Jesus' wilderness temptation by the devil. The first temptation the enemy put out there was asking hungry Jesus to turn a stone to bread. Is it really surprising that Satan started with carbs? That's just so predictable. Jesus' answer to all three schemes devised by the evil one was, "No thanks. I'll trust in what God provides."

. . . Though some people imagine a red-faced Satan with pointy horns, a cape and a pitchfork, I think we're dealing with a much smoother cat than that. This guy's more like the well-dressed salesman who convinces us that he's got our best interests at heart. "Why depend on God to meet your needs?" the voice asks. "Why not meet your own needs?""

I shook myself from my stupor, put down the sweater and headed for the cash register to buy my detergent and mouth guard. On the way out, I had to pass by the jewelry counter, and the voice tried one more time. "Well, okay, maybe you don't need that dress, but you should get yourself some jewelry. After all, you deserve it."

With all the 'get thee behind me satan' resolve I could muster, I pressed on and found my place in line.

To Conquer, or to Overcome . . .

Today, on a lark, I listened to the news before work. As I turned the TV off, having heard more news about the horrific oil catastrophe in the Gulf and humankind's general unkindness toward itself than I could stand, I thought, Uggh. The world stinks. And then I remembered that Jesus said, "I have conquered the world."

Actually, he didn't say that. He said that he has "overcome" the world. (I've been watching too many action/sci-fi shows, I guess.)

I'm not sure which is better--conquering or overcoming. The words conquer and overcome elicit similar yet distinct senses (perhaps like the difference between sea air and mountain air, if you will)--mainly because conquerors are the type of people that we make action figures out of, while overcomers are the type of people we actually admire and emulate. But Jesus-the-action-figure "conquering" the world is not as satisfying as Jesus-the-Savior overcoming it. While the transposition made me giggle, the reminder of Christ's victory sobered me, drawing me briefly, gratefully, out of my predawn cynicism. As a friend recently reminded me, while we can make many changes to our own individual lives, there is much about the world in which we live that we cannot fix with our own hands. This can be a tough pill to swallow. But it bears remembering that, with such things, we can take everything to the Lord, who makes all things new.

Pilgrimage of a Soul, Part Two

Here's the second of our posts discussing Pilgrimage of a Soul, the new Likewise book by Word Made Flesh codirector Phileena Heuertz.

***

(SD) Activists aren't necessarily known for their contemplative spirituality, but you've managed to keep spiritual formation at the center of Word Made Flesh. How did you swing that? What are some of the hallmarks of that active-contemplation/contemplative activism dynamic at WMF?

 

(PH) I'd say we've learned the hard way. Seems like hardship is often the best teacher. Young twenty-somethings, fresh out of college, tend to have an honorable zeal and imperviousness. That was me, my husband and the few of us who dared to go against the tides of the time and give ourselves in service among the poor--not street evangelism and church planting, which were the mainstream focus of the evangelical church at that time. In the 1990s mission strategy was focused on the "10/40 Window" and "unreached people groups." We were finding a different way to be faithful to the gospel in a world of poverty, trying to orient ourselves theologically and spiritually rather than strategically. We faced a lot of doubters and critics in those early days. But we were compelled by the love of God and the love of our friends in poverty to press on. So activism very much took the main stage of our vocation.

 

Activism was our teacher, and through that dimension I believe we received spiritual formation. Mother Teresa's life encouraged us as we witnessed her "praying the work." We were being spiritually formed by our service. We were actively eager to pursue justice and reconciliation among the poor, and we gave ourselves tirelessly to that end. And in this way we were learning about the aspects of God as one who is active and in pursuit of us--a God of justice, peace and reconciliation. Our reading and prayer life reflected this dimension of God. Scripture and study reinforced our active posture in the world.

 

But after about seven or eight years of a rigorous pace, some of us started to come to terms with our limitations. Activism and engagement with a suffering world certainly offered formation and transformation in our lives. Conversely, limitations have a way of opening space within us for formation and transformation as well. Though we had readily responded to Mother's admonishment to "pray the work," we had not understood at the time her equal commitment to detach and withdraw regularly from service in adoration of Jesus through prayer and contemplation. Through the example and teaching of Fr. Thomas Keating, the Christian contemplative tradition started to inform our activism. Thus began a posture of learning what it means to rest in God and abide in God.

