[Reprinted in part from CHRISTIANITY TODAY, September 2018]
The phone call came in well past my normal office hours. My children were already in bed, and the house was quiet. I didn’t recognize the number, but pastors know from experience that late-night calls should almost always be taken. The voice on the other line was urgent. A distraught mother had discovered that her teenage daughter had become sexually active with her boyfriend.
“Will you come over and meet with us?” she asked. “In the morning,” I replied, “I can meet you tomorrow morning.” Dissatisfied, the mother doubled-down on her request, reiterating the severity of her daughter’s revelation and the imperativeness of my presence. “I need you to come tonight,” she pressed. “If you would still like to meet tomorrow, please give me a call,” I responded, and politely ended the call.
“Pastor, I need to meet with you.” For those of us in pastoral ministry, a week seldom passes when those words are not uttered to us. In the opinion of many, this is the central aspect of our calling: to be present when they need us. To be there when tragedy strikes, or conflict erupts, when illness descends, or heartbreak occurs. We meet with them in our offices, at hospitals, around dining room tables, or over coffee. We meet with them at all hours and on any given day. Especially for solo pastors who don’t have the luxury of sharing the pastoral load, even vacation time is interruptible as the pastor is forced to rush home in time to deal with a sudden emergency. This is an unquestionable part of the job description for many pastors, an aspect of our calling we agreed to when we first signed up for duty. But is it healthy? Or more importantly, is it biblical? I am concerned that these calls for our constant presence are often intimately connected with two inordinate needs that deserve honest questioning: our parishioners’ desire to be in the presence of a surrogate Jesus, and the desire for pastors to be one.
“Toronto Conference Explores
Christian Tradition of Peacemaking”
by Cassidy Hall | National Catholic Reporter
Over 100 veterans and newcomers to the peace movement gathered April 28 in Toronto for a daylong conference covered in prayer, music, poetry, readings and speakers. “Voices For Peace” began with a film about the International Indigenous Youth Council at Standing Rock and then offered a deep-dive into the Christian tradition of non-violence, resistance and peacemaking.
The event included sessions exploring contemplation and action, dreaming, nuclear disarmament, nonviolent action, the economy of weapons and numerous other topics related to peacemaking. It was bookended by a seemingly unlikely pair: 76-year-old author and peace activist Jim Forest and 35-year-old, Juno award-winning, hip-hop artist Shad K.
The conference was sponsored by Toronto’s Church of the Redeemer, The Henri Nouwen Society, Citizens for Public Justice and The Basilian Center for Peace and Justice.
“What brought us here today?” Forest asked in his opening lecture, “In my own case, I’ve been thinking about war and peace since I was 8 or 9 years old. I’m now 76. How surprising it is to have reached such an age. In my twenties, I thought it very unlikely that I’d live to be 30.”
The audience laughed until Forest interrupted.
“Anticipated cause of death: nuclear war,” he said. “By the skin of our teeth we have lived with nuclear weapons without their being used in war since 1945 — 73 years.”
Forest is best known by way of his friends: Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day, Dan Berrigan, Thich Nhat Hanh, Henri Nouwen and many more. He told participants that he went to the university of Dorothy Day and recounted numerous stories and times with all of these well-known friends who have been so central to his peacemaking work. He is the former editor of the Catholic Worker, co-founder of the Catholic Peace Fellowship and the author of more than 10 books.
[Reprinted in part from the Daily Hampshire GAZETTE, Monday, March 19, 2018]
The great spelunker of our universe, physicist Stephen Hawking, died on March 14.
I never met Stephen, but when I was a graduate student at Harvard in the early 1980s, I often saw him coming and going from his apartment across the street. Someone, perhaps his wife, Jane Wilde, drove the van that opened out to reveal a lift that raised and lowered his wheelchair.
I had a vague knowledge of Stephen’s mathematical study of the origin and interstellar dynamics of the cosmos, but I didn’t yet fully appreciate the magnificence of his research, his personal courage, or his will to live.
At first, I couldn’t understand how someone could be so brilliant and yet so physically wounded and apparently incapacitated. How could someone with such a severe disability also be a Harvard professor and a world-renowned physicist? Eventually I came to understand that one can be wounded in some respects and a majestic human being in others.
Perhaps Stephen is why I chose to override the advice of my professors and to do my clinical internship in psychology at Wrentham State School, helping the dedicated staff to see the gifts of residents with physical or mental disabilities and to create a loving community with them.
A few years later I met Father Henri Nouwen, a Harvard Divinity School professor who had just begun his association with the L’Arche communities in France and Toronto for people with handicaps. Henri had recently published his now classic book, “The Wounded Healer,” and eventually left academic life to minister to people with disabilities. He understood that our greatest gifts can arise from our wounded places.
