God's promise to me and to all

By Colleen Spiro

Ascension of the Lord by Lanchares (photo credit: Wikimedia Commons).

Connie Rossini wrote in an earlier post, "Everyone has an idiolect - a collection of personal speech habits that is different from anyone else's. Have you ever thought about your spiritual idiolect?  Since your soul is unique, you have a personal way of speaking to God that no one else completely shares."

I pondered this question for weeks. How do I speak to God? How do I communicate with him? How do I relate to God? What feeds my spiritual life?

My first thought was the word "Listen."

Listen is the first word of the Rule of St. Benedict. As a Benedictine oblate, I try to listen to God's voice. I listen to God's voice within my heart. I listen to God's voice in others' voices. I listen to God's voice in the events of my daily life.

What is more delightful than the voice of the Lord calling to us?
 St. Benedict

My second thought was the word "Look."

I look for God everywhere. I look expecting to find Him. I never ask the question  - where is God? I know He is present. And because I know He is present, it is just a matter of "how" He is present. How will I find God? Where will I find God?

When I was a child, one of my favorite movies was the Easter movie, "King of Kings." I loved that last line spoken by Jesus - "And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.” (Mt 28:20)


Continue reading at Colleen's blog Thoughts on Grace.

Practical mysticism

by Connie Rossini

St. Francis de Sales (photo credit: Wikimedia Commons).

CSBN has been running a series on spiritual idiolects, a phrase I coined to mean the unique way each person relates to God. I hope that you will find "kindred spirits" in these posts, and be drawn to follow bloggers who have a similar spirituality to yours--or those whose are surprisingly different.

My spiritual idiolect is practical mysticism. I've always hated the saying, "He's so heavenly minded that he's no earthly good." The truly heavenly minded do the most earthly good. Think of St. Therese, who even wanted to do earthly good while in Heaven. She reached the heights of the prayer life, and actively loved her neighbors. That's what I aspire to. I want to be a contemplative wife and mother. I want to love God and my neighbor.

I loved St. Therese from the first time I read about her as a child. Her personality appealed to the romantic idealist in me.

Later, my older sister urged me to read Introduction to the Devout Life by St. Francis de Sales. Now, there's a great book! St. Francis taught lay people how they could be saints, giving them tips on every area of life. How do you know when temptation becomes sin? How can you practice Christian meditation? How can a lay person live in the world and be properly detached from it? St. Francis answers all these questions. I need concrete direction. That's why I love St. Francis.

The next saintly influence on my spiritual idiolect came from Teresa of Avila. Although I didn't really understand The Interior Castle the first time I read it, it drew me to a life of prayer. Eventually, I joined the Secular Order of Discalced Carmelites. They explained St. Teresa's teaching to me. They also introduced me to St. John of the Cross.

Today I am no longer OCDS, but I am thoroughly Carmelite in my spirituality. St. John in particular taught that mysticism is not a matter of visions, locutions, and altered states. Rather, it is a matter of a deep communion with God in prayer. Aspiring to be mystics as the world sees mysticism can be dangerous. Aspiring to grow in prayer is the call of every Christian.

Now I try to give practical spiritual help to others through my blog and ebooks. (I'm working on a full-length one right now to add to my short ebook published in June.) I like to teach people, including children, about the differences between true and false mysticism, Christian and eastern meditation, and Christian and pagan asceticism and detachment. I am striving to be holy in the little things of every day life. I am working to be heavenly minded and earthly good.


Connie Rossini is the administrator of Catholic Spirituality Blogs Network. Her personal blog is  Contemplative Homeschool.

Speaking with God

by Barbara A. Schoeneberger

The Infant Samuel by Reynolds (photo credit: Wikimedia Commons).

The spiritual idiolect, that is, our own unique ways of speaking with God, was a new concept for me when I found it at this blog. It often takes me awhile to make something new my own before I can express myself adequately, and so it has been with this spiritual idiolect concept.

I never really thought before about how I communicate with God. I just did it. But now, reviewing a life nearing the seventh decade mark, I can see a progression of expression gathered from exposure to many kinds of Christian prayer.

When we were children, my brothers and sisters and I all learned the formal prayers of the Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory be, the Apostles Creed and the numerous beautiful ejaculations such as "My Jesus, Mercy," "O Sacrament most holy, O Sacrament divine, all praise and all thanksgiving be every moment Thine" and the like. Every night we prayed on our knees by our bedside, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." There was also the beautiful "Angel of God my Guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side to light, to guard, to rule, and guide." Great theology is contained in these prayers that became more meaningful as I deepened my relationship with God. Still today I pray them all, each one becoming a little love song or chant that only God hears.

Speaking to God from the heart

There was another way we were taught by the good sisters when we were young, and that was to talk to Jesus as a friend and a helper, especially at Holy Communion. To approach Jesus in our own words and to thank Him for coming to us and for all He has given us, to tell him our problems and to ask His help made us experience Jesus as a real Person. I still keep that simplicity of approach today when every time I enter the pew for Mass, every time I make a holy hour, the first thing I say to the Lord is, "Thank you for being here, Lord, and thank you for letting me be here. Please bless the priest and all the people at Mass today." If it's a holy hour I just stop with the first sentence and use the old A Meditation Before the Blessed Sacrament as a guide.

