God's Voice

Well, hello, everyone.  I'm back from Kanuga, having completed my current 4-day intensive for The Haden Institute, my training program for certification as a spiritual director.  As I've said before, the primary focus of this weekend was The Theology and Thought of Carl Jung, and our primary presenter, Jerry Wright (sorry, no web page), a Jungian Analyst, was absolutely exquisite.  Not only does he know his subject matter backward and forward, but he presents it in a way we can understand, accompanied by his own stories that are truly glimpses of the Holy.  We also had a marvelous, 3-part BBC video (now out of production) about the life and work of Carl Jung.  I really soaked it up.  The case studies (this time our group processed five of them!) were, as usual, incredibly rich and full of learning for everyone, not just the person presenting.  And all the meetings with my small group, which has remained virtually the same (with a couple of additions and subtractions) over the 18 months, only get better and better, deeper and deeper.

But the very best part of this intensive training weekend was not any of the course content; it was what happened outside the formal meal and classroom settings.  Saturday night, I had a long, wine-soaked, heart-to-heart conversation with my roommate (I've had the same one for the 5 intensives I've attended, so we've gotten to know one another pretty well).  I'm not even sure how we got there, but eventually I found myself telling her that I do not express the true depth of my anger toward God, because I'm afraid I'll lose my faith, or God will abandon me, or somehow I'll find myself outside the circle of faith and love in which I've found myself.  My experience in human relationships has been that people simply do not want to deal with me if I'm angry -- which I think is less about the scariness of my anger, and more about most people's unreasonable fears of anger, and their preference for the superficial and "nice" rather than the "real," which sometimes includes angry feelings.  But who knows: maybe I'm just rude.  Anyhow, my roommate challenged me to challenge God, and as I discussed how unexpressed anger has unfailingly led to distance in my human relationships, I realized that I would have to have another angry conversation with God -- and better sooner than later.  I always imagined myself having a serious "sit down" with Jesus once I was dead, but didn't want to upset the applecart anytime in the foreseeable future.  I can't express to you how frightened I was.  As a parish preist, I felt trapped -- as though I didn't want to do anything to risk a "dark night" of unbelief as I have experienced in my younger years (I have to continue to preach, teach, and uphold the doctrines of the Church, after all), but I also felt as though I could not ask others to push the boundaries of their relationship with God, if I wasn't willing to do so myself.  Quite a bind, it felt like; and I got a stomach ache.  But I also couldn't gaze upon a bridge to cross without crossing it.  My motto in life has always been, "Oh, yeah?  Just watch me!"

Sunday after lunch we have several hours of "silent retreat" time.  We can do whatever we want, except Bob Haden does ask us to walk the labyrinth and to journal at some point during the time.  I took a nap, did a little journaling, anything to postpone what I then knew was the inevitable -- my "come to Jesus" talk with Jesus.  Finally I went into the empty, beautiful chapel -- the one in which Presiding Bishops and Archbishops of Canterbury have preached in the past.  The old wood and stained glass might awe one to silence.  But I had the talk, right out loud, that I knew I had to have.  I told God about my anger, and asked all the questions I've been waiting to ask (more about those at another time, perhaps).  I didn't get any answers.  The very best I can say is that nothing happened.  My faith didn't disappear.  My sense of God's loving presence didn't disappear.  I didn't get any answers, but I felt some relief, and God didn't strike me with lightning when I called "him" (and it definitely felt like "him" during this conversation -- it's often a "him" who doesn't want to deal with my anger) a bastard.  Nothing happened.  I was so relieved.

Then I went on down to walk the labyrinth.  My history with the labyrinth has been a mixed one.  It has taken me some time to "get it."  Probably the first ten times, at least (spread over at least 8 years), that I walked it, nothing happened at all.  It really felt like a big waste of time.  I might have even felt annoyed at wasting my time on it.  I simply didn't understand what all the hoo-ha was about.  In April when I walked it, it was a lovely experience, but certainly I didn't have any kind of mystical or religious experience.  I just managed to meditate beforehand, quiet myself down, and really enjoy being in the moment, walking beneath the sky and the trees, feeling the breeze on my skin and the warm cement under my bare feet.

This time was yet a little more intense.  Even though others were also present on the labyrinth, I could make myself feel utterly alone.  I could walk slowly, so that every step was a prayer.  When I got to the center I faced the four directions and made the profound bows of a half-sun salutation.  It was a perfectly lovely experience, well worth the walking.  I felt the sun, the breeze, the warmth and cool of the cement in the sunny and shady areas.  I felt everything.  It was very good.

