Peace in the Heart, Peace in the World.


On Saturday night we watched the River lights moving along the Moruya River. They were part of the celebration of Granite Town on the 90th Birthday of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Moving slowly and silently on the water they spoke wordlessly of calm, peace and of course light. Such a stark contrast to the violence in Ukraine. As we look on in horror at the atrocities committed against Ukrainian people we might well ask, how are we to live in this beautiful and broken world? How do we make sense of this contrast? And above all what do we do in a time such as this? It is simple enough to donate money to organisations such as Red Cross, to advocate that our government take more refugees. These actions are quite clear and good. But how are we to contribute to peace in the world? 
The World Community for Christian Meditation will hold a global event on Saturday 26th March in solidarity with the Ukrainian community. The focus is ‘Peace in the Heart, Peace in the World’. As the title suggests there is a direct link between peace in our own hearts and peace in the world. Our inner and outer lives are profoundly connected. As we are so shall our world be. Seeds of violence in our own hearts are best nipped in the bud before they grow into missiles.
The river lights were moved by those who rowed the kayaks to which they were attached. The beauty of their silence was powered by the work of the rowers. Our work to recover peace in our hearts may come through the practice of silence in meditation or some other contemplative practice. Such a practice, or work, over a period of time, enables the ‘cleansing of the eye of the heart’. In this way we become more conscious of the way in which our own thoughts can become barbs directed at others. The heart healed of interior division and therefore propensity to violence will contribute to the same healing in the world. The whole-heartened see the world as whole, unbounded by the division of human conflict. Yes, we have boundaries that must be respected, as in the case of the Ukrainian borders. When we recognize those boundaries yet can reach across them with love rather than violence we are acting out of wholeness, whole-heartedness. 
There will be many people around the world praying for peace. Meditation as a work of silence is a way of prayer that transforms our own violence such that we can be bearers of peace in this world. And perhaps, mysteriously, as we are healed, we might emit waves of peace that can have an effect across distance, across divisions. So may our own thoughts and prayers be of peace. As the old hymn and prayer of St Francis says, may we be channels of peace. Amen.

Acedia: the demon of the pandemic?

Languishing may have been the dominant state of being for many people during these last years of the pandemic. The sense of stagnation that we seemed to enter due to lockdowns and the uncertainty of what covid may present us with next is understandable. Acedia however is described as a state of listlessness, indifference, and torpor. The desert monk John Cassian described it as the apathetic restlessness of the ‘noonday demon.’ The early desert Abba’s and Amma’s saw it as a sinful state of sloth! However, we may like to look at it in a kinder light albeit giving it the attention it may warrant. 

The early monks considered acedia as a condition particularly likely in those whose monastic life necessitated a high degree of solitude. It was considered one of the ‘eight trains of thought’ that needed to be overcome in the spiritual life. The social constraints and restriction to one physical place could give rise to this ‘train of thought’ amongst the monks. The restlessness and inability to apply themselves to either work or prayer could become a significant problem. Cassian speaks of the ‘bodily listlessness and yawning hunger’ of acedia and describes those suffering it as being unable to apply themselves to anything whilst wishing the day away.

I wonder whether the restrictions and isolation of the pandemic may have led some of us into a state of acedia. Well before the pandemic however Aldous Huxley saw acedia as one of the main diseases of the common age. This time of pandemic, of constant uncertainty and isolation could easily tip us into this ‘train of thought.’  We need not apply the moral judgement of the desert monks but rather pay attention to it with compassion. So, if we do find ourselves in a state of acedia what can we do? The state of listless restlessness that acedia is characterised by takes us out of the present moment. We are unable to settle to anything; unable to fully attend in a way that is satisfying. And acedia makes the future seem overwhelming. So, it is important to remember the simple practice of paying attention to what is right before us. It may take some discipline, yet we can all simply be present to a particular part of the garden, a flower, a tree, a bee, a short verse of scripture or poetry. It is important that we set small, manageable tasks and see them through. We may also find that breathing our way through acedia can help. Be aware of boredom and torpor and pay attention to the breath, breathing in and out, before applying ourselves to a small task or making a phone call or writing to another. Most importantly we need to catch the ‘train of thought’ before it takes us into a downward spiral. We need to recognize each moment as gift and grace and be grateful for the moment, the breath, the life living through us.

Thankfully, we are now able to meet in person more regularly and this is sure to help alleviate acedia. We will soon be sending out dates for our various activities beginning in March at Open Sanctuary.

