Volume 32, No. 2-Summer, 2008
Table of Contents
Presence: At the Heart of Shalem's Ministry
by Bill Dietrich
The Good Land
by Joan Beilstein
Abundance in Diversity
by Patience Robbins
And it Rained
by Rod Dugliss
The Shepherd's Whistle
by Patricia Kirby Gibler
A Case of the Mondays
by Amy Cole
God and Peace-making
by Amy Eilberg
Deeply Touching the Present Moment
by Kirstin Pickle
Shalem Past & Present: A Gathering
Presence: At the Heart of Shalem's Ministry
by Bill Dietrich
Occasionally someone will ask whether Shalem teaches a particular spiritual practice or method, such as a form of meditation or other spiritual discipline. We reply that Shalem does not promote any one contemplative spiritual practice or discipline above others. From its beginnings, Shalem has offered a variety of prayer forms mined from Christian contemplative tradition and other contemplative spiritual traditions. We encourage our program participants to find a practice that seems most authentic for them, which responds to how God is inviting and working in their lives.
Yet while one can find many practices to nurture one's spiritual heart, at the core of all that Shalem offers is one common intent: to nurture presence for God or contemplative presence in and through whatever particular spiritual practice or discipline we undertake. This essential intention of presence is the "one thing necessary" to whatever practice we choose and, more importantly, to how we live and lead in the world.
But what exactly is presence? Participants in Shalem programs are sometimes invited into experiences of radical presence or simple presence and often ask what that means-what are they to do? One very direct answer can be found in Jerry May's writings where he speaks of presence as spacious awareness and being immediately awake and openly alive to everything, just as it is. Students of Zen might see in this a similarity to Buddhist mindfulness and the practice of shikantaza or "just sitting"-exquisitely simple and yet exquisitely radical given the way in which most of us are conditioned to move through life.
But like contemplation, contemplative presence can also be understood not as an achievement or act of will but as a gift of grace to which we can open and be willing. Our practices, what we can do, can nurture our willingness for it but cannot make it happen. In this sense the experiences of presence and contemplation can be understood to be essentially the same. Thus Tilden Edwards, writing in Living in the Presence, describes contemplation as "attention to our direct, loving, receptive, trusting presence for God." In an audio essay, Introduction to Contemplative Prayer, Jerry May speaks of contemplation as "complete, pure presence." (The full audio essay is now available on Shalem's web site at http://www.shalem.org.) This gift of contemplative presence Jerry calls "the realization (making real) of living, moving, and having our very being in God."
Similar thoughts about presence can also be found in the writing of Eckhart Tolle, the contemporary spiritual teacher. In A New Earth, Tolle sees presence as "a state of inner spaciousness" and relates presence to awareness and awakening which, like contemplation, is initiated by grace. I believe there is much to commend about Tolle's writing for those seeking a deeper understanding of presence as well as an accessible, creative synthesis of contemplative traditions. And students of Tolle would likely find resonant teaching and meaningful support for their spiritual journey in many of Shalem programs.
In this issue of Shalem News, several of our authors offer their reflections on experiences of presence in their lives and in Shalem's programs. Regional staff member Rod Dugliss reflects on Shalem's West Coast Regional Gathering in which Tilden Edwards invited the group "?to be open to a renewed sense and understanding of Radical Presence." Rod shares how, like the rainbow symbolizing God's promise of ever-presence with us, the gift of radical presence both feeds and grounds our presence to God and to the world through compassionate action.
Two of our contributors speak of how presence to the natural world can nurture our presence for God. In a poetic reflection on her Shalem pilgrimage, Joan Beilstein describes how opening to the desert landscape opened her to the presence of God both in the place and in her fellow pilgrims, empowering her to return home present "for the good of the world." Adjunct staff member and naturalist Amy Cole relates how her longing for God and presence to the natural beauty of her urban neighborhood helped loosen the grip of a too-busy schedule and release her into her true intention "?to give myself completely to the infinite love Who is God."
Two articles relate to presence and peace-making. Writing of her calling to work in interfaith dialog in Minnesota, Rabbi Amy Eilberg tells of a beautiful experience of the gift of contemplative presence in her encounter with a Muslim leader, and Patricia Gibler, for many years a Shalem staff member, notes her struggle "to reconcile the distance between simple presence and the politics of what I can do to make a difference in the world."
