Seeking Fuller Life and Spirit in the New Year

My spiritual director, Sr. Micaela Randolph, recently gave me some very helpful reading material: the chapter entitled “A Spirituality of the Paschal Mystery” from Ronald Rolheiser’s book The Holy Longing. In this chapter, Rolheiser speaks of how “in order to come to fuller life and spirit, we must constantly be letting go of present life and spirit.” It is a great art to let go of what is known and safe and move into the new with an open heart. Seeing others practice this art can be a source of encouragement to us.

In my own family, I have been inspired by the example of my Aunt Jane, who, after becoming widowed and at the age of 90 years, graciously left her house of 54 years and her church community to move across the state to an assisted living facility near the town where her daughter lives. She was able to look forward to a fuller life and spirit that included spending more time with several of her grandchildren, relinquishing worrisome house maintenance, and having someone else cook her meals for the first time since her childhood.

No matter how old we are, we are invited to enter into the paschal mystery of transformation that includes suffering and death and the reception of both new life and new spirit. Anticipating the start of a new year is a good time to nudge ourselves to cease clinging to what has been so we can receive a new spirit for the life we are now living. Most recently for me, this took the form of giving the car I used in my pre-Mount life to my nephew, who himself is engaged in the paschal mystery of leaving his current job and community to seek a fuller life elsewhere. As a new year begins, may we all support each other no matter where we are in our stages of transformation.

Saying Farewell to My Car

When I joined the Mount I entered into a new life, which has required letting go of my old life. However, that letting go is a process, and I’ve reached another important milestone, because tomorrow I’m handing off my car to my nephew.

I have had my own car since I graduated from college in 1984. My dad helped me pick out every car I’ve owned, including the current one, which I bought in 2002, the year before he died of cancer. Thus, in addition to being a symbol of independence and freedom, my car is a connection to my father that I now need to relinquish. Thirteen years after his death, the grieving continues. Yet it is good to grieve, so I can embrace the fullness of life of a woman whose father has died, and who now lives in a community where the expenses, responsibilities, and privileges associated with car ownership are shared.

As with everything I’ve let go of thus far in my transition to the Mount, I have found that it helps to be grateful for how my material goods have blessed me, and pray that they may now be a blessing to others. My 2000 Toyota Corolla has been a dependable companion through my years at Shantivanam, Lawrence, and Leavenworth, and during that time it carried me safely on innumerable trips to my home away from home, St. Louis. Although the odometer now stands at around 168,000 miles, I hope it will continue to serve my nephew well in Elkhart, Indiana, and wherever his path may lead. 

The Greatest Force the World Possesses

Sometimes when a child is born, we look in its eyes and say that it must be an “old soul” because of the wisdom we see there. Imagine what it would have been like to look into the eyes of the infant Jesus, the oldest soul of all, who was with God from the beginning of time!

Christ came to us as a human so we might know God, and yet, by becoming human, it stands to reason that Christ came to know us more intimately as well. Now he knew what it felt like to be human, to be pushed out of a warm womb into a cold world, to be hungry, to be soothed by a mother’s lullaby. The fact that we have a God who knows what it is like to feel pain and betrayal, as well as friendship and tenderness, binds us together more closely than in our former relationship of Creator and created.

By taking on our flesh, Christ proved what Gandhi observed: “Love is the strongest force the world possesses, and yet it is the humblest imaginable.” In the midst of the great challenges of our day, we need to follow the example of our God and counter intolerance, greed, and indifference with humble acts of love, trusting in the one force that cannot be overcome.

The Work of Christmas

We think of Advent as a time when we prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus and wait for his second coming. He said he would return, after all…what’s taking him so long? Someone once suggested to me that we are still waiting because God is merciful and thus is giving us every opportunity to repent of our self-centered ways and choose instead to participate in the life of God. Thus it is not just we who are waiting for God, but God who is waiting for us!

In his book “Praying the Truth,” William Barry says, “God humbly waits for us to pay attention; God is looking at us, waiting for us to look back.” All our preparations for Christmas—practicing music and readings for our liturgies, decorating, cooking—are really tools to help us to pay attention to God, who is already in our midst and asks us to participate in the work of the Messiah. In the words of Howard Thurman, this is the work of Christmas:

To find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.

Let’s not keep God waiting. We have work to do.

The Best Season of Your Life

Today is the winter solstice, which brings us the longest night of the year and the beginning of the winter season. Many people view winter as an inconvenient stepping stone to spring, including the poet Percy Bysshe Shelly, who asked, “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” In their view, the elimination of winter would improve our lives. However, it is important to attend to the wisdom of the Taoist tradition, which holds that the world in all its mystery and difficulty cannot be improved upon, only experienced. Consider the following meditation by Japanese monk Wumen Huikai:

Ten thousand flowers in spring,

the moon in autumn,

a cool breeze in summer,

snow in winter. 

