Classical Spiritual Exercises

Hospitality has fallen into hard times these days. Worse yet, the commercial world has picked up the word and used it for its own ends—such as the phrase “hospitality industry,” which refers primarily to hotels and convention centers. There’s nothing wrong with commerce—that is, we need thriving businesses for our economic growth. But Christian hospitality goes a bit deeper than making money off of people you don’t know and never will see again. To me, this is an abomination of the word’s meaning, far too shallow to capture the ancient biblical vision. I would like Christians to reclaim the word for what we do in our homes and churches.

Henri Nouwen remains one of the most prolific and insightful writers when it comes to spirituality and ministry. In this combined field, the recurring theme of hospitality stands out as a key focus in a number of his works. Much has been written on the topic of hospitality and how it figures within the broad umbrella of spiritual ministry. Henri Nouwen’s unique take on it is hailed by many as the most nuanced, if not the most substantive, in this area of study. The sheer expansiveness of his treatment of the subject is unparalleled, although his conclusion is strikingly plain and simple: ministry is all about hospitality, and real hospitality is what embodies an authentic ministry.

I recently heard C. S. Lewis described as “the Lord’s logician.” Indeed, Lewis is widely regarded
as the most intellectually forceful voice for Christian faith in the modern era. Whether writing as a scholar, lay theologian, or story teller, he is famous for his commitment to “mere Christianity,” for presenting the basic tenets of faith shared in all places at all times by Christians from the first century to the twenty-fi rst. Lewis is generally thought of as a common sense Christian, one who offers understandable theology and practical morality.

The first image that comes to our minds when we think of Christian mystics is that of ascetic believers
who set themselves apart and deny the world in order to absorb themselves in God completely. Most of us would readily be reminded of people such as Julian of Norwich, John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila, and Therese of Lisieux, to name just a few. Their remarkable experiences of God often included visions, dreams, prophecies, and ecstasies. Out of these came poetry, music, and writings that have been passed down through the centuries to modern Christians.

Often enough, when the topic of Christian mysticism is raised, it draws looks of incredulity and
suspicion. Some express concern that mysticism of any type smacks of New Age heresies. Unfortunately, these doubts about Christian mysticism reveal an apparent neglect—certainly
ignorance—of a subject rich in Christian insight and directly related to spiritual nurture and
growth. Much of the material being mined and developed by the RENOVARÉ movement, as well as the material emerging from the topic of spiritual formation, owes a debt to the long tradition of Christian mysticism. One of the most prolifi c writers about mysticism was Evelyn Underhill, who did much to introduce others to this rich body of Christian literature.

Spiritual direction is a process by which one person assists another in becoming increasingly aware of the action of the Holy Spirit in one’s life. This “assistance” often involves the simple encouragement to slow down and become more aware of God and his love.

I had a sense God was inviting me up there, inviting me to stop being mad at him. I couldn’t talk about it to anyone. After the sessions, I stayed in the chapel to gaze. I shut my eyes, knowing the window and the trees were there. No words. No tears. When I got home, I found that for the first time in a few years, I was ready to move forward with God. Those hours God and I had spent together, relating but not speaking, helped me become almost comfortable with God once again. I wasn’t so cynical, but I also wasn’t hopeful. I was just ready to hang out with God. But this time I wouldn’t bombard God with so many prayer requests. This time I would just be still and know that God is God. And learn to love it.

In the early ’70s, Richard J. Foster began to pastor a small congregation, Woodlake Avenue Church, in Canoga Park, California. One of his Sunday school teachers was a professor at a nearby university. His name was Dallas Willard. Together they began to equip a ragtag bunch of would-be saints—many coming from the counter-culture—and experiment with various disciplines of the spiritual life.

Grace. It’s a deep word, loaded with many meanings and experiences. It’s a word that is  intimately and eternally related to God. When I think about grace, it is inevitably linked to the God of grace and the grace of God (e.g., see Ephesians 1:6, 7; 2:8, 9; 1 Peter 5:10). Before relating some of my own experiences with grace, let me first focus on its definition.

When I asked if anyone wanted to read, her hand timidly went up. She had chosen John 8 for her writing assignment—the woman caught in adultery—and focused on the passage’s details: the condemning crowd, the frightened woman, and Jesus’ question once everyone had dispersed. Then the words turned inward. It was evident the student had sexual brokenness in her past. Her voice shaking with emotion, suddenly she was the adulterous woman, and Jesus’ question was directed at her.