An Interfaith, Pantheist UU Is Called By Jesus: Part VII, The End

Excerpted from a forthcoming book on my monastic journey.

Leaving All My Playhouses

I decided not to tell anyone that I’d seen Jesus, afraid of what talking would do. Cynical voices were already murmuring in the background of my mind, scornfully deriding my “vision” as “grandiose nonsense,” “self-centered delusion,” and “just imagination.” If I opened my mouth, they might take over.

But that Friday, I had a dinner date with an old friend. She belonged to a liberal Jewish synagogue, but was basically a spiritual skeptic. We always met at the same campus Chinese place. It was cheap, yet had surprisingly well-prepared food.

“So, what’s been happening with you?” my friend asked casually as the waitress set a pot of tea on the table.

There were a million decent responses to this question that left my vision alone, but did I use one? Nope.

“Just last Wednesday at the monastery, I had this thing with Jesus,” I chirped.

As soon as the word, ‘Jesus’ left my mouth I knew I was sunk. Shoot! Shoot and a half and three quarters! Why did I break my silence?

My friend regarded me with a lopsided, quizzical smile. She reached for the teapot and poured. “Oh? Really? With Jesus?” she asked.

Embarrassment rose like the steam from the pot, heating my face and turning my brain to mush. She was going to think I was some kind of bible quoting, personally saved, Jesus freak!

Lifting a cup to my lips with a knowing, academic chuckle, I rushed to cover my tracks. “Of course, there may not have been any actual, historical human being called Jesus. It hardly matters. He could have been some teaching myth created by post-exilic Pharisees to spread basic tenets of the emerging, book-and-synagogue-based Judaism. It’s the radical social teaching that counts, anyway… not that any of that is unique to Christianity, either. ”

As the words left my mouth, I cringed inside, but I couldn’t seem to stop. “In fact, there’s not much Jesus purportedly said that wasn’t taught by Hillel or other major Jews at the time Jesus was supposed to have lived. You know, ‘the essence of the bible is don’t do to others what you don’t want done to yourself, and all the rest is commentary'”

What pedantic, intellectual crap! I kicked myself. Hard. But it was too late.

By the time the waitress set a little tray with our bill and fortune cookies on the table, I’d cut my vision up into little pieces and scattered them to the winds. My mouth felt tacky and my mind was dust. All my intense, sensory experience had dulled into overblown, invented drivel.

I berated myself for a coward all the way home.


* * * * * * * *


I was still kicking myself the next morning as I stood on the front lawn surveying the flowerbeds, deciding where to plant a flat of pansies.

It was very dry.

“Looks like we’re headed for drought this summer,” I announced to the garden.

Wisps of cloud crossed bright, blue sky and a warm wind blew from the west. Great weather except that we’d had little snow that winter and little rain all spring.

I began digging the pansies into the soil.

Why had I belittled my vision to my friend when it had been so exhilarating and real?

I sighed as I patted soil around the last plant and sat back to see how they looked. The pansies were a rich, velvety purple, almost black. I touched one petal. It was soft and slightly moist.

My sense of Jesus had been as real as these petals. It couldn’t have been “just imagination.”

“Even if it was ‘imagination,’ is that so meaningless?” I muttered as I dragged out the hose and began to water the pansies. “What is 'imagination,' after all? Maybe it is simply the human organ for perception of the divine, just as eyes are our organs for perception of light.”

I sighed again.

The truth was I believed Jesus had been a real man who actually lived. I believed that man, Jesus, had embodied unconditional, all-embracing, divine love. Jesus had shone the divine love-energy clearly, without the ego confusion that obstructed most of us. Yet this was simply a brighter version of the same love-light-energy that was in me and in all things – the true, core substance of all life.

And I believed this great, divine Love-Being had invited me into personal relationship. So why, only days later, was I busy denying him by smothering my vision in long-winded, academic obfuscation?

I made my experience socially palatable by waffling on its reality. Did it matter if I’d met Jesus or Christ or my own soul? The problem was, it embarrassed me to have a personal relationship with Jesus. God-the-ineffable was easier. Christ as non-personified, universal energy was easier and much more familiar. But the one I’d met, that Jesus, had felt singular and personal, a once-human “he,” not an “it” or an “all.”

“No waffling. I’m going to have to simply accept that I met Jesus,” I told the pansies.

A morning dove flew down from a spruce in the middle of the lawn and looked at me. Maybe it hoped for bugs from the soil I’d turned over. It was young, like one that had watched from the roof of my car as I came out the day before. On the radio I’d just heard about a man dying of AIDS whose partner was already dead. The man said, “In the hole left by my partner Jesus has moved in.” The guy was radiant. He wouldn’t change a thing, even having AIDS. His disease had created the space that allowed Jesus in, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything. Being with Jesus, his suffering became peripheral.