Patience Robbins re-discovers the unique quality of presence to which participants in group spiritual direction are invited and how transformative it can be for our world, and Kirstin Pickle, Shalem registrar, describes the fruits of a recent retreat with Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh at which she was reminded that "God's address is here and now." Like Kirstin, such simple invitations to mindfulness practice, to touch the present moment, to presence, can carry us through life in ever-deepening awareness of Holy Presence.
May these writings, along with Shalem's ongoing programs, inspire and assist your simple presence for God.
The Good Land
by Joan Beilstein
|
A poetic reflection
Can anything good
There was no semblance
My journey here
I planted myself |
when I would flee
In amazed surprise
She did not care
As she slowly
I opened It was then |
she-the land-
sun and sky
as consecrated vehicles Time draws near |
to leave this sanctuary
Yet
while I will travel
And grateful The Rev. Dr. Joan E. Beilstein is the rector of Church of the Ascension, Sligo Parish, Silver Spring, MD. The pilgrimage was her first Shalem event. |
Abundance in Diversity
by Patience Robbins
As I was leading the workshop on "Sacred Listening: Group Spiritual Direction" recently, I was touched by a powerful memory which I then shared with the group. I recalled that the workshop in 2006 on this same theme was attended by the most diverse group I had ever led-in color, gender, ethnicity, and age. As we started that event, I remember thinking, is it really possible for this process of group spiritual direction to work with such a diverse group of people from all around the country? Are we crazy or trusting in a God of all possibility or both? It felt very stretching for me.
In the sessions on the first day, I teetered between prayerful trust and thinking "oh my, this is crazy," as religious language, background and beliefs surfaced that revealed a great variety of differences. I was hearing a number of participants voice: "I am right" or "This is the way to look at this" or "This is what you need to believe." It became an opportunity to invite acceptance of each person as he/she is. I repeated again and again that there is no need to change the other or get them to speak "my" way. The invitation of this time and process is to be present to what is underneath the words that are being said. We simply listen for God in each person and allow space for mystery. We can receive whatever comes forth and honor it, reverence it as true and real for that person.
The image came to me of honoring the light within each person and calling it forth and cheering it on. This is a quality of presence and a way of being for the other, not anything I might say or put into words. As the group spiritual direction process reminds us, we are not there to fix, judge, analyze or solve problems.
As people began embracing this way of being together, just receiving each other and listening for God, the love was flowing. It felt palpable to me at the end of our three days together. We experienced deep peace and unity.
As I shared this memory, it came alive for me again. I saw the power of this process to bridge barriers of all kinds and create communities of caring and trust, transforming people one by one. It sounds so simple at times, yet I know how challenging it is to keep returning to that open, spacious listening for God in the other.
At the recent workshop, I renewed my commitment to this way of being prayerfully present and receptive in all my life. I truly believe it can be a transforming process for all who embrace it. I invite your ideas for how this prayerful listening and this process of group spiritual direction can be nurtured in our communities and our world, and I'd love to hear your reflections.
Patience is a member of Shalem's adjunct staff. Please send any ideas about prayerful listening to This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .
And it Rained
by Rod Dugliss
Reflections from Shalem's West Coast Regional Gathering
When I awoke early at Mercy Center to meet with the Shalem staff for the West Coast Regional Gathering final set up, I looked out my window to catch a huge, ivory-bright, full moon setting, briefly visible through a rift in roiling, dark clouds. After breakfast, fellow staff member Ann Dean called us all to another window to see a spectacular double rainbow, birthed by a rising sun that was soon to be obscured by the same clouds.
And then it rained.
After a beginning with rare moments of arresting beauty, it rained and rained-for our entire time together.
In some cultures, rain on an event or celebration is a sign of blessing. And so it was. We were profoundly blest. Forty-five spiritual leaders, who came from the far west, along with a team that flew in from the Anglican Church of Korea gathered around the single candle that is the sign of a Shalem gathering. Our sacred circle was surrounded by the large reproductions of Robert Lentz's icons of our contemplative forebears. Images of those who have been the mentors, models, and companions for our personal and collective journeys stood in silent witness to hold our times of chanting, speaking, listening, and being present and aware.
