Christmas Day - December 25, 2018

The Cave of the Heart

Luke 2:1-20


I wrote this meditation several years ago during Advent. It came out of an experience of prayer as I prayed with the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola. In this meditation on the birth of Jesus, the writer described his birthplace as a cave dug into the side of a hill just below Bethlehem. Before reading those words, I had a mental image of the birthplace of Jesus, a stable scene behind an inn.

For the first time in my life, I saw the birthplace as something other than that old scene I had envisioned for decades. I saw the hillside cave in such vivid detail that not only did the birth of Christ come alive for me, but I also envisioned the cave as a place in my heart.

This guided meditation comes from that prayer experience. The cave became more than a place Christ as born 2,000 years ago. The cave became an image for that part of my heart where the conceiving and birthing work of God continues to happen within me.

If you choose to use the meditation for prayer or meditation, read it slowly. Pause as needed, shut your eyes for a few minutes, and let God's Spirit lead you. The goal is not to get through the exercise quickly, but to linger with the parts of the prayer that seem to have substance for you. And don't be afraid to use your imagination, what some have called, "holy imagination." In other words, don't censor where your soul wants to lead you. Take in the experience. Let it happen.

Joyous Christmas to you!



I sit still and settle into prayer. . . . I consciously take several deep breaths, each one slower and deeper than the one before.

As much as possible, I lay aside the things that preoccupy my mind and distract me. I want to become aware of God, who is present to me at this very moment.

In my imagination I see a small Middle Eastern town on a hilltop, crowded with people who are bustling about and tending to important business . . . Some people are eating or drinking . . . others are talking on the streets . . . while others are buying or selling in the marketplace. I notice the seriousness with which these people are tending to their affairs. The rush of activity is obvious.

I allow my gaze to move outside the confines of the little town . . . down a hillside, to a small grotto dug into the earth.

It is the kind of place created to shelter animals from the elements of weather . . . but in this shallow “cave” are a man and woman, along with several animals. I take a moment to let my mind shape this scene for me.

The young woman is in labor and the man is assisting her with childbirth. I let my imagination fill in the details of the scene . . . what happens . . . what is spoken . . . where I am in the cave.

Perhaps I talk to this holy family, or just stand aside and watch, or maybe I take the place of one of the animals. I ask God to help me understand the significance of this event of which I am a part. I stay with this scene in the hillside cave as long as I’m able.

At some point I realize that there is also a cave in my heart . . . It may seem as if I live most of my life on the streets of activity and in the marketplaces of busyness, but there is within my heart a cave.

This cave is an interior space where the really important things in my life are conceived and given birth. . . . Conception and birth do not happen on busy street-corners, but in the privacy and hiddenness of the cave. . . . I notice where that cave is within me.

I may find that much of my life is spent on busy streets and in crowded marketplaces. How might I ask God to help me spend more time in the cave? If I can ask God for more "cave-time," what might God say back to me?

Then I ask God to help me see what is being conceived in my heart . . . what is being brought to birth within that cave of my heart. I ask God for the grace to find a life-giving rhythm that includes time in this quiet, interior cave . . . and time on the streets engaging daily life, people, and events. . . . I talk to God about both the busy streets of my life, and the hidden caves of my heart. I make this my prayer.

When I feel like my prayer has completed, I say the Lord’s Prayer as a way of bringing the prayer time to an end.

Simple Stances for the "Herod within Me"

Noticing that Herod lives within us is not a pleasant experience. It reminds us that we are capable of doing great harm in the world, and it disturbs our illusion that we are better, more enlightened, or more “advanced” than we truly are. In short, to see the Herod within ourselves is a reminder of our humanity, our feet of clay.

Most people want to banish the Herod within, or at least to fix the interior Herod. I don’t believe we can ever completely banish Herod from within us. We can, however, become more and more aware of Herod’s presence, and of the damage Herod inflicts on us and on the world. I offer these simple movements for dealing with the Herod within me.

What can I do about the Herod within me?

1. First, I simply acknowledge that Herod exists within me. I recognize there is a self-interested part of me that highly invested in my own good, rather than the good of others, the good of the world, or the good of God. This is not a condemnation, but an honest assessment of who I am.

2. Second, I bring the recognition that Herod exists with me into my daily living with more and more intention. For example, this afternoon when I notice that I am trying to control the behavior of my friend or family member, I simply notice what I’m doing. I name my behavior. I bring my own behavior and my inner motive to my awareness. Sometimes I’ll even whisper to myself, “This is what Jerry looks like when he is trying to control someone else,” or “This is what Jerry looks like when he feels threatened,” or “This is what Jerry looks like when he is fearful.”

