Author Cassidy Hall describes the solidarity she feels with other contemplatives who continue to explore new ways of understanding themselves, their lives, and God.
We may word things differently, but this perpetual search to know the unknowable is a familiar feeling for many contemplatives. We have an almost ravenous hunger, or some might say a palpable thirst, or a seemingly aimless dull ache that thrums through us. The ache reminds us we are in touch with the suffering of the whole world. All contemplatives, no matter their religion or spirituality, seem to have this in common, and recognizing this makes me feel less alone.
The contemplative life is not a way of knowing. It is not the path of certitude. In fact, that’s what makes it so alive, so necessarily active. Our glimpses of “arrival” along the way are places we can catch our breath and recall we are moving in the right direction, even if it’s only because it’s exactly where we are. Those times, we remember that the way is not meant to be easy, simple, or comfortable. But these moments only last for a flash in the midst of life because, as the Rev. Dr. Walter Fluker reminds us, “Life will keep going because life itself is alive.” [1]…
These instances are only signposts along the way, affirming us on the lifelong journey of contemplation—this living, breathing, growing journey. Even though we know the search will never end, the hunt continues. In fact, … [Thomas Merton] concluded his best-selling spiritual memoir The Seven Storey Mountain by writing in Latin, “Sit finis libri, non finis quaerendi,” meaning, “Here ends the book, but not the searching.” [2]
To live within the contemplative tradition is not only to keep searching. It is also an invitation to evolve within and alongside it. We are asked to engage with and deepen into the roots of its origins, while also being called to live into what it looks like in our ever-changing world. The contemplative path must grow in order for us to continue on, in order for us to be alive in the living, growing, and breathing tradition.
Hall’s quest led her to the wide and evolving lineage of Christian contemplation—from Thomas Merton’s writings to the wisdom of the desert fathers and mothers, to the work of Dr. Barbara Holmes.
We come from all walks of life, cultures, and markers of identity. There is a unity in our uniqueness, and that common thread binds us together, allowing us to recognize each other…. As I learned from more diverse voices, I came to understand Christian contemplation as a living tradition. The word living insinuates an ongoing, even growing nature. Life necessitates space, breathing room, and an openness to change. That which is living cannot exist in a place of complete certitude—to do so would be to count it dead: not continuing, not evolving, not ever-becoming. In this way, contemplation is its own spiritual paradox, one of tradition and change, stillness and action.
References:
[1] Walter Fluker, “Jesus and the Disinherited,” Essentials of Engaged Contemplation, Center for Action and Contemplation, August 2024.
[2] Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain, 50th anniv. ed. (Harcourt Brace, 1998), 462.
Cassidy Hall, “Queering the Living Tradition,” ONEING 13, no. 2, A Living Tradition (2025): 38, 39, 40. Available in print and PDF download.
Image credit and inspiration: Jesús Boscán, untitled (detail), 2021, photo, Venezuela, Unsplash. Click here to enlarge image. Movement, like blood through our veins, carries us deeper into the mystery of God—ever flowing, expanding, and reshaping our understanding as we learn and embody the teachings—just like a living Christianity.
Story from Our Community:
I am one of the many people who have been seriously injured by mainstream religion. My journey into the wilderness outside my faith community has been even more painful than the original wound. Father Richard’s words have been a healing balm to my soul. His teachings have allowed me to cling to a single thread of faith in God. As I write these words, my keyboard is drenched with tears of relief and gratitude. I can now contemplate a reconstruction of sorts. There’s no building plan in sight, much to the disappointment of this recovering perfectionist and people-pleaser, but that seems to be entirely the point.
—Jessica M.
