What God Wants for Christmas

Every year at Christmas, I receive lovely, thoughtful gifts from friends. However, if you asked me what gifts I received, say, three years ago, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. However, I could tell you in detail who I talked to at Mary and Dave’s annual Christmas party, which neighborhoods Martha and I drove through because of their superior Christmas lights, and what we had for supper the night I taught Ruth and Rocky how to play the game Sequences.

Similarly, if we were to ask God what God wants for Christmas, it surely wouldn’t be another burnt sacrifice or any other physical offering, for that matter. Like us, what God values most is spending time together, enjoying each other’s company and making memories.

As in the tale of the Little Drummer Boy, we are often tempted to say to God, “I have no gift to bring,” but that’s not true. We can offer God the most precious gift of all—our time—which is precious precisely because it is limited. Taking time to be with God during the busy holiday season is a challenge, but you don’t want to leave God off your gift list, do you? 

God of Day and God of Darkness

As we enter into the winter season, when nights are long and yet we begin to gain a bit more light each day, I find it helpful to reflect on this bit of wisdom by Wendell Berry:

At night make me one with the darkness

In the morning make me one with the light

Both darkness and light are necessary for life to thrive. For example, melatonin, a hormone that helps us to sleep, is released in response to darkness, and vitamin D is created in our bodies in response to light. Just so, in our spiritual lives, we experience periods of grief and dying to self that lead us to a greater reliance on God and periods of joy and insight that help us stay faithful to the path.

Winter is a reminder to take both darkness and light as they come. Both offer fruits of the Spirit and can be our guides to greater wisdom and the good life.

Turning to Gladness Again

At a recent Advent Music retreat lead by Sr. Susan Barber, we listened to a recording of the song “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” I’ve sung this song every year since I was a child, but this time something new caught my ear: the echo of the word “rejoice.”

It is enlightening to look at the origins of the word “rejoice.” The word-forming element “re-” means “back to the original place; again, anew, once more.” The Latin “re” is thought to come from the Indo-European “wret,” a variant of “wert,” meaning “to turn.” “Joir” is French for “be glad.” Thus at Christmas we are called to turn to gladness again, to let it echo in our lives not just once a year but for all eternity, for Emmanuel has come to dwell with us forevermore. The seasons of Advent and Christmas remind us that we cannot let the worries of the present age obscure our everlasting joy at the once and always coming of God, Light of Lights, Wonder-Counselor, Prince of Peace.

Faithful to the Story

Last Friday I was able to spend part of the day at the Mount’s new hermitage, a small building near the North entrance to the campus that has served different purposes over the years. I noticed that the words to the Benedictine College fight song had been painted by some students on the sidewalk leading to the front door of the building. Most of the words are faded; however, the phrase “faithful to the story” is still quite legible.

It felt in a way like an Advent message. By recounting the story of Jesus’ birth each Advent and Christmas, we are being faithful to the remarkable story about how God took on human flesh. As Psalm 78 relays,

Listen, my people, mark each word.

I begin with a story, I speak of mysteries

welling up from ancient depths,

heard and known from our elders.

We must not hide this story from our children

but tell the mighty works and all the wonders of God.

Being faithful to the story entails more than recounting it, however. Being faithful to the story means letting it change our lives. How do we live in relationship with a God who came to live among us? Does it increase our joy, our trust, our faithfulness?

My dad’s brother, my Uncle Robert, died today at the age of 97 years. He was a man who was utterly faithful to the story, as shown by a life of devotion to God, his family, and the land he farmed. The fruits of his life were a remarkable kindness, gentleness, and patience. It is a worthy goal of all of us to be remembered as one who, like him, was faithful to the story of all the wonders of God.

Unforgettable Jesus

Recently a friend sent me a poem by Brian Doyle with the intriguing and unwieldy title, “To the United Airlines Signalman Silently Reading the New Testament in an Alcove Under the Extendable Jetway at Gate C-9 in Chicago on a Morning in April.” 

The poem ends with the following lines:

                        But how astonishing it is, how truly unbelievable, that a book can be

Alive after all these years, can have in its fragile pages that one man,

Dusty and complicated, tart and testy, tired and afraid, unforgettable.

