What might it mean to say there is a “spirituality of incarceration”?
“This is the freedom Centering Prayer is going to,” says Father Thomas Keating in this 9-minute video about letting go.
Every return, every act of consent to the presence and action of the Divine, fosters detachment from stubbornly following our own path, acting from our own will. That’s the heart of the spiritual journey – consent, surrender, acceptance of what is (as Keating frequently put it, accepting all of reality, exactly as it is).
Many reading this have lived or glimpsed an awe-inspiring paradox: the freedom and transformation offered by Centering Prayer thrives within locked facilities, precisely among those who have been stripped of their freedom.
Why?
This has been a point of ongoing curiosity for me; one I’ve revisited regularly, sitting with a sense of mystery and of being incredibly and continually blessed through the simple act of saying “yes” to volunteering inside. My hypothesis is rooted in observation, accompaniment, and, if I’m honest, a certain degree of jealousy.
Every human being ultimately lacks control, but things like “success” and comfort (however we define them), often powerfully obscure recognition of our fundamental dependence – our radical contingency, the fact that we don’t bring ourselves into existence and we can’t entirely write the script.
Don’t get me wrong: we absolutely make choices, at every step along the way, and we have agency that fundamentally shapes how our lives unfold. Still, it’s only our false (“homemade”) self that claims to be in control.
The claim may be subtle or overt, it comes under many guises. I don’t know about you, but when I’m honest with myself, my experience of its grip is relentless and ubiquitous.
Most on the spiritual journey find that the dismantling of our survival strategies (emotional programs for happiness) occurs quite gradually. We can’t bring about growth. What we can do is learn to allow the desire for it to manifest in our consent… and then trust that if we get out of the way, growth will happen.
Without in any way glorifying the experience, what I’ve observed through walking with friends inside for almost 15 years is that those who have lost physical/temporal freedom in an extreme way experience a unique kind of suffering – a suffering that pierces the illusion of control.
And in that piercing lies a profound opportunity.
A recognition.
Having lost what was previously taken for granted, freedom can be recognized as gift, power as illusion.
A door can open – to radical trust. Trust in life, trust in the Universe, trust in the Divine – it’s a trust in what IS (by whatever name or no name). Trust in our precious, unalterable goodness – the goodness of waking up to a new day, the goodness of simply being.
This kind of trust comes at a price – it requires the prying open of a tight and clinging fist. The loosening of the jacket of our personality. Walking through that door takes courage. Sometimes it takes a push nobody could wish for, a hitting bottom, a prison sentence.
This spirituality of incarceration might also be accessed via a physical illness or paralysis, extreme hunger/poverty, abuse, or other types of outwardly devastating life circumstances that leave a person vulnerable, exposed, stripped and laid bare. Circumstances of loss, circumstances that invite/cajole/encourage and almost-but-not-quite force one’s hand in the direction of letting go.
And with that letting go, there’s new access to tasting the profound rest of acceptance.
Clinging to our illusions is as inherent in the human condition as is our fundamental powerlessness.
Journeying alongside friends who are living in the crucible of this spirituality of incarceration is a tremendous gift and privilege. I could never wish – for myself or others – to undergo this unique suffering, but I hope that by sharing time and proximity with those who have, I might come to apprehend some of the wisdom born through their consent.
How would you describe a spirituality of incarceration? Let us know in the comments below.