Spiritual Imagination as a Counter-spell to Fundamentalism: Reflection 1

Illumination

But of the light we cannot speak

fully, but we must try

to open our mouths and wait

for some word to fall short–

yet even that reach is rooted in You.

I once saw my grandmother

held by the sunlight, standing

between two sheets while hanging clothes

on a warm morning–

an illumination, with her silhouette

a faint shadow and a thing of beauty

when she raised her arms as if to dance.

Bones of Light: Poems of Spiritual Imagination

I am paying a lot of attention these days to the feeling we have of being caught up in something much larger than ourselves, a time of constriction, anxiety, and fear. How do we understand the waters that apparently are surging all around us? How do we feel frustrated and powerless? How are we reacting?

When it comes to how we approach life, how we reflect and engage, I remember Prof. Walter Brueggemann telling us in class one day that you have to put your bucket down somewhere. We are called to think theologically, to reflect spiritually, and to live faithfully–and we do that from a certain posture. We are called to ground ourselves, discern the Spirit’s movement, and respond.

That being the case, more and more I see our current dynamic in terms of a spell that has been cast, a spell that particularly uses or is saturated by fear. Here me out. The word spell is a curious one. Its roots link us to the truth of  how words and rituals (which are intentionally crafted ritualistic words and gestures) help shape our reality, and the specific roots of the word spell find their way to how we understand stories, sermons–and gossip. There is a relationship between the words and the atmosphere or ethos that is nurtured, and reality is affected–the way we see the world in which we live. Interestingly, the word spell is always right in front of our faces each Sunday in how we prepare a sermon and receive the insights of the gospel. The ‘good spell’ as the roots of the word mean.

Perhaps one problem is that we have become so rationally-driven that we have lost touch with the deeper, (choose your language here) mystical, resonant, illuminative, contemplative, transformative heart of our very vocations. We see what “we do” in terms of problem-solving rather than dynamically transformative, and we become more and more frustrated at not being able to change what we feel we are caught up in. Perhaps we would do well to reflect a bit more on the shamanistic roots of ‘what we do’ and how we nurture a transformative and spiritually-saturated life rather than focus on the rational fixation of problem-solving.

There is a great essay by the Carmeline nun Sr. Constance Fitzgerald that keeps teaching me. She focuses on the dynamic of impasse, that experience of reaching a point where we are unable to find a solution to a particular problem that plagues us. You can find the full article by clicking HERE. 

Drawing on the teachings of St. John of the Cross, that great Spanish mystic, Sr. Constance argues that we are called to discern the theological and spiritual meaning of our circumstances within our lived experience. In other words, we are incarnational, and we seek meaning within our lives rather than thinking that we need to avoid the strains and stresses in favor of some ethereal or abstract insight. How do we look for God’s presence here and now?

Within this discernment, at certain moments we realize that we can proceed no further with our problem-solving attitude or posture. Our rational capacity hits a wall, and we find ourselves in an impasse. Here are her words:

This brings me to two assumptions. First, our experience of God and our spirituality must emerge from our concrete, historical situation and must return to that situation to feed It and enliven it. Second, I find a great number of dark night or impasse experiences, personal and societal, that cry out for meaning. There is not only the so-called dark night of the soul but the dark night of the world. What if, by chance, our time in evolution is a dark-night time—a time of crisis and transition that must be understood if it is to be part of learning a new vision and harmony for the human species and the planet? 

By impasse, I mean that there is no way out of, no way around, no rational escape from, what imprisons one, no possibilities in the situation. In a true impasse, every normal manner of acting is brought to a standstill, and ironically, impasse is experienced not only in the problem itself but also in any solution rationally attempted.

Every logical solution remains unsatisfying, at the very least. The whole life situation suffers a depletion, has the word limits written upon it. Dorothee Soelle describes it as “unavoidable suffering,” an apt symbol of which is physical imprisonment, with its experience of being squeezed into its confined space. Any movement out, any next step, is canceled, and the most dangerous temptation is to give up, to quit, to surrender to cynicism and despair, in the face of the disappointment, disenchantment, hopelessness, and loss of meaning that encompass one.

When it comes to the dangers and temptations she mentions, the word that catches my eye is disenchantment, that experience of yielding the deep, transformative (sacramental) engagement with life. The cold grip of fear takes over, and life becomes brittle and marked by grasping and an endless series of counter-points and battling policies. Life will not be transformed by yelling louder than the other person. Despair takes hold as the spell’s hold increases. 

I want to focus here. I need to for the sake of my soul. I want to explore how spiritual imagination is, in reality, a counterspell to fear. By framing it this way (putting my bucket down here), perhaps I can have more room to breathe and engage with the Spirit’s movement in my life. Perhaps I can trust more, even in the face of such uncertainty. 

When it comes to spiritual imagination, poetry and silence, with Centering Prayer, are the key anchors of my practice, as is walking each day. When it gets a bit warmer, I’ll start walking barefoot in the yard again. What do we notice? How do we journal, create, embody glimpses of grace so that our hearts are reoriented?

So, I will use these reflections as a series of stepping stones to nurture this receptivity in myself, paying attention to my own tendency to grasp and approach my frustration with this urge to solve a problem. I’m curious: what might happen if I keep coming at this another way? How can spiritual imagination, indeed, be a counterspell to fear?

Here’s a little poem-nugget that came in a while back that speaks a little to this saturation that is possible. 

Transfiguration no. 3

Light pools like water,

finding the lowest places in our lives,

slowly filling the crevices of our soul,

until we are saturated by hope.

Blessings to you all,

Stuart