Although we celebrate the incarnation at Christmas, we still tend to emphasize Jesus’ divinity—the miracles he performed, his transfiguration, the uncanny wisdom in his teachings. That Emmanuel grew to be a man who was “dusty and complicated, tart and testy, tired and afraid” isn’t what made Jesus unforgettable…or was it?

Jesus wasn’t playacting when he took on human flesh. He felt physical and emotional pain, experienced the joys and disappointments of being in relationship with others, and had to figure out what he was supposed to do with his life. What made him unique was that in the midst of living this ordinary life, he came to an intimate understanding of God’s love and compassion for him and for all beings and responded by faithfully relaying that good news to others, even though it led to a painful and shameful death. If, while Jesus was human, he was able to know and relate to the God of infinite love and mercy, that means we are capable of it, too. No wonder that the book of his life is still alive after all these years; who could forget the man who opened that gate for us?

Advent Tree of Life

One of the images Isaiah presents us with during Advent is a shoot arising from the stump of Jesse (Is 11:1). I thought of this image when I noticed a vibrant painting by Betty LaDuke, “Eritrea: Tree of Life,” at Sophia Center. From the seemingly lifeless stump Christ has arisen, but he is not alone—God the Creator and Spirit hover over him, and he has invited us to join our human flesh to the eternal tree of life.

In our own incarnation in the tree of life, we may find ourselves to be roots, which provide sustenance and a network of communication; trunk, which offers steadfast support; branches, which provide balance and flexibility; leaves, which feed on the light and offer shade; or seeds, which are imprinted with the life force that ensures the tree will survive. As with the body of Christ, all of us in the tree of lie have distinct roles and characteristics and all of us are needed in the grand design of the wholeness to which we are called.

As Isaiah points out, Advent is not a time to be stumped but to join Christ in the flowering of a new creation.

God's Ancient Dream

At evening prayer on Saturday night, a line from Psalm 81 caught my attention: “Because of your cold hearts, you left me out of your plans.” Leaving God out of our plans doesn’t seem like a very good idea, because then we shut ourselves off from the possibility that God’s plans can improve on our own. Indeed, in the psalm, God goes on to say, “My people, if you would only listen! Israel, walk in my ways!”

I have always liked the following prayer from Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim by Edward Hays: “May we unfold according to your ancient dream.” We tend to become so wrapped up in our own dreams and desires that we forget that God has a dream for us beyond our own imaginings—a dream of participation in God’s life of love, wholeness, and creativity.

Indeed, in Psalm 81, God goes on to say that when we listen and walk in God’s ways, “Then I will strike at your enemy, and put them all to flight…. But you, O Israel, will feast on finest wheat, will savor pure wild honey.” This Advent, we are reminded to fire up our cold hearts and be alert to the unfolding of God’s ancient dream, whether it be an infant lying in a manger or a new, unimagined incarnation in our own lives.

Jesus the Stranger

It is intriguing that in Matthew 25: 35, Jesus compares himself to a stranger: “For I was a stranger, and you welcomed me….”

Jesus certainly acted strangely, according to our human standards: Eating with prostitutes and tax collectors instead of the wealthy, who could fund his new church? Driving the money changers out of the temple instead of cutting a deal with them for a portion of their proceeds? Washing the feet of his disciples instead of reclining at table until he was served? And yet, when we embrace Jesus’ strange customs, we find that they bring us fresh perspectives and new life.

People cease to be strangers when we spend time with them and get to know them. Just so, when we spend time with Jesus, we learn his way of being and begin to recognize him in those who forgive, who serve, who see that the seed of God is in everyone. Eventually, it dawns on us that it is not Jesus’ ways but the ways of the world that are strange. Furthermore, the old aphorism is true: We will be known by the company we keep. I’d like to be known for keeping company with Jesus, who is no longer stranger but friend.

We Are Wonderfully Made

At the Advent retreat I attended this past weekend, “Reclaiming a Sense of Wonder,” one of the questions Judy Valente invited us to consider was “What are the simple acts of ordinary life that fill me with wonder?”

This question brought to mind the many physical limitations being experienced by people around me: an elderly friend who has lost the use of her legs as death approaches, a community member who temporarily experienced difficulty swallowing after a stroke, a friend who has lost the sense of smell, and a woman at the assisted living center where my uncle resides who is so deaf I have to shout my answers to her questions. And yet, every day I walk and swallow and smell and hear without giving these wondrous acts a second thought.