“Perhaps embarrassment isn’t the problem,” I thought as I turned off the hose. “It could be that Jesus is offering more relationship than I’d bargained for.”

Because accepting Jesus meant leaving all my playhouses.

I was too small to know God-the-All. Jesus held open a door, showing me another way. My heart and joy said, “follow,” and they were the most reliable guides. Could I let go of my fear and walk the way Jesus offered?

Maybe. Maybe.

I picked up the empty flat and headed in. It was time for lunch.

© 2007 R. Elena Tabachnick

A Dichotomy of Extremes: Obedience to Self or Community

“Remember, people are essentially good beings looking for safety to be who they are,” a friend sent in her 2006 Christmas message.

An important question for spiritual communities, and spiritual seekers, is this: where is the balance between group needs and individual inspiration? Can a healthy monastic community grow individual gifts - even though some will go against the plans of superiors, long-held group practices or a community’s stated mission? On the other side: can individuals be obedient to internal, divine inspiration and yet bow to the needs of a community?

My monastic experience raised this question in spades.

I entered community desperate to discover, and live as, who I truly was - a basic part of humility. That meant accepting my whole self: good, bad and indifferent. And that meant facing shameful parts of myself. I thought community would hold up an uncompromising mirror to show my deep flaws AND my wondrous divinity. Yet offer the support and loving acceptance of others engaged in the same work.

As I read Benedict, this seemed to be the main purpose of monasteries. Maybe other modern communities had this goal. Mine didn’t. For one thing, the old sisters were bound up in a superiority that derailed everything else.

They seemed to exemplify a flaw that Syncletica warned vehemently about. “Through pride [the Enemy] attacks subtly and secretly a soul that considers itself zealous and diligent in discipline. …The soul imagines that it has grasped matters that are incomprehensible to the majority and that it is superior in [spiritual practices]. He seduces it to forget all its sins… He steals from its mind the memory of its mistakes… He deludes this person with positions of command and high office… with teaching posts and displays of healing. Thus deceived, then, the soul perishes and is destroyed, smitten with a wound [pride] that is hard to heal.”

Of course I did my part with an excess of doubts, angry muttering in my head, and a fearful protectiveness when asked to forgo personally inspired, creative work.

The sisters said my negative thoughts were the resistance of an ego that refused to die. Submitting despite myself would lead to freedom.

They could also have quoted Syncletica: “Another evil precedes [pride in spiritual discipline]: disobedience… By means of the opposing virtue of obedience, it is possible to cleanse the festering cancer of the soul, for obedience, Scripture says, is better than sacrifice. (1 Sam 15:22).”

There was the rub. The Spirit in my heart demanded artistic obedience. Wasn’t it denying God to put a human authority above this? Or was I undermining my desire to be emptied by grasping after a personal need?

By the end of my first year, it felt like a knife was twisting in my guts. Breathing was hard and I rarely slept. Each morning I rose frantic to escape. But during morning meditation and prayer, joy would bubble up and I’d see amazing good in the place. If chanting had that effect in a year, I wanted to know what would happen after decades. So each day I committed to stay.

I just didn’t know. Did the pain come from old ego habits refusing to let go? Then persistence would bring me through. But if it was caused by going against my spirit, I didn’t belong, no matter how illuminated I felt in prayer.

I was in the midst of this struggle when the sisters kicked me out.

This monastery let in few new women. All had an intense call. All struggled to meet the old sisters' demands. Yet almost all were kicked out. We had different personalities and the reasons given varied widely.

Now I believe we were dumped because we brought too much SELF - too much individual gift. We just couldn't lose ourselves under the personalities, behavioral norms and control of the old sisters while staying true to the person our souls demanded we be.

This points to an interesting dichotomy of extremes. In most western monastic communities throughout history, group identity vastly overwhelmed individual identity. The point was to dissolve your self in group norms and habits. American Benedictine communities like mine grew up in the 1940s and 50s when hordes of teenage girls were strongly molded into group behavior by authoritarian, punitive methods.

Meanwhile, the rest of American culture moved toward extremes of individuality.

Neither extreme seems particularly healthy for individuals - spiritually or psychologically. And neither extreme seems healthy for communities.

We all are seeking safety to be ourselves. Warped by loss or fear of loss, as well as the sense of needing to please to deserve love, many people have no idea who they really are. And few have hope of a community that wants only to provide the safety for each to find out.

Could a new kind of monastery fulfill this desperate need?

Monastery for People of No Particular Tradition

One of the books I took into the monastery was Radical Spirit. My first blog - now folded into this one - was inspired by a quote in that book, in an essay by Georg Buehler. He bemoaned the lack of monasteries for open-minded spiritual seekers of no particular tradition.

