The Darkest Night
"where are you
god of my darkest night
o missing one
who left me to my
own devices
ready with fear
and sorrow
hiding from questions that
had no answers"
As long as I believed that my depression, or difficult time, or lack of feeling God's presence, was either my fault because I wasn't doing something right, or, as some saints believed, it was God's way of purifying the soul, then my life couldn't change. I was stuck in the belief that the change would come from outside of me by God's change of heart or by my working harder, fasting maybe to be more pleasing to God.
Really!!! What an infantile frame of mind but one which the Church kept us in, as many conservative churches do today. The supposed loving god who is also a bully, hates his own creation, gays, for instance, and continues to impose stringent regulations about how to live this earthly life. Heaven or hell, it's our choice. Really!!!
I remember in seminary, when there was much discussion about the philosophers or theologians claiming that "God is dead". I was never good with erudite arguments. Of course, at that time, in 1978, I was appalled and thought these writers to be heretics. Years later, as I created my own distance from the god of my childhood, I realized that yes, that childhood god is dead, because it was a false god, as all human images and descriptions of god are.
My path led to a more humanistic approach. I discovered the god spark within me and the energy from that helped me to change my life drastically, especially to take more responsibility for it.
Night vision
Darkness envelopes
too easily
the spaces in my mind.
No words, no comfort,
despair. Fear takes hold,
closes doors once open,
inertia of body and soul.
I doubt the worn paths
that lead to nowhere.
I release the questions
that have no answers.
I search within, instead
of beyond, find the divinity
of my being, and all of creaion.
In that space I discover
my night vision
as I learn to trust myself.
c) Helen Rousseau
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
"where are you
god of my contemplation
o gentle one
who met me on the
mountaintop
ready with dreams and
visions
of life beyond and
life within"
In the last post, I spoke about my own search within the Catholic Faith for a different God from the one I had know in childhood, and which was still preached from the pulpits and on retreats. Through the writings of the mystics I learned a whole new concept of the Divine. A God whose presence one could actually feel, a feeling of being enveloped by a Loving Presence. The Church was wary of mystics and their joy. The fathers preferred to keep people afraid of sinning, keeping them in line by changing rules and regulations, the need for confession and penance. They preferred preaching about joy in heaven and not on this earth. This earth was a wasteland, full of peril, pits to fall into and daily challenges that had to keep you on your toes. Evil became personified in the Devil, an angel who had fallen from grace and now was out to ruin our lives. If an angel could fall, so could we.
Many mystics were told to be quiet, were imprisoned like John of the Cross. Ecstatic writings were suspicious. What were they afraid of?
Even in the 1960's some of these notions prevailed. As young nuns, we were encouraged to stick to the rules, say the formula of prayers in our prayer books, be careful what we read, even the Bible because we could mininterpret it and be led astray. This was arid territory and I wanted more. I wanted to feel alive. I read everything I could get my hands on about how to experience the presence of God, how to be happy in the life of service I had chosen, not because it was hard and against the grain but because it was actually a joy to to help others.
Through all traditions and faiths, in every culture, and in all the ages, humans have had experience of the transcendent and have tried to put their experience into poems, proverbs, teachings.
"Every
Child
Has known God,
Not the God of names,
Not the God of don'ts,
Not the God who ever does
anything weird.
But the God who only knows four words
And keeps repeating them saying:
"Come dance with Me."
Come Dance."
Hafiz
14th century Persian mystic
I wanted to take part in that holy dance. The more I understood this aspect of God, the more I questioned the faith of my childhood. The more I spent time in silence, and felt peace surround me, I knew there was more to this experience than I could understand or explain. I knew it was right and I knew I was home to myself and to life and I wanted to keep searching.
god of my contemplation
o gentle one
who met me on the
mountaintop
ready with dreams and
visions
of life beyond and
life within"
In the last post, I spoke about my own search within the Catholic Faith for a different God from the one I had know in childhood, and which was still preached from the pulpits and on retreats. Through the writings of the mystics I learned a whole new concept of the Divine. A God whose presence one could actually feel, a feeling of being enveloped by a Loving Presence. The Church was wary of mystics and their joy. The fathers preferred to keep people afraid of sinning, keeping them in line by changing rules and regulations, the need for confession and penance. They preferred preaching about joy in heaven and not on this earth. This earth was a wasteland, full of peril, pits to fall into and daily challenges that had to keep you on your toes. Evil became personified in the Devil, an angel who had fallen from grace and now was out to ruin our lives. If an angel could fall, so could we.