How can we learn to appreciate the simple acts our bodies perform each day before we lose these abilities? Slowing down so we are fully present to what we are doing each moment is a helpful practice. Writing your own psalm of praise and then praying it regularly is another option. Here is one I wrote; what would yours look like?

We Are Wonderfully Made

All you who draw breath—

     parents and their progeny,

     teachers and students,

     farmers and city dwellers,

     the robust and infirm—

Praise God, for we are wonderfully made!

For eyelids that open and fingers that bend,

     Praise God O my eyes and my fingers!

With blood that flows and skin that shields,

     We are wonderfully made!

For muscles that contract and saliva that moistens,

     Praise God, O my limbs and my mouth!

With a heart that pumps and lungs that expand,

     We are wonderfully made!

Never cease to give praise,

     from waking to sleeping;

     whether breathing or talking or eating,

     give praise to the end of your days.

     Halleluiah!

God Loves Stories

When we begin prayer with “O God, come to my assistance; O God, make haste to help me,” we acknowledge that we can do nothing with God—not even pray. However, acknowledging that we need God does not mean that we can expect God to do everything for us. Indeed, a Jewish proverb notes, “Why were human beings created? Because God loves stories.” Although we are animated by God, it is through our creativity that we and God together create something new, a story that has never before existed. We are an integral part of the process, which Pope John Paul II noted in his Letter to Artists: “…as Genesis has it, all men and women are entrusted with the task of crafting their own life: In a certain sense, they are to make of it a work of art, a masterpiece.”

I’m intrigued by the idea of crafting our own life. To craft does not require artistic skill, but it does entail care, devotion, openness to inspiration, and the discipline of revision. Our life is too sacred to let it remain a shapeless block of wood or a blank sheet of paper. We must continually work at crafting our life and be willing to add or subtract elements as our vision changes, trusting God to provide the tools and the teachers we need along the way. I myself was surprised in mid life to find that my vision shifted to living in a monastic community, and at the Mount God provided teachers, companions, and the Rule of St. Benedict to guide me.

Inevitably, as we practice crafting our life, our skill grows and our inherent God-given beauty begins to shine with greater clarity. We all know what it is like to be drawn to certain people because of their peacefulness and wisdom. They show us that we too can craft a life that is a work of art—a story that is forever new, forever fresh—as long as we keep the prayer “O God, come to my assistance” on our lips.

What God Values

Today after morning prayer a striking sunrise caught my eye through the east windows outside the choir chapel. Stark trees highlighted by a distinct layers of blue and peach compelled me to say “Wow,” but I didn’t stop long enough to savor the scene and let it seep into my soul. I had e-mail messages to respond to, you see, and if I didn’t tend to them now, I’d have to do it later, which would interfere with my plans for the rest of the day. When I walked by those windows again fifteen minutes later, the vividness of the sunrise had been washed out by clouds and a watery gray light.

Later at mass we heard the story of a widow who contributed two small coins amounting to a penny to the temple treasury. Nobody thought her contribution had any value, but it was precious in God’s eyes, because it was a sign of her devotion and selflessness. Similarly, most of us don’t think that paying attention to creation is a good use of our valuable time, but such attention is precious to God, because it shows a willingness to put aside our own agenda to show gratitude for the gift of the world.

The next time I notice the sunrise I hope I can recall the words of Welsh poet W.H. Davies: “A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.”

Praying for a Non-miraculous Life

In the novel The Trouble with Goats and Sheep by Joanna Cannon, two young girls, Grace and Tilly, hear in church that God is everywhere, so they decide to look for him in their neighbor-hood. They find a creosote stain on a drain pipe that looks like the face of Jesus, and after reporting this finding to their parents, word spreads and everyone decides it is a miracle. People bring lawn chairs and blankets so they can sit in the presence of Jesus. Soon they are sharing food and stories and playing canasta, and a strong community emerges.

This story reminded me that many of us still consider it a miracle to see the face of Jesus in the world around us. Later in the book, when Grace begins to doubt that it really was Jesus they were seeing, Tilly replies, “Jesus is definitely in the drainpipe. He always has been.” Grace said, “How do you mean?” Tilly responded, “God is everywhere, Grace. Everyone knows that.”

Perhaps instead of praying for the miracle of having Christ appear to us, we should pray for a non-miraculous life in which seeing Jesus isn’t an extraordinary event but is something that happens to us every day! 