Robert Ellsberg: “At Age 13, Creating the Pentagon Papers. Photocopies, at Least”
[Reprinted in Part from “Grace Notes” by James Barron, The New York Times – Jan 28, 2018]
There they were at lunch at an outdoor restaurant in the Brentwood neighborhood of Los Angeles, that afternoon in the fall of 1969, a divorced father and his 13-year-old son. The father said he had some papers that he wanted to copy. Would the son help?
“I said, ‘Yes, sure,” the son recalled. Off they went to a Xerox machine that was big, clunky and, by today’s standards, very, very slow.
It was the first time anyone had let the son run such a monster. He was thrilled.
Saying that the father wanted to copy “some papers” is like saying that the Vatican is “a church.” The papers — which the father was smuggling out of his office, a briefcase-full at a time — would become known as the Pentagon Papers, the sprawling, classified history of the Vietnam War. The father was Daniel Ellsberg, a former Defense Department official who by then was deeply discouraged about the conflict.
The son, Robert Ellsberg, may have had a cameo role in history as his father’s helper, but not in the film “The Post,” Steven Spielberg’s drama about the newspaper that played catch-up after another newspaper — this one — broke the story of the Pentagon Papers.
There was no 13-year-old at the Xerox machine in the movie, only grown-ups, but then, there was a lot of copying to be done, Mr. Ellsberg’s father put him to work only twice and moviegoers expect edge-of-your-seat action. Old-fashioned Xeroxing — slapping a single sheet of paper on a glass plate, pushing a button, waiting for the copy to print out, then doing it all over again with the next page — is anything but.
“It’s funny about the film,” Mr. Ellsberg said. “At one of the premieres, Steven Spielberg said there were things we would have liked to have put in this film that nobody would have believed, like that Ellsberg brought his kids to help copy the papers.”
It was a great privilege I won’t soon forget to attend the conference on “Henri Nouwen and Thomas Merton: Spiritual Guides for the 21st Century” at Yale Divinity School in New Haven with my wife and friends from the Nouwen Society. There were so many rich moments in the workshops, lectures, and in a very memorable “open microphone” reception when former students and friends of Henri’s shared stories and reflected on his impact in their lives. But three memories and messages from the weekend stand out for me in particular. They were in the presentations by Sister Sue Mosteller, Father Ron Rolheiser, and Robert Ellsberg, one of Henri’s editors.
First, Sister Sue Mosteller delivered a “Call to Conference” that transported us imaginatively into the world of the first century at the time of Jesus. She reminded us about the story of John the Baptist who one day exclaimed to his followers, “Behold! There is the Lamb of God,” pointing to Jesus. With a twinkle in her eye and compassion in her voice, Sister Sue compared John’s action to that of a spiritual GPS or guidance system, orienting people, telling them the right route to find their way home. Just like “that lady who lives on the satellite and talks to us and tells us where we are going” in our cars on all our devices, she said. Following Jesus can orient us in this world and set our course to find our true home.
“Where are you staying?” the curious would-be disciples asked Jesus. “Come, follow me,” Jesus replied. By spending time with Jesus they would come to know him as “the way, the truth, and the life,” and the door to the Kingdom of God.
I pondered how directionless and out-of-control much of life can sometimes feel; how in our lives, in the headlines, and in our culture today things can often feel very dark, marked by a sense of fear, unease, and anxiety; more like homelessness than being at home. We are seeking direction today and we don’t know where to find it. As our time together at the conference progressed, I began to see just how relevant the life and writings of both Henri Nouwen and Thomas Merton can be for us today as spiritual guides when we seek to navigate difficult and chaotic times.
Both Henri Nouwen and and Thomas Merton lived life as an adventure in pursuit of God. They were aware and awake to their own struggles and those of others. Father Ron Rolheiser’s presentation helped me better understand their distinctive contributions as major figures in 20th century spirituality.
Henri, he explained, was a soul friend to millions through his 39 books, teaching at Notre Dame, Yale and Harvard, and in his personal letter writing to friends and those he never met. We can see and hear that in the new book of his collected letters, Love Henri. Henri often created intimate bonds through his writing and speaking wherever he went, because he couldn’t and wouldn’t hide his wounds and weaknesses.
Invoking a hometown New Haven example to convey this side of Henri’s personality and spirituality, Fr. Ron Rolheiser in the opening talk said, “If you remember Karen Carpenter’s voice, it was like she was singing softly, gently, directly into your ear. And that’s my image of Henri Nouwen. He always spoke as if he was talking directly to you. Merton, very different.”
