How lovely on the mountains are the feet of the herald who comes to proclaim prosperity and brings good news, the news of deliverance. (Isaiah 52:7)
THE SPIRIT SPEAKS through whomsoever He chooses. He does not inquire into the beliefs or ancestral background of the ones He selects, but He sees into a person's heart and knows whether the dedication to service is there.
The Word of God is a seed implanted in the soul of Everyman. It germinates at the moment of spiritual birth, so that Christ comes gradually to lead the person into the full exercise of his own unique gifts. It is an important observation that the Spirit acting authentically in a person's life, leads him on to a full encounter with the Christ, Who illuminates the apex of the soul. When the Spirit is allowed only a partial place in a person's life, His action is deflected and weakened by unconscious impulses and psychic debris in the environment. I believe the Spirit has been active in the lives of all those who have devoted themselves to the religious quest. But often He has been summarily dismissed when a certain level of reality has been attained. The Spirit is gentle but demanding. Like the wind it blows where it wills; you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from, or where it is going. (John 3:8) When the Spirit is not fully accepted in one's life, so that His transforming power cannot be properly realised, He goes elsewhere, leaving one unsatisfied and devoid of full guidance.
This is why the Holy Spirit is not the complete Godhead. Without the Creator Father and the emergent Word Who effects creation by an act of will, the work of the Spirit would have no power of direction. The Spirit's influence would soon become contaminated, weakened, and perverted by the ingress of intermediate psychic powers, and distorted by the conflicts that lie unresolved in hidden depths of the individual psyche. It is this interference with the purity of the Spirit's intention that has marred the various modern movements that have sought assiduously after spiritual truth. Even more tragically, the Spirit's work in the higher religions has often been vitiated and reversed by the lust for power, the intolerance and the demand for personal assurance that have so often characterised the lives of those who call themselves believers. The substance of St Paul's first letter to the Corinthians is a rebuke to an avowedly Christian community in receipt of the gifts of the Spirit which has nevertheless been deflected from the life of union with Christ by sectarian loyalties, immorality, lust, gluttony, and faltering belief. The Spirit is not a magician. He is God's gift to those who have opened themselves to the divine life. He will infuse us as we give of ourselves to God in worship and to our fellow men in service. As we become purer in intent and aspiration, so His brightness will illuminate us and cleanse us from inner impurities. But there will be no radiance or inner cleanliness if we do not play our part. Each great religious tradition has a way appointed by which mankind may be available to the Spirit's downflow.
This is the practice of prayer, without which we cannot hope to attain unitive knowledge of God. To be sure, God comes to us by grace, not we to Him by personal striving. Nevertheless, it is to the person who has given every thing he has in faith and love that the pearl of great price is revealed. Prayer is the acceptable way of effecting willed communication with God, because it is an act of self-giving and renunciation. It is the antithesis of grasping for spiritual things that is the method of the occultist who 'invokes' powers and qualities from the psychic world. The difference between prayer and occult meditation is so subtle that even, or perhaps I should rather say especially, highly intellectual people may fail to see the great divide that separates the two. In prayer a person gives of himself in humble adoration to God Who is beyond all names. By becoming nothing - as Jesus was on the Cross - he attains communion with that which too is nothing and is also the eternal Godhead. For God is assuredly No Thing, as the greatest mystics have taught the world.
Moses learnt this truth in the vision of the burning bush, while Jesus taught that God is a spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and in truth. (John 4:24) In occult meditation, the person, while acknowledging his inadequacy, strains after personal attributes that will raise his spiritual stature, so that he will become a better person. But the personal self is dominant and in charge of the spiritual development that is sought. Therefore God is brought down to the level of man instead of man being raised to union with God. The result of successful occult meditation is a dynamically powerful man who uses spiritual things for purely selfish motives, though often, in his blindness, he really believes he has the good of the world at heart. There is a very close bond between secular humanism and many schools of occultism that cultivate spiritual powers and even purport to believe in God.
True religion aims at spiritualising matter, not imprisoning God in it. The Incarnation is God's way of assuming material form in humility in order to raise matter from the corruption of decay to the eternal preservation of spiritual being. This is the distinctive glory of the Christian way and makes it, in my opinion, unique in showing mankind the process of deliverance. "Neither by force of arms, nor by brute strength, but by my Spirit" (Zechariah 4:6), speaks against the humanistic approach to deliverance from evil. But Christianity at its best could also add the reverse side of this truth: "Not by lifting myself above the world in meditation, nor by condemning its corruption, but by identifying myself with it in its deepest travail." This is the way of Jesus, the full Christ. But it must be said at once that the identification with the world's suffering that we are bidden to take upon ourselves is possible only when we are filled with the power of God's Spirit. And this is the outcome of contemplative prayer.
