I have found myself returning to a question that seems simple at first: When does meditation become contemplation?
For Secular Franciscans, this is not merely an interesting spiritual question. It goes to the heart of Rule 8, which reminds us that, because Jesus was the true worshipper of the Father, prayer and contemplation should be the soul of all we are and do. The Rule therefore calls us beyond setting aside occasional moments for prayer. It invites us to let prayer mature into a way of seeing, receiving and responding to God’s presence in every part of life.
Meditation is often where this journey begins. We read Scripture, reflect upon the life of Francis, listen to music, consider a spiritual question, or become consciously aware of God’s presence. The mind remains active. We think, remember, imagine and respond.
Meditation can gradually lead us toward contemplation when active reflection gives way to receptive presence. We may reach a point at which we are no longer trying to produce a spiritual insight or accomplish a particular result. Words become less necessary. Silence no longer seems like an empty space that needs to be filled. We simply remain present before God.
This movement matters because contemplation is not an escape from our vocation in the world. It deepens the way we inhabit that world. As meditation opens us to God’s presence, contemplation teaches us to receive that presence with greater stillness and to recognize it in people, creation, suffering, fraternity and the ordinary circumstances of life. For Secular Franciscans, prayer and contemplation can thus become not an isolated practice, but the soul of all we are and do.
This understanding has increasingly influenced the music I create. When preparing contemplative music for Franciscan gatherings, including our ARG conferences, I have deliberately sought long, slowly evolving musical environments without unnecessary rhythmic or melodic activity. The purpose is not entertainment, nor is it simply to have people listen attentively to a composition.
Instead, I have begun to ask: What if the medium itself becomes an environment for prayer?
That question changes my understanding of what the music is meant to accomplish. Perhaps successful contemplative music eventually allows us to stop consciously listening to it. The music remains present, but our attention moves somewhere deeper.
Yet another question follows: Can we actually create contemplation?
I don’t believe we can. Contemplation is not something we manufacture through the correct music, words or technique. What we can do is create conditions favorable to stillness, attentiveness and receptivity—and then allow God to do what we cannot.
Francis understood something about this kind of presence. He encountered God not only in formal prayer but in people, creation, suffering, fraternity and the ordinary circumstances of life. Brother Sun, Sister Moon, water and earth became more than objects surrounding him. They became occasions for recognizing the presence and goodness of God.
This is particularly important for Secular Franciscans because we do not ordinarily seek God by withdrawing permanently from everyday life. Our Franciscan vocation is lived within it.
That vocation also leads me to a more personal question: What is God asking me to do with the gift of music I have been given?
Increasingly, I suspect the answer has less to do with being heard and more to do with helping others listen.
Meditation may bring us to the doorway. Contemplation invites us to become quiet enough to enter. Music may help prepare that space, but it cannot make us cross the threshold.
The deeper challenge of Rule 8 is that we must carry this contemplative presence beyond our moments of prayer—until prayer and contemplation truly begin to become the soul of all we are and do.
Pax et Bonum,
Brother John Edgar
Fraternity of the Stigmata of Saint Francis