 

The Christian contemplative tradition literally arrested me in my tracks. I was gripped by the notion that there really is a way to rest in God--regularly--and that this too is honorable to God. As I pursued contemplative practices, balance to the active-contemplative continuum started to emerge in my life, and a deeper work of spiritual formation began to take place within me.

 

Contemplative practices create space within our crowded lives to be attentive to and surrender to the action of God within us. Made in the image and likeness of God, we bear the divine imprint. As Christians we affirm the doctrine of the divine indwelling, meaning we believe in the immanent presence as well as the transcendent presence of God. But much of modern Christianity is divorced from practices that emphasize the immanent presence, focusing primarily on the transcendent nature of God. Contemplative practices bring equilibrium to this imbalance. In so doing, our illusions of self, God, others and the world are more likely to be dismantled, freeing us to participate more fully in the life of Christ.

 

In WMF today we are growing toward making space for various contemplative prayer practices, like lectio divina, the prayer of examen, the breath prayer, centering prayer and the labyrinth prayer. In Omaha, where we are based, some of us practice two periods of centering prayer per day--one during workday, in the afternoon. This deliberate pulling away, detaching and surrendering serves as a reminder to us that the work is God's, and we are only an instrument in God's hands. This offers perspective for the enormity of very real and desperate needs of the world that can weigh so heavily on us. In addition, this practice allows space for our service to be purified, re-orienting us to serve from our true self, rather than the false self with its never-ending ego demands. Though we all work tirelessly on behalf of our friends in poverty, we have established and emphasize regular, weekly sabbath; regular personal retreats for longer periods of rest, prayer, study and reflection; and sabbatical every seventh year. 

 

Over time, when bringing balance to the active-contemplative continuum, it really is possible to experience Jesus' promise that "the yoke is easy and the burden is light." For years I wondered how it was possible to experience that. And it seems that many Christians live with a very heavy burden of service or else put service aside--many Christians just live with a heaviness, period. The Christian life often looks less like the abundant life Jesus promised and more like that of an oppressed, slave-driven kind of life marked by guilt, fear and shame. Contemplative practices help free us into the divine life, marked by the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

Pilgrimage of a Soul, Part One

We asked Phileena Heuertz--codirector of the international advocacy mission Word Made Flesh and author of the newly released Likewise book Pilgrimage of a Soul--a series of questions about her experiences that led to writing her book, as well as the experience of writing itself. Here's the first question, along with her response. More to come.

***

(SD) You've been doing advocacy work through Word Made Flesh for more than a decade. What drew you into that work in the first place?

 

(PH) In a few words, it was my love of God and compassion for the vulnerable that drew me in. After meeting some of the most courageous children, women and men living and dying in poverty, my life was changed. I could do nothing else but give myself for them. I had, in essence, discovered Jesus in the distressing disguise of the poor and I have never been the same since.

 

From a young age I've had a passion and desire to serve the most vulnerable. I've always been drawn with compassion to those in need. In 1995, at the age of twenty-two, I traveled to India, Nepal and Africa to serve for the summer with Word Made Flesh. It was my first experience outside the United States. I engaged abandoned babies living in over-crowded orphanages, children living on the streets, and men and women of all ages dying from malnutrition and preventable diseases.

 

I joined Word Made Flesh (WMF) in 1996 with the intention of serving in Chennai, India with the newly established WMF children's home for AIDS-affected children. However, through a series of events, my plans changed when the WMF-USA board asked my husband (Chris) and me to oversee the administrative offices in the States.

In addition to my husband, Mother Teresa and the Missionaries of Charity in India and Jackie Pullinger from Hong Kong were probably the most influential people in my life at that time who were bearing witness to hope among the poor. They set a high standard for service and advocacy, and I attempted to learn from their example.