In his little book The Wisdom of the Desert, the great twentieth-century Christian monk and writer on the contemplative life, Thomas Merton, recounts an ancient story of acceptance and deep compassion:
How self-compassion helps us to love others
In his little book The Wisdom of the Desert, the great twentieth-century Christian monk and writer on the contemplative life, Thomas Merton, recounts an ancient story of acceptance and deep compassion:
Abbot Anastasius had a book written on very fine parchment which was worth eighteen pence, and had in it both the Old and New Testaments in full.
Once a certain brother came to visit him, and seeing the book made off with it. So that day when Abbot Anastasius went to read his book, and found that it was gone, he realised that the brother had taken it. But he did not send after him to inquire about it for fear that the brother might add perjury to theft.
Well, the brother went down into the nearby city in order to sell the book. And the price he asked was sixteen pence. The buyer said: Give me the book that I may find out whether it is worth that much.
With that, the buyer took the book to the holy Anastasius and said: Father, take a look at this book, please, and tell me whether you think I ought to buy it for sixteen pence. Is it worth that much? Abbot Anastasius said: Yes, it is a fine book, it is worth that much.
So, the buyer went back to the brother and said: Here is your money. I showed the book to Abbot Anastasius and he said it is a fine book and is worth at least sixteen pence.
But the brother asked: Was that all he said? Did he make any other remarks? No, said the buyer, he did not say another word. Well, said the brother, I have changed my mind and I don’t want to sell this book after all.
Then he hastened to Abbot Anastasius and begged him with tears to take back his book, but the Abbot would not accept it, saying: Go in peace, brother, I make you a present of it. But the brother said: If you do not take it back, I shall never have any peace.
After that the brother dwelt with Abbot Anastasius for the rest of his life. (1)
Anastasius accepts the brother just as he is. He is not interested in judging. His only concern is to offer a space in which healing and growth can happen.
Learning to meet ourselves with compassion
Let’s take a moment to imagine that the acceptance and compassion Anastasius offers is not directed to another person, but to a younger Anastasius. Let’s imagine that the ‘brother’ is the residue of wounds, of painful experiences, memories of decisions taken many years ago.
Jesus teaches, ‘Be compassionate, just as your Father is compassionate’ (Luke 6:36). For some, the word ‘father’ can be difficult to hear. It can bring up pain, whether from a difficult relationship with their father, or from difficult experiences of church, of clericalism, of patriarchy in general.
In a way that was extraordinary for her time, the great medieval teacher of the contemplative life, Julian of Norwich, speaks of God as ‘Mother.’ ‘As truly as God is our Father, as truly is God our Mother,’ says Julian. (2) Julian doesn’t reject the traditional language of speaking of God as Father, but radically expands it, saying that God is Mother as much as God is Father because God is love. She writes:
‘I saw three ways of beholding the motherhood in God. The first is as the ground of our created nature. The second is the taking of our human nature upon herself, and there began the motherhood of grace. The third is motherhood in working, in which there is a spreading forth of grace, of length and breadth, of height and depth without end. And all is one love.’ (3)
God as the Good Parent
Julian presents a holistic understanding – God as the Good Parent. With this in mind, we might hear Jesus saying: ‘Be compassionate, just as the Good Parent is compassionate.’ The Good Parent relates to us in a way that never causes us to doubt that their love is unconditional. Their love is humble and holds us in safety. It provides a space in which we can be honest about ourselves. We can only acknowledge what needs to be met and tended to because the love that holds and sustains us is not interested in judging us, but only in healing us and helping us grow.
Our growth involves us being children. A child can’t avoid falling over as it learns to walk. Making mistakes, ‘not-getting-it,’ is entirely natural for children. It’s to be expected. The Good Parent doesn’t judge their child, withhold their love, condemn or punish them for being a child. Our failing and falling over, our challenging and resisting, is not against our nature, but part and parcel of it. We can’t learn, grow, mature, without this.
Julian, like Jesus, tells us that God’s attitude towards us is also entirely natural. God is like the loving mother who watches over her children, feeds them, and remains patient when they struggle to understand what is best for them and those around them. Because of this, Julian sees no anger in God toward any of us.
If God meets us with such compassion, how might we learn to offer this compassion to ourselves?
Many Christians have been taught – directly or indirectly – that they should love God first, then their neighbour, and only then love themselves. Taking care of ourselves often comes last. But the Christian contemplative tradition reverses this order. By learning to love ourselves, we become better able to love one another, which is the only way to know that someone loves God. As the apostle John tells us, if we do not love each other, who we can see, we cannot love God, who we cannot see (1 John 4:20)
Learning to meet all that is present within us with silent, non-judgemental compassion, we can tend to our wounds and our pain. We can meet what we would rather not meet. We can gently loosen the knots of guilt that bind us and dissolve the constricting walls of shame that can make it so difficult to come close to others. We can learn to be compassionate, just as God the Good Parent is compassionate.
From self-compassion to compassion for others
A little while ago, someone from our practice community shared how meditation has helped them approach their relationship with their brother. They wrote:
My younger brother can be critical, negative & dramatic (especially about his health), which I understand but find difficult to maintain sympathy for (I used to be a doctor and I know he has a tendency to overreact). Since beginning a regular meditation practice, I feel that I’m learning more self-compassion. And this is slowly helping me in trying to understand why he reacts in the way he does, and to be more patient and loving towards him, to listen to his concerns in as supportive a way as I can. This is a work in progress…
Our growth is never complete. It is always ‘a work in progress.’ Our opening, our unfolding within the boundless love of God, never ends.
Abbot Anastasius manifests God the Good Parent. He doesn’t judge the brother, but accepts him just as he is. And this acceptance and compassion provide a space for healing and growth.
In meditation, we learn to meet the different aspects of ourselves with silent compassion rather than judgement. We come into the quiet spaciousness of God’s love, in which our life, our relationships, can be transformed.
This blog is based on one of the teachings given in a recent online meditation group gathering. You are warmly welcome to join one of our future gatherings.