He explained that Henri was both learned in psychology and theology, but he worked very hard like an artist, writing and rewriting drafts to communicate spirituality in down to earth terms with a new kind of language that was both simple and deep, speaking straight to people’s hearts. This allowed him to “take spirituality mainstream in the church”, he said, but also to speak with authenticity to an increasingly secular society. Henri spoke from his own place of pain. He reminded us often that “what is most personal is also most universal.” He spoke about how our deepest identity is not defined by what we have, or what we do, or what people say about us. What mattered to Henri, and what matters most, is our relationship to a God who loves us.
That certainly sums up my experience of reading Henri Nouwen since I was first introduced to his wisdom in the book Reaching Out decades ago, then subsequently through deep and tender explorations like The Inner Voice or Love and The Return of the Prodigal Son. Henri has been a guide for me and my wife (and for so many people) beyond the traps of self-rejection and selfishness to an experience of living life more awake to the fact we are loved unconditionally by God. We are much-loved sons and daughters in a big, beloved family. Belonging. Belovedness. Compassion. Henri helps point the way.
Describing the distinctive gifts of both Henri Nouwen and Thomas Merton, Fr. Ron Rolheiser told us that “Henri gets you praying and standing on your feet and gives you the courage to walk now. Thomas Merton gets you walking, and lays out the path towards the fullest maturity that’s demanded of you.”
Merton’s guidance for the path of the spiritual life takes us into somewhat different territory. Thomas Merton’s writing, Rolheiser said, has a different tone and impact: “It has Bob Dylan’s directness, Paul Simon’s genius for lyric, Leonard Cohen’s poetic cadence, and John Coltrane’s soul.” Merton offers a more systematic critique of both society and the church, emerging from the monastic disciplines of silence and solitude, that Henri also cherished and practiced most often outside the monastery.
According to Pope Francis, Thomas Merton was “above all a man of prayer, a thinker who challenged the certitudes of his time and opened new horizons for souls and for the Church. He was also a man of dialogue, a promoter of peace between peoples and religions.” Henri Nouwen too had a passion for peacemaking and ecumenism, but Fr. Rolheiser explained that Merton’s influence was more “structural.” He profoundly shaped Dorothy Day, Daniel Berrigan, Richard Rohr, and others as their intellectual and spiritual mentor, modeling a critical contemplative posture during the Vietnam War that would guide and influence future generations. Pope Francis honoured Thomas Merton as one of four great American spiritual leaders when addressing a joint session of the United States Congress in September, 2015.
The conference presentations throughout the weekend explored the paths of Nouwen and Merton, and offered a major dose of faith, hope, and courage. This was especially true for me in Robert Ellsberg’s presentation. He edited Henri’s final book Adam. Robert shared with us how Henri’s leaving Harvard and moving to L’Arche Daybreak became a spiritual homecoming for him. Some of this is recounted in The Road to Daybreak.
He also shared how Henri was intrigued by friends he met in a family circus troupe, the Flying Rodleighs. Henri saw a portrait of God at work in our lives in their graceful and strong cooperation together on the trapeze. The flyer does nothing, the catcher does everything, Henri learned. Robert shared the words Henri recorded in one of his journals after interviewing them about their artistry in air: “When I fly to the catcher I have simply to stretch out my hands and wait for him to catch me and pull me safe behind the catch bar. A Flyer must fly and a Catcher must catch. And the Flyer must trust with outstretched arms that his Catcher will be there for him.”
Both Henri Nouwen and Thomas Merton showed that the path home to God involves that kind of deep trust, allowing oneself to be led and caught. For those of us who now, or in the future, struggle to see our next steps or the long road ahead, Henri Nouwen and Thomas Merton are welcome companions.
Robert Ellsberg offered these words of wisdom inspired by Henri’s life and spirituality, a fitting conclusion: “So often we measure our identity and success by how well we remain in control. But in the end, the final meaning of our lives may be measured by our capacity to trust, to let go, and to place ourselves in the hands of another.”
That insight is captured well in a prayer of Henri’s that Robert Ellsberg concluded with — a prayer written by Henri just four months before he died in September 1996.
“I do not know where you will lead me. I do not know where I will be two, five or ten years from now. I do not know the road ahead of me. But I know now that you are with me to guide me. And that where you lead me, even where I would rather not go, you will bring me closer to my true home. Thank you, Lord, for my life, for my vocation and for the hope, that you planted in my heart. Amen.” — published in Sabbatical Journey
Are you interested in continuing your MDiv or Theological studies? If so, you may be interested to learn about the Nazarene Theological Seminary’s Doctor of Ministry program. Of interest to Henri Nouwen readers is that the program features two courses focusing on Nouwen’s approach to spiritual formation.
