Throughout the years of spiritual practice I have been
noticing as I grow older how the practice does not become easier. In fact, it often seems like just the
opposite. The earlier enthusiasm
softens. The determination wanes. The daily walk goes from jogging to
plodding. Continuing in the
discipline is no longer motivated and fed out of idealism and emotional
engagement. Sometimes it seems
like a weary habit or going through a tired ritual. The practice seems frayed at the edges, not clean and
simple, but like a dust mop picking up extraneous side interests of the mind
and body, and attention moves more easily away from the purpose to which it is
called when taking the seat upon the meditation cushion. It is when I notice the wandering
attention and the reluctance to return to the practice that I know what Francis
meant when he accused himself of being a great sinner and declaring that even
toward the end of his life, even then the way was not assured, the way was
slippery. It is because the whole
practice of following Jesus goes more and more to subtler levels. The reflection goes to deeper, more
hidden and previously unconscious levels of awareness. I have not been able to achieve a nice
clean devotion and obedience in practice.
Instead I come to see more and more through all the veils obscuring the
sight, obscuring the Light, obscuring the reality of my humanity. The need for mercy is there. It is always there. And recognizing that as I grow older is
a daily essential. I am not going
to come up to the finish line – that great moment of the body finally giving
out – with a perfect stride setting new records. It will be a limping, staggering affair leaning heavily on a
walker. That walker will be
composed of all the teachers and friends and spiritual resources given me along
the way. And the cheering that may
occur from the grand stand at the finish line at that moment will be because
Jesus has saved another one, another one poor in spirit, another of the ptwcoi of the world.
