Emptiness.
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going
I do not see the road ahead of me
I cannot know for certain where it will end
Nor do I really know myself
And the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean
That I am actually doing so
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doingI hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road
Though I may know nothing about it
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death
I will not fear, for you are ever with me
And you will never leave me to face my perils alone~ Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude
I lean not on my own understanding, my life is in the hands of the Maker of heaven.
I give it all to you, God, trusting that you’ll make something beautiful out of me.
I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open. There’s nothing I hold onto.
~ Lyrics by Will Reagan
cave series, 2
Perhaps you’ve heard the story of the novice monk who comes excitedly to meet with the master and ask to be a disciple. As he babbles on and on about his experiences and all he has learned about the spiritual life, the master patiently pours tea into the novice’s already-full cup. When the novice notices, he exclaims, “Master, stop! The cup is overflowing!” It’s the same for you, the master replies, Your cup is already full so I have nothing left to add. If you want to learn, you must first be emptied.
There’s a reason that mystics often seek solitude in the desert. I think the surrounding barrenness mirrors the inner barrenness of being completely empty. Where we let go of all we have been holding onto and “fall fearless” into the loving arms of God.
I started this series by introducing you to Elijah’s rendezvous with God in a dark, troubled season of his soul. And then I went out into my own “cave” this past week—backpacking on the Appalachian Trail—to see if I too could encounter the divine whisper. Here’s what happened.
Before I left, I felt God drop three simple but profound ideas into my heart to carry out onto the trail: emptiness, communion, and faithfulness. I figured these would become important touchpoints on my journey to the cave. I was right, although I didn’t know what significance they would have, what content God would imbue in them through the intimacy of our time in conscious quest. I’ll start with the invitation to be emptied.
It’s easy to be inspired by Paul’s description of how Jesus emptied himself to enter into the human world (what theologians call “kenosis” from Phil. 2); it’s a little more daunting to realize that Jesus’ journey was, in just about every way, paradigmatic for our own journeys. We too must empty ourselves if we want to be filled with the Spirit. Elijah must have felt more than empty when he fled into the desert: For reasons I don’t fully understand (but can appreciate), he felt like his life and ministry had been a failure, that he “was no better than his ancestors.” He felt so stripped of value and meaning that he wanted to die. It’s a pretty miserable place to be—and an absolutely necessary place for encountering God, being healed, and getting recommissioned.
My first few days on the trail were fairly miserable too. Solo packing means carrying more weight, and my pack was almost 40 pounds. Far too heavy for me, and I should have known better. When it wasn’t actually raining, the humidity hung close and dense, accompanied by mosquitos. So while it wasn’t a desert technically, it felt pretty raw. I trudged on tenaciously, knowing I was where I was supposed to be, and wishing I was anywhere else.
As I climbed through the mountains, I kept asking myself, “What does it mean to be emptied? What does it mean to let go of everything you thought you were, to let go of unfulfilled dreams, to hold your hands wide open (as Will Reagan sings) and hold onto nothing?” It is a place of detachment from the persona—the carefully crafted image we carry of who we think we are. It’s a relinquishment of the way in which we wanted our stories to be written. This kind of necessary stripping sloughs off the husks we cling to for a sense of meaning and reduces us to what is real and holy. The essential self. The self God actually created and loves fiercely.
If the story ended here, it would be a dark and ominous one; fortunately it doesn’t. Not for Elijah and not for me. But before we get to the place of communion, we must endure the dark night of the soul. Not because God is sadistic, but because we’re simply not ready to receive until we have been emptied! Just ask the novice monk. It’s that simple, and it’s that challenging. So don’t move on too quickly when things get dark; remember that you are not alone. Your soul is being sustained and stewarded through the process.
growing your soul
Are you ready to be emptied? It’s okay if you’re not. The day will come when you’re tired of running on your performance treadmill, when you realize you’re not getting where you wanted to go, where you really needed to go. And then you will ready.
serving our world
To change the world out there, we must first change the world in here.
takeaway
Be brave. Get empty.
meditation
Try this very approachable 10-minute meditation to get a feel for the grace of emptying.