I fit the no particular tradition bill - despite a nascent and eccentric Christianity. I did not doubt my call to community - it was so tactile and overwhelming. Yet it never made sense. Why would someone like me be led into a traditional, Benedictine monastery?

Of course, it was very, very, very liberal... to a Roman Catholic. But that was hardly liberal at all to me. I had to keep reminding myself of the courage it took for Catholic sisters to make the changes they had made - a gender neutral liturgy, an ask-no-questions, open Eucharist, and an ecumenical community. (In fact, soon after they kicked me out, the local Bishop and told them, "Either be Catholic or be ecumenical. You can't be both." To the sisters' credit, they choose ecumenical.)

I wondered if the Spirit called me into the monastery to open it a little bit to something beyond the narrow "ecumenism" they'd envisioned. Then one day, a monastery for people of any (or no) tradition might grow there. A traditional community has a strength that comes from roots sunk deep in centuries of experience. Wouldn't it be great if those roots could support a new kind of monasticism that welcomed all, without any theological litmus tests?

If I had to be silent about much of my spiritual experience in the meantime, then o.k. "Prefer silence" was an important monastic directive. Besides, for someone with my total lack of background and love of history, it was fascinating to study monastic and Christian sources.

Maybe the Spirit was trying to grow a new branch from that monastery. Maybe not. Either way, the sisters were uninterested.

So there went my one shot at the easy road of traditional, monastic life in community. I'm certainly grateful for the experience, now I'm out on the MUCH harder road of monastic-in-the-world... although grief for that way of life rises up and swamps me on a regular basis.

And out here, the original question gains greater significance. Why aren't there monasteries for people of no particular religious tradition?

There seem to be a growing number of liberal, interfaith or no faith folks who are drawn to monastic community, yet can't fit into one of the traditional faiths. I've met some online, read similar musings in other blogs, and noticed a plethora of on and off line communities.

How do we go from speculation to foundation?

And how do we find the strength, not to mention the gonzo-ameliorating customs, of a traditional community - especially norms that prevent the so-easy slide into personality cult?

If you follow this label, you'll find posts on some of the issues a no-tradition monastery might face. Most are issues any monastery has that would be heightened by lack of a common Rule or Guru or whatever to set the norms. Success with that lack will mean more conscious, relationship work, more tolerance of mistakes and emotional uproar... and lots more humility.

Amma Syncletica, Part II. Some Sayings

Most of these quotes are taken from the translation of Syncletica's Life by Elizabeth Bryson Bongie. An icon of Syncletica is here.

There is a familiar refrain about the difficulty of the spiritual road, especially at the beginning. Syncletica said it in a way that appeals to me as a life-long camper: “For those who are making their way toward God there is at first great struggle and effort, but then indescribable joy. For just as those who wish to kindle a fire are at first choked with smoke... in this way [they] achieve their purpose.”

And like a campfire, I've noticed that a strong, clean spiritual burn can suddenly start sputtering and smoking again, just when I relaxed to take a nap.

But then I turn to mystics like Hafiz - who had the best view of obedience: "Befriend [the] obedience that ...shouts to our reason, 'O please, o please, come out and play.' For we have not come here ...to confine our wondrous spirits." And Lalla who said: "God does not want meditations and austerities. Through love alone can you reach the Abode of Bliss."

Yea!

But still, these mystics certainly recognized the attachments (and excuses) with which every spiritual seeker must deal, in one way or another.

To the Egyptian desert hermits, the initial spiritual struggle was with fixations on bodily comfort, relationships and possessions. Once these dissipated much worse fixations arose - such as anger, dejection and pride. Synclectica described the first three as like storm waves that batter you (a ship) from without. But the more difficult troubling thoughts are like bilge water that can “overflow and frequently kill the seamen, often when they are asleep and the sea is calm." Ick!

Even in the monastery, I found it hard to resist thoughts that my back hurt, I’d like a snack, and maybe I should take a break and find someone to chat with – all aspects of “gluttony” and “lust” in Syncletica’s lingo. Yet those are easily identified compared to pride that creeps in unnoticed so seekers “drown in calm waters through carelessness of letting go of the rudder.” sigh.

One attractive thing about Syncletica was her insistence that there are many ways to live a holy life other than renunciation. “Just as one diet is not suitable for all animals, so the same instruction is not suitable for all people.” Those best suited to marriage and family life should go that way.

