My colloquy sessions (done at the foot of the Cross) are more like journalling. Perhaps God is speaking in my words, as opposed to me channelling Him (I prefer to capitalize the gender-neutral male pronoun). The way it was introduced was I say something, then God does. My spiritual director disagreed: I not be afraid to put words in God's mouth. Perhaps my "prayer-as-journalling" session is OK and what my actual journal should read like is a summary. Or how I feel about what comes out, summarized. I don't know. I am at sea and not in a good way.
Insight highlights:
Passage: Lk 15:11-32 -- the Prodigal Son
We are the Prodigal, but who is the older son? According to a preacher I heard, (context: a free-food thing) it is us--the good people of the church. I guess that makes the Prodigal "sinners". Us again, in my view. Maybe the older son is unfallen angels, who might be understandably incensed at all the attention the black sheep is getting.
It doesn't matter.
In what ways have I squandered my inheritance?
My immediate answer is, Bilbo-like, time. I have wasted fifty years plus some days. What do I have to show for it? I am disabled/retired, no money except what my wife has inherited. No prestigious career. I have talents, which I can also be said to have wasted, since I make no money from them: service, the photographer's eye, and a knack for writing and proofreading (my impish Muse suggests proof-rede-ing: take no advice from a trickster). I also know things. OTOH, I have positively impacted others' (son & grandson) lives and am of good character, modulo a burble or two, like going through an inheritance or two and incurring (non-reporting) debt. Also, I am king of the nested parentheses and Oxford comma.
I tend to be absent-minded and have to work at remembering what has happened to me. Would this be because I want to forget things or is it meds-related? I have no time-date stamp. An example is remembering what happened last Sunday between 1PM and 4PM. I got out of church at 1PM because I remember looking at the bathroom clock. I (vaguely) know that we were left for a local buffet-style pizza place at 4PM. Struggling, I remember piece-meal, with difficulty, what I did in the interval. Maybe I only misappropriate time. In any case, my conclusion of the time squandering thought-loop is: I am a better human being and that is enough.
The colloquy periods are essentially me chattering with God barely able to get a word in edgewise. There is not, in my opinion, much difference between my journalling and my prayer sessions. One of the key points about prayer is not just that you talk to God, but that you shut up occasionally also. Hmm. Just had a thought. Sin is radioactive waste. You can't get rid of it. Not responsibly, any road.
Passage: Romans 7:14-25 & 5:1-11
I probably don't have much original to add to this theme of involuntary servitude to sin from which we are saved by Christ's redeeming sacrifice. There is a disparity between my own depravity and his death. In my prayer, I get an answer, the veriest echo: I do it willingly. It is agony. We feel pain when we struggle against our own sin.
From my journal:
I am reminded of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who died for conscience. As I recall, he was implicated in a plot to kill Hitler & executed by hanging: the short drop. Hitler as Satan incarnate or as his agent. Both deaths: cross & noose, are styled hangings. ... What sort of death do you require of me?
According to the Exercises, I am supposed to feel shame and confusion before the Cross. I'm not big on shame and confusion--it's wasting God's time. I don't know whether Ignatius dwelt on this because he was Spanish, because he was 1600s era, or because he was Roman Catholic.
I stand at the door and knock, but no one answers.
No comments:
Post a Comment