Imagination as a Spiritual Practice: The Light Under the Door

 Imagination as a Spiritual Practice: The Light Under the Door

“The light under the door to your mind is your imagination. It is always glowing, always searching for a new idea, always alive and energetic. If you want to enlighten your spiritual life, try the one channel of contact to the Spirit that is the most direct: use your imagination. The curious, playful, unlimited vision of what you can imagine is a hint of how the Spirit thinks. It is a point of contact for us because when we open ourselves up to thinking and seeing in new ways, we are stepping into a sacred process. If you want to find the Spirit, open the door.”—Bishop Steven Charleston Daily Facebook post (3/7/2019).

Bishop Charleston affirms that using our imagination is one pathway to connecting to God. My experience is that my prayers are more meaningful if I imagine each person I pray for sitting near me or holding the hand of Jesus, God, or the Holy Spirit. I am turning each of them over to our loving God, who is guarding and caring for them.

In the forgiveness prayer from Contemplative Outreach, Ltd., we imagine being with someone who has harmed us. First, we sit in a safe place, with God beside us, as we tell the person how they have hurt us, and then we hope we can say words of forgiveness for the harm we may have done to them. This is not a one-time prayer, but a practice we repeat over and over in our sacred space until we reach the place of forgiveness—with God by our side.

In the Ignatian study of Scripture, we imagine ourselves in the scenes of Jesus’ life when he was on earth. We join the crowd following Jesus. We may become the Samaritan woman he meets at noon. We may stand in the crowd at the foot of his cross as he dies. We may be with the women who first discover he has risen.

In dream work, we practice active imagination by conversing with people and images as they present themselves in our dreams. In our imagination, these participants in the dream can tell us who they are and explain to us the parts of ourselves they represent.

Anthony de Mello encourages us to make albums in our imagination of joyful times in our lives. Then, we can return to our album from time to time, especially in troublesome times, to remember what we experienced. De Mello also believes that at the time of a past event, we never appreciated its richness. Therefore, returning to our minds and actually “getting back” into the scene can bring even greater joy, and we may feel greater love than when an event initially happened.

Imagination is one of our best spiritual practices.

Joanna   https://www.joannaseibert.com/

The Story of the Fourth Servant

The Story of the Fourth Servant

Guest Writer: Karen Dubert 

“Again, it will be like a man going on a journey, 

who called his servants and entrusted his wealth to them.” Matthew 25:14

I am the fourth servant

Somehow left out of the telling,

but very much still part—a player.

The event was noteworthy, significant,

Memorable—before the extended journey—

With delegation of duties.

I’m all about delegation, job description,

responsibility, accountability:

Just give me a task and stand back. 

The process, planning, purpose
captivate me as I am on my own journey:

—beginning and end points

—intermediate sign posts

—desired outcomes and goals

—estimated costs and returns

The timeline enchants and strategic vision justifies.

I digress. As I said, I am the fourth servant.

Our loving-strict, fatherly, ex-military boss

assigned the duties:

One received five: a diligent guy, wise investment.

Two received two: a kindness, really. Two had just

            recovered from a personal trauma. Otherwise, capable.

Three received one: he would have to set his mind to it,

            but it wasn’t an impossible stretch.

I was Four. I also received one—but neither I nor it was mentioned.

Delighted to be included, of course,

I could certainly manage one.

The chance for two or three would have been welcome—

But I’m not ambitious, just a pleaser.

So I set my planning into motion:

How to best look after this one. Thoughts

whirled with options and possibilities.

This amount—one—was limiting;

It felt confining, anyway.

Yes, I was grateful, but I could have accomplished

—shone, if you will—

with a bit more. But there you are—

I come from sea-faring folk,

so I looked to the sea.

Fish to be caught and sold:

profit to be made and invested.

Started small: hired a captain and his boat,

bought a middling net,

employed a few seasoned fisher friends

and Out we went.

We started well—caught and sold

—mended nets—paid the men

bought another net—and repeat.

Every day the weather permitted

we were on the waves:

straining at bursting nets, catching fish,

delighting in the tired muscles and breathless laughter

and wind in our hair.