If your mind isn’t clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life.

Wishing it were spring is certainly one of the unnecessary things that keeps winter from being the best season of our lives. God gives us winter for a reason, as noted by Christine Valters Paintner: “The God of winter invites me into a healing rhythm of rest and renewal, of deep listening in the midst of stillness, of trusting the seeds sprouting deep within that have been planted.”

After the winter solstice, we in the Northern hemisphere will start having a bit more light at the end of each day, and thus it is a particularly appropriate time to celebrate the birth of Christ, the Light of the World. However, after the Christmas festivities have come to an end, I look forward to enjoying God’s gift of this season of rest and renewal, of deep listening in the midst of winter stillness.

Viewing Christmas Cards With the Eyes of Advent

Every year I put off writing my Christmas cards because it seems like such a formidable task. The more life history I acquire, the longer my Christmas card list grows; it now includes family, friends from school days and numerous former workplaces, Shantivanam colleagues, friends from my former parish community in St. Louis, and several inmates who were once part of the Bethany group at Lansing Correctional Facility.

When I view Christmas cards with the eyes of Advent, however, they become more than a task to be checked off a list. Sending Christmas greetings is one way Christ “leads us to one another,” as we sang at mass this morning. It provides an opportunity to rejoice in the many companions who have walked with me throughout my life and to hold in prayer those I need to cross off my list because they died in the past year. It also provides an excuse to slow down in these often hectic days of preparation and reflect on the happenings of the past year as I write notes in my cards. Given the events of 2016—my pilgrimage to Wales, packing up my house, and entering Mount St. Scholastica as a postulant—I have plenty to write about in my cards this year!

As we draw closer to the celebration of Christmas, the Mount mail cart brims each day with the Good News being sent from Atchison to all the world. This year I’m grateful to add my cards to the pile.

Rejoice and Be Glad

As I explained in my final Psalms class this week, Psalm 16 is my current favorite for a number of reasons, with the final lines providing a wonderful Advent anthem: “You show me the road to life: boundless joy at your side forever!” Advent is a joyful time, as reflected in many of the Scripture passages we read and chant during this season of anticipation. Just this morning, our Invitatory chant observed, “The heart that hears good news will be full of joy,” and the Benedictus antiphon proclaimed, “Rejoice and be glad; your Savior is near.”

That spirit of joyfulness is spilling over at the Mount, especially in the decking of halls and walls, windows and work spaces, nooks and niches, creches and crevices … you’d best not stand still too long, or you’ll end up with a belt of garland around your waist or tinsel in your hair! Every day a new wreath or string of popcorn or poinsettia mysteriously appears to awaken our senses and instill a spirit of gladness that Emmanuel, God with us, shows us the road to life and is at our side forever.

Even so, Advent continues to be a time of waiting. Although every branch of the tree in our dining room is festooned with ornaments, the lights that will really make it sparkle won’t be turned on until Christmas eve. For another week, we will pray, “Give light to those who sit in darkness, and guide our feet into the way of peace.” In the midst of our festive preparations, we—and our Christmas tree—recall the ancient Advent message: “The coming of the Lord is near. Stand firm and wait for him in patience.”

Balancing Service and Solitude

In the past several community life meetings at the Mount, we have been discussing how to balance our needs for quiet spaces and privacy with our desire to be hospitable to our guests. This holy tension feels very familiar to me, because we grappled with the same issue when I was on the staff at Shantivanam House of Prayer. However, I believe it is a concern of all Christians who recognize the call to serve and yet need time for personal prayer and re-creation. Although Jesus called us to serve one another, he also showed us how to stay healthy while doing so, for he himself sought solitude at times and enjoyed getaways to Bethany to be with his friends.

My reflection about reconciling the pull of relationship and the desire for solitude led me to write the following poem. As you will see, God has the final say in the matter.

                                          Quantum Theology

                                          Quarks demonstrate in a compelling and exquisite way

                                                   that life in our universe thrives not on isolationism

                                                   but on the capacity to relate.—Diamuid O'Murchu

                                          All I want to do is live by myself

                                          in a cabin in the woods

                                          in exquisite silence,

                                          yet the subatomic particles

                                          that make up my body

                                          and the entire universe

                                          insist on grouping

                                          in twos and threes,

                                          echoing the Creator

                                          whose essence is

                                          revealed in relationship,

                                          so like the desert fathers

                                          and mothers I resign myself

                                          to living in community—

                                          but at least we have a lake

                                          house, a retreat for

                                          the would-be hermits

                                          whose dreams of solitude

                                          are dashed by quantum

                                          physics and a God who loves.