3. Third, when I become aware of my Herod-behavior, I notice without judging it. I don’t tell myself how bad I am, what a failure I am, or what a poor Christian I am. I simply notice this part of me without judging. Judging doesn’t do anything constructive. Rather, judging myself brings along the baggage of guilt (I did something wrong) and shame (I am a bad person or a failure). Notice Herod without judging Herod.

4. Fourth, as best you can in the moment, let go of your desire to control the situation, to manipulate the other person, or to do violence to the situation. Let go. The feelings of power or control or threat may come back 3 seconds later. That’s fine. Let go again. Never stop letting go. Every time you feel threatened, every time you feel yourself resisting – even God – let go . . . let go . . . let go.

5. Finally, find a prayer or gesture that symbolizes “letting go” or helps you move through the moment without lashing out at yourself or others. For example, I’ll sometimes clench my fists tightly, then let them drop open as a sign of letting go. And I’ll repeat that movement several times. Or I’ll pray what is called the Freedom Prayer. “God, free me from the need to control this person.” Or, “God, free me from the insecurity I feel from this threat.” Or, “God, free me from the grip of this fear.” Repeat the Freedom Prayer as often as necessary.

The Fourth Tuesday of Advent -- December 20, 2011

Luke 1:26 - 38

In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”

Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”

The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me according to your word.” Then the angel left her.


This passage, which was the Gospel reading for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, is repeated today.

I wrote two days ago about Mary and the elaborate back-story the Church constructed centuries ago about her life, as if to justify her "favor" with God on the basis of her merits. In short, the Church formulated a "history" for Mary that was pristine enough that she stood out as the one who deserved to be the Holy Mother of God. As I said then, that historical reconfiguring of her life doesn't witness to God's grace, but rather to her goodness. I don't think that's how God works in human life. Grace and favor are always about God's choosing, not Mary's deserving or our deserving.

Further, I don't need that back-story to know that Mary is perhaps the best New Testament model for the contemplative life available to us. She modeled a life of radical trust and union with God. Let me explain.

She was simple. She realized she had not earned this "favor." She took things that happened to her and around her, and she "pondered them in her heart." She "treasured them in her heart." That is, she didn't make a huge, public show of her connection to God. She didn't parade her interior life in the public eye. She didn't make a fuss about what she notices of God's work in the world. She didn't flaunt her holiness. She didn't showcase her experience of the Divine in front of others. Rather, she drew her God-experience into her heart and let it incubate there.

Mary did what her Son would later suggest we all do when we go to prayer. In the Sermon on the Mount he taught us not to pray in a way that draws attention to ourselves (on the street corners and busy intersections of life), but to withdraw to our secret room, that is, to our inner room where we meet the Father in private.

Mary got it.

She is a esteemed as the Mother of God not because of the intricate story the Church imaginatively told about her, but because of what we know from the report of Scripture.

In fact, her words at the conclusion of this text are probably the best mantra for the contemplative life I know. They state simply and succinctly the essence of life with God, the very fundamentals of union with God.

"Here I am. Let it be with me according to your word." Or, "Let it be to me as you have said."

Here I am. I am where I am. My soul is not in the past, locked into old narratives. Neither am I living in the future. I am not in some other geographical location. I am where I am, physically and spiritually. I am who I am.

It is a real gift for any of us to say, "Here I am," to be present without distractions, to allow all the aspects of our personhood (body, mind, soul and spirit) to show up in the same place at the same time.

This is so hard for me to do, but Mary not only said it. She did it.

Let it be with me according to your word. A surrender. But more, an openness to the design of God in her life, to the action of God which was mysterious and beyond her comprehension. Yet, she did not shut out God's hand. She did not close the door to God's invitation.

This is the stance of the contemplative, who steps into the cloud or walks into the darkness not knowing what is ahead, not knowing what she will find, but trusting the One who calls and invites, believing that even if the Divine work is not fully understood, it is still good and life-giving. Even when the God-path is unrecognizable, it is still a path that leads to life, wholeness, and the essence of what it means to be fully human.

You might want to make these two simple sentences your prayer for the next week. Carry the prayer on your heart. Whisper it with your lips. Let the depth of the prayer anchor you for the week.

"Here I am. Let it be to me as you have said."