Establishing clear rules for how the world works, and who is inside and outside of God’s sphere, is a way of coping

I have a subscription to the writings of Benedictine Oblate, Christine Valters Paintner, who has given permission to repost her writings in their entirety if desired. I repost the writing here because it speaks to the personal experience of God that has little to do with any religious corporate definitions of who God is and how one can be aware of God in one’s own very personal way.

I do not criticize what we all declare about God in our Church settings because for the most part we depend on our religiously corporate definitions to sustain our sense of community. However, there can be too much of a good thing. This in the sense that a rigid set of theologic notions might very well tempt us to a conformity way of thinking that may in fact rob us of our personal intimacy with God, with Christ and with that Spirit that is the light of our souls.

Giving Up a Too-Small God
How to let go of the God of whom you are certain and open yourself to the One who is beyond your imagining.

By Christine Valters Paintner, Patheous Progressive Christian blog
 May 01, 2012

Let mystery have its place in you; do not be always turning up your whole soil with the plowshare of self-examination, but leave a little fallow corner in your heart ready for any seed the winds may bring, and reserve a nook of shadow for the passing bird; keep a place in your heart for the unexpected guests, an altar for an unknown God.
— from Amiel’s Journal, translated by Mrs. Humphrey Ward

John Cassian, one of the ancient desert fathers, describes three renunciations he says are required of all of us on the spiritual journey.

The first is our former way of life as we move closer to our heart’s deep desires.
The second is the inner practice of asceticism and letting go of our mindless thoughts.
The third renunciation is to let go of our images of God—the idols we cling to so tightly—and to recognize that any image or pronouncement we can ever make about God is much to small to contain the divine.
Even the word “God” is problematic because it carries with it so many interpretations and limits based on our cultural understandings.

We live in an age when fundamentalism has emerged as an overwhelming force in religious consciousness. In times that are chaotic and uncertain, our human minds grasp for a sense of control. One of the ways we try to make sense of things is to engage in black and white thinking. Establishing clear rules for how the world works, and who is inside and outside of God’s sphere, is a way of coping with this felt loss of an anchor or shared cultural sense of meaning.

The via negativa or apophatic way in Christian tradition, which means the way of unknowing, demands that we talk about God only in terms of negatives, or what God is not. It helps to cleanse us of our idols. Alan Jones, in his book Soul-Making, writes, “We can only say that God is both unknowable and inexhaustible.”

Humility is required.
We are so attached to our ideas of who God is and how God works in the world. Ultimately, what the desert journey demands is that we let go of even this false idol and open ourselves to the God who is far more expansive than we can behold or imagine.

Letting go of our images of God can be terrifying.
It is often the result of an experience of suffering in our lives, when our previous understanding is no longer adequate to give meaning to what has happened to us. When my mother died suddenly in my early thirties, I was thrust into the desert. All of my certainties about God and life were stripped away and I was left raw and frightened. Many people offered trite words and shallow comfort in my grief, they were not willing to sit with me in the darkness, but only hoped to rush me through to a place of light.

This is the mystical experience of the “dark night of the soul,” when old convictions and conformities dissolve into nothingness and we are called to stand naked to the terror of the unknown. We must let the process move through us—one which is much greater than we can comprehend.

We can never force our way back to the light. It is only in this place of absolute surrender that the new possibility can emerge. We don’t just have one dark night in our lives, but again and again, as we are called to continue releasing the images we cling to so tightly.


Give up the world; give up self; finally, give up God.
Find god in rhododendrons and rocks,
passers-by, your cat.
Pare your beliefs, your absolutes.
Make it simple; make it clean.
No carry-on luggage allowed.
Examine all you have
with a loving and critical eye, then
throw away some more.
Repeat. Repeat.
Keep this and only this:
   what your heart beats loudly for
   what feels heavy and full in your gut.
There will only be one or two
things you will keep,
and they will fit lightly
in your pocket.

                                                                    Sheri Hostetler

Sheri Hostetler is a Mennonite poet whose poem “Instructions” begins, “Give up the world; give up self; finally, give up God.” Her choice of words is certainly provocative and when I have read this poem in classes and on retreats, I encounter a wide range of reactions from a visible sigh of relief to the anxious confusion over whether I am proposing a kind of atheism.

In some ways I am, at least in the way that Christian mystic Simone Weil speaks about it. She tells us that “there are two atheisms of which one is a purification of the notion of God.” This is the call of the desert elders: to let go, let go, let go, and let go some more, on every level of our lives, to everything we cling to, including, or especially our ideas about God. As soon as our human minds begin to fashion categories, we risk making idols of them.

The apophatic way isn’t the only way we should approach the spiritual journey. As creatures who understand the world through our senses, we do need images to make sense of the world. I am someone who loves the arts for what they reveal about my inner symbolic life. Without images at all, we could border on a kind of nihilism.

The complement to the apophatic way, is the kataphatic, or way of images. Both of these paths—the way of images and the way of unknowing—are necessary for each other. When we become tempted to speak with too much assurance of how God works in the world, the apophatic way calls us back to a radical kind of humility. When we seek to engage in debate about the ways of God, the way of unknowing reminds us of the grace of silence, of questions over answers.

Meister Eckhart, a 13th century Christian mystic living in Germany, describes the practice of “gelassenheit,” or non-attachment. Most contemplative traditions have a version of this concept and cultivate holding life and ideas with an open palm.

This is a Buddhist precept as well. In yoga philosophy, aparigraha means non-grasping.

We let go of how we would have life be, and welcome in the way things actually are, which includes acknowledging how little we know. Just like John of the Cross, Eckhart described God as “no-thing,” meaning that God is not an object we can possess, but a reality that is far greater than our human comprehension.

We let go of who we are certain of God to be and cultivate an openness to the One who is far beyond the horizons of our imagining. In the Book of Job, God challenges Job’s desire for understanding and asks “where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?”

God is never a set of concepts to be understood and grasped, but a relationship to encounter and engage.

In this way, the spiritual life is always a journey and in process. We do not let go once and for all, but move through the layers of clinging in our lives until we are living more from our hearts than our minds. We do not arrive, but travel toward the horizon, realizing that it is always receding from our view.

Christine Valters Paintner, Ph.D., is a Benedictine Oblate and the online Abbess of Abbey of the Arts, a virtual monastery offering online classes and resources in contemplative practice and creative expression. She is the author of several books, including her upcoming Desert Fathers and Mothers: Early Christian Wisdom Sayings (SkyLight Paths) and The Artist’s Rule: Nurturing Your Creative Soul with Monastic Wisdom (Ave Maria Press).

Author: Arthur Ruger

Married and in a wonderful relationship. Retired Social Worker, Veteran, writer, author, blogger, musician,. Lives in Coeur D' Alene, Idaho

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: