Christian contemplation 2: God is not in the drama

There is a phrase which I rely upon a lot, which I owe to the Catholic theologian James Alison, and which is tremendously helpful in all sorts of contexts: God is not in the drama. We have just had the famous reading from 1 Kings, when Elijah meets God in the 'still, small voice of calm'. Elijah has been participating in a very dramatic story, he has contested with the priests of Baal, has apparently been vindicated by God, and then flees from the resulting persecution into the mountains. “Woe is me!”, he exclaims, “I am the only one left who is faithful to God!”. He is telling himself a dramatic story. There is a sequence of dramatic events – the earthquake, wind and fire – and God is not in them. Then, in the silence, Elijah recognises that the real God has arrived, who tells him to anoint his successor, and that there are still seven thousand who have not bent the knee.

Elijah has got it all wrong. Most especially, the story he has been telling himself about himself is all wrong. It is too dramatic. It's all about him. We need to tell stories about God, not about ourselves.

On Sunday I spoke about how Jesus was tempted as we are, yet without sin, and that the difference lies in that, whenever Jesus felt the pull of temptation he brought that pull into dialogue with his love for the father, and the father's love for him, and each and every time he allowed his relationship with the father to reign supreme. That, put simply, is what Christian contemplation is about.

Let me provoke you with a request: please don't think of an elephant. Of course you're now thinking of an elephant, and to struggle with our wills against thinking of an elephant only makes the fascination stronger, we'll be thinking of elephants all the more. Contemplation is the practice by which we pay attention to what goes on in our mind but don't get excited by it, don't turn it into a drama (don't turn a drama into a crisis). We don't start telling ourselves that we're the only one left who is faithful.

So we need to pay attention to the stories that we tell ourselves, for we so often feel that we are caught up in a fascinating story. It might be comedy or tragedy or rags to riches or great romance – lots of stories – but when we understand ourselves in the light of such stories we go wrong. The point is not – we are interesting, fascinating, wonderful – these are all dramatic...the point is that we are loved. Yes this is a story, but it is not our story, we are not the centre, and when we are able to displace ourselves from the centre of the story we tell ourselves, then this is peace. We are not the author of our stories. God is. We are because God is.

So when we start paying attention to the stories that we tell ourselves, the point is not to try and forcibly change what are saying or what we are thinking. That is simply to keep insisting on the elephant. The point is to pay attention to what is going on, to notice it, but then hand it all over to God. To be aware of what is going on but not to be concerned about it, most especially to not be concerned about it if it seems dramatic.

When we do don't do this then we can be captured by patterns of thought. These patterns of thought were called logismoi by the early fathers, word patterns, linked to the word 'logos', the word. They are identified with the demons, the ones who tempted and attacked the faithful. The thing to remember about the demons is that dealing with them is like spiritual plumbing. It's a necessary job but it's not normally very dramatic. There is a blockage that needs to be shifted. On rare occasions it might get a bit messy but it is essentially mundane and routine.

In particular the thing about the demons is that they are fundamentally stupid; cunning, but stupid. The particular ways in which they attack us will be explored over the coming weeks, as we consider the deadly sins tradition in more detail, but for now let me share with you the one absolutely sure-fire way of withstanding them. Humility. Most of the spiritual attack on us is about trying to see ourselves as unloveable, as unworthy, as horrendous in some way. The Christian response to this is to say 'yes – and?' We are not worthy, this is basic – we are not worthy and yet God loves us. Recognising the truth of this and allowing it to change the disposition of our souls, this is the path of Christian contemplation. I would say: contemplation is about recognising that our souls are not at stake in our struggles, or, to use a more Catholic expression, contemplation is learning to hide in the wounds of Christ.

It's not about us. We are not the authors of our own stories, and we are not caught up in something dramatic. We are instead caught up in something much simpler: we are loved, and we are safe. Which means that we can trust.

“This trust in God is trust in a God who sees us with exactly the clarity we hope and pray for and doesn't turn away. And so, when we learn discernment or discrimination, when we learn to see ourselves properly and pick apart some of the positive and the negative impulses as they work themselves out in us, we come to reflect something of God's own freedom from 'passion', God's own apatheia towards us. God does not see us reactively; God is not roused to fury or disgust by the sight of us – nor is God persuaded to love us because we are so successful. God sees what is there, embraces it in His love and transforms it in His grace – the essence of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.” (RW quote from p17)