Why contemplation is messy

I’ll admit it. Even though I am a Franciscan Sister, I sometimes struggle with prayer. I mean, how am I supposed to contemplate when I’m busy and the world is loud, thick with violence and oppression? Doesn’t the world need more do-gooders than navel-gazers nowadays? 

But of course, I am contemplative and being reflective is an element of my vocation. So all those doubts and excuses that get in the way of prioritizing my prayer life (which I actually highly value), are due to my personal vices or ongoing struggle with letting lies be too loud.

You see, I believe it is a bold and necessary act for modern Christians to be contemplative. The broken and suffering world needs us to be reflective and prayerful, to grow in awareness, and to revere Holy Mystery. When we are contemplative, our prayer moves us beyond what’s cerebral and memorized. We are open to the wordless and imageless spaces where communion with the Divine is felt, and we are changed. Changed for good, for others. This is the aim, the desire. 

Yet, contemplation is often messy. 

As stated by Maribai Starr:

Contemplative life is not for the timid.
It’s scary to be quiet,
and it takes courage to be still.
No one could be expected
to sit on the battlefield of her own mind
without being armed
with the sword of unconditional truth in one hand
and the sword of unconditional love in the other…
When we turn inward,
investigating the present moment
with patience and inquisitiveness,
we become a beach across which
the wave of love
may break and transform
the topography of our soul.

Contemplation is messy because it is unsatisfying. 

Scripture tells us to “be still and know that God is God” (Psalm 46:10). For some, stillness and quiet seem to come naturally. For others, like me, the quiet and calm come in waves. Once I finally settle down and my heart and mind fall into a prayerful stance of wordless union with the Holy and beyond the cerebral, I feel as if I am on a pilgrimage through discomfort, humility, and conversion. Maybe the destination of the pilgrimage is union with God, but usually it’s only a journey that causes me to feel uncomfortable, stretched, and challenged. My mind, heart, and body may find rest in the Lord (Psalm 37:7) but the rest is usually brief, rarely satisfying. 

If I experience any sort of mystical bliss during contemplation, it’s rare and fleeting, as if heaven breezed by.

Sr. Julia Walsh, FSPA

Spiritual practices (mediation, centering prayer, lectio divina, and more) help me get in touch with my desires. In the quiet, I realize I am afraid, longing for courage. I realize I am tired, longing for rest. I realize I am uncertain, longing for answers. Or sometimes, I experience the power of God’s love and peace, and don’t want to depart from the moment. I want more time and more ability to contemplate. In other words, contemplation causes me to thirst for more. 

And, if I experience any sort of mystical bliss during contemplation, it’s rare and fleeting, as if heaven breezed by. If peace is a feeling, it never seems to last. Yet, by God’s grace, contemplation changes me. 

Contemplation is messy because it forces us to face Reality.

Once contemplative practices center me, I’m able to notice a lot. I can tell how busy my mind is, how restless my body is. And in my busy mind and restless body, I notice the narratives that I tell myself– stories that often have too much power. 

In his beautiful book  Into The Silent Land: A Guide to the Christian Practice of Contemplation Augustinian Martin Laird reminds us that our thoughts and feelings need not define us. And in the same way, the stories we tell ourselves about our experiences may not be real, either. We need not cling to any idea or sensation. None of these fleeting experiences need to define us.

“The marvelous world of thoughts, sensation, emotions and inspiration, the spectacular world of creation around us, are all stunning weather on the holy mountain,” Laird writes. “But we are not the weather. We are the mountain. Weather is happening—delightful sunshine, dull sky or destructive storm—this is undeniable. But if we think we are the weather…then the fundamental truth of our union with God remains obscured and our sense of painful alienation heightened.”

Contemplation helps us sift through what is story, and what is Reality. With God’s guidance and grace, we can observe our patterns of thought, and untangle what’s muddled. We can be separate from the thoughts and narratives that can so easily define us. As we detach, we return to Reality, another name for God. Facing Reality, we honor the Truth, and then humbly accept and allow Truth to define what is, and what could be. Yet, all that sorting and letting go is messy work. 

Contemplation is messy because it is challenging to trust that I am enough. 

My private prayer practices vary day to day, season to season. I know my contemplative path is full of patterns and growth, as I move from practice to practice. Yet I can easily doubt that I am faithful enough, good enough. I usually want to be different. Better. The longing to offer God more lingers. And with my longing is a lot of self doubt. 

Recently another Franciscan Sister told me about her morning prayer routine. I could have listened with rapt curiosity, receiving her vulnerability as a gift. Instead, I felt those pangs of longing and insecurity. I said to her, “I wish I could say with confidence that I have a morning prayer routine.” She kindly assured me that I needn’t worry, my prayer life has enough of a rhythm and is an authentic reflection of my relationship with God. That was helpful, but I still wanted to be better. 

I can love God just as I am, giving God my breath, my time, attention, and willingness.

Sr. Julia Walsh, FSPA

Yet I know that when it comes to being a contemplative person, it is not about my efforts and merits. Rather, contemplation is about God’s grace. And by God’s grace, I am enough and I don’t need to be anything or do anything better. I can love God just as I am, giving God my breath, my time, attention, and willingness. And, God can reach through my messy and very human nature and remake me into a holy instrument for more love to be poured into the world. 

But sometimes, contemplation is also beautiful.

One day this week (like many days before, and many days to come) several Sisters quietly convened in the convent chapel for daily mass. I was among them, vibrating from some over-activity and a little anxiety. Much was ordinary. Sisters moved toward pews, bowed, took places, sat, folded hands. Each body moved at a different pace and posture, connected in place, time. The organ rang soft prelude music through pillars while our movement formed a subtle and unconscious dance of devotion. My breathing shifted as I noticed the energy and beauty, as my face softened and my chest was warmed by wonder. 

This gathering in the chapel for worship reflected the heart of what it means to be a Christian contemplative: the interior life made external, communal. 

For me, contemplative acts are strengthened when held within Christian community, where I am reminded that I am messy and I am sent to share the graces given by God with a world in need. 

For more by this author and more about contemplation, visit our website.