Shortly thereafter we gathered in a large circle to share (as we wished, or not) some of the results of our silent retreat time.  I gave a brief outline of my time; I had no artwork or writing to share, as I most often do (this is encouraged and enjoyed).  Mine was good news, I felt -- I had risked a great deal, and lost nothing.  I loved hearing the reflections of others, and seeing their art and artifacts.  My heart was full.  And then the most remarkable thing happened:  I heard God's voice.  I've heard that voice before.  It's a voice in my head that isn't my own voice, talking to myself; it isn't the voice of a parent or loved one, or the voice of anyone I know.  It's not audible, like a voice outside my head, but I know it's not just me talking to myself, either.  If you've ever heard it, you know what I mean.  If you haven't, you probably think I'm crazy.  But the best part is what the voice said:  "I will never leave you.  Never, ever, ever."  Oh, my.  Did I cry?  You bet.  My heart was already wide open, listening to these people that I cared about, having digested a bit more of Jung's theology, which makes my heart sing, having felt closer to people than I usually do.  Yep, all my skin felt turned inside out, like I was wearing the inside, all my delicate nerves, right out on the surface.  But this voice was it.  I'll be telling this story in 20 years, and it will console me through drier, desert times.

And then I felt compelled to speak again (we don't usually do that).  I felt as though this might not be a message just for me, but for the whole community gathered there.  Earlier in the weekend, our small group had a case study where one person said that visions and messages from Native American vision quests were not just for the individual, but the whole community.  I had to tell, and I did.  I had to let people know.  I don't think anybody thought I was crazy.

So, yes, I got my grant written and mailed off before I left.  And yes, I'm keeping up minimally with my reading for the program (I finished a book this weekend, and now only have only 9 to go).  But best of all, I got to hear God's voice again.  Sometime I'll tell you about the very first time I heard that voice, nearly 16 years ago.  It doesn't happen very often; maybe I've heard it once in that long interim.  No, I'm not one of those smug little people who walks around believing that God talks to me all the time -- well, I guess I believe God does, but I seldom listen well enough to hear it.  This was a rare gift indeed, and I will cherish it.  What do you think?

Comments

[Kate]

Oh, wow. What a lovely experience! I'm so pleased for you.

And thanks for the reminder that we have to say the nasty, ugly, angry things too -- they're just as true as the rest, but they're harder to want to express.

[Marti]

It is when we give forth with our honest heart-talk that we hear the Voice. I am so pleased that you shared your experience of your quest. In doing so, we, your blog readers, as well as your conference group are all the richer for your experience.

Marti

[Beryl Ament]

I've always loved the words of the hymn, "Dear Lord and Father of Mankind". I'm sure you know it, but the lines,
"speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm;"
are compelling. A calm voice is awfully hard to hear. I wish I could.

[Nancy]

I was very angry at the Lord once when I was not getting what I wanted. I ranted and raved out loud and told him that if I had been there in that crowd, I would have been yelling "Crucify him!" too. I would have driven in a nail!

But even as I ranted, of course I knew that I was having a 2 year old's tantrum, and that of course he knew it too. Like a child telling a parent she hates her. I was always too afraid of my parents to do that!

I am not afraid of the Lord. There is only love in him.

(And PS what I wanted was the last thing I needed and my life has become ever happier in the last 20 years.)

[Fran aka Redondowriter]

Thanks so much for sharing your Kanuga experience, Ann. I was deeply touched by your voice of God experience and I have had this once that I clearly remember and it was when I was going through the separation/divorce months.

Last night our rector, Bob Cornner, shared his times of dark nights and I guess we all assume our "professional religious" have their stuff together on a spiritual level. NOT! I want to read that book about Mother Teresa's lifetime of dark night and her ability to keep on keeping on. Sure is nice to get the occasional "voice" however, when we need it most.

[Diane]

oh, I'm sorry it has been so long since I've been here. I really enjoyed learning about your retreat, and hearing God's voice. it's also a long time since I've thought about Jungian things. I'm looking forward to hearing about the first time you heard God's voice, 16 years ago!

[RevDrKate]

Thank you for sharing this with us. I'm glad you were able to take that step in trust to allow yourself to express your anger to God and to be open and available to hear God's voice speaking to you.