The second thing that the world’s wisdom traditions all address is the possibility of ultimate knowing.  If what I shared in the previous blog about the nature of Ultimate Reality is to have any meaning for us, it must be knowable by us in some way.  The mystics of the Perennial Wisdom Tradition assert that direct, immediate knowing of the One we call God is possible.  They tell us that such knowing is not based on reason nor deduction but on communion.  We only truly know that which we become one with.  Communion is a knowing through union.  Knowledge of God, then, means union with God – something that the mystics have always proclaimed to be not just possible but the goal and fulfillment of humanity.

Knowing is, therefore, becoming one with that which we seek to know.  We see this in the Hebrew Bible’s use of the language of knowing to describe sexual intercourse (as in “Adam knew Eve”).  Knowing is intimate and this intimacy is transformational.  We come to resemble that which we know.  The more we resemble that which we seek to know, the more we truly know it, and the more truly we know it the more we are one with it.

Union is not sameness but likeness.  However, in union, the dualism that initially separates subsequently dissolves and we experience the unity that holds us both.  This is, of course, a profound mystery – a mystery that lies beyond understanding but not beyond experiential knowing.

Adapted from Ancient Wisdom for Contemporary Living, an article first appearing in ONEING, a publication of the Center for Action and Contemplation, Spring 2013, Vol 1, No 1.

The Perennial Wisdom Tradition is organized around four important matters:  the nature of ultimate reality, the possibilities of human knowing of this ultimate reality, the nature of personhood, and the goal of human existence.  We will look at each of these over the course of upcoming blogs, beginning today with the first – the nature of ultimate reality.

However named, God is Ultimate Reality.  Language does not serve well to describe this Ultimate Reality since it is so profoundly supra-human and trans-personal.  Yet, humans need to name things and so across time and the various wisdom traditions we have adopted such linguistic handles as Spirit, Divine Presence, The Wholly Other, The One, or The Ground of Being.  All names for this foundation of existence point to the same reality – a reality that, at the same time, is both transcendent and immanent, not set apart from the world of humans and things but deeply connected to everything that is.

All names fail miserably in the task of capturing Ultimate Reality.  How easily we forget that language does not hold reality; at its best it merely points toward it.  Our problem, however, is that we confuse our puny concepts with the reality to which they, at their best, point.  The Jesuit priest, Anthony de Mello, tells a very short story from the Perennial Wisdom Tradition that nicely illustrates this.

The master encouraged his followers to look at the moon by pointing toward it but noticed that his followers inevitably looked at his finger, not the moon.

The story tells us that Ultimate Reality will always lie beyond all the fingers of our images and concepts that we use to point toward it.  We must, therefore, be ever vigilant in realizing the danger of getting stuck in our words and concepts rather than getting in touch with the reality behind them.  This is true in all of life, but nowhere truer than when we use words to attempt to point toward the Wholly Other that is Ultimate Reality.

Ultimate Reality is the source, substance and sustenance of all that is.  Nothing exists without it.  To be removed from this vital connection would be to instantly cease to exist. We exist because we are in relation to Ultimate Reality, or more precisely, because we exist within it.

Adapted from Ancient Wisdom for Contemporary Living, an article first appearing in ONEING, a publication of the Center for Action and Contemplation, Spring 2013, Vol 1, No 1.

I have always been drawn to the big-picture view of things.  This, to me, has always been the attraction of the Perennial Wisdom Tradition – the ancient but ongoing attempt to identify the common core of universal truth that lies at heart of the world’s major religions. Identifying this common core does not mean that the distinctives of the religious traditions it draws on are unimportant.  Christianity is not the same as Sufism, Islam the same as Baha’ism, or Taoism the same as Hinduism.  The distinctives allow each separate tradition to speak with its own voice and tell its own story, but the common core allows us to hear that story in broader and deeper terms than are possible when we only listen to the voices within our own tradition.

Christian theologians have often appreciatively dipped into the Perennial Wisdom Tradition, Augustine and Thomas Aquinas additionally playing an important role in its development. St. Augustine argued that “the very thing that is now called the Christian religion was not wanting among the ancients from the beginning of the human race.”  Even the apostle Paul showed willingness to use the insights of the world’s wisdom traditions to help unpack Christian thought when he drew on the insights of the sixth-century BCE Greek philosopher and poet Epimenides to help unpack Christian thought – quoting Epimenides as saying that “it is in God that we all live and move and exist, for we are all God’s children” (Acts 17:28).