There was rich conversation and dense silence.
And it rained.
And blessing flourished.
Before entering into the silence of our retreat time, Shalem's Founder and Senior Fellow, Tilden Edwards, invited us to be open to a renewed sense and understanding of Radical Presence. Radical Presence of the Holy One is what informs and feeds our willingness to be contemplatively grounded as we engage in compassionate action in and for a broken world. Radical presence is both our strength for and our vision of how we might be in that configuration of relationships that is promised for humanity and the world.
Tilden's spare and evocative insights, drawn from the thought and writing of his nearly finished next book, caught and held our attention. Radical Presence can break through whatever clouds we encounter, or live in, whether of too much knowing or of unknowing-like the setting moon of the first morning. Vivid and riveting, if only for a time, though always there to ground our deep selves and however it is we are called to lead and be in relationship.
On our second afternoon, Susan Murphy joined Tilden to guide us all in awareness practices drawn from Buddhist teachings. We were invited to experience wordlessly what Tilden was patiently articulating for us. Radical Presence became palpable, which was just the right passage into our time of reflection and practice in silence.
A variety of practices were offered, sparingly. There was praying with icons-the traditional windows into the Real of the Sinai Christ, Our Lady of Vladimir, and Rublev's Trinity. And there was a practice drawn from the depths of Thomas Merton's wrestling with call and vocation.
Each person came with questions and expectations. Some questions were answered; some expectations were met. All found the engagement with Radical Presence stirred up something in themselves that fed their call to reach out to others. The one person who candidly said in the opening introductions, "I have no idea why I am here?" came to tears of gratitude and affirmation as our time came to a close.
For this precious time Radical Presence was the double rainbow of our beginning. From the days of Noah to now, the rainbow is a sign of promise from the Holy One. The promise is firm and unwavering: I will be with you always, everywhere, and forever. The promise of the rainbow assures us that we are always invited into candid and disarming relationship. The invitation is constant, eternal, unqualified. We just need to show up.
And now and again, in special times like a Shalem regional gathering, the double rainbow of promise blazes into view. It is just given, for a moment and for an eternity. Under its arc our preoccupation and unwillingness melt away.
Radical Presence. What a gift.
Even though it rained and rained.
Rod is Dean of the Episcopal School for Deacons in Berkeley, CA, and a member of Shalem's regional staff.
The Shepherd's Whistle
by Patricia Kirby Gibler
Recently I was asked to contribute to a quiet day on peace titled, "Lord Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace." My part was to lead a short meditation about inner peace for the newly formed Episcopal Peace Fellowship in Georgetown, Delaware. Another presenter was to talk about peace in the community and another about the presence of peace in the world.
When asked to participate, I immediately thought of the lovely image of the Shepherd's whistle, which Teresa of Avila uses in her classic The Interior Castle. In the interior castle, there are seven mansions, also called dwelling places. The first three places are achievable through ordinary human efforts and ordinary grace. The remaining four deal with the passive or mystical elements of the spiritual life.
In describing this movement from active to passive prayer, Teresa tells the story of someone who has done good work for many years, dwelling in the outer rooms of the mansions or outside of the castle. And then, for many days or even years, they leave the castle altogether, "living with strangers with whom the ways of the castle are abhorrent." Sooner or later, the person begins to feel that something is missing, perhaps realizing how much they have lost, and they begin to wander back closer to the castle. But their habits are hard to conquer, and they cannot actually come back inside the castle.
Several years ago, after years of "virtuous work," I too wandered away from the castle. I became and have been wonderfully involved in balancing the work of the spirit, social justice, peace in the world, with the work of earning a living as a single 60-year-old woman in a new community with only my wits about me to win friends and influence people. In other words, I've become a hustler.
This is not bad, but it is edgy. I haven't spent much more than a moment or two at a time in intentional silence or meditation in these last six years. I also don't have a TV; I read, listen to music, have an open door to friends, and am highly involved with environmental and peace work in town. Although I practice 45 minutes of silence with others every week on a street corner, remembering the deaths in Iraq because of war, much of this time is spent in trying to reconcile the distance between simple presence and the politics of what I can do to make a difference in the world. I don't think I live too far from the castle, but this call for leadership with the quiet day did make me wonder how much I was just looking at its walls.