May God’s peace be with us in times of both abundance and adversity. 

​At Open Sanctuary we find common ground in Silence. Silence is not an end in itself. It is rather the interior ‘ground’ in and from which we find common ground with others. The work of silence is the practice of noticing the noise and clutter of our own minds and intentionally turning ‘the face of our mind’ to behold the silence of deeper mind. Practices such as meditation are a way towards this interior movement; a way of stilling our noisy mind so that we can hear and see with clarity. The work of silence and the increasing capacity to behold is a way of integrative peace and wholeness. Silence as common ground for all faith traditions and the reality of our common human condition is a way of reconciling, redeeming relationship with the other. The mind that is liberated from its own noise, clutter and addictive patterns is free to engage with difference without being threatened by difference. This liberation is salvific; it is salve or in other words ‘saving’ in that we gradually notice we are less reactive, less dogmatic either in religious, psychological or political terms. This doesn’t mean we are disengaged but rather the way in which we engage changes. We become more contemplative in action. In this way we contribute to peace as we are no longer compelled to go into battle to defend or attack our egoic stance. Rather, we grow in a contemplative stance towards life. Through the work of silence, we find we can remain present with respectful regard for the other. We may not always agree however we will find a compassionate and open way to converse and to disagree and yet to relate with loving-kindness. The world is desperately in need of wisdom, the wisdom of silence. Life on earth faces an existential challenge in the form of climate change and general ecological devastation. We are constantly distracted by both interior and exterior noise. There is a direct relationship between our noisy, grasping, one-dimensional mind and the ways in which humanity is shaping the earth. We need to be informed by the silence of deep mind; to become re-centred in wisdom, loving- kindness and the vision that recognizes we are one body. What we do to the least we do to the whole. Silence is not an end in itself but is the open-endedness of the Reality of God, Ground of Being.

Note: the terms ‘behold’ and ‘deep mind’ are taken from the work of Maggie Ross whose seminal book ‘Silence: A User’s Guide’, has become a significant source text in my life.

Maggie Ross, Silence: A User’s Guide, Cascade Books, 2014

When the fires hit the forest around Mallacoota the birds where blown out to sea. 
 They returned, washed up on the beaches.
I always thought that birds, at least, unlike their ground-dweller cousins, could escape bushfire. But not this one. This land of ‘drought’ and ‘flooding rains’ is now a land of megafire. The sacrifice of native life for our failure to act is heartbreaking. Those birds that flew out to sea knew how big this fire was and had nowhere else to go.  Certainly, the koalas had nowhere to go other than screaming up to the crown of trees on fire and to their painful death. The cataclysm of these fires in Australia is a stark confrontation with the reality of the climate crisis confronting us. We also have nowhere to go. We can only stay and undergo the work of transfiguration; the spiritual metanoia that changes the way we see, the way we ‘figure things out’.
Fire in this country has always been part of the landscape.  It was mostly friend. Bill Neidje a Gagadju man, writes:
 “This earth, I never damage. I look after.
 Fire is nothing, just clean up. 
When you burn, new grass coming up. 
That mean good animal soon. Might be goose, long-neck turtle, goanna, possum. Burn him off, new grass coming up, new life all over.
 I don’t know about white European way. We, Aborigine burn. Make things grow……”

White European ways have eschewed the wisdom of the first peoples of this country, and the science of climate change. Our home is now being described as the ‘canary in the coal mine’. The fires that have ravaged this country are symbolic of the fires of the passion for money and power and our intractable distraction that brings not life but death. Consumer consciousness has the whole globe in its grip. We are divorced from reality and need seriously to wake up; to be transfigured. Contemplative consciousness hears and sees the whole of Life and also bears the pain of present crucifixions.

Bill Neidje again:
“People.
They can’t listen for us.
They just listen for money.

We want goose, we want fish.
Other men want money.
Him can make million dollars,
But only last for one year.
Next year him want another million.
Forever and ever him make million dollars.
Him die.

Million no good for us.
We need this earth to live because
We’ll be dead,
We’ll become earth.

This ground and this earth
Like brother and mother.
Trees and eagle.
You know eagle?
He can listen.
Eagle our brother
Like dingo our brother.
We like this earth to stay,
Because he was staying for ever and ever.”