This informality is comfortable and puts me in the mind of a child, an attitude of trust and confidence in God's love. Many times I use it about every day things, thanking God for His help with the garden for instance, telling Him what I'd like to have happen with it, etc. When we are in ferocious storm conditions I may say something like, "Lord, protect our house and property. Well, actually, it's Your house and Your property on loan to us. Please send your angels to guard us. But if it's Your will that we be sucked up in a tornado, that's OK, too." Then I pick up my rosary and start praying, or if it's getting late at night, I just say, "Lord, I'm too tired to stay up, so I'm not going to worry about the storm. Please take care of us." Then I sleep peacefully and thank God for watching over us the next day when I wake up.

Praying with Scripture and with the Church

I use this approach when praying for others and the poor souls, or when thankfulness bursts into praise. Sometimes, though, Bible verses run through my head and I use them for a continuous prayer of praise and glory. "To the King of ages, who is immortal, invisible, the one only God, be honor and glory forever and ever, Amen" from 1 Tim. 1:17 is a favorite that I chant silently when I feel called to do so. Since the Holy Spirit gave us the Bible I figure the Lord is really pleased to have us use His words to praise Him, thank Him, petition Him, etc. It's like a great composer hearing his own composition played in his honor.

Being a Benedictine oblate, the sacred liturgy forms a major part of my way of speaking to God because, in addition to hospitality, the Benedictines are all about the official prayer of the Church, the work of the people. Every time I attend Mass or pray the Divine Office I see myself as a tiny dot in a sea of people before the throne of God. Because the sacred liturgy belongs to the Mystical Body, it's not mine to tamper with or to shrug off lightly. Keeping these thoughts in mind helps me do my best when talking to God in the words and gestures of the Church.

Then there is Lectio Divina and meditation, both of which start out in a structured pattern but end up in an informal dialogue. Reflections from the great Carmelite saints always help make my meditation fruitful as do those from the great Fathers and Doctors of the Church.

In those times when I don't feel like praying or even have an aversion to it, I rely on an informal prayer that goes something like this, "Lord, I don't feel like praying today. The thought of it repulses me. What a chore. I don't even know what I do want to do instead of praying. But I'm going to pray anyway with Your grace. Let every act of doing my duty today be praise to You for giving me life, for sending me hardships, worries, and trials as well as all the good things You've blessed me with. I owe You, Lord. Please keep reminding me so that I grow in love of You. Help me to do Your will always."

Nothing fancy here. Just plain and simple, structured and unstructured, Benedictine, Carmelite, and Patristic, individual and community, words and no words. The roots of my spiritual idiolect were set down in early childhood and have fruited in old age from some very knobby branches. The plant looks a little puny in some places, but the Master Gardner continues to snip here and there with His great pruning shears. What else can be said but, "Thanks be to God"?

Barbara blogs at  Suffering With Joy.

Power in simplicity

by Rebecca Duncan

Inspiration by Bouguereau (photo credit: Wikimedia Commons).

Catholic Spirituality Blogs Network has been running a series about the Spiritual Idiolect.  The Spiritual Idiolect is the unique way that each of us interacts or speaks with God.  

One thing I've noticed in the way I talk to God is that when I'm closer to Him I tend to say less.

If I go back through my prayer journal, I can usually tell simply by how long that day's entry is whether I was recollected that day or not.  If I'm not recollected the entries tend to be long, chaotic, restless and focused on myself and whatever problems I'm having.  If I'm recollected, the entries are short, to the point, peaceful, and focused on God even amidst difficulties. 

It's the same when I'm not writing.  If I'm recollected, I don't want to hear from myself.  I need to be silent before the Lord.  If I'm not recollected, I tend to spend a lot of time talking to Him about my problems and indulging in self-pity.

When I was converted, God gave me a very specific knowledge of who He is.  He is love, and He wants to consume me with His love.  That was my introduction to the Lord.  It was simple and yet so powerful.  When I allow Him to love me, I am consumed.  I decrease and He increases.  In those rare times, everything in my life becomes simple and powerful. 

Rebecca blogs at  Otaku Catholic.

My Spirit-filled idiolect and the dead battery

by Nancy Ward

Pentecost by Coter (photo in public domain)

Each of us has an idiolect, a personal speech pattern uniquely ours. When confronted with the idea of my spiritual idiolect, “Spirit-filled”came to mind. But aren’t most expressions of spirituality filled with the Spirit? So this doesn’t fully describe my personal conversation with God, which is as unique as my soul. Only God knows the full implications of this short-cut descriptor.
 
Like language developed from listening and speaking to those around me, my Spirit-filled spiritual idiolect developed from listening and speaking to the Lord. My idiolect grew from my outer surroundings. My spiritual idiolect grew from my inner life in the Spirit.
My Protestant childhood and my first conversion experience as a young teen provided the baby talk of my spiritual idiolect. Then when I converted to the Catholic Church as a young mother, new words, sights, sounds and smells surrounded me. They infused my spirit with a richer understanding and closeness to God in my yearning to worship him.

