Instruction in Simple Contemplation

Inhabiting the Word until the Word inhabits us

Simple Contemplation is a way of reading Scripture not only with the mind, but with the whole person. It is especially suited to the Gospel stories of Jesus. Rather than standing outside the text as a distant observer, the reader prayerfully enters the scene, beholds Christ, listens, feels, notices, and allows the living Word to become present within.

This practice has deep roots in Christian devotion. It is often associated with Ludolph of Saxony, a fourteenth-century Carthusian monk whose Vita Christi — The Life of Christ — invited readers to meditate imaginatively on the events of Jesus’ life. Ludolph’s work deeply influenced Ignatius of Loyola, who later developed this kind of Gospel contemplation in the Spiritual Exercises. In the Ignatian tradition, imaginative contemplation is a way of becoming present in a Gospel scene so that one may encounter Jesus more personally and be moved toward love, discipleship, and transformation.

This is not fantasy replacing Scripture. It is Scripture becoming spacious enough for the soul to enter. The imagination is disciplined by the Gospel story. One does not invent a different Jesus; one allows the Jesus of the text to become vivid.

Simple Contemplation asks:

What do I see?
What do I hear?
What do I feel?
Where am I in this scene?
What is Jesus doing?
What is Jesus saying to me?
What is being formed in me?

The purpose is not merely to understand the passage, though understanding may come. The purpose is to abide. To remain with Christ. To let the story move from page to prayer, from prayer to presence, from presence to life.

How to Practice Simple Contemplation

Begin by choosing a Gospel passage. It is best to start with a concrete scene: the Nativity, Jesus calling the disciples, the healing of Bartimaeus, the woman at the well, the calming of the storm, the washing of feet, the crucifixion, the resurrection appearance on the road to Emmaus.

Read the passage slowly. Do not hurry. Read it once to become familiar with the story. Read it again to notice details. Read it a third time as prayer.

Then close your eyes, or lower them, and allow the scene to form.

Do not force it. Let it come gently.

Notice the place. Is it crowded or quiet? Is it day or night? Is the air hot, dusty, cool, damp? Are there voices nearby? Are there animals, stones, water jars, tables, boats, lamps, bread, nets, sandals?

Then, notice the people. Where is Jesus? What is his face like? Who stands near him? Who is afraid? Who is angry? Who is ashamed? Who is longing? Who is left out?

Then, place yourself in the scene. You may be one of the named people. You may be a bystander. You may be a servant, a child, a disciple, a skeptic, a sick person, someone in the crowd. Let your place emerge.

The practice traditionally uses the senses: sight, sound, smell, touch, and even taste. This “application of the senses” helps the passage become embodied rather than abstract. Ignatian contemplation often asks the person praying to enter the Gospel scene through the imagination and to engage Christ there in a personal, heart-to-heart way.

Once you are there, watch Jesus.

Do not rush to explain him.

Let him act.

Let him speak.

Let him be.

If words arise, listen. If emotion arises, receive it. If resistance arises, notice it. If nothing seems to happen, remain gently present. The point is not to manufacture an experience but to consent to encounter.

At the end, speak with Christ simply. Tell him what you noticed. Ask him what he desires to show you. Receive his gaze. Rest in his presence.

Then, return to the passage and read it once more.

Finally, carry one word, image, or phrase with you into the day.

Example: The Nativity

Read Luke 2:1–20.

Imagine the night. The road has been long. The town is crowded. There is no room. The child is born not in comfort but in poverty and vulnerability.

You stand near the edge of the place where Mary rests. Joseph is tired. The animals shift and breathe. The child makes small sounds. The Lord of Heaven has entered the world without defense.

You look at the manger.

You notice that God does not come as domination. God comes as dependence.

You feel your own ego quieting. Your need to be important, admired, successful, powerful — all of it stands embarrassed before this child. The Word has become flesh, and the flesh is small.

You ask:

Jesus, where are you being born in me?
Where have I made no room for you?
What part of me still refuses humility?
What would it mean to receive you today?

Then you sit quietly.

You do not need to solve the scene.

You let it live in you.

The Fruit of the Practice

Simple Contemplation helps Scripture move from information to formation.

