Grace and the Effort That Is Ours

I am interested in a subtle risk within spiritual life: we can speak so fully of what God is doing in us that we lose sight of what is being asked of us. Grace may be understood as a presence that supports and transforms us. Yet if we begin to wait for that transformation while neglecting the practice through which we participate, our understanding of grace can weaken the very effort our spiritual life requires.

For me, acknowledging the Holy Spirit’s work within us can go together with taking responsibility for our participation. The presence we open ourselves to has consequences for how we live. My concern begins when trust in divine action allows our own involvement to become less clear. We may sincerely desire to be changed while giving less attention to the habits, choices, and repeated efforts through which we respond.

My Buddhist practice helps me recognize what is being asked here. In the Buddha’s description of the path, right effort involves preventing unskillful qualities from arising, abandoning those already present, developing skillful qualities, and sustaining those that have arisen. Alongside right mindfulness, concentration, and speech, it gives us something to undertake in the experience we are having. We can examine what we are encouraging and what we need to stop feeding. An Analysis of the Path, SN 45:8

A wish for greater compassion has consequences for what I repeatedly attend to and how I respond to irritation. If I keep rehearsing a grievance, that too is a form of participation. I can notice what I am doing and gradually change my relationship to it. Trusting in transformation includes attending to these connections. There is work available to me even when I cannot see how the larger process will unfold.

The Catholic contemplative tradition speaks strongly to this question. Its writers understand human effort within grace, and they repeatedly describe the participation required of the practitioner. Christian and Buddhist teachings have distinct understandings of spiritual life. Reading them together, I find that their practical attention to cultivation helps me examine how faithfully I am living what I profess.

Ignatius of Loyola defines spiritual exercises to include “every way of preparing and disposing the soul to rid itself of all the disordered tendencies”. Preparation and the examination of habit are built into the undertaking. Spiritual Exercises, First Annotation. John of the Cross gives this work a direction: “let him have an habitual desire to imitate Christ in everything that he does”. He is discussing active preparation, while also recognizing purification that he attributes to God. The practitioner still has a life to examine and conduct to change. Ascent of Mount Carmel, I.13.3

Devotion can give this effort a loving direction. Desire gathers around an example of how to live and a presence to which we return. Bernard of Clairvaux describes growth in love through “meditating on God, reading God’s Word, praying and obeying His commandments”. Within his account of grace, love develops through engagement. Devotion can sustain attention and effort when it reaches into what we actually do. I want to remain attentive to whether my own understanding of grace encourages that engagement. On Loving God, XV

Catherine of Siena describes Christ as a bridge whose steps involve a transformation of the person: “the soul strips herself of vice; on the second she fills herself with love and virtue”. There is both relinquishment and cultivation in this image. The Dialogue, XXVI. Catherine of Genoa makes the responsibility that accompanies trust explicit. Addressing living readers in her Treatise on Purgatory, she warns: “His mercy ought to constrain you to do all His Will, and not encourage you to do evil.” Mercy asks something of the person who receives it. Confidence in divine goodness can deepen our care about how we live. Treatise on Purgatory, XV

That care becomes concrete in ordinary encounters. If resentment is growing, I can notice the thoughts that sustain it. If I am about to speak harshly, I can pause. Francis de Sales brings meditation directly into such situations: “You must then diligently endeavour to carry out your resolutions, and seek for all opportunities, great or small.” His example is meeting opposition with gentleness. Prayer finds expression in attending to the person in front of me and choosing my response. Right speech gives me a useful way to recognize the same immediate responsibility in Buddhist practice. Introduction to the Devout Life, II.8

The work continues when practice feels unrewarding. Bernard tells those experiencing weariness, “do not on that account lose confidence or desist from your application to spiritual things.” His surrounding explanation speaks of divine assistance being given and withdrawn, and he urges his hearers to seek the Spirit’s help. I take particular care with how I understand that language. A change in feeling can easily become a sense of abandonment. Bernard’s instruction to continue practising keeps participation in view through the difficulty. Sermons on the Canticle of Canticles, XXI

Pleasurable experience also asks for attention. Joy can be received gratefully while we notice the wish to cling to it. Difficulty can be acknowledged while we notice resistance and consider what needs care. The practice belongs to both. Acceptance gives effort a clearer starting point and may lead to changing a harmful situation, asking for help, or resting. Our capacity is conditioned, and effort cannot guarantee a particular feeling. An absence of joy need not be a sign of spiritual failure or of God’s absence.

Teresa of Ávila keeps participation central even in the final mansion of the Interior Castle: “When we do all we can, His Majesty will enable us to do more every day.” Her immediate concern includes loving service to the people nearby. Divine help and the work we can undertake belong together in her account. Advanced contemplation continues to express itself in the way a person lives. Interior Castle, VII.IV.23

Edith Stein holds activity and receptivity together in her account of becoming like Christ. She describes the demand upon the person as “that he both make himself and allow himself to be made into an image”, with Christ as the image’s model. I find that pairing useful. Receptivity includes a willingness to be changed, taught, and helped while we remain engaged in the work. Allowing transformation and participating in it can be understood together. The Science of the Cross, introduction, as quoted by Notre Dame’s Church Life Journal

This is the relationship I want to keep in view: grace can support and transform us while asking for our full participation. If our understanding of divine action leads us to neglect that participation, it deserves examination. Right effort brings me back to what is possible now, through ease and difficulty alike. I can return my attention, reconsider a reaction, and act with greater care. In the presence of grace, the effort that is ours remains ours to make.