As a Christian, I find it encouraging that there is such a significant shared core to these various wisdom traditions. I find it helps me understand my own tradition when I encounter it in the light of the spiritual wisdom that is quite easily found if one considers even the contours of the Perennial Wisdom Tradition.  And that is what I propose to do over the next few weeks – simply look at the contours of this common core of wisdom.  For even those, I think we will see, are enough to help us ground ourselves in, and align ourselves with, a reality that is vastly grander than what we usually realize.

Adapted from Ancient Wisdom for Contemporary Living, an article first appearing in ONEING, a publication of the Center for Action and Contemplation, Spring 2013, Vol 1, No 1.

If, as Thomas Merton suggests, contemplation is the spring and action should be the stream that flows from it, contemplation should be the source of all our living and all our doing.  Action and contemplation are two faces of the same coin.  Contemplation without action is escapist. But action that is not grounded in contemplation is dangerous because the result will always be raw reaction rather than truly free action.

Sometimes spiritual writers put too much distance between being and doing.  Contemplation grounds us in our being. It allows us to return to an identity based on “I AM” rather than “I have” or “I do.” It is a place of stillness that can uniquely prepare us for action.  We should be able to live with more fierceness and passion when we emerge from it. And we should then be able to carry that inner stillness into the midst of the action that flows from it.

Being without doing is meaningless. We find ourselves in our living of life, not in our reflection on it. It is in the stream of life that we most deeply encounter God in us, flowing up from the depths of our soul and out into the world. And it is in the stream of life that we notice God, active in the world, and are able to join God in the divine transformational agenda of making all things new in Christ.

Notice the first image that comes to mind when you think of the word contemplation.  Possibly it is a monk fingering prayer beads and slowly walking the cloisters of a monastery.  Or maybe it is someone sitting in the lotus position with hands extended and palms facing up. But chances are good it isn’t someone busily engaged in office work, domestic chores, or other activities of daily life.

One of the great problems with contemplation is that too often it is divorced from life.  Often the path to this divorce starts with the mistaken assumption that contemplation is only for introverts or those who are trying to escape the demands of regular life.  But even if it doesn’t start here, usually contemplation is approached simply as a practice, not a way of life.  It’s something you do in private because of personal interests or disposition, not a way of grounding all your doing in being.

Thomas Merton offers us a wonderful image for thinking about the relationship of contemplation and action. He suggests that contemplation is the spring and action the stream that should flow from it.  Contemplation should be the source of all our action.  It provides the stillness before self and God where desires and motivations can be purified so that we can move out into life with action, not simply reaction.  In contemplation we open ourselves to allow love to spring up inexhaustibly from the Ground of the Soul and then move out through us to touch the world. Love springing up but then not flowing down the stream of action means that love has not really been received. For love is received in the measure it is given away.

What have you learned about yourself as a result of your experience with God? And what do you know about God as a result of genuine encounter with your self?

The first thing some Christians would say they know about themselves as a result of their relationship with God is their sinfulness. And quite possibly the first thing they would say they learned about God from this was God’s forgiveness and love. These are important things to know. But what else do you know about yourself and God that has arisen from your encounter with the Divine?

While many of us have followed Jesus for much longer than the three years we have tracked in Peter’s journey, too often we have not allowed the initial introduction to deepen into a deep, intimate knowing. Though we glibly talk about a personal relationship with God, many of us know God less well than we know our casual acquaintances. Too easily we have settled for knowing about God. Too easily our actual relationship with God is remarkably superficial. Is it any surprise, then, that we haven’t learned very much about our self as a result of this encounter?

Adapted from:  The Gift of Being Yourself: The Sacred Call to Self Discovery

Finally, what can we say about Peter’s knowing of himself and God at the point of his encounter with the risen Christ (John 21:15-25)? After the death of Christ, Peter and a number of the other disciples had gone back to fishing. What else was left? After a night of catching absolutely nothing, they met an unknown person on the shore in the early dawn, a man who asked about their catch and encouraged them to try casting the net on the other side of the boat. Immediately their nets were filled to overflowing with fish. And immediately they recognized their Lord. Peter quickly leaped overboard and began swimming toward shore.

Mirroring the pattern of his denials, Jesus asked him three times if he loved him more than the other disciples. This gave Peter three chances to declare his love—one for each denial. Jesus’ response was to repeat his invitation for Peter to follow him (John 21:19), precisely the same invitation that had begun their relationship.

What might Peter tell us at this point about his knowing of God and himself? I suspect he would have first said how little he had truly known either himself or Jesus prior to this. With regard to Jesus, I suspect he would repeat with amazement how forgiving Jesus was. What he had known as objective information from witnessing Jesus’ encounters with others, he now knew deeply and personally. And I am sure he would have spoken of his new level of readiness to follow the Christ whom he now knew in his heart, not just his mind.