Many mystics were told to be quiet, were imprisoned like John of the Cross. Ecstatic writings were suspicious. What were they afraid of?
Even in the 1960's some of these notions prevailed. As young nuns, we were encouraged to stick to the rules, say the formula of prayers in our prayer books, be careful what we read, even the Bible because we could mininterpret it and be led astray. This was arid territory and I wanted more. I wanted to feel alive. I read everything I could get my hands on about how to experience the presence of God, how to be happy in the life of service I had chosen, not because it was hard and against the grain but because it was actually a joy to to help others.
Through all traditions and faiths, in every culture, and in all the ages, humans have had experience of the transcendent and have tried to put their experience into poems, proverbs, teachings.
"Every
Child
Has known God,
Not the God of names,
Not the God of don'ts,
Not the God who ever does
anything weird.
But the God who only knows four words
And keeps repeating them saying:
"Come dance with Me."
Come Dance."
Hafiz
14th century Persian mystic
I wanted to take part in that holy dance. The more I understood this aspect of God, the more I questioned the faith of my childhood. The more I spent time in silence, and felt peace surround me, I knew there was more to this experience than I could understand or explain. I knew it was right and I knew I was home to myself and to life and I wanted to keep searching.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
O Fearsome One
Last week's poem began
"where are you
god of my childhood
o fearsome one
who kept me on the
straight and narrow
ready to punish or
banish
for one wrong step
outside the lines"
If someone lives their life in an isolated community, as I did growing up Catholic, Catholic school and Church, with its dogma permeating our home, there isn't a sliver of room for foreign ideas (or foreign gods). We memorized answers to all the catechism's questions about God, sin, the Sacraments. How easy it was to displease the almighty God who knew every thought in our little minds. We could not hide from His view. After seventeen years of this Catholic lifestyle, I then lived nineteen years in a religious congregation. At that time, the early sixties, the everyday Catholic was not encouraged to read the Bible, lest one misinterpret the texts and start on the path away from the true God. As a novice I was blessed to live with a professed nun who was going to college. She was a convert and entered the convent at age thirty-five. She was an enigma to all of us as we tried to figure out what her life had been like and her reason for a conversion.
I was fascinated by Sister Jude. She read the Bible! She talked about the Bible! And so when I made my first vows, and received some money, the Mistress of Novices asked me if I needed or wanted anything. Immediately I replied, a Bible. She looked at me quizzically and asked, "What for?" and I looked at her and wanted to say "You're kidding, right?" but I said, "To read." So she bought me the Bible. Though it was the old Douay-Reims edition, it still had wonderful passages that just blew me away. I'm sorry I didn't keep that copy. It got replaced by the Revised Standard Version and the Jerusalem Bible. But it was underlined in the many places where I read about God's love and the love we were to have toward each other. I read about the call to social justice and how we are to care for the less fortunate among us. My heart was often inlamed with joy to realize I was learning a whole new side of Divinity, which at that time was a male, God the Father.
My father had been strict and I couldn't go against any of his wishes, so it was easy for me to believe in a Divine being that reflected the same demands. My father just had to look at me if I said something unacceptable and I immediately felt his displeasure down to my toes.
Eventually I found other books like Teresa of Avila who was in love with God and was able to talk about one's relationship to the Divine in ecstatic terms. I wanted that joy. I pursued that ecstasy. I went deeper and deeper within. I spent long hours in quiet contemplation, listening for the still small voice. I thought I was meeting God the Father in that place. I now realize I was meeting the Divinity of my self, my own Divine Being that I believe is unique and immersed in the Universal Energy that is in all of life, all creatures, all plants, trees, rocks, water.
The concept of a personal God, to fear offending, who could banish me to hell after I committed a so-called sin, no longer made sense. I preferred the Presence, the comfort I was feeling during my time at prayer. I felt loved for the first time in my life. I felt at peace with myself. I began to believe in happiness. And so the second stanza of my poem"
"where are you
god of my contemplation
o gentle one
who met me on the
mountaintop
ready with dreams and
visions
of life beyond and
life within."
to be continued...