Knocking at the Monastery Door

Every day at the beginning of morning prayer at the Mount, the prioress reads aloud a portion of the Rule of St. Benedict. Yesterday, she read from Chapter 58 about the procedure for receiving new members. It is noted that newcomers should not be granted an easy entry to the monastic life; they must knock at the door four to five days to show patience before being granted entry, then spend two months in the novitiate, “be clearly told all the hardships and difficulties that will lead to God,” listen to the Rule read in its entirety, “again be thoroughly tested in all patience” for another six months, listen to the Rule again, wait another four months, and listen to the Rule yet again before being received as a member of the community, which entails prostrating oneself at the feet of each monk to ask her prayers. My initial response to hearing this reading was, “I’m out of here!”

Fortunately, I did not have to stand outside the front door of the Mount and knock for four to five days before being admitted as a postulant. However, I did enter into a lengthy period of discernment and completed an extensive application process, thus entering the training ground of listening, patience, and humility required for life in community.

On Saturday evening, we ritually welcomed a new member to the Mount—Sr. Patricia Gamgort, who transferred her vows from another monastery. Although Sr. Patricia has been a Benedictine for 60 years, she too underwent a period of discernment and waiting before officially becoming a member of Mt. St. Scholastica. Making any type of vowed commitment is not to be done lightly and is cause for great celebration. I’m grateful for Sr. Patricia’s witness to the value of continually being formed. As someone just starting on the monastic path, I’m also encouraged to see the fruits of listening, patience, and humility that come from faithfully following the Benedictine way of life.

Advent's Flow

Life requires water. We all know this; at some point in science class, we learned that the average adult human body is 50% to 65% water (averaging around 57% to 60%), and that we can only live about three to four days—a week, tops—without drinking water. It is no wonder that in the earliest myths of humans, creation comes out of the waters.

However, as with everything, too much water isn’t a good thing. In Genesis 1, we learn that waters covered the earth, and God had to gather the water under the sky into a basin so that dry land could appear. At present, about 71% of earth’s surface is covered by water.

I've been thinking about this need for moderation, even when it comes to that which brings life, during Advent. At the Mount, activities abound as we prepare to celebrate the Nativity—cookie baking, decorating, community outreach projects, special dinners for employees and volunteers, and outings with our living groups, for example. On the other hand, Advent calls us to “be still and know that I am God.” It seems like an ideal time to practice moderation in all things, because with too much activity, we can become overtired and lose our center, yet with too much prayer, we can miss out on opportunities to encounter Christ in others.

Just as some people’s bodies are 50% water and others are 65% water, we each need to find our own ideal ratio of Advent action and contemplation. Most importantly, whether we are baking or decorating, chanting or meditating on Advent texts, may we invite Christ, the water of life, to flow through our prayer and service.

Singing a New Song

In my Psalms class these past several months, I’ve learned that the psalmists use repetition when they want to emphasize an important point. For example, many of the psalms repeatedly insist that we “sing a new song unto the Lord.” Clearly it’s important that the song we sing be new, but why? We already have a great many perfectly good songs—why not sing them?

As Sr. Mary Irene pointed out, perhaps the psalmists are continually prompting us to sing new songs because God is continually working new wonders in our lives. Every day, then, calls for a new song because every day brings a new reason to praise and thank God. If on any particular day we don’t see a reason to sing a new song, it’s not that God hasn’t done anything new but that we don’t have the eyes to see it. As Tecumseh said, “When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food, and the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies with yourself.”

Although old beloved songs will always have a place in our liturgies because they are beautiful and link us to our tradition, the use of new music is a sign of a thriving community. This week at the Mount we are learning a new hymn because on Saturday night, we will ritualize the official transfer of Sr. Patricia Gamgort to our monastic community. Life will now be different for Sr. Patricia, and for us, and so we sing a new song. Thanks be to God, who continually calls us to new life in the Spirit!

The Heart of Advent

Today is my 4-month anniversary at the Mount. Combined with the previous affiliate year, it’s been a time of intense introspection and discernment. Although the process has been good and necessary, it also feels like I’m dwelling too much on my own needs, thoughts, desires, and struggles to the exclusion of being attentive to others. When I confessed this self-absorption at our reconciliation service last Thursday, Fr. Benjamin offered a useful image: the need to enlarge my heart.

The entire season of Advent is really about enlarging our hearts to grasp the concept that God did not come to us as we would expect, as a mighty warrior in a blaze of glory and retribution, but as a human born in impoverished circumstances who would shortly, with his parents, flee violence and become a refugee for a time. After a lifetime of keeping Advent, for me, anyway, it seems I need to keep asking: Is my heart big enough to see Christ in the poor, in immigrants, in all those who challenge my narrow perceptions of who God is and where God dwells?