This Gagadju man speaks the clear and simple language of one whose connection to country, to home, is grounded in his very bones and blood and heart.
Do we have the heart to change? I don’t know. The risk that we are at a threshold for a ‘tipping cascade’ is increasing. In Australia we have mega-fires, massive and frequent dust storms and damaging hail- storms in different parts of the country at the same time. If the fires didn’t get the birds the hail- storm, we are told, killed hundreds of them. The terrifying thought hit me a couple of weeks ago as I walked across the bridge in Moruya to see if the road home had opened. We had evacuated to our own church in town to escape the fires. It was hot and windy and swirling smoke and ash filled the air, the sound and sight of planes (water bombers), and a red-orange sky made for a sense of apocalypse. What if this is going to be the ‘new normal’ I thought? It seems entirely plausible now. The image returns to me as though it were something I watched on the screen. Hard to believe it was real. But it was. And it seems increasingly likely that we will live through this again, and again.

Many are filled with deep grief, anger and despair or just apathy as we live through these times. But we must return, come home, to Love. We must go through this by way of Love, come what may. Contemplative and compassionate action may the most powerful response we can make.
The birds who flew out to sea could not come home. Perhaps we might commit to coming home for them? 

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Please engage in contemplative action in whatever way you can. Write to politicians, protest peacefully but with deep conviction, join climate and renewable energy groups. We cannot wait any longer.
Linda

Being Church: Thinking Outside of the Box
By Linda Chapman

Editor’s Introduction
Through conversations with Rev Linda Chapman, rector of St John’s Anglican Church in Moruya on the NSW south coast, I have become really interested in the vision and life of that community. It seems to me that their commitment to traditional Christian roots while seeking contemporary expression relating to issues of renewal, inclusion and ecology resonates with the Eremos vision. I therefore invited her to write about their journey together because I thought our readers would be interested in their story. Further information about St John’s Moruya and Open Sanctuary Tilba is available at moruyaanglican.org and http://www.opensanctuarytilba.org

Linda’s story
Laurence Freeman, Director of the World Community for Christian Meditation, in a short article called ‘The Contemplative Parish’, suggests that ‘parishes fulfil many functions and are a defining sign of Christianity’s witness to the world of its inner life and faith’.

Yet if we are to remain engaged with the world, we need to continue to evolve how we witness to, and live our faith. As Laurence goes on to suggest, the viable and attractive parish of the future will find the middle way between outer activity and the inner life of prayer and contemplation.  

My work in the Parish of Moruya on the far south coast of NSW over the last 8 years has been about growing our relationship with the broader community in various ways. This hasn’t been so much an intentional strategy as a natural, somewhat organic outworking of the call and desire to serve the community and to engage with the broader community.

I have never been one for set programs and strategies. And when I came to the parish of Moruya it was out of a background of having declared I would never be the rector of a parish, becauseI dreaded falling into an over-active mode of clericalism fuelled by the belief that all parish life depends on – or must be funnelled through –the clergy person. I had founded Open Sanctuary at Tilba in 2006 and now found myself in a traditional middle-way Anglican Parish not really thinking that I would stay. So, I came to parish life probably relatively unencumbered by big expectations of what might happen and I entered the work in a spirit of ‘let’s see what can happen’. 

My orientations (passions?) are contemplation and action for justice. And I found myself in a congregation of people who were open to these whilst remaining very grounded in the traditional expression of church. And so we began a journey together. I drew a dreaming tree, and from that tree seeds have taken root so that we now have a centre of activity, a place of social inclusion and service, and a growing understanding of the contemplative way of Christianity within the established congregation.

I don’t think there is anything particularly special or unique about our parish; however, we have managed to become a place that is known for inclusion. I haven’t followed a strategic direction. I didn’t start out with a plan, but simply held open the space for life to emerge – a bit like those Celtic monks who set out in small boats (coracles) to go where the wind of the Spirit would take them – to find the place of resurrection.  

We now have a place where people, for instance those who live in the local caravan park, or in their van, can come and get a feed, sing in our Slightly Bent Choir, take a small role in our theatre company and find themselves accepted. Our community lunch, which is now bursting at the seams, is a place where people from all walks of life, from local councillors to the homeless, sit together to have a feed and a yarn. It is a place where our local refugee action group have found a home; where musicians have a space to play for themselves and others; where our prolific vegie garden is available for all; and where on Sunday mornings we gather for our Eucharistic service as the Church has done for well over 120 years.

