I recently began the practice of Lectio Divina, an ancient form of Christian prayer. As described by my spiritual director, it comprises four phases, or “moments:” reading, meditation, affective prayer, and contemplative prayer (lectio, meditatio, oratio, and contemplatio). In it, one reads and reflects on Scripture to prepare one for the gift of the presence of God.

Lectio

Although many people who practice this will work their way through a particular book of the Bible, I like to use the Scripture selections prescribed in the Daily Lectionary of the Episcopal Church, which was my spiritual home for 25 years until my conviction as a Quaker last year. I read until a verse “jumps out” at me, then stop and move into meditation.

Today I didn’t get past the first reading: Psalm 78: 1-39, and, in fact, it was the second half of verse 19 that stopped me, in the section describing the hard-heartedness of the people of Ephraim (vv. 18-19):

They tested God in their heart
by demanding the food they craved.
They spoke against God, saying,
“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Meditatio

The form of meditation my director recommended was simply to repeat the verse that spoke to me with different emphases, to see how the meaning changes, and what questions and emotions come up for me. Some were more compelling than others, of course, and what follows is a bare outline of the meditation.

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Do I really believe that God can provide for me even in dry periods, like now?

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Do I expect someone or something else to do so? Who or what might that be? Have I set up an idol in some way?

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Here the word “spread” connotes abundance to me. Do I expect no more than a withered prickly-pear, rather than a banquet? In the wilderness of Exodus, God sent the Israelites manna and quail, the latter to a depth of two cubits all around their camp (Ex. 16:13-31, Num. 11:31). Do I expect less?

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Abundance again, and faithfulness. Do I believe he will do it again and again?

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Do I believe it will come in a form I can recognize? Am I willing to look for it?

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Do I believe that it will be where I am, where I need it?

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

I didn’t much care for what came up for this. “You mean there’s more than one?”

“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?”

Am I afraid that while God is there in the good times, he’s not there in the bad times?

Oratio

In the next phase, one moves into affective prayer, trying to be present with the questions and emotions that one has discerned. The Wikipedia article describes this moment well: “This is not primarily an intellectual exercise, but more of the beginning of a conversation with God.”

Contemplatio

Finally, one comes to the phase that most Quakers will feel most at home with: contemplative prayer. I am learning this as taught by Thomas Keating, who calls it “centering prayer.” Its form is simple, its practice far from easy, especially at first.

1) Get comfortable, in a place free of distraction.

2) Form the intent to consent to the presence and action of God.

3) As thoughts come up, don’t suppress them, but simply let them pass through your mind. Keating uses the simile of standing on the banks of a river, watching the boats go by. If you find yourself climbing into a boat to rummage through the hold, step back onto the bank. To do so, use a “holy word” you have selected beforehand, preferably one syllable, and not freighted with meaning. It’s simply a way to return to the center, to remind yourself of your intention of consent.

4) Most important, if something comes up, let it pass as well! Keating makes the point that any spiritual illumination has already done its work the moment you become aware of it. Chewing on it will only distract you: if you need to remember it, you will. If feelings come up, observe and let go.

He recommends that one practice centering prayer twice a day for twenty minutes each time. I can only manage fifteen minutes once a day right now (not always preceded by the other three phases), but even so, I find it rewarding.

Finally, I find that doing lectio divina as an introduction to Meeting for Worship is a wonderful way to center down. I imagine that one could use a similar process no matter what one’s faith tradition is.

What spiritual practice brings you into the Light?