One may study the text and ask, “What did this mean?”
One may contemplate the text and ask, “How is Christ meeting me here?”

Both are good. They belong together. But contemplation guards us from handling Scripture only as an object. The Bible is not merely a thing we master. It is a place where we are mastered by love.

To inhabit the Word is to allow the story of Jesus to become the architecture of the soul.

His mercy begins to shape our mercy.
His patience begins to shape our patience.
His courage begins to shape our courage.
His nonviolence begins to expose our violence.
His humility begins to undo our pride.
His cross begins to reveal our false selves.
His resurrection begins to awaken our hope.

In this way, simple contemplation is not escape from the world. It is preparation for faithful living in the world. We enter the Gospel so that we may return to our homes, churches, neighborhoods, and conflicts bearing the mind of Christ.

A Brief Pattern for Daily Use

Choose a Gospel scene.

Read it slowly.

Ask for grace:
“Lord Jesus, let me know you, love you, and follow you.”

Enter the scene with your imagination.

Notice what you see, hear, smell, touch, and feel.

Watch Jesus.

Let yourself be present.

Speak with Christ as with a friend.

Rest quietly.

Carry one word or image into the day.

In the Manner of a Corpse

The phrase perinde ac cadaver means “as if a corpse” or “in the manner of a dead body.” It is associated especially with Ignatius of Loyola and Jesuit obedience. In the Jesuit context, the idea was that one living under religious obedience should allow oneself to be “carried and governed” by divine providence through one’s superiors, as a dead body can be carried wherever another wills. A Jesuit Studies summary notes that Ignatius’s teaching on obedience was centered on Christ and extended beyond outward action toward the will and understanding, while still allowing a person to represent difficulties to a superior. (Portal to Jesuit Studies) A 1908 quotation of the relevant Latin renders the image starkly: the obedient person should be like a body that “allows itself to be carried in any direction and treated in any way.” (The Spectator Archive)

So the phrase has a dangerous edge. It can become a theology of domination: the living person reduced to a usable instrument. But it also touches an older ascetic question: how does the self become free from the tyranny of self-will? The problem is not desire itself, nor personality, nor conscience, nor agency. The problem is the ego enthroned — the self that must be obeyed, defended, admired, justified, and protected at all costs.

A Caelinian Reflection: Concerning the Corpse, the Cross, and the Living Self

From the lesser folios of Brother Caelinius, copied in the dim cloister of the Morastery, concerning the death that is not death, and the life that is not possession.

There is a saying among the old disciplined orders: perinde ac cadaver — as if a dead body.

And many have trembled before it, as well they should.

For no phrase that compares the soul to a corpse ought to be handled without fear. A corpse cannot speak. A corpse cannot protest. A corpse cannot discern whether the hands that carry it are gentle or cruel. Therefore let no abbot, bishop, prince, pastor, committee, empire, army, market, or machine take this phrase into its mouth too easily. For there are many who love obedience in others because they love power in themselves.

But there is another reading, hidden beneath the severe garment of the words.

Not the corpse of domination.
Not the corpse of erased conscience.
Not the corpse of holy silence before unholy command.

Rather, the corpse of the false self.

For the ego too must die.

Not the self God created.
Not the face beloved before the foundation of the world.
Not the child laughing in the garden of being.
Not the soul with its strange music, its wounds, its gifts, its tears, its fire.

That self must live.

But the other self — the swollen self, the defended self, the self that must always be seen, always be right, always be vindicated, always be centered, always be special, always be wounded more deeply than all others, always be praised for its humility — that self must be laid out upon the table.

Let it be washed.
Let it be wrapped.
Let it be carried away.

For there is a death that does not destroy the person, but releases the person from the prison of self-occupation.

This is not becoming zero in the sense of becoming nothing. It is becoming unowned by the ego. It is the long, daily, humiliating, merciful work of dying to the self that has mistaken itself for God.

Christ does not say, “Erase the image of God within you.”

Christ says, “Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.”

And what is denied?

Not love.
Not conscience.
Not joy.
Not beauty.
Not creativity.
Not the holy ache of being alive.

What is denied is the little throne within the breast, where the anxious monarch sits and demands tribute from every room it enters.

The ego says:
“Who noticed me?”
“Who ignored me?”
“Who has more than I have?”
“Who threatens my place?”
“Who failed to honor my pain?”
“Who saw my brilliance?”
“Who wounded my image?”
“Who must I defeat so that I may exist?”

But the soul alive in Christ learns another speech:

“I am already seen.”
“I am already held.”
“I do not need to win in order to be real.”
“I do not need to dominate in order to be safe.”
“I do not need to disappear in order to be humble.”
“I may become small because I am held by a Love too large to measure.”

Here, then, is the mystery: the one who dies to self does not become less alive, but more alive.

The corpse-image fails if it ends in passivity. But it becomes fruitful if it passes through the tomb into resurrection.

For the Christian is not called merely to be dead.

The Christian is called to be dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.

Dead to the old compulsions.
Alive to mercy.

Dead to rivalry.
Alive to communion.

Dead to the hunger to possess.
Alive to receiving.

Dead to the need to be the hero of every story.
Alive to becoming a servant within God’s story.

Dead to reputation as an idol.
Alive to faithfulness in secret.

Dead to vengeance.
Alive to reconciliation.

Dead to the clenched fist.
Alive to the open hand.

Thus Brother Caelinius writes:

Blessed is the one whose ego has become a corpse,
yet whose heart has become a garden.
For such a one is not carried by tyrants,
but raised by Christ.

The work continues because the ego is not slain once only. It is a many-headed thing. It dies in the morning and returns by noon. It dies in prayer and rises in conversation. It dies in confession and reappears in ministry. It dies in one wound and returns disguised as wisdom.

Therefore the disciple must not say, “I have no ego.”
That is usually the ego wearing a monk’s robe.

The disciple says instead:

“Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.
Teach me to notice the old self without obeying it.
Teach me to lay down the false self without despising the true self.
Teach me to die without becoming dead.
Teach me to live without needing to be enthroned.”

For the goal is not corpse-like obedience to human hierarchy.

The goal is cruciform freedom.

Not the dead body as object, but the living body of Christ. Not the person emptied for use, but the person emptied for love. Not submission to domination, but surrender to resurrection.

And so the old phrase is taken down from the wall of fear and placed upon the altar of discernment.

Perinde ac cadaver — yes, but only if what lies dead is the tyranny of ego.

And beyond it, written in brighter ink:

Vivo autem, iam non ego, vivit vero in me Christus.

“I live; yet not I, but Christ lives in me.”

The integration of contemplative prayer serves as a vital mechanism for emotional regulation and psychological restoration in times of crisis.

"Healing Prayers for Emotional Strength and Peace." For those interested in the theology of healing, mindfulness, and the supportive role of faith in mental health, this is an excellent resource.

Full article here:
https://www.jacquidelorenzo.com/post/healing-prayers-emotional-strength

#Spirituality #JacquiDeLorenzo #EmotionalHealth #ContemplativePrayer #PublicInterest #Mindfulness #Healing

When words are hard to find, prayer can still bring peace. Two simple methods to deepen your conversation with God.
Read here: https://www.jacquidelorenzo.com/post/structured-prayer-methods

#Prayer #Faith #SpiritualGrowth #ACTS #ContemplativePrayer #ChristianLiving

Experiencing Prayer as a Profound Connection with the Divine

Introduction

In many religious traditions, prayer is often perceived as a means of making requests or interceding on behalf of others. Yet, a deeper understanding of prayer reveals it as a profound opportunity for communion with the Divine. This post explores how we can transform our approach to prayer from one of mere requests to a rich, personal connection with God, drawing from various spiritual traditions.

Exploring Contemplative Practices

Contemplative prayer, practiced in Christianity and other traditions, focuses on fostering an intimate connection with the Divine. In Christianity, contemplative prayer invites believers into a space of stillness and receptivity. For instance, the use of repetitive phrases like “Maranatha” helps to open one’s heart to God’s presence, moving beyond mere supplications to a deeper, more personal engagement.

