The early desert fathers fled the desert not to get away from people but to find inner freedom and learn better how to love others and God.
According to Thomas Merton, "These were men who believed that to le oneself drift along, passively accepting the tenets and values of what they knew as society, was purely and simply a disaster"
These spiritual adventurers who chose to live in the wilderness and nourish a down-to-earth, gutsy spirituality became the first monks.
The desert call of these spiritual pioneers continues to appeal to me because I too search for a primal way of addressing my longing for God.
Perhaps I reached a point in my life when, in spite of the influence of a secular culture, I yearn for detachment as a way of freedom and peace of heart.
The desert heart is a heart broken open, expansive, and yearning for love. Its humble posture is its prayer.
Love as an attitude of hear is not about achieving some ideal but living day to day with a disposition, with an openness to the fullness of divine presence.
It is a firm commitment to grow in relationship with God and others.
Fundamentally, humility means keeping in mind one's true condition before God – both my brokenness and need – but also remembering divine forgiveness and mercy.
Humility softened the heart and allowed room for love to grow.
Remembering my true place in the eyes of God, I keep my feet solidly planted on the earth and realize that love is only possible with the help of grace.
In the fertile soil of humility, the seed of inner life finds nourishments to grow.
The seed grows in incremental but important stages as I learn to take small but essential steps to make room for love.
In humility, I do not see myself as capable of heroic tasks but as weak and vulnerable, utterly dependent on the Spirit's grace.
I may have come to a point in my live where I am disillusioned with social expectations, political chaos, and a cultural tide of restlessness.
I seek peace beneath the turmoil as well as inner freedom.
It is not as if I want to isolate myself from the world but desire to find a way to live in it but not of it.
The desert call emerges especially during those times of suffering that strip us of our usual props: a meaningless job, chronic illness, a crumbling relationship, or the loss of a loved one.
I sense the urge to risk all, even if this means participating in the slow process of inner renewal and learning a humble posture of being.
According to Thomas Merton, "These were men who believed that to le oneself drift along, passively accepting the tenets and values of what they knew as society, was purely and simply a disaster"
These spiritual adventurers who chose to live in the wilderness and nourish a down-to-earth, gutsy spirituality became the first monks.
The desert call of these spiritual pioneers continues to appeal to me because I too search for a primal way of addressing my longing for God.
Perhaps I reached a point in my life when, in spite of the influence of a secular culture, I yearn for detachment as a way of freedom and peace of heart.
The desert heart is a heart broken open, expansive, and yearning for love. Its humble posture is its prayer.
Love as an attitude of hear is not about achieving some ideal but living day to day with a disposition, with an openness to the fullness of divine presence.
It is a firm commitment to grow in relationship with God and others.
Fundamentally, humility means keeping in mind one's true condition before God – both my brokenness and need – but also remembering divine forgiveness and mercy.
Humility softened the heart and allowed room for love to grow.
Remembering my true place in the eyes of God, I keep my feet solidly planted on the earth and realize that love is only possible with the help of grace.
In the fertile soil of humility, the seed of inner life finds nourishments to grow.
The seed grows in incremental but important stages as I learn to take small but essential steps to make room for love.
In humility, I do not see myself as capable of heroic tasks but as weak and vulnerable, utterly dependent on the Spirit's grace.
I may have come to a point in my live where I am disillusioned with social expectations, political chaos, and a cultural tide of restlessness.
I seek peace beneath the turmoil as well as inner freedom.
It is not as if I want to isolate myself from the world but desire to find a way to live in it but not of it.
The desert call emerges especially during those times of suffering that strip us of our usual props: a meaningless job, chronic illness, a crumbling relationship, or the loss of a loved one.
I sense the urge to risk all, even if this means participating in the slow process of inner renewal and learning a humble posture of being.
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