Divine Reading

At the conference I attended recently, a meeting of Catholic and Buddhist monks and nuns[1], held at the Abbey of Gethsemani, I learned about the Benedictine practice of lectio divina, in a presentation given by Sister Anne McCarthy, OSB.

First, ‘lectio’ is pronounced lexio. Believe me. I checked. All the Benedictine monks and nuns pronounce it like that, regardless of what you might find in an online dictionary. Lectio divina is translated as divine reading. It reminded me right away of a practice in Buddhism called tö-sam-gom (in Tibetan), or listening-thinking-meditating. It doesn’t line up exactly, but it definitely has some overlap. I see an explanation on Wikipedia that says, “Traditionally, Lectio Divina has four separate steps: read; meditate; pray; contemplate.” 

Some of the participants listening to a presentation.
Sister Anne is in the middle, in the red blazer.

After Sr. Anne’s presentation, with input from a couple of other participants, we divided into smaller groups and practiced lectio divina with various objects: sacred texts, icons/images, and nature. I joined the group working with a sacred text.

In our sacred texts group, the leader chose to use a poem from the Ute (Native American) tradition. She read it through out loud, three times. After the first reading, we just sat in silence afterwards for a few minutes, with no particular instruction. With the second reading, we were told to listen for a particular word or phrase that stood out, that stayed with us. We went around our little circle and spoke that word. With the third reading, we were to listen for the message that our hearts needed to hear. The sharings this time were more elaborate.

Before we went off into our little groups, Father William (also a monk) mentioned that when he prepares his sermons, “I am the first hearer of the sermon that I’m giving.” I could relate to this because I prepare classes nearly every week and an important part of the preparation is something that is a lot like this lectio divina. Sure, I have to do a certain amount of paperwork, etc., preparing handouts and slideshows, but the important part is reviewing the material and then staring off into space for a while, letting the teaching become something personal. If I skip this part, the presentation comes across as flat and empty. I have to spend time making the teaching my own so that I can speak from the heart, if not from actual realization.

Fr. William also said, when you start to hear a story or scripture that you have heard before, you tend to shut down. Read it out loud. Then it does something.

Much of the Buddhist material that I have to study and present is so thick that you just cannot read it quickly. Some of it is actually written in verse, although much of the poetry is lost in translation. Even if I just whisper the words, it gives me a chance to hear it,  and to hear it carefully.

Sometimes I try to understand each sentence or section before going on to the next, but when the material is very elusive, that just does not work. I need to just read the words and keep going.

Sr. Anne said something about lectio divina being a movement of the heart. The important thing is to listen with the heart. Traditionally, when a Benedictine monk or nun is moved by something in the reading, they might actually move their body, standing up, lifting up their arms, bowing, being still for a while, before carrying on with the reading.

Today, I took a translation of Nagarjuna’s famous set of verses on the Middle Way[2] with commentary (exegesis) by the translators, up to the meadow where I live. Now, this Thursday’s class isn’t even on this book; it’s just that I plan to introduce very generally the Buddhist philosophy of the Middle Way, i.e., emptiness and dependent arising. There is no way that I’m going to suddenly become an expert on Nagarjuna’s view today, or by Thursday, certainly not by speed-reading this book.

But I sat down on a bench in the meadow and opened the book. I read a few pages about the lack of true existence of samsara and nirvana, and of actions and their effects, then closed the book and looked at the distant view.

Here is my view.

Here is one of the sections I was reading.

(Chapter 16, verse 9)

“Being without appropriation, I shall be released; nirvana will be mine.”
For those who grasp things in this way, there is the great grasping of appropriation.

I’m all for explanations. I like it when things can be explained. I don’t like it when things don’t make sense. But the explanation isn’t everything. Even after it’s explained, it still needs to be contemplated. Or rather, I still need to give it some space, not ignoring it, but just letting it be quietly for some time. Then, when I’m not trying, I might get some inspiration about it. Or, if not, at least I gave the words a chance to wash over my mind.

I am definitely going to be reminded of lectio divina whenever I dive into the classical Buddhists texts from now on.

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[1] Gethsemani Encounter IV.

[2] Nāgārjuna’s Middle Way: Mūlamadhyamakakārikā, by Mark Siderits and Shōryū Katsura