It is not without significance that the way of contemplation is far better charted in the Hindu-Buddhist tradition than in that of the Semitic, monotheistic religions. On the other hand, it is the prophetic religions of the West that have made the greatest contributions to social justice and scientific advancement. At present many intelligent Westerners are learning about the inner life of meditation from Eastern teachers. At the same time the Eastern nations are striving desperately to gain scientific and technicological expertise from the West, and have also imported from the Western world political systems that stress, at least in theory, social and economic justice. The danger is that the Eastern world may sacrifice its ageless wisdom on the altar of scientific and economic progress, while the younger people of the West, disillusioned by the tinsel of scientific positivism and the barrenness of humanistic materialism; may discard the dearly achieved intellectual integrity of their forefathers for irrationa1, pseudomystical cults and practices.
God, as Dame Julian of Norwich says, is the "ground of our beseeching", or as we would put it "the foundation of our prayer". St Paul reminds us that "we do not even know how we ought to pray, but through our inarticulate groans the Spirit Himself is pleading for us, and God Who searches our inmost being knows what the Spirit means, because He pleads for God's people in God's own way; and in everything, as we know, He co-operates for good with those who love God and are called according to His purpose." (Romans 8: 26-28) The meeting-place of prayer is the silence that comes from an acute awareness of our own inadequacy, or sinfulness (the failure to live up to our full humanity). When this load descends upon us, we are at last bereft of words, and in the silence the Spirit can speak to us of what He knows we most desperately lack. We can then, bereft of all pride and self-justification, speak to the Father directly through the Word Who is within us as well as eternally present in the Person of the Risen Lord, at least in terms of the Christian insight. In this way God speaks to God through us, and we are enabled to communicate directly with Him in the deepest concentration. The conversation may be an articulate verbal or mental confession and rejoicing, or it may be in tongues of ecstasy, or it may be in that wordless communion which is the deepest and most articulate of all relationships. The particular merit of this trinitarian approach is that God's transcendence is acknowledged, while at the same time He is recognised as the ground of the individual soul and also the spirit that proceeds from it. The indissoluble union between God and man is emphasised without making the error of identifying the two.
The result of the communion between God and man is the outpouring of the Spirit upon him, so that he becomes enlightened and sanctified. The Spirit is therefore both the foundation of our prayer and the end of it, an end that is no less than human sanctification. This sanctification is made manifest by the fruits of spiritual action as well as a transformed inner life (radiating the fruits of the Spirit of Galatians 5:22). The sanctified life is no longer limited by personal objectives and striving. The desires of the personal self - its need for comfort, recognition, and results - are transcended. The life of the saint can truly be called transpersonal - it has passed beyond personal demands to self-giving service in the world. And such a life is free; there is an escape from the bondage of the natural state of emotional attachment to other people's opinions and attitudes. At last one can serve without counting the cost, and love fully without keeping an inner account of deeds rendered and gratitude expressed by others. Love can never be real until it looks beyond the world of recognition and reward to the complete emancipation of all creation, so that it too may ascend to sanctification, and if sanctified, even to union with God.
Prayer is the inner response of the soul to God Who is known in contemplation. It has two components: the silent, solitary communion in the secret place of the Most High, which is the individual soul, and the shared worship in a community of beloved brethren. It is this aspect of prayer that each religious tradition has emphasised in its own particular way. The silent personal communion is taken for granted, but unfortunately too little instruction is afforded in it in many religious traditions. It is often assumed that the disciple can, by a simple act of will, enter into the depths of his own being and effect prayerful communion with God. This, alas, is far from easy except for those who are well on the way to mystical understanding - an understanding, I might add, that seems to be an inherent quality of the soul rather than something that is introduced by outside instruction or exhortation. In other words, the real inner prayer comes to those who are in conscious communication with the depths of their being, and can converse through these depths of soul substance with God Who is immanent as the Spirit.
Such effective inner prayer depends, I suggest, on three factors: firstly something that has been brought in with the person when he was conceived, secondly a discipline of meditation, and lastly assiduous work in the world in whatever capacity providence has seen fit to place that person. With regard to the first point, there is little doubt in my mind that some people come into the world with a remarkable inner balance and wisdom, while others, and even their siblings, may seem to be devoid of all deeper spirituality. These serene people have been called "old souls" by those who know, and the inference is that they have had previous experience of a life of limitation. Those who deny this possibility would explain their nature in terms of genetic constitution which enables them to have a favourable mental and emotional balance. It would be futile at this stage to debate the issue, and I personally believe that both factors must be given due weight of consideration. In any case, the rea1 life of prayer can begin only at the moment of spiritual birth, which I have already described in an earlier section.
The discipline of prayer is learnt primarily by example from others on the way, and here a religious tradition is vitally important. To be sure, there are many at present who have acquired a particular technique of meditation or, more precisely, a technique of emptying the mind of discursive thought and charged emotion, and feel they have arrived at spiritual knowledge without the necessity of committing themselves to any religious teaching. But it does not require great insight to see the superficiality of this spirituality. It consists essentially of mental repose to which is added a feeling of complacency. In fact, some types of private meditation can have the effect of isolating the person not only from those around him, but also from his own centre.
The void where God is known is also a focus of loving warmth. The void that private meditation may disclose in those without the basis of an authentic religious tradition is a diaphanous film that separates them from reality and isolates them in a fatuous world of private illusion. Eventually their spontaneity may be enveloped in a grey apathy that masks all genuine emotional responses and dulls the reasoning mind.
Meditation in a group of like-minded seekers is certainly an advance on this private, self-enclosed discipline. But the finest meditation is done in a full religious body in which all participants worship God - Who is mystery, for He is beyond any attribute one might envisage.
It is for this purpose that a liturgy and a sacramental life is a very important concomitant of prayer. Each religious tradition has its own approach to divine reality, and it takes the form of a communal service in which all present forget who they are or where they are going and instead give themselves fully to the moment in hand. The importance of a set liturgy is that it serves no earthly use. Therefore nothing personal is to be gained from it. Instead the mind is released for a period of time from material considerations, and can pause before the mystery of creation in awe in the fellowship of other believers. Of course, if a religious service is beautifully conducted, it ennobles the emotions aesthetically. Likewise, a fine address is intellectually inspiring, and if the Holy Spirit is allowed to speak through the preacher, He may effect great changes in the attitudes of the members of the congregation. But in the end the work of worship, or the liturgy, is its own reward. The worshipper should be able to reach a state of inner peace through the discipline of withdrawal from the world for a period each week, or better still each day. If one attends a service of religious worship expecting something for oneself, one is very likely to depart unfilled. But if one enters in childlike simplicity of intent, one will leave in a state of peace and inner radiance. Some traditions have a liturgy of unexcelled beauty that lifts the worshipper to the very portals in heaven. This is admirable provided the worshipper descends to earth afterwards and resolves to bring heaven down to the world in which he lives. Other traditions worship in a stillness devoid of sensual content. This again is admirable provided the divinity inherent in the senses is not neglected and dismissed out of hand. Worship in stillness reminds us that God is a spirit, and we are closest to Him when we are arrayed in the whiteness of spiritual purity and the gold of aspiration.
Sacraments remind us of the holiness of matter: the waters of Baptism, the bread and the wine of common life glorified in the Eucharistic meal, the candle, the chalice. The food that we eat teaches us that God is present in every meal around a united table, where there is love among the members. In the Eucharist this love is augmented by the Real Presence of Christ, but even so the worshippers glorify the elements consecrated by the priest, as they all are glorified by the Risen Christ. And yet He is also present where even two or three are gathered together in His name. This name is not that of a particular sect or religion; the name of the universal, indwelling, yet transcendent Christ is love, a love for one's neighbour, who is every creature under heaven's rays. The common things of the world afford the most inspiring material for sacramental religion, for they are the stuff of the present moment.
Silence as the medium of prayer brings time to sacramental perfection; it raises up the present moment to timeless reality. In this reality silence, hymns of praise, the things of this world, and fellowship one with another, whether here or in the life beyond death, are all united in the Body of Christ, which is the creative Word that is eternally making all things new. The Moslem who separates himself from the world on his mat and prays in the prescribed fashion five times a day is as close to God as the Jew who praises Him for the glory of perpetual creation, even in the actions and providence of that moment, or the Christian thanking Him for His inestimable love in the perpetual offering of the Word for man's redemption, commemorated sacramentally in the Eucharist. Buddhism too, which stresses contemplative absorption into the one great reality, described most perfectly as Nirvana in which all selfhood is annihilated, has its own use of material objects as a focus for inner stillness.
The end of prayer is union with God. He is known in the peace that passes all understanding, a peace in which time intersects with eternity, matter is refined into spirit as the body of the risen Christ, life is changed "in the twinkling of an eye" into immortality as death is swallowed up in victory. In God all contradictions coincide, for He is the resolution of every contradiction in a new synthesis. This is the immaculate conception from which all new inspiration proceeds. This is the virgin birth whereby the blessed parents conceive the divine child in chastity through the power of the Holy Spirit. The newly-born may be a philosophical thought, a flash of scientific intuition, the high inspiration of creative art, or the frail body of a child whose name is Jesus Christ, and Who is also one of us.
