So Great a Cloud of Witnesses
3
Descending with the Mind into the Heart
advise that we should, when contemplating, make use of our imagination. For example, we should visualize an incident such as the miracle of the draught of fishes as vividly as we can. We should be present in mind as though we had just stopped on our way and were witnessing the event. This is most useful because it brings the event to life and makes it part of our inner experience.
Romano Guardini
Theophan the Recluse, whom we met briefly in chapter one, is well recognized in Eastern Orthodoxy, specifically the Russian Orthodox tradition. Theophan was a complex and intriguing personality, but today we know him mostly because of his spiritual writings, especially those on prayer. His homilies on prayer, for example, are a treasure of wise and practical teaching. I mention him here because I have used a phrase from his teaching for the title of this chapter: “ with the mind into the heart, and there to stand before the face of the Lord, ever-present, all seeing, within you.”
This statement underscores Theophan’s unique ability to break the horns of opposing viewpoints. One group, for example, will insist that prayer is all about the mind, all rational, all cerebral. An opposing group will say, “No, no! Prayer is a matter solely of the heart, of the affections, of intuition.” Theophan breaks the horns of this dilemma by taking the key insight of each group and drawing them together in unity—we descend with the mind into the heart.
Meditative prayer does not do violence to our rational faculties. Neither does it confine us solely to the rational. We descend with the mind into the heart. This is a magnificent description of the combination we seek in meditative prayer.
The Sanctified Imagination
The devotional masters of counsel us that we can descend with the mind into the heart most easily through the imagination. Perhaps some rare individuals can meditate in an imageless void, but most of us need to be more deeply rooted in the senses. We must not despise this simpler, more humble route into God’s presence. Jesus himself taught in this manner, making constant appeal to the imagination in his parables, and many of the devotional masters likewise encourage us in this way.
The great Scottish theologian and preacher Alexander Whyte urges us to experience “ and the splendid services of the Christian imagination.” St. Teresa of Avila said, “ of prayer; as I could not make reflection with my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ within me. . . . I did many simple things of this kind. . . . I believe my soul gained very much in this way, because I began to practice prayer without knowing what it was.” Many of us can identify with her words, for we too have tried a merely cerebral approach and found it too abstract, too detached. Even more, the imagination helps to anchor our thoughts and focus our attention. Francis de Sales noted that “ we confine our mind within the mystery on which we meditate, that it may not ramble to and fro, just as we shut up a bird in a cage or tie a hawk by his leash so that he may rest on the hand.”
Some have objected to using the imagination out of concern that it is untrustworthy and could even be used by the evil one. There is good reason for concern, for the imagination, like all our faculties, has participated in the Fall. But just as we can believe that God can take our reason (fallen as it is) and sanctify it and use it for his good purposes, so God can sanctify the imagination and use it for his good purposes. Of course, the imagination can be distorted by Satan, but then so can all our faculties. God created us with an imagination, and as Lord of all creation he can and does redeem it and use it for the work of the kingdom of God.
To believe that God can sanctify and utilize the imagination is simply to take seriously the Christian idea of incarnation. God so accommodates, so enfleshes himself into our world that the Lord uses the images we know and understand to teach us about the unseen world of which we know so little and which we find so difficult to understand. Indeed, in one important sense faith is the highest act of the sanctified imagination.
A. W. Tozer penned an essay titled “The Value of the Sanctified Imagination” in which he wrote, “ released from its prison and given to its proper place among the Sons of the new creation.” As we enter more and more into God’s way—thinking God’s thoughts after him, delighting in the divine presence—we experience God more and more, utilizing our imagination for his good purposes. As we come to truly delight in God, our desires will increasingly please him, which is why they will come to pass (Ps 37:4). In fact, the common experience of those who walk with God is that of being given images of what could be, what should be. So may I encourage you to allow the Lord to give you many delightful images and pictures of God’s desire for humanity.
The Image of the Invisible God
Since I mentioned the word “pictures,” I would like to bring to your attention one physical extension of the imagination that has helped numerous people: namely, the use of icons. The Christian tradition that has developed the most sophisticated and practical understanding of icons has been the Eastern Orthodox Church. The icon in Eastern Orthodox thought is considered a kind of window between the earthly and the spiritual worlds.
This issue was examined in a definitive way in the eighth century through what was called the iconoclastic controversy. The great theologian John of Damascus, in his work The Fountain of Knowledge, provided a clear theology for the use of icons in Christian devotion. He taught, in summary, that before God took human form in Christ, no material depiction was possible and therefore blasphemous even to contemplate. Once God became incarnate, however, depiction became possible. Since Christ is God and part of the triune Community, it is justified to hold in our mind the image of God incarnate. Hence, because of the incarnation of Christ, using physical images of Jesus becomes part of a full incarnational, or enfleshment, theology.
The seventh ecumenical council of 787 (the final truly “ecumenical” gathering) settled the matter for the Christian community by affirming the use of icons and other symbols as a valid aspect of Christian worship. In expressing this conclusion, the council was careful to make a clear distinction between the veneration of icons and the worship of icons: supporting their veneration and forbidding their worship. The historian Williston Walker states that veneration of icons can be seen as “ of the full and distinct human nature of Christ.”
A biblical anchor for this approach is Paul’s teaching in Colossians 1:15 that Jesus is “the image (icon) of the invisible God.” As we lovingly behold the icon, we seek to pass beyond the image in wood or paint to the person of Jesus himself, and from the person of Jesus into the very presence of the triune God. It is much like when we lovingly touch the photograph of a loved one; we seek to somehow pass beyond the paper to the person himself or herself. Alongside icons candles are often used to symbolize Christ as the light of the world.