Even for those drawn to renunciation, not all are meant for the most austere. Beginners should start with less austere practices as women who “rush into rejecting their possessions are generally seized with regret.” Only someone who has been tried will be strengthened by owning nothing, sleeping on the ground, fasting and praying always. “Heavy clothing… is washed and bleached by treading and vigorous wringing,” but some people “rubbed a little...disintegrate like torn garments.” They should never try austerity as it would take them away from God not towards.
Syncletica's practical understanding of real people also shows up when she says that despair and pride are twin maladies. Someone puffed up with pride in ascetic achievements may need deflation, but people also need encouragement. Someone paralyzed by thoughts of difficulty and failure needs to be admired and flattered for any small step forward.
I don’t know about you, but I’m much better at deflating myself than praising myself for small steps forward. (“Whoopee, I sat for TEN MINUTES this morning,” versus, “What a failure! I can’t meditate for more than ten minutes.”)
So as a certified total schlepper, I find comfort in Syncletica’s admonition that spiritual discipline is “the ultimate and chief of all evils” because it causes the surest defeat through pride, the “Devil’s ultimate sword.” While having too rigid a discipline is like “scattering a fire by blowing on it too hard.”
Those who become proud of fasting must enter a community where they will have to eat regularly. And anyone who feels pride in her spiritual practice, however great, should remember: “demons have in fact done... more ascetic acts than yours. They do not eat, nor drink, nor sleep. They also spend their lives in a desert – in case you think you are doing something great by living in a cave.”

Something any of us aspiring cave dwellers just have to keep in mind - even those like me whose discipline is basically pitiful.

Amma Syncletica, Part I. The Story

In fourth and fifth century Egypt, the desert was peppered with folks renouncing regular life in order to empty out and find God. Although the best-known hermits were men, there may have actually been more women practitioners. (see Laura Swan’s The Forgotten Desert Mothers)

My favorite desert mother was Syncletica. The written record of her life was, of course, obscured - although a few of her sayings made into the Western monastic cannon. Even now, many misogynist theologians will argue that she didn’t exist and is but a hagiographic “type.” (Hagiography is writing about a saint’s life.) But Syncletica’s earthy, pragmatic voice rings with authenticity, while her supportive, no-nonsense advice - as useful that of any modern, spiritual writer - is obviously based on experience.

Besides, The “first” desert father, Antony, only gets to speak in 28 chapters (actually paragraphs) out of 93 in his Life. The rest is Athanasius using hagiography to go on a rant. (He was battling to destroy heterodoxy AND have the soon-to-be-imposed orthodoxy mirror his beliefs - at which he succeeded.) Syncletica’s Life has 113 chapters of which 81 are her sayings. There just isn't much hagiography there. This is pretty amazing given that hagiography is big theological business for promoting the author’s view of proper religion. (See this article by Kevin Corrigan.)

The story goes that Syncletica was born in a wealthy, educated Macedonian family that moved to Alexandria. Two brothers and then her parents died. She took her blind sister and went to live in the family tomb.

I used to imagine desert hermits alone in their cave, but many lived within yards of each other. Which is why the elders’ advice includes many cautions against visiting, as well as ways to release aggravation over others’ actions. Women like Syncletica soon attracted followers who settled as “solitaries” in the surrounding area.

Following her own advice, at first Syncletica refused to teach. She eventually gave in, but never let anyone witness her actual practices. She wanted to avoid pride which easily destroyed even the seasoned ascetic if they were known and admired. "Just as a treasure that is exposed loses its value, so a virtue which is known vanishes. Just as wax melts when it is near fire, so the soul disintegrates in the face of praise and loses all the results of its labour."

(Wonder what Bill Gates, with his recent foray into high profile munificence, would say to that!)

But if you felt God truly wanted you to teach, you'd just have to make the sacrifice of exposing yourself to this terrible danger. As a remedy, Syncletica advised teachers to keep spiritual gains hidden, to highlight every one of their failures, and even to invent a few “thus rejecting the good esteem of people while concealing good acts.”

I wonder what life would be like if we were all so courageous, but it's an awful unrealistic expectation. My desire for God just doesn't overwhelm my desire to be accepted - not to that extent, anyway. I often wish it did. Then I could really "drink all my passion and be a disgrace," as Rumi advised.

Unlike Rumi, however, Syncletica was a guide on the way of austerity.

But she wasn't actually unrealistic. She knew about the quandaries spiritual seekers get themselves into. For example, she warned people not to set themselves up as teachers unless they had already "built an interior dwelling" (more or less a metaphore for enlightenment). Otherwise it was as if “someone whose house is unsound were to receive guests and cause them injury by the collapse of the building."

Ack! Well I feel strongly drawn to teach, and haven't even got an interior foundational-hole-in-the-ground, much less an entire dwelling. OTOH, I'm not about to tell anyone what to do to build an "interior dwelling" as I've never done it - despite voluminous reading of people, like Syncletica, who say they have.

But I figure if I remember that I'm not anybody's guru, and stay within the limits of my own experience, I'll be o.k. I've spent decades trying to wiggle out of the spiritual guide role and I've run out of excuses. And when (I know myself too well to say 'if') I get caught up in pride and self-righteousness, I trust God, my soul, entropy - whatever - will create circumstances that'll provide the wake-up slap I need - painful as that is apt to be.