Selling was not my strong suit:

I was tired and not shrewd

—those who sold for me were not kind,

not honest,

not just—

so I released them

and sold what I could

and gave the rest to the poor.

The weather turned and some days were empty—

but work was paid regardless of the take—

The seas were capricious:

what started well spiralled down.

The nets tore and wore;

We mended the mended bits.

No matter how we toiled and strove,

ends barely met.

Finally I could only pay my men with fish from the catch—

the net had out-lived its lifetime twice over—

there was naught to buy another.

What went wrong?

My plan had been careful,

the process clearcut,

the purpose obvious: make a bundle

make Him smile.

All I had to show was a battered net,

some faithful friends

and a few marginals with a bellyful.

Quite unexpectedly our master came home—

I thought there would be so much more time

(He’d been gone for ages, so I expected more.)

But out of the blue,

there he was with his entourage—home

and called each of us who’d been tasked.

You know the story, you heard the score:

One had made five more—high commendation.

Two had made two more—top marks.

Three had hidden his and kept it safe.

(I was wishing I’d been more circumspect—

but how could I have foreseen the bleak forecast?)

My heart sank when he was rebuked for his caution

—his one was given to One with ten

—Three was exiled, fired, extinguished.

Had there been somewhere to hide,

You know I’d have found it.

Instead I stood there—bare feet and tattered clothes

—stuttering my story

—I didn’t even have the one

I had nothing

Except a useless worn out net:

Not a thing to offer

for all my effort and strain and danger

I’d over-estimated myself, took on too much,

and now I was in debt—

I could not even pay back the one

He had entrusted to me.

My eyes groundward,

I felt the others’ eyes on me:

How I wished I could have been clever,

shrewd,

productive

like One and Two.

They were basking

as they deserved.

Hoisting courage I looked into His eyes,

raised my empty, weathered hands:

then dropped them and fell to my knees.

“Sir, I am so sorry. I have nothing to report:

No profit

No payout

I spent the deposit and it is gone.”

Cringing, I knew I deserved worse than Three—

but what could be worse than to be thrown out?

I felt a hand on my arm, a guard to take me away—

no doubt to debtor’s prison—

But it was my master.

“Reports of the poor being fed have reached me.

Widows and orphans,

the dispossessed and disabled.

Your fish have nourished hope in them—

You have repaid me

by feeding the weak in my land.

Come share my joy.”

Karen Dubert

Karen is a Third Culture Kid married to one and has raised two. She has taught and mentored in Eswatini, China, Moçambique, Zimbabwe and South Africa. Now in her autumn years she coaches young people for cross cultural work in southern Spain.

Joanna Seibert. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Buechner, Gandhi: A Telling Silence

Buechner, Gandhi: A Telling Silence

“I remember going to see the movie Gandhi when it first came out....We were the usual kind of noisy, restless Saturday night crowd. But by the time the movie came to a close with the flames of Gandhi’s funeral pyre filling the entire widescreen, there was not a sound or a movement in that whole theater, and we filed out of there—teenagers and senior citizens, blacks and whites,—in as deep and telling a silence as I have ever been part of.”—Frederick Buechner in The Clown in the Belfry (HarperCollins, 1992). 

We long to silence the busyness in our heads. We try meditation, interacting with children, exercise, being outdoors, or just sitting. Sometimes, art forms can move us from our heads to our hearts—to the Christ within us—in record time, as in the old Superman slogans, “like a speeding bullet.” Movies can do this for me, especially stories of those who know what suffering is and have learned from it rather than choosing to avoid its reality. I had the same experience as Buechner and his fellow viewers when I first saw the movie, Gandhi. As we, by chance, might have glanced over at the strangers on either side of us in the packed theater, none of us needed to feel embarrassed by our tears.  

We all walked out of the theater in silence. There were no words. The transformative power of this 1982 movie still speaks to us each time we watch it over forty years later.

Since today we watch movies more often in our homes than in the theater, we are less likely to experience the powerful community reaction that Buechner and I had.

The movie Gandhi is about someone who brought about change by nonviolence.

We must remember this story daily, hourly, minute by minute, second by second.

Joanna   https://www.joannaseibert.com/