Each year Advent provides the opportunity to measure the size of our hearts and engage in a “cardio” program to strengthen our spiritual heart health. By the dawning of Christmas day, may we—like Dr. Seuss’ Grinch, who learned that Christmas is much more than decorating with fliffer bloofs and buying electro whocarnio flooks and eating roast beast—find that our heart has grown into a more expansive understanding of Emmanuel, God with us.

The Advent of a Cold

Advent is a great liturgical season for introverts, with its introspective music and call to go within to prepare one’s heart to celebrate the coming of Christ into the world. That’s probably why it has always been the liturgical season that speaks most deeply to me. I was especially looking forward to my first Advent at the Mount because of the richness of the music and prayer here. Imagine my dismay, then, when I became afflicted with a cold on the first Sunday of Advent!

I am particularly feeling the temporary loss of my ability to sing and chant because of my cold. Silent prayer just doesn’t seem to resonate as deeply as prayer that is intoned. As I learned in Sr. Mary Irene’s Psalms class, the Hebrew word for “soul” that is often used in the psalms is “nephesh,” which is also translated as “throat.” When our throat closes up, we lose the ability to breathe and to praise/beseech God, and so the throat is directly related to the soul. Therefore, it appears that this first week of Advent I should be directing my prayers to St. Blaise of Sebaste, protector of throats!

The other loss I am feeling because of my cold is the ability to extend the sign of peace to others at mass. I was especially feeling bad about that when we had mass at the Catholic Callout at the prison Wednesday night; however, one of the inmates took the initiative to bump elbows with me instead of shaking hands, which allowed us to extend peace to each other without exchanging germs. The Spirit is certainly ingenious when it comes to generating peace and connections between people.

Ultimately, having a cold this first week of Advent has provided its own lessons. It has heightened my appreciation for the gifts of my voice and of being with people who value connecting with each other and living in peace. It has prompted me to practice stillness, which is an Advent call that is often difficult to implement. Truly, “all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to God’s purpose”—even when it comes to having a head cold.

My Soul in Stillness Waits

This morning I am covering the reception desk at Sophia Center for a couple of hours. It should be quiet, because the retreatants are here for “Coffee and Silence”—a time to withdraw from the busyness of the world and enjoy contemplative silence.

Taking time for silent prayer is especially appropriate during Advent, when we are called to “Be still and know that I am God.” Being a Christian calls us to a counter-cultural way of life, and thus we can basically ensure we are on the right path by doing the opposite of what we see going on in society—hence, in the midst of the noise of nonstop advertising and Christmas music that begins playing the day after Halloween, we can choose to carve out time for silence and prayer.

In stillness, we learn that God is God and we are not, which fosters humility and the joy of being in right relationship with God. Then our hearts are prepared to absorb the awesome gift we celebrate during the season of Christmas—the coming of Emmanuel, God with us, into our world. Out of silence, the Word became flesh—and today, silence continues to be necessary as we prepare to encounter Christ.

Tuning our Spirit to the Music of Heaven

The life of St. Brendan the Navigator is instructive as we begin the season of Advent. St. Brendan is known for undertaking a seven-year-long journey across the sea to find “the place of his resurrection.” The following prayer, attributed to him, could help guide us through our Advent journey:

Help me to journey beyond the familiar
and into the unknown.
Give me the faith to leave old ways
and break fresh ground with You.

Christ of the mysteries, I trust You
to be stronger than each storm within me.
I will trust in the darkness and know
that my times, even now, are in Your hand.
Tune my spirit to the music of heaven,
and somehow, make my obedience count for You. 

During Advent, those of us who pray at the Mount have the opportunity to tune our spirits to the music of heaven with beautiful songs and chants. For example, at evening prayer on Saturday, the vigil of the first Sunday of Advent, we carried four candles in solemn procession from the four corners of the chapel and placed them in our Advent wreath as we sang, “Lord, let us turn to you; let us see your face and we shall be saved.” Our four-week-long Advent journey of stillness and prayer, repentance and waiting, has begun. At its conclusion we shall celebrate with renewed wonder the marvel of seeing God’s face in a manger in Bethlehem, the starting point of our onward journey with Jesus to the place of our resurrection.

Transitioning from the Harvest Season to Advent

Since I came to the Mount on August 5, we have been in harvest mode—first green beans, then squash and cucumbers, followed by popcorn and walnuts, and finally pecans. As the trees shake off the last lingering pecans, I find myself feeling sad that soon we will be in the earth’s fallow cycle, with no more harvesting on the horizon until the spring garden yields its lettuce, peas, and spinach.