The Doctor of Ministry Degree is a professional degree. Students interested in the Doctor of Ministry program can expect to develop further in their professional practice. Further, they will make important contributions to their field of practice.
The Spiritual Formation and Discipleship track engages seekers who desire to deepen their journey of personal transformation for the sake of spiritual renewal in their communities. Students will explore diverse approaches to formation and how they can be contextualized in various settings. Dr. Michael Christensen and Dr. Rebecca Laird are involved in leading this track. Michael and Rebecca were popular guest speakers at our Way of the Heart conference in Toronto last year — and are featured presenters at our upcoming Revolution of the Heart conference at the University of San Diego on February 9-10, 2018.
For more information on the Doctor of Ministry program and admission requirements, click here.
Henri Nouwen, in the words of Professor Ken Herfst, is a man who showed the importance of the human “need to love and be loved … in a way that gives genuine hope.” It is because of Nouwen’s deep love and passion for God, others, and society that the The Henry Nouwen Society has made it their aim to extend Nouwen’s legacy, helping to broadly share and promote his deeply spiritual writings.
Last Tuesday, October 17, Redeemer’s Religion and Theology Department brilliantly teamed up with the Henry Nouwen Society to present a very moving and dramatic performance based on
the archive collection of Nouwen’s personally written letters, accessed by historian Gabrielle Earnshaw.
Earnshaw, a highly acclaimed archivist, has dedicated the last 16 years of her life to “finding the gold nuggets” of Nouwen’s ideas in order to share them with others. Through dialogue and reflection on her published conglomerative book of Nouwen’s 205 letters, Earnshaw gives light to Henri Nouwen’s main ideologies and theological insights.
Last week, Redeemer students were able to witness these reflections, paired with a stunningly emotional drama presented by actor Joe Abby-Colborne, who brought the fascinating sentimentality and wisdom of the late Henri Nouwen to new levels. In addition to the insightful presentation, talented pianist and vocalist Krystyna Higgins accompanied the dialogue with her personal musical expression of Nouwen’s letters. The overall result was spectacular.
Prior to diving headfirst into dramatic readings of the letters, written throughout Nouwen’s 64 years, Earnshaw provided the full auditorium with a concise overview of his life. This was a helpful addition to the drama-focused schedule for the evening, especially for the many young university students in attendance — an age group who would not have been alive at the time Nouwen’s writings were originally produced.
When I was a young man, I attended a dinner celebrating the career of an elderly and famous evangelical leader. After the meal, the honoree was invited to speak, where he reiterated one of the core themes of his career (a ruthless commitment to “true truth”) and how the current state of the evangelical world fell far short on this commitment and how everything was going to pot.
I left feeling very sad for the speaker, whom I had looked forward to meeting and celebrating. Two commitments sprang from that evening. First, that I had to be careful not to become a fossil to my past but to be an active participant with the ever-changing present. I did not want to become a whiny old man whom younger people feel sorry for. Second, I realized that once I was grouped with the “mature” age bracket (which seemed “way in the future” at the time), I had a responsibility to instill hope and excitement in the generation following and not merely bemoan all the ways the present falls short of the past. I realized that the speech that night was actually a breach of trust by the leader to those coming after. I wanted to avoid that mistake.
Fast-forward twenty-five years to when “way in the future” has become “now.” I still hold to those two commitments, but I have been surprised at how difficult it is at times to stay true to them. For instance, conversations about the vital role of “Instagram” or “WhatsApp” to today’s ministries, or discussions about the latest reality shows or about new ways of accessing these media, and I can soon feel “out of it.” And as I repeatedly hit my head against the institutional church’s stubborn habit of choosing fear over love and worry over faith, I admit to flirting with despair over how everything is “going to pot.”
That is when an internal warning bell goes off, one activated that night many years ago, which tells me that I cannot allow myself to stay in that place. I need help. And so, because of another lifelong habit, I turn to authors for both wisdom and encouragement. Recently, I have benefited greatly from Peter Enns’s reminder that faith is learning how to trust Jesus more than getting everything figured out correctly (see The Sin of Certainty) and from Norman Wirzba’s metaphor of seeing church as a difficult boot camp that is training us to love (see Way of Love). These have helped me stay on track.
But I have been especially encouraged recently by revisiting a past literary mentor, Henri Nouwen. On the twentieth anniversary of Nouwen’s passing, HarperOne has released an anthology of his work. Entitled The Spritual Life, it collects eight of his books: Intimacy, A Letter of Consolation, Letters to Marc About Jesus, The Living Reminder, Making All Things New, Our Greatest Gift, The Way of the Heart, and Gracias.