Voicing Our Thanks

When I was in college, I enjoyed listening to recordings of live shows by the comedian Steve Martin, who performed in large arenas before tens of thousands of people. He once ended a performance by saying, “I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming tonight: thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you [deep breath] thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you….

We tend to give thanks for our amorphous blessings at Thanksgiving, but who do we need to thank individually for their daily kindnesses to us? This Thanksgiving, perhaps we can call to mind the people who do the little things that bring comfort to our lives and personally thank them. At the Mount, SOMEONE delivers newspapers to their appointed places each morning, empties the compost bucket, waters the myriad of plants, and turns on the microphone before morning prayer. In households, SOMEONE replaces the empty toilet paper roll in the bathroom, takes out the trash, and makes sure there’s always milk in the refrigerator. In the workplace, SOMEONE makes coffee every morning and refills the empty paper tray in the copier.

The mystic Rumi said, “If you only say one prayer in a day, make it ‘thank you.’” Better yet, make it “thank you” that is not only felt in the heart but uttered aloud to one who has served you with steadfastness. After all, as William Arthur Ward noted, “Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.” 

Living at the Threshold

It’s difficult for most of us to be in the “in between” spaces of life…for example, in between jobs, in between childhood and adulthood, or—in my case—in between being a single person and a professed monastic sister. We know that the threshold between one way of being and other is a sacred space, and yet our tendency is to either long for the past, when we knew what was what, or ease our anxiety by speculating about what the future will bring. However, as Christine Valtner Painter notes, “The threshold isn’t about figuring things out. The threshold is about resting into mystery, into unknowing, into the liminal space where the old is released but the new hasn’t come into being yet.”

It occurs to me that life is one big threshold at the doorway to death. If that is the case, life is not meant for figuring things out but for resting into mystery, into unknowing. If we believe that God is present with us each moment of our lives, as shown through the incarnation of God in Jesus and the indwelling of God as Holy Spirit, then we don’t need to long for the past or anticipate the future, because God is here with us now. What can possibly be better than that? 

As we are reminded in Ecclesiastes 8:8, “…none has mastery of the day of death.” However, if we are well practiced in resting into mystery and unknowing, we will be ready whenever we are called to cross over the threshold of the doorway to death. Although eye has not seen what God has ready for us there, we do know that, as here on earth, we will continue to reside in the presence of our merciful, loving, and mysterious God. 

Blessed Are the Lighthearted

In Chapter 39 of his Rule, regarding the proper amount of food, Saint Benedict says, “…above all overindulgence [must be] avoided, lest a monk experience indigestion.” Given the close quarters of the monastery sleeping quarters, refectory, and choir stalls, Saint Benedict no doubt was anxious to ward off the belching and farting that inevitably accompany indigestion from overeating! However, I suspect he also wished to spare his monks the noxious effects of overindulgence on the soul, such as discontentedness, disconnection from those in need, and disquiet. Indeed, Saint Benedict goes on to quote Scripure in this regard: “Take care that your hearts are not weighed down with overindulgence” (Lk 21:34).

The feeling of being weighed down after overeating is easy to identify—queasiness, heaviness in the gut, and sleepiness. It is not always as easy to recognize when our hearts are weighed down by overindulgence. However, a growing sense of dissatisfaction and an increased tendency to grumble are good signs that it is time to evaluate our degree of consumption, adjust our level of gratitude, and take the necessary steps to live more lightly on earth, which inevitably will lead to a lighter heart—and save us a lot of money on Tums® as well!

Cherishing God's Life-Giving Presence

After a week of dreary weather, the sun came out in full force today, and it is as if God has reappeared in the play and warmth of light. Of course, God was there all along in the grayness of the sky and the large black grasshoppers I disturbed while cleaning up the garden with Sr. Alberta, but I was unable to connect with that manifestation of God. In his Prayer for Wisdom in the November 2017 issue of Give Us This Day, Hosffman Ospino prayed, “Lord grant me your wisdom … to cherish your life-giving presence in a world charged with your grandeur.” I want that wisdom too, not just to be able to see how the world is charged with God’s grandeur when it is not immediately apparent, but to cherish God’s faithful and life-giving presence.