Part of the reason I’ll miss harvesting is because I still find great satisfaction in being able to point to what I accomplished at the end of the day—pounds of pecans picked, number of pages edited, or number of chores completed, for example. It’s hard to believe what Fr. Richard Rohr has noted: “God does not love you because you are good. God loves you because God is good.”

On Sunday we will enter into the season of Advent, when we prepare our hearts to welcome God who came to live among us. We were given this gift of Emmanuel, God with us, not because we earned it, but simply because God loves us. It’s fitting that we celebrate Advent and Christmas after the harvest is complete, so we can shift our focus from being productive to remembering that it is through God that we live and move and have our being. The pecans in the freezer are just a bonus.

Help Me to Remember

For the past six years, I have been part of a group called Bethany that goes to the state correctional facility in Lansing, Kansas, to meet with Catholic inmates for Scripture study and faith sharing. When we go to the prison the night before Thanksgiving, I’m always surprised at the level of gratitude expressed by the inmates, even though they aren’t able to be with their families for the holiday. They are thankful for having a bed to sleep in and meals three times a day and are keenly aware that not all people have those blessings. Their attitude reminds me of the following prayer by Samuel Pugh:

       Oh, God, when I have food, help me to remember the hungry;

       when I have work, help me to remember the jobless;

       when I have a warm home, help me to remember the homeless;

       when I am without pain, help me to remember those who suffer;

       and remembering, help me to destroy my complacency

       and bestir my compassion.

       Make me concerned enough to help, by word and deed,

       those who cry out for what we take for granted. 

Here at the Mount, we have been offered a unique reminder of our blessings for the past several days: A banner featuring each letter of the alphabet has been placed on the back tables of the dining room, with markers available so we can make lists of the things we are thankful for, from A to Z. It’s a wonderful call to be mindful of the many things we take for granted and to acknowledge how much we have been given.

I have much to be grateful for as I anticipate my first Thanksgiving at the Mount, including the opportunity to be connected to so many people through The Monastic Call. I will remember you with gratitude on Thanksgiving day!

How the Light Gets In

This past weekend I visited close friends in St. Louis, as I do several times each year. I always look forward to attending mass at my former parish, St. Cronan, because I know I will be uplifted by the music, preaching, and commitment of the parishioners to living the Gospel in their daily lives.

On the Feast of Christ the King, St. Cronan has always focused on the healing aspect of Christ’s kingship. Usually, the anointing of the sick is offered. However, this year, to mark the end of the Year of Mercy, everyone was invited to come forward to be anointed with oil from Jerusalem in a commissioning to go forth and share God’s healing and mercy with others. As we were anointed, these words were spoken: "May Christ the Healer mend our hearts and help us to be mercy for others."

As I visited with friends, several mentioned how difficult Thanksgiving would be this year because of family fractures relating to the recent election. Fractures can carry their own graces, however, as when a plant pushes through the crack in a sidewalk or in a broken pot. As the recently deceased musician Leonard Cohen noted,

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in

Thanksgiving provides us with the opportunity to offer a space for healing by listening to others and not rejecting them because of their beliefs. At the Mount, we are praying that God’s mercy will flow and divisions will be mended through the light of Christ, the healer.

Accompanying Each Other in Life's Changes

I always marvel in late fall when I see a tree that is almost bare of leaves right next to one that is in its full glory. It’s as if one tree says to the other, “What took you so long to change?” while the other replies, “Why were you in such a hurry to move on to winter?”

Much of our communal life, it seems, consists of waiting for each other, because we all bloom into fullness and shed our attachments at different times. Although that can cause frustration, it also makes me think of the quote, “God dwells in the space between two people.” That space between us then becomes a rich opportunity to know God in a different way.

Moving through life at a different pace than our companions calls for compassion and sensitivity as we rejoice and grieve with each other in our joys and losses. As always, nature teaches us patience as we watch the trees keep company with each other in their own unique rhythms.

Acknowledging God's Name

In my Psalms class with Sr. Mary Irene Nowell, I have learned that the Hebrew word for God that is often used by the psalmist means “I am the One who is always with you.” Therefore, in psalm 91:14, when God says, “I will deliver the one who clings to me; I will set on high the one who acknowledges my name,” it appears that what God wants from us is acknowledgement/trust that God is always with us. To which we generally respond, “Gee, wouldn’t it be easier just to offer a burnt sacrifice?”

Confidence that God is always with us is hard to come by. That’s why the psalms keep repeating God’s saving acts throughout history, so we will remember that God always comes through for us. One benefit of aging is that we can look back over the years and see God’s hand in our lives, even when that wasn’t clear at particular times. Nonetheless, at every setback—when our favored candidate loses an election, say, or we need to undergo some medical tests—our first instinct is to say, “Where are you, O God?” Most of us never seem to learn that God’s name is not “I am the One who makes your troubles magically disappear” but “I am the One who is always with you [even in times of fear, grief, and suffering].”