The interweaving of the deepening knowledge of self and God that we have seen in Peter’s experience illustrates the way genuine knowing of God and self occurs. Peter could not truly know Jesus apart from knowing himself in relation to Jesus. He did not know himself until Jesus showed him who he was. But in learning about himself, he also came to truly know Jesus.

From:  The Gift of Being Yourself: The Sacred Call to Self Discovery

Jumping ahead to Jesus’ washing of the disciples’ feet (John 13), we see Peter’s initial refusal to allow Christ to wash his feet followed by Christ’s prediction of Peter’s betrayal. What might Peter have said of his knowing of God and self at this point?

It seems probable that Peter might now speak with confidence about his love of Jesus, the fervency of his belief that Jesus was the Christ, and his utter disbelief and shock at Jesus’ prediction of his impending denial of him. This matter of the denial must have left him profoundly puzzled. It must have been inconceivable to him that he could ever deny Jesus. Did Jesus not know the depths of his love? Did he not know of his heroic courage and the strength of his convictions? He must have assumed that Christ was mistaken in this prediction. Doubting Jesus was easier than doubting himself. He had not yet encountered either his pride or the extent of his fear.

Briefly looking in on Peter after his denial of Christ (John 18:15-27), we would probably find him self-absorbed in regret and anguish. In a moment he had been confronted by his lack of courage, his treasonous lack of loyalty and the depths of his fears. He might also be thinking about how easily his pride had been wounded by Jesus’ prediction of his denial. Perhaps he was also remembering his protestation that “even if all lose faith, I will not” (Mark 14:29). In short, he had encountered his weakest and most despicable self, and he was likely filled with self-loathing.

From:  The Gift of Being Yourself: The Sacred Call to Self Discovery

Moving ahead to Peter’s encounter with Jesus walking on the water (Matthew 14:22-33), it seems reasonable to assume that by now Peter’s belief that Jesus was the Christ would have been even more solid. Peter had witnessed Jesus’ performing numerous miracles, had heard him preach to large crowds and dialogue with individuals, and had had opportunity to watch him closely.

But on this night, Peter was not thinking about any of this. Out in a boat in the midst of a severe storm, Peter and the other disciples were preoccupied with their immediate safety. Suddenly seeing Jesus walking on the water toward them, they were terrified. Jesus’ words to them must have been instantly reassuring: “Courage! It is me! Do not be afraid.” Peter immediately cried out in response, “If it is you, tell me to come to you across the water.” Christ invited him to step out of the boat and come to him, and Peter did just that (see Matthew 14:22-33).

If asked what he now knew of God after this experience, Peter might tell of his increasing conviction that Jesus was indeed the Christ. He might also speak of his developing hope based on witnessing Christ’s miracles. He might say that he felt reassured in knowing that God had heard the prayers of his people and had at last sent their Redeemer.

Asked what he knew of himself, he might be able now to speak of his fears. While he had the courage to step out on the water at Christ’s bidding, he also experienced the terror of beginning to sink when he looked at the waves rather than Christ. But—he would likely quickly add—this had only served to increase his trust in Christ.

From:  The Gift of Being Yourself: The Sacred Call to Self Discovery

To illustrate the interrelationship of knowing of God and self and the transformational nature of this knowing, consider the spiritual journey of the apostle Peter. The rock on which Christ promised to build his church was remarkably crumbly. But none of the disciples showed more growth in understanding of both self and God during the three years of accompanying Christ. Over the next 4 weeks, let’s look in at several moments on his journey.

First notice Peter’s initial meeting of Christ and Christ’s call to follow him. What might we assume that Peter knew about himself and God at this point?

Andrew, Peter’s brother, met Jesus first, right away accepting the invitation to follow him. Andrew then went to Peter, told him that he had found the Messiah and brought Peter to Jesus to see for himself. Peter’s response was the same as that of his brother—he immediately left his fishing nets to follow Jesus (Matthew 4:18-22). From this account it seems safe to assume that Peter accepted Jesus as the Messiah. If so, we could say that he believed that Jesus was the long-hoped-for deliverer from the oppression of the Romans. At this point this knowing was a belief—a hope based on the conviction of his brother and his own brief contact with Jesus.

But what might he have known about himself? I am speculating, of course, but perhaps if asked about himself he might have told us that he was a fisherman. Possibly, he might have added that he was somewhat hot-tempered and impulsive. And perhaps he would have told us about his longing for a savior for his people—and this would show that he was a man of hope and faith. It is, however, highly unlikely that he could have known the depths of his fears or the magnitude of his pride. These levels of knowing of self awaited deeper knowing of God.

From:  The Gift of Being Yourself: The Sacred Call to Self Discovery