The more complete the religion, the more perfectly it balances the contemplative silence of eternity with a proper valuation of the stuff of this earth. To the sensualist it teaches the reality of the unseen world of eternity whose nature is Spirit. To the ascetic it shows the divinity of the common things of the world and the glory of everyday events. A complete religion awakens the vibrancy that is dormant in matter. It is the instrument by which the Spirit brings life to the world and leads men into truth, the truth inherent in the Word.
As I have said, each of the world's great religions has evolved a way of prayer, the end of which is communion of man with God, or absorption of the person into the ocean of limitless reality whose nature is being, awareness and bliss (to use a well-known Hindu description of the indescribable). I would not for one moment equate these two approaches to ultimate reality. Indeed, they appear, at least on the surface, to be diametrically opposed. But in mystical illumination they are found to complement each other, the one softening the unattractive features of the other. A strongly theistic religion tends to interpret God in the likeness of man, investing Him with the attributes of a superior human being, an anthropomorphic image in fact. A strongly non-theistic religion that sees ultimate reality in transpersonal terms only, ends up in an impersonality in which creatures lose their identity in the immensity of all-embracing reality. In such a religion the individual does not become a real person. Instead he merges with the void. I do not believe any creature was fashioned for this purpose. As I have already indicated, the personal self has to be transformed, not annihilated.
Religion is not simply a means to a transient union of man with God; this would be a limited objective, almost a spiritual luxury for a privileged class of human beings. The end of religion is the divinisation of man, so that he makes real, in his outer life, the divine image placed deeply within him. The Spirit performs this work by His indwelling radiance and His transcendent inspiration. These two views again appear to be radically opposed yet both contribute vital insights about the relationship of the Spirit to the world. Assuredly He is immanent in all created things; man is indeed able to be consciously aware of the Spirit working in him, so that he in turn can work in harmony with God. And yet the ordination hymn that opens, "Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire", is also profoundly true. The power of the Spirit descends on us as a dove from afar, as He did upon the apostles on the day of Pentecost, but admittedly also with tongues of fire.
In the mystical life, this paradox of transcendent immanence is resolved in the realisation that every creature is in psychic communion not only with his fellows but with the totality of creation and with God. The boundaries of the soul are so deep as to defy delineation, as Heraclitus once remarked. It is this coinherence of all things that is the secret of intercessory prayer. When a group, or even a single person, remembers with love a person in difficulty, the Spirit of Christ is among the intercessoors, and communes with the one for whom prayers are offered. Love knows no limits, and the Holy Spirit is present in all places at once, since He works beyond temporal and spatial limitations. In this way He is available to all who will accept His service. But He does not force Himself on those who do not receive Him gladly, in the way that Jesus was heard by the common people. This quality of unobtrusive humility typifies the action of the Holy Spirit. It is also a vitally important guideline for our way, who are instruments of the Spirit, at work among our fellow-men. On the other hand, assiduous work in the world in loving service to others makes our prayer life real and brings it to fruition.
In the life of Jesus there seemed so much activity that it is remarkable He had any time for constructive thought or teaching. His secret was the ability to pass through the midst of people. These were not only the hostile crowds or even His supporters, from whom He escaped into the silence of a hidden place of retreat. He could enter the secret place of the Most High even when He was conversing with people, performing acts of healing, or addressing multitudes. He called in silence to the Father, and the Holy Spirit filled Him with peace. He did not need to prepare notes for His teaching. Indeed, He told His disciples that, when they were arraigned before the seats of authority and power because of their allegiance to Him, they should not prepare a defence beforehand; He Himself would give them power of utterance and a wisdom which no opponent would be able to resist or refute. (Luke 21:12-15) It is this gift of being able to call on the Holy Spirit at all times that is the fruit of silent prayer.
The Spirit can guide one into truth provided one has the humility to wait upon Him in silence with a pure heart. It is our own emotional imbalance that prevents our prayers being fully answered, because we interpose our prejudices between our will and the Spirit of God. We claim, and even believe, that we want God's will to be done, but in fact we want Him to support our own opinions and enterprises. Until we attain the deep silence of trust, the promise of Jesus, "Ask, and you will receive; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened" (Matthew 7:7), will not be fulfilled. We have to ask, to seek, to knock - this is where we fail.
Asking means enquiring about the very nature of our present difficulty; seeking is no less than giving up everything we possess for the kingdom of God; knocking requires a complete change in attitude to life. If we are prepared to ask, to seek, and to knock in that spirit of dedication, the Spirit of God will come to us and open the door of reality.