Helpful clarification about what Welcoming Prayer is, and isn't, from Father Carl Arico from Contemplative Outreach:

"Just a reminder of the movements of the Welcoming Prayer - sink into and feel the sensation or inner response located in your body, welcome the Indwelling Presence, then affirm the letting go statements.

We are not being asked to let go of security, affection and control. We are being asked to let go of the desire for, the attachment to or even the addictive character that has encrusted around these natural and necessary energies."

Read more of The Welcoming Prayer and "letting go of the desire for security, affection, and control" at Contemplative Outreach.

by Jody Johnson

"I will lead you into the desert, and there I will speak to your heart." –Hosea 2:16

I've come to the desert seeking silence, or seeking to enter into it more fully. I practice contemplative prayer but, if as Thomas Keating says, twenty minutes of silence is "a brief vacation from oneself," I need an extended stay! I've been restless, anxious, caught up in the busyness of activity for too long. Like many people, I juggle half-commitments, leaving early from one event to arrive late to the next, then wonder why life feels unsatisfying.

"The desert offers timeless space to discover, engage, and wrestle with restlessness," says Father Tom Picton, director of the Desert House of Prayer in Tucson where I am retreating; "The discovery of what is on the other side of the restlessness is the quest! It requires silence, stillness, waiting, and the suffering of ‘not knowing'." This rings true for me; I long for this stillness, yet the prospect of having so much of it brings its own anxiety: "What will I do with all this time?" "What will God say to me?" "What if I discover things I don't want to know?" Worries have become my constant companions. As with guests who have overstayed their welcome, it becomes more and more awkward to ask them to leave. Or perhaps they are like old clothes I've outgrown but not yet replaced. What will be my new gear, my new habit? I can't very well walk around naked!

Some guidelines provided by the retreat center are reassuring: "Trust how you are being led. Your journey will likely open up to you as you listen for what is inviting your attention." It is about being open, aware, and receptive. The daily schedule of silent prayer periods provides the structure and practice to support this awareness. I've also brought Francis de Sales and St. Jane de Chantal to guide me on my journey. Though they never visited the desert that we know of, I feel their contemplative spirits at home here. Francis reminds me to get out of the way: "While I am seeking to find out what is God's desire, I am not employed in keeping myself close to Him in peace and in calm repose, which is certainly His present desire, since He has set me nothing else to do." Francis also gives very practical advice to gently redirect my intention (and attention) toward God throughout the day. He would have agreed with the last sentence of the guidelines in the retreat center's brochure: "Be gentle with yourself, relax, and enjoy your time away."

Jody Johnson is an oblate and formation director at Visitation Monastery in Minneapolis. She wrote her "In The Desert" series while on a two week study and prayer sabbatical. Jody also teaches contemplative practice and spiritual formation at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities. This article is cross-posted from Jody's blog, with her permission.

For In the Desert, Part 2: Out of the Stillness, click here.

by Jody Johnson

"Lord, what else hast thou said to me by placing me in this holy monastery, but 'My daughter, walk always in my presence, think of me in all thy ways, and I will direct thy steps?'" –St. Jane de Chantal

Out of the stillness, time unfurls herself before me like a red carpet, and I am royalty, the Beloved. I walk through a garden of delights. As I practice letting go of thoughts by tuning into my sensory experience, the sounds, smells, and sights of the desert open themselves to me: the lush green of the plants and trees after rain, the smell of the creosote bushes, the trill of birdsong. I observe the constant shifting of light and shadow.

"In calm all becomes sensible and my soul is desirous of experiencing even the lightest breath of Thy grace." –St. Francis de Sales

At silent meals, it is a pleasure to taste my food again. For months I've been eating hurriedly and distractedly, reading the newspaper or, worse, checking my cellphone for messages. I've come to anticipate the next bite before I've finished the one in my mouth. The Buddhists say, "When you're eating, eat." So I pause, enjoying the flavor, noting the texture, chewing fully before swallowing. When I do this, I know which kinds of food I need more of, which less of, and when to stop eating.

Could this be a way of living? Jesus says, "Yes!" "I have come that you may have life and have it abundantly." The kingdom of heaven is compared to a great banquet because it is realized through the lived, embodied experience that begins with our senses. In stillness, we open to the present moment, the only place we can meet God. There is joy. And, we can trust that, if we are fully present and anchored in God in this moment, this event, this decision, then the next will take care of itself.

Jody Johnson is an oblate and formation director at Visitation Monastery in Minneapolis. She wrote her "In The Desert" series while on a two week study and prayer sabbatical. Jody also teaches contemplative practice and spiritual formation at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities. This article is cross-posted from Jody's blog, with her permission.

For In the Desert, Part 3: Be Still and Know, click here.

by Jody Johnson

"God comes to us disguised as our lives." –Richard Rohr

Just as thoughts must be released not once, but over and over again during contemplative prayer, so our human weaknesses and flaws must be recognized, acknowledged, and surrendered again and again in our daily lives. Perhaps this is why Jesus does not say, "Lay down your cross and follow me," but "Take up your cross and follow me." The Christian path of self-renunciation and deepening interdependence with God and others is a lifelong journey. Francis de Sales knew this and counseled Jane de Chantal, against her will, to return to and embrace the circumstances of her own life. Seeking visions and "ecstasies," Jane wanted to disappear into God, but Francis proposed instead an "ecstasy of love" lived out in humble service to others. Otherwise, her faith would remain a mere abstraction or sentiment.

"In our vulnerability we break open the compassionate heart of God in others and for others." –Jody Johnson

I encounter the limits of my solitude in an unexpected way in my own particular circumstances. I've moved to an urban monastery in Phoenix, much like our own Visitation Monastery, to continue my retreat. The vibrant community life hums all around, complete with its shadow economy: an impromptu barbershop is set up on the patio of my retreat house; a neighborhood 'restaurant' springs up in someone's garage on weekends and vanishes by Monday.

My retreat house sits at a distance from the main house. I am alone, by design, and during the day the solitude is nourishing. But as darkness sets in on my first night, I feel afraid. I try to recall the day’s scenes that bespeak a tight-knit and safe community, but it is not enough. I pick up the phone and call the main house. Sister Lydia answers. I explain what is happening and ask if I can spend the night there. "Sure, come right over," she says. Still, I feel weak and stupid, lacking in faith. If Jane’s spiritual challenge was her strong will, mine is pride, a close cousin. I gather my things, walk to the house, and sheepishly ring the doorbell. I’m greeted with a warm "Come right in; I'll show you to your room." No questions asked. This simple act of hospitality is laden with compassion and mercy, and I see clearly in this moment that I am called to do the same for others.

In our vulnerability we break open the compassionate heart of God in others and for others. Giving and receiving become one as part of God’s lived life in the world. Echoing Francis de Sales’ thoughts almost four centuries later, Thomas Keating says, "A new asceticism for people of good will might be the practice of goodness; that is, just being good to everybody." I am ready to return home, to my life.

Live Jesus. Love now.

Jody Johnson is an oblate and formation director at Visitation Monastery in Minneapolis. She wrote her "In The Desert" series while on a two week study and prayer sabbatical. Jody also teaches contemplative practice and spiritual formation at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities. This article is cross-posted from Jody's blog, with her permission.