Many of us have probably discovered what this is, and what it isn't. For myself, it isn't about agreement, or liking, those I'm in opposition with. And, I do find the willingness to hold in prayer another person with whom I have conflict, and not in the condescending sort of "Lord heal those wretched souls!" (however subtly that might appear in the mind), involves to some extent the willingness and ability to receive the painful parts of my own inner life without trying to fix them.

But the sign in conscience, for me, that this prayer is genuine, is the slight sense of gratitude that arises in the heart when such prayer is said simply and earnestly. It is gratitude that really everthing, and everyone, belongs. And that seems a matter of grace for which the heart thirsts.

However, toxic shame can easily impede this gesture, further splitting off parts of the self into a pious, narrow sense of sanctity. If we pray like this, and find oursevles angry, lustful, more judgemental than usual, then a part of us, or more, has probably been threatened with further exile by our prayer.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: w.c.,

[QUOTE]Originally posted by w.c.:
Many of us have probably discovered what this is, and what it isn't. For myself, it isn't about agreement, or liking, those I'm in opposition with. And, I do find the willingness to hold in prayer another person with whom I have conflict, and not in the condescending sort of "Lord heal those wretched souls!" (however subtly that might appear in the mind), involves to some extent the willingness and ability to receive the painful parts of my own inner life without trying to fix them.


W.C.

I am still in the naming stage, so to speak...
I wish the condescending voice in me was subtle, I often catch this snarly self, name it before Christ, beat my breast and ask for mercy. Then I am able to reach underneath the contempt to see what is really going on...O and to land, in that soft space inside, to behold my painful parts...tender little dears.

I wrote this rhymey-chimey piece what now seems like a 100 years ago...I was mad at my enemy (dad) forget praying for him, but Greater is He that is in me, for He had better wonders for my heart. It certainly doesn't tell the whole story
and I am still a glorious ruin, have a long ways to go etc. etc. Gail

Are you sorry for hurting me?
Do you even realize the extent
of the injuries?

You didn't leave visable scars
on my skin,
but, I am tormented from the
damage within.

I still hear your cruel anger
echoing in my mind,
your shaming words become more
entrenched with passing time.

WHY did you have to damage my soul?
I was defenseless under your control.

Does you conscience ever bother you
at night?
Do you ever long to make us right?

One way I got back at you,
was by taking revenge on myself
not a smart thing to do,
(for that compounded my shame)
and my heart withdrew.

However...Jesus and the Father
came searching for me,
speaking that the truth may hurt
but it will set me free.

And after many years, They asked me
to look,
at my staggering debt that had been wiped
from the Book.

Taking a long gaze into that mirror,
the truth about my sins
became clear and clearer.

I have been forgiven for so very much,
who am I to hold you
in my unforgiving clutch?

O, it's taken therapy & time for the
hurt to fade,
and I still struggle with trust
after being so brutally betrayed.

So,Dad, now I can pray for you,
for you were hurt by what
your own mother put you through.

Yes, Gail. Much of your poem reminds me of the scene recorded in the gospel of Luke. The exchanges are so powerful, and the mystery and possibility of forgiveness revealed. To quote a single verse by itself out of this long passage is to lose its richness, where human gratitude (the capacity for altruistic love in the soul) arises from the deepest place of the heart in response to supernatural grace. So you might read it again, if you haven't before, as it exposes all of us in conscience before God, but in such a merciful light. Luke 7: 36-50.

AJ:

I think that fits quite well. Even our shame is something else, or more, to Him.

quote:

Originally posted by w.c.:
Yes, Gail. Much of your poem reminds me of the scene recorded in the gospel of Luke. The exchanges are so powerful, and the mystery and possibility of forgiveness revealed. To quote a single verse by itself out of this long passage is to lose its richness, where human gratitude (the capacity for altruistic love in the soul) arises from the deepest place of the heart in response to supernatural grace. So you might read it again, if you haven't before, as it exposes all of us in conscience before God, but in such a merciful light. Luke 7: 36-50.

w.c.
The tension between my flesh & spirit probably
speaks volumes...I reread the passage in Luke, only this time, with new eyes to see. Thank-you...As for praying for my enemies,it always helps me remember the great mercy & forgiveness I have tasted and received, so my heart can extend the same grace to them in prayer. (Perhaps I am being redundant here) Gail

w.c.--Thanks for your somewhat mysterious (to me) comment about what our shame means to God. I've been thinking it over regarding myself, trying to understand what you might be saying, and what different perspective could be available. So far I've come up with this: what I'm most ashamed of says something about what I highly value; in other words, I recognize the worth of what I've broken. And rather than be exasperated over people such as myself who tend to not quite listen up till they get burned, God may feel some small delight in us...that even we sooner or later realize His benevolence in trying to protect us.

May I ask you to clarify your comment if you have time?

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Ariel Jaffe,

There's something shallow about what I posted above. I just haven't figured out how to say it. It (the above) may well be part of the truth, but it's not the whole of it.

"I recognize the worth of what I've broken."

Yes, and that would seem to involve remorse as well. The toxic variety of shame occludes our experience of other feelings, whereas He is always aware of us beyond our own recokening. We usually think of this as His awareness of how creaturely we are, but He seems to take great delight in us in a basic sense which we can't grasp in our falleness.

Herbert's verse:

"Ah, my dear, I cannot look on Thee."
Love took my hand
and smiling did reply
"Who made the eyes but I?"

This is what I was referring to. God sees more of us than we can see, and can still see the original goodness we only get glimpses of. He sees our darkness and sin, but these are distortions of that original goodness which we cannot fix and which, in Him, cannot be destroyed, as it is HIs first gesture of creation. Nothing we can do is powerful enough to supercede that act, or eradicate His image in us. And so it's my sense that pain cannot be abolished, or it would uproot our essential longing for Him in this life.

So to be touched by Him supernaturally would leave us feeling awefully (awfully, proper spelling, but appropriate slip) small, as everything in us not loving, not healed of fundamental distortions, wakes up to its need and inadequacy too. What we have to be ashamed of is our creatureliness taken too far, our pride and how we hurt ourselves and others and cannot become truly loving under our own powers; yet for Him, as I wonder/speculate over Grace, His delight might be in the creatureliness for which He loves us so dearly in the first place. What breaks us to the core opens us so He can finally bring us Home.

Thank you very much. That was helpful.

Glad the exchange is helpful, AJ.

And if it wasn't clear, re: original goodness, I'd say that this inheres in Him. We are only truly good in what the saints would call "transforming union," where grace is the formative influence in every aspect of our psyche, not simply upholding our existence as is always the case. So where Paul says "In Him we live and move and have our being," and is probably referencing Platonic philosophy in his address to some Athenian scholastics, he would have understood this as vitally different from "Christ in you, the hope of glory."

I would agree that's a good and necessary clarification.