I wonder how life would change if we truly believed that God’s name is Emmanuel—God with us. I imagine we would worry less, have a more peaceful spirit, and be better able to offer comfort to others. Perhaps it would be helpful to address God as Emmanuel in our prayer throughout the year, not just during Advent, and especially when our confidence is at a low ebb—for God delivers the one who acknowledges God’s name.

Holy Hands

In some cultures, folk art depicts hands with holes in the center to indicate that we should permit some of the blessings we receive to flow on to others. Based on the generosity the Mount community experienced at the Night of Dreams fundraiser, our benefactors have very holy hands indeed!

As I have learned through my class on the History of Mount St. Scholastica, the community has been sustained by the kindness and generosity of others from its earliest days. The seven sisters who arrived in Atchison on November 11, 1863, found that Catholic families had already built a convent for them. Correspondence from early prioresses and bishops frequently mention that they sent “begging letters” to various benefactors. The Mount could not have survived through the years without the support of persons who valued and chose to support the work of the Sisters.

Today, in our American culture, self-sufficiency has become so highly regarded that we may cringe at the thought of begging. However, Christians know that there is no such thing as self-sufficiency, for we depend on God for our very breath, and all blessings flow from the Trinity. Likewise, those in the Body of Christ support the needs and ministries of each other, because, as Sr. Anne Shepard noted at the Night of Dreams, our work is your work. Through my donations to Habitat to Humanity over the years, I have helped to build houses, although I have never picked up a hammer. Likewise, persons who support the Mount are right alongside us in the chapel, classroom, Dooley Center, Sophia Center, and Keeler Women’s Center.

We are very grateful to all those who gave us a holy hand at the Night of Dreams, and we will work to ensure that those blessings will flow on through our ministries—the work of our hands.

Like Fish Searching for Water

About two years ago I discovered a contemporary writer on monasticism, Christine Valters Paintner, who now lives in Ireland and has established a virtual online global monastery, Abbey of the Arts. Every day I receive an e-mail with a short reflection from Christine. Today, the message was this:

"For John of the Cross the spiritual life is not about getting closer to God. Instead it is a journey of consciousness. We realize union with God, we don't acquire it or achieve it. It is something we already possess but we need to let go of everything that keeps us from seeing this reality. The dark night journey essentially is about stripping away all of our false idols and securities so that we might come to a more profound realization of the love that already dwells within us."

As Robert Peterson noted in his book Answers Within, “Some spend their whole lives searching for meaning, love, or God…. But the meaning, love, and God they search for pervade everything. They are like fish searching for the water that surrounds them.”

Christine’s reflection makes me think of St. Martin of Tours, whose feast we celebrate today. He wanted nothing more but to live a quiet life of prayer in the monastery he founded, but was made bishop by the general acclaim of the people. By all accounts he was an excellent bishop, likely because he had been able to strip away his false idols and securities and had a profound realization of his union with God. A current example of such a person is Pope Francis, who prioritizes prayer and chooses to live simply despite the luxuries available to him. It is heartening to see the witness of such leaders who inspire us with their authenticity and humility.

I came to the monastery with the hope that it would be a good environment for stripping away my false idols and securities. Of course, you bring yourself wherever you go, so it’s an ongoing and lifelong process, but it is certainly helpful to have prayer built into the day and to have the support and example of others in the community who are also on a journey of consciousness. As the stories of St. Martin and Pope Francis illustrate, the profound realization of the love that already dwells within us leads to a pouring out of that love in a life of service. In such a life, the Sisters are showing me, monastic companions are a true blessing.

Being on God's Side

The work of a Christian the day before and the day after an election is exactly the same: to attend to the needs of the poor, seek justice for the oppressed, provide a home for refugees, comfort the sorrowing, seek an end to war, and advocate freedom for captives.

In every election, people pray to God that their side will win, when what we should be most concerned about is whether we are on God’s side. Scripture is clear that God’s side is with the poor. Over and over we are reminded that whatever you do, don’t wreck the lives of the poor, because God loves them very much and will remember how you treat them. To be on God’s side, we must always support the poor and work on their behalf, even (or especially) when persons with political power have other agendas.

One benefit of getting older is that I have come to realize that God works with whatever decisions we make, individually or collectively, to teach us the way and lead us to goodness. Sometimes the lessons are painful, but the work of the Spirit cannot be contained. Last night a candidate won the electoral vote, while the other candidate won the popular vote. If we trust in God, we have to trust that, as Julian of Norwich proclaimed, all will be well.

