Read for a class on spiritual formation.
So I actually liked this book much more than I expected to.
In terms of desolation, I too found the tone didactic and dry, and I bristle a bit when I hear writers slipping into religion-based critique of the evil times we live in. Basically, I have little to no nostalgia for more religious times of the past. (I don’t exactly long to live in the pre-shattered lantern European Christendom of the 18th century, or 17th, or 16th, or 15th, etc., etc.) I also have been so shaped by our church’s commitment to joyful engagement with our culture, finding delight in the times we live in and committing to teach our broader culture as well as learn from it, to share a common story with common vocabulary as best as we can, even as we are seeking to follow Jesus. All to say, Rolheiser’s framing idea of our culture’s unique period of atheism started me off suspicious. I am also compelled to say that the little “hunting excursion in Africa” anecdote in the final chapter on spiritual exercises enraged me. (pgs. 164-165) First off, the story is generically placed “in Africa”, as it if it is a village or a country, not the massive continent, larger than our own, that it is. A horrible Western habit. Secondly, the boy in the story is romanticized, evoking the noble savage myth of Western romanticism. Thirdly, the story is self-undermining. Its thrust is that humanity is to only receive gifts, not take things we see as owed to us, but it is a story encased in Western exploitative colonialism – the protagonist is on a hunting excursion, killing birds he does not own for sport. These kind of culturally blind anecdotes are toxins embedded within White and patriarchal privilege. No small thing. And again, a problem in the readings for this course.
And yet, and yet, there we much that was inspiring, challenging, edifying, and uplifting in the text. I loved the chapter on respecting the holiness of God. The calls to humility and wonder and contemplation within were rich and beautiful. I love his teaching on humility in particular. “The word humility comes from the Latin root humus, which means soil or earth. To be humble is to be earthy, not to be disconnected or have your head in the clouds, and to feel your dependence and interconnectedness with others and with the earth. It is to have a felt sense of your creatureliness, that is, of your limits and your vulnerability. The humblest person you know is not the person who lives a timid life but the person who lives a life that constantly acknowledges its interconnectedness and its radical incarnate character.” (118) Yes! The story of the man who is holding on to his fistful of dirt until a child takes his hand and welcomes him into eternity, where all Crete lies before him – that also moved me to tears and will stay with me as a parable of surrender and of God’s generosity. Finally, intellectually, I find true and helpful Rolheiser’s point of praxis that if we want to experience God more, we need to lean into contemplation and practice of the way of Christ. If our times are not to support a culturally embedded, assumed theism, we will need to train our minds to lean into God in faith, which is – after all – part of the call of God for us on earth.