You are here100321 - Reading #5 - pg 33
100321 - Reading #5 - pg 33
Welcome to week #5.
Remember, even if it's just a quick note to say "Hi" we'd like you to post at least once every week. There are some folks that we still haven't had a chance to hear from yet. Don't be shy - give it a try!
If you're new to our group please read the Welcome post and feel free to send me an email if you need more info or are having technical difficulties.
This week's reading is by John of the Cross (1542-1591)
"Purifying the Soul"
REFLECTION QUESTIONS
- According to John of the Cross, why does God impose a "dark night of the soul" upon a person?
- Of the "seven capital sins," which one do you struggle with the most?
- Have you ever experienced what might be called a "dark night" in your spiritual journey, a time when the joys and delights seemed to vanish? Describe.
- The psalmist criest out to God, "Why have you forgotten me?" (Ps.42:9). What advice or encouragement would John of the Cross give to the psalmist?
- Of the virtues mentioned by John (humility, simplicity, contentment, peace, moderation, joy, and strength), which do you feel most in need of?
Richard Foster says "To desire spiritual maturity without the dark night is like an athlete hoping to become a champion without training or an author expecting to produce a great book without thinking." Do you agree? Why, or why not?
Shalom!
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Like Diane I don't believe that God sends us suffering to teach us a lesson. I think suffering just is, plain and simple. It exists like air or water. I think God offers us a way to wade through it, a way to process it and to gain strength from our times of greatest vulnerability. I have been uncomfortable with this notion as well. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, if I were to believe that God had somehow arranged for me to have that experience that would make God a pediphile. I think one can choose to grow through these experiences or not to, and God provides the strength to choose strength.
I had real problems with this selection, not the least of which was the author's attribution of dark nights to God's action intended to make us learn through our suffering by making us suffer. This seems to be a recurring theme in these readings and I'm very uncomfortable with it. I do not believe that God makes us suffer or that we need to make ourselves suffer in order to experience spiritual growth. That doesn't mean I think we don't suffer; there is no doubt that we do. And certainly we learn from our experiences, but that doesn't mean that they are essential. Sure many people have serious difficulties throughout life and others not so much, but I can't say that the person who has had more misfortune has had more opportunity for growth than the person who has had less misfortune. I cannot reconcile my experience of God as a loving Spirit with the notion that God could cause me pain just to teach me a lesson. I think that notion is historical and cultural and smacks of androcentric thinking applied to the Timeless One that we hear of in a Song of Faith and does not truly represent who/what God is.
Lori-Ann's beautiful poetic description of the depths of her soul causes the reader to share in the experience of her pain as I'm sure God does hearing her speak, but God didn't lower her into that depth - God raised her up out of it.
Have you ever experienced what might be called a "dark night" in your spiritual journey.....Describe.
I felt empty, as if a black cloud had consumed my insides. I looked in my mirror constantly, astounded by the blankness behind my eyes, wondering who it was staring past my reflection and over my shoulder at the bare wall behind my back. I marveled at my body’s ability to move about, regardless of its emptiness. It was more than loneliness. It was undiluted merciless silence. Even pain would have added a friendly noise. Through the stillness the faint sound of a pin dropping echoed through my body, like a huge metal door closing off the world from unimaginable distance. The walls grew closer together. The ceiling sunk closer to the floor, the air condensed, canning me like vegetables, while the clock ticked and dust thickened on my coffee table. All of my plants died. Leaves dried and withered turning brown and crispy. Then the waist of my pants enlarged. The legs drooped in little puffs around my backside. My heels snipped at the bottom cuffs, tripping me as I plodded from the bed to the sofa and back again. In seconds, the seasons became indistinguishable marks of time. My crumbled house plants remained shriveled in their pots, firmly embedded into soil long since dried. Reality slipped right out of existence and I had what one calls later a nervous breakdown. I spent three years living in a cleared out shell, until gradually life began seeping back into me, and bit by bit, breath by breath, I began breathing in the meaning of resurrection.
Lori-Ann, your writing is beautiful, expressive, poetic and gut-wrenching - you have a remarkable talent with words. Thank you.
Thanks for your kind words. Writing has been a great coping strategy for me over the years.