Teresa says we are not traitors, those of us "doers" who live outside the castle. Because we now walk about in the vicinity of the castle, God, who dwells in the Mansion within this castle, perceives our good will and, in God's great mercy, desires to bring us back to God. So, "like a good Shepherd, with a whistle so gentle that even they themselves almost fail to recognize it," God teaches us to know God's voice and not to go away and get lost but to return to our mansion. And this Shepherd's whistle has such power that we abandon the exterior things with which we were estranged and enter the castle.
The Shepherd's whistle is not to call us to continue or abandon doing the good things that we have been doing all along nor does hearing the whistle bring the same sort of a sweetness that has arisen from our virtuous work that we have been a part of for so long. Teresa says this Shepherd's whistle is like a hedgehog or a tortoise withdrawing into itself. However, where tortoises and hedgehogs can withdraw whenever they want, we can't draw inward when we want, but when God wants to grant us the favor.
Those of us doers-who have a noble intent for peace-need to remember:
The important thing, as Teresa says, is not to think much but to love much: do, then, whatever most arouses you to love.
Inner peace comes from God. We can't sound the Shepherd's whistle ourselves and we can't hear it without God's will and mercy.
Love consists not in the extent of our happiness but in the firmness of our determination to try to please God in everything.
Those of us committed to a life of peace often find ourselves without a bearing or a course for guidance. In those times, it's important to continue to love our neighbor and our enemy; to remember that there is only love; and to worry more about the energy of freedom for love that is present in ourselves than that which is lacking in someone else. Peace is outside of our understanding or doing.
Patricia, a former Shalem staff member, participates in a peace witness every Sunday in Lewes, Delaware.
A Case of the Mondays
by Amy Cole
I woke up this morning with "A Case of the Mondays," that morose condition of starting the day in a state of dread and disgust at the long list of things which must be done, appointments and commitments too long to list and too late to cancel. (Surely I could cancel them, but I don't feel like I should...I secretly hope that maybe they will cancel on me!) Perpetual unfreedom is how I sum up "A Case of the Mondays." Ah, but what if I pause for silence, prayer and reflection, and even a short walk? What if I confess to A Case of the Mondays and endeavor to be open to God's answer?
I begin my day with silence, prayer and reflection and a walk. The quality of the silence is often determined by the sleepiness of my beagles, and today they are zonked and soundless. But the mental clamoring within me resembles beagles baying-not a pretty sound unless you are coon hunting. I try to breathe deeply. I light the candle. I read from Nan Merrill's Praying the Psalms. A few lines from Psalm 109 stir something in me, even while I acknowledge the frenetic hiccups of my awareness.
of all creation;
O, that I might honor the sacredness
of all life!
I re-read the whole Psalm and again focus on the stanza that holds my attention and seems to put words on my intention. Still, I am anything but quiet within. (It feels like I am trying to stand on that giant exercise ball the yoga lady sold me.) I flip open Thomas Merton's Praying the Hours to Monday, silently amused and humbled by my restless leapfrog among my stack of favorite books. My heart mumbles, Lord, I need you today. I just need you. Help me. Before long I gaze on my slumbering beagle, watching her chest rise and fall. I don't know how much time passed. I return to my book. My eyes fall on Merton's prayer: My only desire is to give myself completely to the action of this infinite love Who is God, Who demands to transform me into Himself secretly, darkly, in simplicity, in a way that has no drama about it and is infinitely beyond everything spectacular and astonishing, so is its significance and its power.
Yes. Yes. This is what I'd like to be saying. This is true for me. This is what I long for. I take deep breaths and close my eyes, letting certain words from the prayer linger, drifting to a soft landing within me. I can feel glimmers of hope coming. I wonder, how is it I can so quickly forget what brings me life? How is it I can wake up so lost and adrift in amnesia of the soul? Merton's prayer helps remind me, ground me, guide me out of the blinding and numbing busyness of a case of the Mondays. I remember to breathe, again. As I breathe more deeply, the phrase "no drama" from his prayer echoes in my mind. That's probably an invitation to me today. I tend to like drama, even though drama often leads me to exhaustion and really doesn't necessarily add up to much.
Another phrase bubbles up. "Infinitely beyond everything spectacular." I pause with this for a while, then grab my mittens and head out for a walk with God, holding bits and pieces of a prayer and a Psalm in my heart, aiming to simply be open.
