A seasoned yoga teacher was describing a new teacher: “he’s a natural. He doesn’t use that weird teacher voice.”
The same could be said for Henri Nouwen, who died 30 years ago, but whose voice and influence still resonate. A rarity when his books began to appear in the 70s, he never claims clerical privilege or uses that abstract, pontifical voice. Anyone genuinely seeking a healthy spirituality runs screaming from Pronouncements. But Henry saw himself and his readers as feeble, beloved. When we recognize ourselves in this “fellowship of the broken,” we sit up and pay attention.
Although his life was that of a traditional ordained priest, he never passes on the platitudes nor relies on the comfortable pieties. We read him because he still startles, challenges, reassures. In whatever situation we’re in, he consoles, “seek signs of hope and promise.” Of all his books, my favorites are Return of the Prodigal Son and Life of the Beloved. Now I start each day with a brief, free meditation excerpted from Nouwen’s work–https://www.henrinouwen.org/daily-meditations
One of Nouwen’s most striking themes is his own woundedness. He is boldly honest about his physical and mental health concerns, his craving for approval, his injuries and breakdowns. His view of God as a welcoming home was rare for his time. In contrast to the prevailing thought that we had to earn nearness to God by not sinning, Jesus freely gives “a union [with God] so total and full, there’s not the slightest place for the experience of absence or separation.”
It is impossible to cover work of such depth and breadth in a small space, so maybe a few quotations will serve as invitation to explore further.
Lord, you want to keep me, hold onto me, fight for me, protect me, help me, support me, comfort me, and present me to your Father. It is indeed your divine task not to lose me!
Fear or despair is not of God.
Prayer is the experience of knowing that God is the source of everything we claim as our own. Rather than prayer being drudgery or obligation, it’s “a great adventure, because God defies all our calculations and predictions.”
“I can let the experience of belonging to God be the place from which I can live the human pain of homelessness and estrangement.”
God molds us as the sculptor molds the clay. Our response is a careful attentiveness to the loving hands on our shoulders, sculpting and guiding.
Jesus’ ministry sprang “from his deep experience of being unconditionally loved and was in no way motivated by a personal need for affirmation and acceptance.”
We’re “at Home while still on the way.”
Happy Feast, Henri. Welcome home.
Kathy Coffey 