Second Nature
Advent 3B
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28
12/14/2008
Jim Melnyk

“By the grace of God I am a Christian, by my deeds a great sinner, and by my calling a homeless wanderer of humblest origin, roaming from place to place. My possessions consist of a knapsack with dry crusts of bread on my back and in my bosom the Holy Bible. That is all!” So begins the story, The Way of a Pilgrim, a 19th century tale about an anonymous Russian peasant and his journey to learn what it means to, as the Apostle Paul puts it, pray without ceasing.
        
Our unknown pilgrim recounts his mysterious calling thus: “On the twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost I came to church to attend the Liturgy and entered just as the epistle was being read. The reading,” our pilgrim notes, “was from Paul's First Letter to the Thessalonians, which says in part, 'Pray constantly.' These words,” the pilgrim tells us, “made a deep impression on me and I started thinking of how it could be possible for [person] to pray without ceasing when the practical necessities of life demand so much attention” (The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His Way, Image Book, 1978, p. 13).
        
In the book, whose author is long lost to human memory, the pilgrim spends a year traveling across the Russian steppes speaking with countless priests, monks and spiritual directors in an attempt to learn what it means to pray without ceasing, and even more importantly to him, how one can learn to pray without ceasing – how one can enter into such an intense relationship with God that even the distractions of daily living might take a back seat to the wonder of the divine.
        
The pilgrim finally comes across a learned monk who begins teaching him about the interior life – teaching him about a way to enter the interior of his heart which would allow him to pray without ceasing. It is at this point that the pilgrim learns a version of what is called by many the “Jesus prayer” or a “breath prayer.” The monk teaches our pilgrim, “[Our] vocal cords enable [us] to speak, to vocalize words. Use this ability,” he explains, “and, while fighting distractions, diligently and continuously say, 'Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me!' If you will persevere for some time,” he concludes, “then, without any doubt, the path the heart will be opened to you” (p. 20-21).
        
I've always found myself drawn to this inquisitive pilgrim's journey of faith. I am intrigued by the idea of being able to pray without ceasing, and from time-to-time I have found my spiritual life greatly enriched by various forms of the Jesus prayer the pilgrim learns along his journey. There is something mystically fulfilling for me when I find the rhythm of my prayers echoing the rhythm of my breathing and the beating of my heart. It can truly be a pathway to the interior of our hearts and place where we can meet God at the core of our being. But this can only be a beginning place – and perhaps a necessary touchstone – for our lives as followers of Christ.

This echoes the refrain from the Magnificat we sang earlier, “All that I am sings of the God who brings new life to birth in me. My spirit soars on the wings of my Lord” (words by David Haas). In the canticle, Mary's words remind us that God's love for us, and our love for God, must spur us towards action – for God constantly acts on behalf of those in need.
        
I was deeply moved by Nita's sermon last week about how we enter into the season of Advent. I was reminded of her words this week as I read a reflection by spiritual director Conrad Hoover. “Advent tells us to wait and watch,” writes Hoover, “which suggests the more passive stance of the contemplative who is attentive to the signs of God's presence in our midst. It is the straining, listening ear that can hear the cries of the heavenly council. It is the quiet penetrating eye of the contemplative that 'sees God behind everything that happens,' as Thomas Merton once said. Out of this rootedness in memory and trust,” Hoover continues, “out of this rootedness in memory and trust comes the word to cry and the compassion to live.”
        
“But,” concludes Hoover, “Advent is also the prod to our faith memory to participate in God's continual coming into the midst of human misery.” Reminiscent of Isaiah, Hoover calls us to, “Prepare the way of the Lord wherever there is hunger, imprisonment, mourning, injustice, and oppression in the human family. Become a part of the movement of God's love enfleshed in the church,” he writes, [a part of God's love enfleshed in each of us,] to bring… glad tidings and to proclaim… liberty” (Sojourners on line, 12/14/2008). In other words, the wonder of Advent, and the wonder of the Jesus prayer, is how after allowing us to enter into the interior of our hearts, they allow us to move beyond ourselves into the world which God calls us to serve – proclaiming Good News and living the Gospel of Christ.
        
I think the Jesus prayer – or any form of breath prayer – and a season like Advent – has much to do with finding a way for our relationship with God to become second nature to us – or perhaps a renewal of our first nature – our nature to be connected to God in some tangible and meaningful way. As the season or the prayer infiltrates the barriers we put between ourselves and God – as they find their way into the interior of our hearts – we are moved to be more conscious of our relationship with God and each other. We are moved, by the Spirit of God breathing in and through us – to become living, breathing witnesses and messengers of the Good News of God.
        
It is no accident that the framers of our current lectionary have placed the passage from Isaiah 61 in the midst of the Advent readings. As our prayers and the season of Advent become one with the beating of our hearts and our very breath of life, we are moved to become harbingers of Good News. Allowing our prayers and the meaning of Advent to settle deeply within us incites within us a greater desire to be at one with God – and then let the world watch out! A people renewed by the power of prayer and the presence of the coming Christ can and should rock the world!
        
Earlier this week I was reading a blog by Sojourners' editor Jim Wallis concerning the plight of the big three automakers. Wallis was writing about a full-page apology offered by GM in Automative News magazine. While many see the apology as either a last-ditch PR ploy or a “too little – too late” act, Wallis desires to take the automaker at its word.

Wallis writes: “The heart of our faith is about relationships. How they are broken and how they are fixed. Righteousness is the term we use that means 'right relationships.' It may sound like an oversimplification,” writes Wallis, “especially in light of all of the complex market instruments that are in use today, but the root of all of this financial mess and turmoil are broken relationships, broken social covenants.”

Wallis then points to several relationships that must be impacted by our faith: “The relationship between employer and employee. The relationship between corporations and community. The relationship between stock holders and executives. The relationship between consumers and their creditors. The relationship between the businesses, the government, and our civic institutions. The relationship between people and the planet we live on. These relationships,” Wallis points out, “are broken, distorted, and even abandoned. All of them are in need of redemption” (SojoMail, 12/11/08).

The fix to the ills plaguing our financial institutions and business today is as much spiritual as it is structural. But we can easily translate Wallis' reflections on the brokenness of the automotive industry to the general realities of our everyday lives. Wallis writes, “If we only treat the symptoms of the problems without also seeking personal and communal transformation, we will find ourselves on the losing side of this battle” – whether we're talking about problems in the corporate world or problems in our own homes – in our own lives. (ibid) It's a battle we cannot afford to lose.        

In the end, the prophet Isaiah, the Apostle Paul, and John the Baptist each point to a renewed community of faith centered in the heart of God's dream for humanity and for all of creation. Each proclaims a life-changing relationship with the God of all creation who calls us not only to proclaim Good News, but to live in ways that make the Good News of God's love a new and present reality.

As civil rights leader Howard Thurman once wrote, “When the song of the angels is stilled. When the star of the sky is gone. When kings and princes are home. When the shepherds are back with their flocks. The work begins… to find the lost. To heal the broken. To feed the hungry. To rebuild the nations. To bring peace among people. To make music in the heart” (Synthesis, 12/14/08). Amen.

©2008 Jim Melnyk