Icon painting in the Eastern tradition is not an opportunity for artistic expression as we are accustomed to seeing it in the personalized, creative traditions of the West. Icon paintings are highly stylized and only two-dimensional. All of this is intended to keep us from idolizing the icon and moving past the image into the reality the image represents. ” as it is often put.
Reading for Formation
It is in meditation upon Scripture where we find the “sanctified imagination” used most frequently. Indeed, this way of approaching the sacred text has a long and time-honored history among the people of God. It even has a special name: lectio divina, “divine reading” or “spiritual reading.”
What does lectio divina mean? Well, it means listening to the text of Scripture—really listening, listening yielded and still. It means submitting to the text of Scripture, allowing its message to flow into us rather than attempting to master it. It means reflecting on the text of Scripture, allowing both mind and heart to be fully engaged in the meaning of the passage. It means praying the text of Scripture, letting the biblical reality give rise to our heart cry of gratitude, confession, lament and petition. It means applying the text of Scripture, seeing how God’s Holy Word provides a personal word for our life circumstances. It means obeying the text of Scripture, turning, always turning away from our human ways and into the way everlasting.
Most of all lectio divina means seeing the text of Scripture, engaging the sanctified imagination in the full drama of God’s Word. St. Francis de Sales counseled, “ the whole of the mystery on which you desire to meditate as if it really passed in your presence. For example, if you wish to meditate on our Lord on the Cross, imagine that you are on Mount Calvary, and that you there behold and hear all that was done or said on the day of the Passion.” Alexander Whyte declared, “ with holy oil, you . . . open your New Testament. At one time, you are the publican: at another time, you are the prodigal . . . at another time, you are Mary Magdalene: at another time, Peter in the porch . . . till your whole New Testament is all over autobiographic of you.”
Lectio divina is a meditative, spiritual reading in which both the mind and the heart are drawn into the love of God. When he was at Harvard, Henri Nouwen once showed me a lovely picture hanging on his apartment wall. The picture depicted a woman holding an open Bible in her lap, but her eyes were lifted upward, as if toward heaven. The idea is that in lectio we are both reading the words and attending to the Lord high and lifted up.
We are told that after all the enormous events surrounding Jesus’ birth “Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart” (Lk 2:19). In lectio we are learning to do the same.
Suppose we want to meditate on Jesus’ staggering statement, “My peace I give to you” (Jn 14:27). Of course we will want to study the context of the statement—who said it, when it was said, the teaching surrounding it. We might seek to reconstruct the upper-room scene. We might consider the cost at which our sacrificial Lamb is able to offer us peace. We might even resolve to face a difficult encounter with our employer or with a neighbor in a more peaceful manner.
With lectio, however, we do more. We seek to be initiated into the reality of which the passage speaks. We brood on the truth that Jesus is now filling us with his peace. The heart, the mind and the spirit are awakened to his inflowing peace. We sense all motions of fear stilled and overcome by the spirit of “power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Tim 1:7 KJV). Rather than dissecting peace we are entering into it. We are enveloped, absorbed, gathered into his peace. And the wonderful thing about such an experience is that the self is quite forgotten. We no longer worry about how we can make ourselves more at peace, for we are attending to the infilling of peace into our hearts. No longer do we labor to think up ways to act peacefully, for acts of peace spring spontaneously from deep within.
Perhaps we want to meditate on the story of the feeding of the five thousand (Mt 14:13-21; Mk 6:30-44; Lk 9:10-17). We can see the scene: the multitudes, the hillside, the rocks, most of all the Master himself. We hear the sounds all around us: the chatter of children, the soft breeze blowing across the grasses, a baby crying in her mother’s arms, most of all the embracing voice of Jesus himself. We feel the scene: crowds pushing and shoving, hearts eager to hear a word from the Lord, the heat of the day, most of all the calming voice of the Nazarene. We watch as evening comes and sense the hunger among the people but also their reluctance to leave. We watch the whole scene unfold: the discussion about what to do, the five loaves and two fishes, the blessing, the amazement as all five thousand, plus women and children, are fed. We bask in the wonder of it all. The jubilation. We experience everything as if we were truly there.
Finally the multitudes disperse and Jesus walks up into the hills. We are alone. We sit on a rock overlooking the water lapping up on the shore. In our mind we rehearse all that has just transpired. We are quiet. Then Jesus walks up and sits on a rock beside us. Together we are quiet for a time. Then Jesus speaks: “What may I do for you?” And we tell him . . . whatever is in our heart. We receive his healing and blessing. Once again we are still. Finally, we turn and ask the Master, “What may I do for you?” And we listen . . . . this is lectio.
Many passages of Scripture can provide a touchstone for meditative prayer: “Abide in my love.” “I am the good shepherd.” “Rejoice in the Lord always.” “For by grace you have been saved through faith.” “Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.” “I am crucified with Christ.” And more. In each case we seek to discover the Lord near to us and long to encounter his presence.
So Great a Cloud of Witnesses
While we always want to affirm the centrality of Scripture, lectio includes more than the Bible. We can learn from the lives of the saints and the writings that have proceeded from their profound experience of God. Humbly we read these writings because we know that God has spoken in the past. We read Augustine’s Confessions and A. W. Tozer’s The Pursuit of God, Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle and Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s The Cost of Discipleship because we know that they walked with God and we can learn from their experience. It is no accident that the rule of St. Benedict made lectio an integral part of daily life. This prayerful reading, as we might call it, edifies us and strengthens us. Whether we are reading about William Wilberforce of England or Sundar Singh of India or Basilea Schlink of Germany or Ni To-sheng (Watchman Nee) of China, we are encouraged in the life of faith.
So whether through Scripture, icons or the lives of faithful Christians down through the centuries, we are ever seeking to “descend with the mind into the heart, and there to stand before the face of the Lord.”