It is early spring, and though we had a cold snap overnight, the morning is definitely spectacular. Azaleas bloom red, white, and every shade of pink. Dogwoods sparkle. Redbuds dazzle with streaks of purple. Recent rains have greened up the grasses, and the huge, old pin oaks are unfurling their tender leaves. A white-throated sparrow sings, "O Sweet Canada, Canada, Canada," while cardinals and house wrens make up the background noise. In the second block from my house is a Cooper's Hawk nest. There is no sign of Ms. Cooper this morning, but bird feathers carpet the grass, so clearly the hawk babies are not going hungry. In the next block, I notice the female red-shoulder hawk. She only leaves her nest for short periods now; her young ones won't fly for another six weeks. The European starlings are onto Ms. Hawk and make enough fuss to send her hunting elsewhere. Lots of drama. And spectacular, too.
I walk through our small neighborhood park where groups of Canadian geese and mallards vie for the ponds. Last year's tattered cat tails bend in the breeze. I hear the call of another red-shouldered hawk, presumably the male, continuing his alarm cry for several minutes. Finally I notice him sitting high in a tree across the street. As I approach, I hear a great-horned owl calling back to the hawk! This is all so crazy, so holy, and so wild...so God. It is the action of infinite Love, happening all around me, and, by grace, happening within me.
There is not really a point at which I am aware that my case of the Mondays has lost its grip on my heart. It just seems to have melted, or faded or slipped off into one of the ponds. The action is silent, and secret and hidden, and yet I know something is happening. I can see what is missing. I've somehow let go of all that I held so tightly that must be done today. A lot of it still needs to be done, but without the gun to my head, so to speak. I can exhale, and flames will not shoot from my mouth. My death grip on the day seems silly-a bad drama. And the essence of what has come instead is the delicate whisper of trust being born, or at least a fresh intention to trust, to live, to reverence, to adore...to give myself completely to the action of this infinite love Who is God.
Amy lives in an urban neighborhood in Charlotte, North Carolina. She is a 2005 graduate of Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program and a member of the SGP staff.
God and Peace-making
by Amy Eilberg
There are moments when things just come together. Decades of prayer, meditation and personal work converge in some miraculous way, by the grace of God, and for once, we find that we know just what to do.
I had such a moment recently. Some years ago I was called to turn my time and attention to the work of peace and reconciliation. I prayed to be of service in the cause of peace, prayed to be shown how I might contribute in some small way to the creation of a more peaceful world. The call had come in the context of my impassioned prayer for peace between Israelis and Palestinians, but how was I to serve this cause from my home in St. Paul, Minnesota?
The door that opened to me was the work of interfaith dialogue. It became clear that I was being invited to serve the cause of peace by creating relationship between Jews, Christians and Muslims in Minnesota. The job appeared, even the paycheck was provided, and I began to create structures that would invite Jews, Christians and Muslims to cross the usual boundaries in order to know one another more deeply, to explore one another's faith and humanity, to learn to hear truths different from our own.
One of my most faithful partners has been a Muslim leader originally from Pakistan. During the first year of our work together, I heard him say over and over again that this work was not about geo-politics. What happens "over there" is a million miles away, he would say; our task is to learn about our neighbors, about their families, their communities and their faith lives, not to talk about political struggles beyond our control or influence. We both knew where "over there" was and were well aware of the significance of a Muslim leader and rabbi working together, seeking to draw our people into more peaceful relationship with one another.
One day, over a year after we began to work together, we sat at a planning committee meeting, creating a program on Justice in Judaism, Christianity and Islam. When our planning was nearly complete, in a temperate and matter-of-fact tone, my Muslim colleague asked the rabbi who would be presenting the Jewish view of justice work, "Have you thought about how you will respond if someone asks, given the Jewish passion for justice, how you understand Israel's treatment of the Palestinians?"
The Jews at the table suddenly grew tense and frightened; the Muslim was confused-he thought he had asked a simple question. After the group meeting ended, he asked me honestly, "Why did my question create so much tension in the room?"