My place in this has been to pick up the threads of what emerges organically when we are open to relationships; when we are able to take risks; when we live our faith outside of the box. Some years ago when the issue of refugees on Manus and Nauru was especially potent I had the thought of painting the doors of the hall red as churches had done over the years to signify a place of sanctuary. Something as simple and seemingly insignificant as this means that today the hall is known as the Red Door Hall and has become a centre of compassionate action and inclusion. There was nothing magical about painting those doors red, but it seems to be a symbol of the life that can emerge when we listen and respond to the somewhat surprising lead of the Sprit. I don’t see us offering a service so much as being within the community that already exists and moving into relationship with others within and beyond the Parish. 

As the Irish philosopher, Richard Kearney, suggests, when we become hosts for the Stranger, when we decide for the stranger, our hospitality, our welcoming of the Stranger ‘opens up the promise of life, an epiphany of the Divine’. We become ‘guests to renewed life, precisely in and through the encounter with the Stranger’ (cited in John Burkey's review of Kearney’s Anatheism: Returning to God after God, 2010). In this way we are all both host and guest.

But to be honest I frankly struggle to articulate any of this, because to me it is just what has happened without seeking to manufacture it. People turn up from all walks of life, including those out of jail, from mental health institutions and so on, and we try to give welcome and hospitality. Recently a local renewable energy community group that I helped to start raised funds to provide 3.5 kw of solar panels on our roof. It wasn’t something we sought but it arrived because of our engagement with what we believe matters.

At St John’s we have welcomed the Stranger through the Red Door and by way of establishing a Peace Park. We have held vigils and rung the church bell for refugees and climate action. Activists within our broader community trust that they can come for a ritual as simple as lighting candles and giving voice to lament and solidarity with the suffering of the world without having to sign up to a belief system.

At the same time as all of this activity has been going on we have slowly introduced the contemplative aspects of Christianity into the parish. As Laurence Freeman says:

The contemplative parish is a place where a deeper and broader knowledge of Christ can be allowed to flourish. The fruits of this will benefit all within it and in contact with it. If contemplation, as Aquinas said, is only the ‘simple enjoyment of the truth’, what is to prevent this ideal from being realized in every parish?(op.cit.)

I am convinced of the need for a spiritual practice that grounds and stabilises our action in and for the world. Christian Meditation and Centring Prayer are practices of the church that find their roots in ancient times and yet are entirely relevant, even essential, for our context. I was asked recently ‘What do you think the world needs now?’ and I replied, ‘to reconnect with nature – other than human and our own – through the practice of silence’. People today don’t want to be told what to believe. Silence is trustworthy and to sit in silence, in prayer, with others may be one of the pre-eminent ways of being the community of church. In the parish we have encountered some difficult situations with those who are deeply wounded and traumatised. A contemplative practice or orientation helps us remain in the tension of the competing fears and anxieties and aspirations within ourselves and others and to somehow pull threads together. We are more able to hear our own and others’ anxiety without allowing that anxiety to derail life, the life that is emerging in our midst – including life that can seem very messy, and at times chaotic. And that really is what I see being contemplative in action is about. Remaining present to the messiness in some equilibrium, holding it and allowing Love/God to loosen the knots so that healing and redemption might come about.

In the parish we nurture the Christian contemplative way for both adults and children through our Christian Meditation group, Growing Still and Still Waters groups for children and adults. Presently we are making our way through ‘The Roots of Christian Mysticism’ course.

So, St John’s Moruya is a place where our feet are planted firmly in tradition; yet from that tradition we are open to what, perhaps, could be one way of resurrection for the church. I don’t know because we’re not there yet! And it may be a very bold claim! But I do think that unless we have ‘courage running thick through our veins’, unless we are prepared to risk and to trust, then the church will fall further into demise. The old is falling away –and not only in the church. But if we can seek the wisdom to know what to bring with us into a potentially resurrected way and allow our little boat to be propelled by the Spirit then we needn’t fret.

I have retained my commitment to Open Sanctuary  another community with a contemplative focus. This little place of simplicity and poverty, housed in a small timber church at the foot of the sacred Gulaga mountain at TilbaTilba, offers an alternative to more conventional ways of being church. Itis a place where silence is our first language. Those who gather come from various spiritual paths or none. What we have in common is a love for the place and for the earth-community as a whole – and a desire to explore the spiritual dimension of life in a non-dogmatic, non-hierarchical space. At Open Sanctuary we engage in conversation from a place of deep respect for difference. This allows us to hold the space and to let the space hold us.


Bio
Linda is Rector of St John's Moruya, founder of Open Sanctuary at Tilba, a retreat leader and advocate for care of creation. She also received an OAM this year for her contribution to the Anglican Church of Australia. (Her nominators thought it should have been service to the community!)