Perhaps a good prayer at this time of national division and unrest is the Litany of Peace adapted by Barbara Bridge from the Prayer of St. Francis:

                        Faithful God, wherever there is darkness, may we bring your light:

                                    Make me an instrument of your peace

                        May we bring hope and gladness where despair and sadness are:

                                    Make me an instrument of your peace

                        May we seek to understand one another with a patient heart:

                                    Make me an instrument of your peace

                       Gracious God, whenever people hunger, may we fill their need:

                                    Make me an instrument of your peace

                       Set us free from all fear and anger; set us free to love:

                                    Make me an instrument of your peace

I will leave you with the image I am greeted with every morning and evening: various Sisters trailing down the hallway on the way to the Choir Chapel for morning and evening prayers. Let us pray for each other and for all the people of the United States.

All Real Living is Meetings

As I discovered at a Mount community meeting this past weekend, one of the many gifts that Benedictines have to offer the world is a model of peaceful and inclusive self-governance. Choosing leaders, addressing everyone’s needs, and articulating a vision for the future are not easy tasks, whether for a nation or for a religious community of 125+ women. Here is what we can learn from the approach used by the Mount:

• Begin in a spirit of gratitude. For each community meeting, a Sister is invited to present a “gratitude talk” after the opening prayer each day. At the November meeting, Srs. Bernelda Nanneman and Carolyn Rohde traced God’s marvelous workings in their lives through their families, ministries, and life in community. We were able to marvel with them at difficulties they overcame, struggles they experienced, joys they felt, weaknesses they regretted, lessons they learned, and blessings they received, and we were reminded that in the body of Christ, their story is our story.

• Allow each person to have a voice. Not everyone is comfortable standing before and speaking to an entire assembly, but opportunities for discussions in small groups were provided, and written input was solicited from everyone on various issues. In addition, we listened respectfully and patiently to every person who wished to speak to the entire assembly.

• Acknowledge everyone’s contributions. Everyone in the community was thanked for SOMETHING during the two-day meeting, whether it was for serving on committees, preparing presentations, working on the Night of Dreams event, assisting elderly sisters in Dooley Center, serving on various boards outside the community, participating in Atchison outreach activities, being liturgical ministers, fostering vocations, offering hospitality to visitors and oblates, praying for those in need, and living out our Benedictine charism to the best of our ability.

One aspect of community meetings that everyone can agree on is that we are grateful when they are over! However, now that I have two community meetings under my belt, I also find myself grateful that the Mount has the wisdom and tenacity to come together four times a year to address issues, make collective decisions, and discern how best to nurture ourselves and the world with our Benedictine values.

Getting One's Goat and Holding One's Tongue

Baseball fans had reason to rejoice when the 71-year old curse placed on the Chicago Cubs by William Sianis was finally broken on November 2, 2016, after the Cubs won Game 7 of the World Series to become champions for the first time since 1908.

As curses go, the one uttered by Sianis was relatively mild; upon being told that he would have to remove his pet goat, Murphy, from Wrigley Field because the goat’s odor was offending other fans, Sianis allegedly declared, "Them Cubs, they ain't gonna win no more." Compare that to some of the curses listed in Psalm 109: “And may he be clothed with cursing as with a robe; may it penetrate into his entrails like water and like oil into his bones; may it be for him like a garment which covers him, like a girdle which is always about him.”

I gather that William Sianis tried himself tried to undo his famous curse, and his son did as well, but once spoken, words take on a life of their own. Benedict knew this well, for as he said in the Rule, monks are to “restrain their tongue” and “be not noisy in their speech.” At this time of year, when we are weary of hearing politicians be “noisy in their speech,” it’s easy to point fingers at others, but most of us have experienced times when we wish we had restrained our tongues. Just yesterday in a meeting I made some blunt comments and now wish I had been gentler in my speech. Opportunities to learn to guard our tongues are always with us.

William Sianis later regretted that he allowed others to “get his goat,” so to speak. His story is a reminder to watch over our thoughts so that, as Fr. Edward Hays noted in A Pilgrim’s Almanac, the “piece of mind” we give others leads to “peace of mind” for all of us. 

The Distance Between Heaven and Earth

At a retreat on Celtic Spirituality at Sophia Center, Sr. Therese Elias noted that for the ancient Celtic people, the unseen world was continuous with the physical world, and thus they believed that the spirits of the dead were still present with them. For the Celts, heaven and earth were only three feet apart, and in “thin places” the distance was even shorter.