Days later we went out to dinner to explore his question. We chatted until we had gotten settled, then it was time to dive in to the conversation we needed to have. Like many rabbis, I am normally a person of many words. I have a lot to say about most things, especially those political and religious issues about which I feel most passionately. So it could only have been by the grace of God that, when the moment came for me to respond to his question, "Why was the Israel-Palestine question so sensitive for the Jewish members of the committee?" I responded briefly and from the heart.
It took about a minute for me to respond. I can't honestly say that I intentionally did anything. I did not choose to drop into prayer; I did not even choose to take a long, conscious breath. Somehow, beyond my control, my attention dropped into the heart and I spoke what was for me the simple truth. I said that the Jewish people, my people, have suffered greatly throughout history, and that while we-and our brothers and sisters in Israel-may look strong and powerful, inside we are still very frightened.
Miraculously, I did not need to say anything else, and I stopped talking. My friend began to talk to me about how Muslims in Pakistan see the world, and I was aware that I was being blessed with a glimpse of reality I might never have encountered but for my relationship with this man. In that graced, quiet space of heart-full communication, it became clear that our relationship had changed. We were both moved, and we were having a conversation that was utterly new for both of us. In subsequent encounters, it became clear that something altogether different had happened in our relationship.
Truly, nothing very dramatic had happened. We did not make peace in the Middle East that evening. We did not even fall into one another's arms, professing lifelong friendship despite the ways in which culture and religion divided us. But I knew that God had guided my words that evening, and I had been able to follow the direction I had been given.
The rabbis of the Talmud taught that God's name is peace. Having called God's name so many times throughout my adult life, having uttered so many fervent prayers for peace, that evening I was given a small taste of what it is to be a peace-maker, a follower of God in search for peace. I pray that I will remember what I learned that evening, and that God will use me again to bring a moment of peace to our war-torn world. v
Rabbi Amy Eilberg is a graduate of Shalem's Spirtual Gudance Program and lives in Minnesota.
Deeply Touching the Present Moment
by Kirstin Pickle
One of the many wonderful experiences I had on retreat with Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh (called "Thay" by his students) was the question-and-answer session. Asked why he wanted to become a monk, he told the following story.
At age nine he saw a picture of the Buddha, who he thought looked very happy and peaceful, unlike the people around him. Thay was very impressed and wanted to learn how to sit peacefully and happily. That was the first time the seed of wanting was watered in him. Then, at 11, his school hiked to the top of a mountain where a hermit lived. By the time they reached the top, they had run out of water and were thirsty and tired. Thay wanted to see the hermit but could not find him. While looking, he found a beautiful natural well and drank from it. It was the most delicious water he had ever tasted, and he felt completely satisfied. From reading fairy tales he believed the hermit had transformed himself into the well so that they could have a private encounter. Before long, he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he did not know where he was; when he remembered, he went back to find his classmates. It was such a profound experience, he did not tell anyone. This was the second time the seed of wanting was watered in him.
I had my own experience of finding a well on this retreat. It was in deeply touching the present moment. I had gone with my husband to learn mindfulness practices to bring back into my daily life. What I learned not only reinforced the importance of being in the present moment but also gave me a way to experience it more deeply.
"Let's enjoy our breathing together for a few minutes," Thay said at the beginning of each dharma talk. Then he took a deep, slow breath as he moved his hand toward his chest on the in-breath. Slowly he moved his hand away during his out-breath. This was a new experience for me of slowing down, offered daily during the guided and walking meditations and dharma talks.
During the dharma talks, Thay told us that the Kingdom of God is not a notion, a hope or an idea. God's address is here and now. The here and now contains eternity. Good practitioners touch the ultimate reality, but we need a spiritual practice in daily life. When we are fully concentrated in the present moment, this heals our body.
After hearing this, I really wanted to be in the here and now. And I found myself having moments of touching it on the retreat. Not long after I arrived, I heard the sound of the mindfulness bell-so loud I could feel the vibrations in my heart. It would ring often, and all 800 of us would stop what we were doing and go back to our breathing in the present moment. We also did walking meditations in which I learned how to invest all my body and mind into every step. The bell was a good reminder to walk mindfully, too.
I had a big "aha" moment when a monk who was leading my small group said simply: "More thinking equals more suffering." That was a big piece of what was keeping me out of the present moment. Now I can catch myself when I am in my head, thinking about my projects or the past or the future. The saying helps me remember that I can take a break from my thoughts, and in doing that, I can touch the healing aspects of simply experiencing the present moment.