But it wasn’t until my Oz Moment some years later that I discovered a new spiritual dialect within the Catholic language. This dialect, steeped in early Church tradition, emphasizes personal prayer, daily Mass, discipleship and evangelization. It flows from an authentic prayer life centered on the Eucharist. It encompasses the elements of Adoration, rosaries and novenas.

The expression of my Spirit-filled idiolect rises with the dawn with quiet personal prayer of repentance, surrender and songs of praise. Then the Eucharist quickens the gifts of the Holy Spirit in my soul. In scattered conversational prayer I talk to God during the day about events as he guides me smack dab into his surprises. He’s there right beside me to share my joy or consternation, depending on the nature of these surprises. He gives me the confident assurance of his presence whether or not I see him working.  I’m especially aware of his presence in his gift to me of writing, but also in caring for my family.  Often he calls me in the night, just so we can sing together. At sunrise, the joy of the Lord alive in my heart rises anew.

The biggest contributor to my spiritual idiolect for the past 40 years is my Catholic covenant community. The 150 covenant families nurture me, teach me, laugh and cry with me. They evangelize my children. They have prayed a million prayers for me and I for them. That community spirit overflows into share groups, Bible studies and ministries in our individual parishes throughout the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex.



Read the rest at Nancy's blogs  Joy Alive in our hearts.

Spiritual idiolects: No language gap

by Nancy Shuman

Pentecost (artist unknown; photo in Public Domain).

  

The term 'spiritual ideolect' is becoming part of my everyday thought, particularly in relation to the life of heart-cloister.  To refresh our memory (and so we don't have to keep looking it up), I'll return to the explanation presented by Connie Rossini: 'Everyone has an idiolect--a collection of personal speech habits that is different from anyone else's. Have you ever thought about your spiritual idiolect?  Since your soul is unique, you have a personal way of speaking to God that no one else completely shares.'

How does this relate to cloister of the heart?  I would say that we each have a particular way of living for God and speaking with God in the midst of the world... yet if we are bent on genuinely following God's will, we have the same Homeland and the same 'mother tongue.'   We use similar terminology, but we might think of it a bit differently.  For instance, when I use the word 'grille,' I generally picture a panel made of crisscrossed wooden latticework.  You may think of something in a wrought iron swirly pattern.

Yet when we go on to speak of seeing all things through this, and when we compare that to looking at life through the will of God, the same basic idea comes into play for both of us. 

The important thing - the thing that does not change - is that we are both choosing to view and respond to persons and circumstances as God instructs.  That is: according to Scripture and the authentic teachings of the Church.

Our friend 'Chloe,' on the other hand (a fictional person), might decide to primarily base her conduct on the counsel of a Hollywood celebrity.  While there may be no conflict (at times) between Scripture and the latest opinions of a television host, the host's words are not what we are called to live by.  Even when they're clever, humanitarian, and look nice embroidered on a pillow, the star's words will never be our grillwork.  Only Scripture and the teachings of the Church could ever make that claim.  Chloe might say that she is living as God wants, but if she never looks into Scripture or Church teaching to be sure, and if she's choosing to follow something other than these, her interpretation of  'as God wants' is not the same as ours.  There is a language gap.


Continue reading at Nancy's blog  The Cloistered Heart.

Helen Keller and my spiritual idiolect

 by Caroline

This post begins an occasional series in which CSBN members explore their spiritual idiolects.

Helen Keller (photo in Public Domain).

"Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content."

 Helen Keller

Here’s a question I never thought about until  Connie Rossini at Catholics Spirituality Blogs Network asked, “What is your spiritual idiolect and how did you discover or develop it?”

She defined it for us:

“Everyone has an idiolect–a collection of personal speech habits that is different from anyone else’s. Have you ever thought about your spiritual idiolect? Since your soul is unique, you have a personal way of speaking to God that no one else completely shares. Today I am announcing the creation of a new blog that will help you find and fine-tune your spiritual idiolect.”

Though it took me a few days in prayer and waiting to hear from the Lord, I think I finally understand the question.

In the spiritual life, discovery is often a very slow and painful process. I don’t know why; it just is. I came to understand mine when the Lord reminded me of one of my childhood heroes.

As a young girl, the first time I saw the movie, The Miracle Worker, I remember being captivated by several things:

• the terrible tragedy of being born able to see and hear, then struck at 19 months with a disease that left her deaf and blind
• the desperation that set in because she was isolated and cut off from any understanding of language
• the miracle of Annie Sullivan who finally taught her to communicate by spelling words into her hands

In a small way, like Helen, I understand what it is to feel isolated and alone, trapped in a spiritual internal darkness and silence generated by tragedies in my life over which I had no control. There’s a scene in the movie where in an attempt to teach Helen that every object has a word to identify it, Annie begins spelling the word “m-u-g”, into her hand, but in utter frustration, when Helen can’t make the connection, she throws the doll Annie had given her as a present… against the wall.

Yes, there were many years as a young Christian I felt just such exasperation, because I didn’t know how to translate the spiritual language of my heart.


Continue reading at Caroline's blog  Bell of the Wanderer