I have an elderly uncle with dementia who is very much in touch with the thin places. Every time I visit him, he tells me that his brother Bernard (who died four years ago) has a job driving the tractor for his nephew on the farm, and though he’s not making much money, he’s as happy as can be. The poet William Wordsworth believed that it is with our imagination that we perceive eternity, and I’m delighted that in my uncle’s perception of eternity, his brother is happy, doing the work he loves, and still helping out family members.

Here at the Mount, our worship aid for the Feast of All Saints included this quote by Charles Péguy:

“We must save ourselves together. We must arrive all together in the heaven of our God. We must present ourselves together. We must not come to look for our God without each other. We must return all together to the house of our Father. We must also think a little about each other and work for each other. What might God say, if we arrive without each other?”

During this month of the remembrance of the dead, it comforts me to know that our deceased loved ones are still thinking about us and working for us. It’s as if they are steadying the top of the ladder as we ourselves make the climb from earth to heaven. When the climb seems long and we are missing them, we should take heart, for after all, they are only three feet away.

God's Forgetfulness

On this day when we celebrate Halloween, I’m grateful to my cousin Gwyndolyn for reminding me of a bit of wisdom from my favorite TV witch, Aunt Clara from Bewitched: “I know I’m a little vague at times, but on the other hand, when I forget something, I’m definite.”

Actually, these words could just as easily have been spoken by God. We’ve all experienced frustration with God’s vagueness when our path is not clear and we don’t feel like we’re receiving any divine guidance. However, as Sr. Mary Irene Nowell reminds us in her book on the psalms, Pleading, Cursing, Praying, when it comes to forgetting, God is quite definite: “What God remembers, exists; what God forgets, ceases to be.” No wonder the psalmist prays these words in Psalm 25:6-7:

Remember your compassion, O Lord, and your faithful love, for they endure forever. Do not remember the sins and rebellions of my youth. Please remember me according to the measure of your faithful love and your goodness, O Lord.

A good rule of thumb is to not forget that which God remembers and stop remembering what God has forgotten. As Aunt Clara knew, forgetting can sometimes be a definite virtue! 

Blessed Are They Who See Beautiful Things

This morning at dawn, as I was heading to mass, I heard my name called by Sr. Helen Mueting, who wanted to show me a spectacular view of a tree, crescent moon, and star that was visible through an upper window in the dining room hallway. I hadn’t noticed it myself and was grateful to Sr. Helen for pointing out such a beautiful scene. It was a wonderful way to start the day.

This experience reminded me of a quote from the book The Color Purple by Alice Walker: “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.” I don’t know if it makes God angry, but God is likely disappointed and sad for us, I imagine, when we don’t see and enjoy the beauty of creation in which we are immersed.

One of the great benefits of living in community is that others often draw my attention to beauty that I am too preoccupied to see. This call to be mindful of beauty helps me practice gratefulness and provides me with opportunities to pause and experience awe. I am grateful to those who are attuned to beauty, and echo the words of Camille Pissarro: "Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing."

The Slow Work of God

Before I moved to the Mount, a friend gave me an artistic rendering of the following quote by Teilhard de Chardin:

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

We are quite naturally impatient in everything

     to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something

     unknown, something new.

And yet it is the law of all progress

     that it is made by passing through

     some stages of instability—

     and that it may take a very long time.

Only God could say what this new spirit

     gradually forming within you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing

     that his hand is leading you,

     and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself

     in suspense and incomplete.

I was able to ponder this quote again at a retreat with The Divine Milieu, one of Chardin’s books, that was offered recently by Sr. Susan Barber at Sophia Center. Upon examining the 13.8 billion–year history of the universe as we know it—from the Big Bang to the creation of elements to the initial formation of galaxies and stars and planets to the appearance of water and microbes and plants on earth to the development of invertebrates and vertebrates to the evolution of humans to the birth of Jesus to the thousands of years after his resurrection—it is clear that God works very slowly indeed, at least in our human reckoning.

Our impatience with this slow pace of change reminds me of a quote by the writer Elizabeth Bibesco: “He is invariably in a hurry — being in a hurry is one of the tributes he pays to life.” We who love life and its possibilities want to cram in as much as we can during out short life span and are impatient with delays, especially delays in overcoming humanity’s limited understanding, intolerant attitudes, and unjust practices. It is frustrating and uncomfortable to have to pass through the long stages of instability that are inherent to “the law of all progress.” However, as I get older, I take comfort in Chardin’s reminder that we and the universe itself aren’t designed to speed through life’s changes—somehow,  slowness is an integral part of God’s process in gradually forming a new spirit within us. As a postulant, I am at a place where I am especially called to trust that God’s hand is leading me and accept the anxiety of feeling myself in suspense and incomplete—but in reality, we are all called to that trust and acceptance until our last breath on earth, so I rejoice that I am in good company!