Hello,
And welcome to Methods.
This is the seventh episode of our third season,
Vision.
We've spoken about contemplation before,
And this part may be confusing.
Like many words in the English language,
A word like contemplation can mean different things depending on its context.
Contemplation can mean the interstate of union with the divine,
A type of samadhi,
Or final stage in the process of purgation,
Illumination,
And union,
As per the Desert Fathers like Evagrius Ponticus.
But there's a different usage for the term contemplation in the Jesuit tradition.
Imaginative prayer,
Also known as Ignatian contemplation,
Is the name given to prayer which helps us enter more fully into the passage of scripture we are reading,
By using our ability to form pictures or inner impressions in our minds.
We live in a rational,
Left-brain world,
Where information and analysis is the highest priority.
But as human beings,
Our soul is still captivated by experience.
Jesus called on people's imagination all the time.
He was constantly telling stories and painting word pictures.
He asked people to imagine the Kingdom of God as a mustard seed,
As yeast,
As a treasure hidden in a field,
As a lost coin.
Through imaginative prayer,
We step into a gospel story and imagine ourselves to be there in that scene.
Rather than reading the Bible abstractly,
We enter the story to more deeply experience and encounter Jesus in the scene.
In doing so,
We remain true to the biblical reading,
But more actively experience it.
We might be a disciple in the boat with Jesus,
One of the crowd at the feeding of the 5,
000,
Or the woman at the well asked by Jesus to draw up water for him.
It's important that as you hear the story,
You try and feel what it's like to actually be inside that story.
Listen.
Taste.
Smell.
Feel.
And watch what happens.
What can you see around you?
What are everyone's facial expressions?
What are you feeling?
This passage is from the Gospel of John,
Chapter 5.
After these things,
There was a feast of the Jews,
And Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
Now there is in Jerusalem,
By the sheep gate,
A pool,
Which is called in Hebrew Bethesda,
Having five porticos.
And these lay a multitude of those who were sick,
Blind,
Lame,
And withered,
Waiting for the moving of the waters.
For an angel of the Lord went down at certain seasons into the pool and stirred up the water.
Whoever then first,
After the stirring of the water,
Stepped in,
Was made well from whatever disease with which he was afflicted.
A man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years.
When Jesus saw him lying there,
And knew he had already been a long time in that condition,
He said to him,
Do you wish to get well?
The sick man answered him,
Sir,
I have no man to put me in the pool when the water is stirred up,
But while I am coming,
Another steps down before me.
Jesus said to him,
Get up.
Pick up your mat and walk.
Finally the man became well,
And picked up his mat and began to walk.
Now I invite you to close your eyes and place your feet firmly on the floor beneath you.
Rest your hands lightly in your lap and take a few deep breaths.
As best you can,
Imagine yourself as a person with some sort of wound or disability.
This could be an actual physical wound you possess,
Or a metaphorical wound,
A psychic or emotional wound.
Give yourself a moment to visualize the idea of your pain as a physical ailment.
What part of your body is it on?
What does it feel like?
It's been a long time that you've felt this way,
Maybe longer than you can remember,
Perhaps most of your life.
This dull ache,
This stinging,
Piercing,
Searing pain whenever you try to move from the small,
Worn thin rug you call a bed.
It's a beautiful day though,
The sun is shining overhead,
The clouds moving lazily in the cool breeze,
Giving you the occasional respite from the heat.
What are you seeing?
You lay on your mat with the others that are sick or injured,
Waiting for the legend they tell of that God will send an angel to stir up the waters of the pool they call Bethesda,
A place of flowing water.
The story is that when those waters are stirred,
Whoever first steps in will be healed of whatever is hurting them.
But you don't move so well.
That nagging pain in your side,
That persistent ache in your legs keeps you from walking.
You could barely get there at all,
Let alone first.
Someone always beats you to it.
But still you wait.
What else could you do?
You look out at the pool,
The place of flowing water,
As flat as it could ever be.
There's nothing moving there,
At least not now.
What are you hearing?
You listen and hear the crunch of sandals against rocky soil,
Coming slowly up behind you.
As you try to turn and lift yourself up,
A stranger kneels down next to you.
Do you want to be well?
What kind of question is that?
Of course you want to be well.
Can he see that you aren't able to move?
Maybe he's offering to carry you to the pool.
But the water's not moving.
It won't work if the water's not moving.
What do you say to him?
He looks at you for a long time,
Studying you,
As if he already knows anything you could possibly say to him.
Get up,
He says to you.
Your puzzled expression is obvious.
You're unsure if you heard him correctly.
You wait for him to clarify.
He smiles softly.
Pick up your mat and walk.
I mean,
He looks at you.
Ding,
Ding,
Ding,
Ding.
So he looks at you.
Bring it on,
Bring it on.
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