"where are you
god of my childhood
o fearsome one
who kept me on the
straight and narrow
ready to punish or
banish
for one wrong step
outside the lines"
If someone lives their life in an isolated community, as I did growing up Catholic, Catholic school and Church, with its dogma permeating our home, there isn't a sliver of room for foreign ideas (or foreign gods). We memorized answers to all the catechism's questions about God, sin, the Sacraments. How easy it was to displease the almighty God who knew every thought in our little minds. We could not hide from His view. After seventeen years of this Catholic lifestyle, I then lived nineteen years in a religious congregation. At that time, the early sixties, the everyday Catholic was not encouraged to read the Bible, lest one misinterpret the texts and start on the path away from the true God. As a novice I was blessed to live with a professed nun who was going to college. She was a convert and entered the convent at age thirty-five. She was an enigma to all of us as we tried to figure out what her life had been like and her reason for a conversion.
I was fascinated by Sister Jude. She read the Bible! She talked about the Bible! And so when I made my first vows, and received some money, the Mistress of Novices asked me if I needed or wanted anything. Immediately I replied, a Bible. She looked at me quizzically and asked, "What for?" and I looked at her and wanted to say "You're kidding, right?" but I said, "To read." So she bought me the Bible. Though it was the old Douay-Reims edition, it still had wonderful passages that just blew me away. I'm sorry I didn't keep that copy. It got replaced by the Revised Standard Version and the Jerusalem Bible. But it was underlined in the many places where I read about God's love and the love we were to have toward each other. I read about the call to social justice and how we are to care for the less fortunate among us. My heart was often inlamed with joy to realize I was learning a whole new side of Divinity, which at that time was a male, God the Father.
My father had been strict and I couldn't go against any of his wishes, so it was easy for me to believe in a Divine being that reflected the same demands. My father just had to look at me if I said something unacceptable and I immediately felt his displeasure down to my toes.
Eventually I found other books like Teresa of Avila who was in love with God and was able to talk about one's relationship to the Divine in ecstatic terms. I wanted that joy. I pursued that ecstasy. I went deeper and deeper within. I spent long hours in quiet contemplation, listening for the still small voice. I thought I was meeting God the Father in that place. I now realize I was meeting the Divinity of my self, my own Divine Being that I believe is unique and immersed in the Universal Energy that is in all of life, all creatures, all plants, trees, rocks, water.
The concept of a personal God, to fear offending, who could banish me to hell after I committed a so-called sin, no longer made sense. I preferred the Presence, the comfort I was feeling during my time at prayer. I felt loved for the first time in my life. I felt at peace with myself. I began to believe in happiness. And so the second stanza of my poem"
"where are you
god of my contemplation
o gentle one
who met me on the
mountaintop
ready with dreams and
visions
of life beyond and
life within."
to be continued...
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Where are you?
Often, I hear from or read about people in mid -life wondering what to believe about God. Their childhood god is no longer believable. Their understanding of heaven and hell have changed significantly, if they even believe in such places at all. Many believe we create our own heavens or hells here on earth. Many do not even think about it at all, religious things thrown away with the games and toys of their youth. Yet, in times of crisis, people search for something or someone that can explain what they are going through, give them comfort deep within, and allow them to have courage or to accept their circumstances. The following is a poem I wrote in 2005 and has been the basis of my spiritual journey these past few years:
Where are You?
where are you
god of my childhood
o fearsome one
who kept me on the
straight and narrow
ready to punish or
banish
for one wrong step
outside the lines
where are you
god of my contemplation
o gentle one
who met me on the
mountaintop
ready with dreams
and visions
of life beyond and
life within
where are you
god of my darkest night
o missing one
who left me to my
own devices
ready with fear
and sorrow
hiding from questions that
had no answers
where are you
god of my liberation
o joyful one
who led me on the
paths of dancing
ready with insight
and inspiration
blessing every
new intention
where are you
if ever you were
there at all?
c) 12/18/2005
Where are You?
where are you
god of my childhood
o fearsome one
who kept me on the
straight and narrow
ready to punish or
banish
for one wrong step
outside the lines
where are you
god of my contemplation
o gentle one
who met me on the
mountaintop
ready with dreams
and visions
of life beyond and
life within
where are you
god of my darkest night
o missing one
who left me to my
own devices
ready with fear
and sorrow
hiding from questions that
had no answers
where are you
god of my liberation
o joyful one
who led me on the
paths of dancing
ready with insight
and inspiration
blessing every
new intention
where are you
if ever you were
there at all?
c) 12/18/2005
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