Similarly, in Buddhism, practices such as Shikantaza, or “Just Sitting,” and Shamatha, or “Calm-Abiding,” cultivate mental clarity and a direct experience of the divine in the present moment. Shikantaza encourages a state of pure awareness, where one simply exists without distraction, while Shamatha develops stability and focus, paving the way for a deeper spiritual connection.

Jewish mystical traditions also contribute to this understanding. Practices like Bittul, the surrender of the ego, and Hitbonenut, profound contemplation, emphasize the experience of God’s presence through the negation of self and deep reflection.

Scriptural Insights on Personal Communion

Jesus’s own practices highlight the importance of personal communion with God. His retreat into the desert for 40 days and nights and His frequent solitary prayers illustrate a model for seeking direct connection with the Divine. Jesus’s teachings, such as in John 15:4-5, where He speaks of abiding in Him, suggest a deep, personal relationship with God. Similarly, Matthew 6:6 emphasizes private prayer as a means of engaging intimately with the Divine.

Jesus used parables to invite personal reflection and insight into God’s kingdom, and His statements about divine unity, like in John 14:20, suggest an intimate, experiential knowledge of God. These elements point to a mystical dimension of prayer, where personal experience and direct connection with the Divine are central.

Comparison of Intercessional Prayer and Direct Communion Prayer

Intercessional prayer and direct communion prayer serve distinct purposes in the spiritual journey, each offering unique approaches to connecting with the Divine.

Intercessional Prayer

Intercessional prayer focuses on making requests or petitions, often on behalf of others. This type of prayer involves asking God to intervene in specific situations, whether for healing, guidance, or support. It emphasizes the role of prayer as a means of advocating for one’s needs or the needs of others. In many Christian traditions, intercessional prayer is a vital aspect of communal worship and personal devotion, highlighting the belief in a God who responds to our requests and concerns. For example, praying for a friend’s recovery or for peace in the world exemplifies this approach.

Direct Communion Prayer

In contrast, direct communion prayer emphasizes a more intimate and experiential connection with the Divine. Rather than focusing on specific requests, this practice seeks to foster a deep, personal relationship with God through stillness, contemplation, and presence. Practices such as contemplative prayer, Shikantaza (Just Sitting), and Bittul aim to transcend the act of asking and enter a space of pure being and direct experience of God’s presence. This approach is less about seeking specific outcomes and more about experiencing a profound union with the Divine. The goal is to immerse oneself in the Divine presence, as seen in the practices of Christian mystics like St. John of the Cross and St. Francis of Assisi, who sought a direct, personal communion with God.

Historical Context and Institutional Influence

The Church’s role as an intermediary historically shaped the understanding and practice of prayer. The focus was often on external rituals and mediation, which influenced how individuals experienced and related to the Divine. This approach sometimes overshadowed the potential for personal, direct communion with God.

However, throughout history, Christian mystics and contemplatives have emphasized direct experience with the Divine. For example:

• St. John of the Cross explored the “dark night of the soul,” a profound spiritual purification leading to union with God beyond ordinary experiences.
• Teresa of Avila focused on deep, contemplative prayer and mystical experiences, offering insights into personal connection with the Divine.
• St. Francis of Assisi exemplified a life of profound spiritual simplicity and deep communion with God, expressed through his love for creation and his radical commitment to poverty. His life was a testament to the possibility of experiencing and embodying divine presence in everyday life.

These figures highlight a tradition of exploring direct and personal connections with the Divine, which contrasts with more institutionalized approaches that focus on intermediary roles and external forms.

Conclusion

Transforming our understanding of prayer from mere requests to a form of communion invites us to deepen our connection with the Divine. By embracing contemplative practices and exploring personal experiences of God, we can enrich our spiritual journey and cultivate a more profound and intimate relationship with the Divine. This journey into mystical prayer and contemplation underscores the value of seeking direct, personal experiences of the Divine, transcending conventional practices to embrace a deeper, more profound spirituality.

Reflective Questions

Feel free to share your thoughts, experiences, or any questions in the comments section below. I look forward to engaging with your reflections and exploring these ideas further together.

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https://richardsilverman108.wordpress.com/2024/08/14/deepening-prayer-from-requests-to-communion-with-the-divine/

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I've been here 10 months, so it was time I pinned an introduction!