I wondered if this sense of being at one with the present moment would stay with me when I left. So I asked Thay how to change our unconscious habits that keep us from being in the present moment. He said our habit energy always tries to emerge and show itself, and if we are mindful, we will recognize it. Suppose we have received the habit energy of being in a hurry. With mindfulness, we will be able to recognize this. Then we breathe in and out and say, "My dear habit energy, you are there, I know." Just recognizing it will make it lose its strength, and we will relax again. Every time we recognize it, it will get weaker until it can't get a hold of us any more.
So now this is a new practice of mine, too. And with the help of these practices and my supportive community, I have been able to stay in the present moment more often.
Kirstin is on Shalem's office staff and is the registrar for several extension programs
Shalem Past & Present: A Gathering
On April 25th, a group of 40 "Shalemites," consisting of past and current Board members, staff members and spouses, gathered at the home of Susie Dillon and Roger Berliner in Potomac, Maryland, for a joyful and inspirational evening of fellowship and celebration. The purpose of the dinner was twofold-to express appreciation to all of our Board members for their faithful service to Shalem and to give current Board members the opportunity to meet and connect with previous Board members.
Susie Dillon, who served on Shalem's Board for over 20 years, offered some inspired remarks from the perspective of a longtime former Board member and afterwards wrote:
It was so satisfying to be part of the gathering over an elegant meal on a candlelit, crystal blue, spring evening. As we gathered and got acquainted, I remarked to two new Board members how sorry I was that Tilden Edwards was unable to join us. I was astonished to hear one say that she also regretted his absence because she has never met him and would have enjoyed it. Her friend nodded and added that she has only seen Tilden once, from afar. They never met Jerry May and were only recently getting to know Rose Mary Dougherty. This left me speechless! I tried to imagine what their experience of Shalem could possibly be, if it didn't include these three people.
After awhile it occurred to me that it is a great blessing that new Board members don't associate Shalem with Tilden, Jerry or Rose Mary. Their experience of Shalem is of its essence-the part that has come from God, not from these three giants. God has drawn them to Shalem's programs through the inherent value of the programs and of the contemplative way itself. By not having connected Shalem to the particular charismatic personalities of its original leaders, these Board members are able to see Shalem's future in a way that I, and other Board members of the early years, simply could not.
When Tilden announced that he intended to retire in 2000, we as a Board began an envisioning effort that lasted many years, trying to picture Shalem's future in the next 25 or 50 years. We simply couldn't see it, and not for lack of praying and trying! There was an impenetrable mist in our vision. What we could see clearly was what Shalem had been, and why it had been that way, and the importance of that. But to extrapolate that past into a future model? We just couldn't do it.
It is the present Board's responsibility to lead Shalem into its next life, the one in which it will support the contemplative lives of those who are young today-my children, Tilden's children! These Board members have what they need to envision how to do that, namely, a personal experience of the essence of Shalem-the particular way that God used Shalem to reach them without relying on the personalities of Shalem's past. God bless them in this sacred work.
Current Board member Grace Cummings, (about whom Susie referred as never having met Tilden) offered this reflection:
This gathering was a great chance for those of us who are relatively new to the Shalem community to connect with those who have been associated with and have helped guide the organization over its 30-year history. Created in large part by the work of Tilden, Jerry and Rose Mary, and nurtured by the work of many Board members and staff over the years, Shalem is an organization that has not only endured, but has been an important oasis for spiritual seekers.
As the Shalem community faces new challenges in nurturing contemplative living and leadership in the world, we have the wonderful opportunity of bringing 30 years of wisdom, practice and fellowship into the effort. The evening at Susie's and Roger's confirmed that we have a vibrant group of individuals, both young and old, earnestly hoping to move the vision and mission of Shalem forward. By tapping the wisdom of our past, harnessing the energy of our fellowship, and staying true to our desire to listen to where the Spirit is leading us, I feel confident that "way will open," and Shalem will continue to serve as an important bridge for those seeking contemplative practice and community.
We give thanks for Shalem's Board and staff, past and present, who have given so much of their time, talent and treasure to further Shalem's mission of contemplative living and leadership.