God Alone is Enough by Claudia Mair Burney

My long-time blogger bestie Claudia Mair Burney has just published her first non-fiction work for Paraclete Press. Titled God Alone is Enough, a Spirited Journey with St. Teresa of Avila - it is such a joy to hold the work of my dear friend in my hands. We have read each others words for more years than I can count and watching her journey has been a true joy.

I am the ninth step on a blog tour through the book and was asked to blog on Chapter nine - Ecstasy is Not a Drug - an appropriate chapter for a "redemption junkie" :)

Before talking about Chapter 9, I want to explain the book to those who aren't following the tour.

Claudia makes Theresa's writings so accessible. It is a beautiful primer for the saint(s) - and a beautiful introduction to centering prayer. It is fun, funny and filled with the reality of both the author's and the saint's struggles and joys. The only criticism I might make is that the cover shows a prim and proper woman in prayer - it belies the very nature of this book. If this book was my neighbor I wouldn't have to clean my kitchen, or even get out of my pj's before I invited her over for tea. It is as real as it is lively - just like my friend Mair.

I think a more "Rosie the Riveter" kind of sister on the cover would have been a more accurate visual representation of the sense of the book. Don't get me wrong - it is a beautiful cover - I just am such a visual person that I do unfortunately, at times, judge by said cover. Okay, on to chapter 9...

If anyone is at all familiar with St. Theresa and her Interior Castle you will know of her ecstasy.Theresa opines that there are four stages of prayer that the learner passes through. She uses the metaphor of watering a garden to explain:

"Now let's see how we need to water the garden, so we'll understand what we have to do, how much the labor will cost us, if the time and work we put into it is worth it, and how long it will last. Our garden can be watered in four ways: We can draw water from a well, which is a lot of work. Or you can get the water by turning the crank of a waterwheel and drawing it through an aqueducts. I've tried this myself and know it's not as much trouble to do as the first way. And you get more water.

Or you can channel the water from the flow of a river or stream. The garden is watered much better this way because the ground is saturated and you don't have to water it as frequently. This is a lot less work for the gardener.

Or the water may come from an abundant rain pouring on the soul; the Lord waters the garden himself, without any work on our part. This is by far the best method of all." (pg. 43, 44)

Chapter 9 is focusing on that fourth level of centering prayer - when God sends the rain - Theresa calls it "that sacred kiss" - this is the intimacy of the ecstasy with God that very few, myself included have ever experienced. Theresa explains, "The soul detaches itself from everything, daughter, so it can abide more fully in me. It is no longer the soul that lives but I. Since it is not capable of comprehending what it understands, there is an understanding by not understanding."

The holy longing for that level of intimacy with God - where our soul is joined with God has been lost to most of the church these days. We spend our time hauling water and building aqueducts instead of praying for rain. Centering prayer is a lost art form to the evangelical church and we are poorer for its lack.

This is a book I will be passing on to my daughter and one I'd use regularly with teen girls to teach on centering prayer. Thank you Mair, both for the book and for venturing into non-fiction. I adore your story and look forward to one day holding THAT book in my hands.

All Saints Day

Here in Southeastern New Brunswick we are reminded regularly of the saints in everyday life. So many of our towns, St. Stephen included are named after them. The hip way to refer to a destination around here is to shorten it to it's nickname - "I'm going to The Fred" (for Fredericton) while we live in "The Steve". Unfortunately Saint John looses much of it's charm with it's shortened name.

I love the saints now as I have spent much time with Francis, Ignatius, Catherine of Sienna, Mother Teresa, Teresa of Avila and Thérèse de Lisieux through their writings and stories. They are precious friends to me.

Growing up Plymouth Brethren we were indoctrinated into understanding that WE ARE ALL SAINTS and there is nothing special or important about those through history who were bestowed the title Saint. I would beg to differ (who me?) that there just aren't enough titles given out for those who have made their lasting, gentle impact on the church and our lives.

My good friend, Matthew Glock has blogged today about the saints in his life who have gone before that might not have been given a title by the church, but have made a deep impact on his life. One of his list has brought back such fond memories for me as we shared classes together at Emmaus Bible College during the last years of this professors life. John W. Harper was a man among men and taught me much of the saints.
Mr. Harper was the first person who introduced me to my soul. Up until that point it had all been about my head. Reason and logic where going to save me, knowledge was my idol and Mr. Harper cracked that door to story, poetry, art and beauty.

My favorite times were the private lessons he taught me. The college had relocated from Oak Park, Illinois to Dubuque, Iowa and took over the Thomas Aquinas Catholic Seminary. All of the crucifixes were stripped of the dying Christ, but the crosses, altars and the stained glass windows were made of far to precious stuff to remove. The marble chapel was the most spacious indoor place of worship I was ever graced with and I spent much time in there surrounded by these vast saints, in all their glory, depicted in 20 foot stained glass down the sides of this glorious room. There must have been 20 of them in total. I am so sad that I never did get pictures of them.

Mr. Harper would find me in there enjoying the quiet and give me lessons on all the saints. He'd explain why that guy had an ax in his head and this one had a sword. He knew so much and was such a rich, gentle soul. I loved him dearly. I was yearbook editor the year he passed and I dedicated it to him. This was the page. I give you St. John of the Marble Chapel. Thank you sir for helping me find my soul.