In Chapter 7 of his Rule, Saint Benedict uses God’s constant presence as an inducement not to sin, because we are “always seen by God in heaven; [our] actions everywhere are in God’s sight.” Consequently, we find ourselves wishing we could escape God’s gaze. However, as we grow in spiritual maturity and learn more about the nature of God, God’s presence becomes something to be desired, not feared. As Ruth Burroughs noted in her book Interior Castle Explored, “It can never be said too often that God is always present, always bestowing himself in the measure that he can be received. On his side it is total gift; it is on our side that the check lies…. God continually offers intimacy, permeating our being as he permeates all that is…. At any moment, therefore, we can we can turn to our loving God who is closer to us than we are to ourselves.”

It takes humility and strength to let go of our own limited vision and submit to what Ospino calls “the power of [God’s] transforming and generous love.” However, when we are finally able to do so, we can offer God the ultimate thanks “for loving me into existence and, in light of that love, calling me to be with you, now and in eternity.”

Stewarding the Work of Each Other

When I was single, I was grateful that my family did not pressure me to marry or join religious life but supported my ministries at Boys Hope, Shantivanam House of Prayer, my parish in St. Louis, and Lansing state prison. Now that I am at the Mount, I am grateful for the web of people who value the ministry, prayer, and witness of the sisters and ensure that we can continue our monastic life through their generous financial gifts, which were poured out in abundance at this year’s Night of Dreams event.

It is so important that we help steward each other’s vocations—that we give parents the tools and support they need to create loving families; that we give single people companionship and encouragement as they devote themselves to work that can’t be done by people with other commitments; and that we give persons with religious vocations the emotional support and resources they need to continue their ministries of prayer, education, and outreach to the poor. The charisms of all of us are necessary to create the kingdom of God, and when we are wise stewards, more than enough resources are available for each of us according our needs. Let us continue to listen to and support each other in the work we have been given!

Monastic Simplicity

The Dalai Lama has noted, “If one’s life is simple, contentment has to come.” Perversely, life in modern society is seemingly designed to be anything but simple, with an overwhelming array of choices for everything from breakfast cereal to toothpaste and complicated procedures for necessary tasks such as procuring health care and paying taxes. 

One of the great gifts of monasticism is that it provides the structure for a simple life. Having given my car to my nephew, I no longer have to renew its license or find the best deal on insurance. I no longer own a house, so I don’t need to stay on top of maintenance issues. I use whatever laundry detergent is available in the supply closet. Of course, someone in the community has to deal with vehicle-related issues and building repairs and purchasing of supplies, but the work is shared so it is not burdensome for anyone, and sharing resources diminishes waste of both goods and human time/energy.

Monastic life also leads to contentment because praying the psalms each day helps us escape from a self-centered view of life and reminds us of God’s lovingkindness and faithfulness. When we prioritize spending time with God each day, we tend to make choices that lead to simplicity and contentment.

Henry David Thoreau was on the right track when he said, “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!” However, in the true spirit of simplicity, shouldn’t he have said it just once? I don’t fault him, though—learning to live a simple life takes time and requires a lot of letting go. However, the contentment that follows is well worth the effort.

The Discipline of Love

Discipline is this week’s topic in my class Reading the Bible with Benedict. Although we often have negative connotations of discipline relating to our dislike of being corrected and having limitations, discipline is essential to the good life because it helps us focus on our goals and achieve them, use our time wisely, and gain the freedom to be creative. However, it is discipline in love that Saint Benedict is concerned about in his Rule. He recognizes that the way of love “is bound to be narrow at the outset. But as we progress in this way of life and in faith, we shall run on the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love.” And what is the path of God’s commandments, as summarized by Jesus? “You shall love the Lord your God will all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength” and “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Theologian Marcus Borg has noted that “Christianity is not about avoiding punishment or gaining reward. It is about loving God and loving what God loves. And what God loves is the whole of creation.” I can’t imagine the discipline it would take to love the whole of creation. However, when we make the effort to love whoever or whatever appears on our path each day, our hearts will expand, making the narrow path of this way of life easier to traverse.

When I lived in St. Louis, I cooked at the Catholic Worker house every third Thursday, and one year that date happened to fall on my birthday. It might seem like cooking for others on your birthday would be a burden, but when I walked in the door, I was met with a very squeaky rendition of “Happy Birthday to You” by a staff member who was learning to play the saxophone and the fiercest hug I have ever received when I told a young child we would be having macaroni and cheese for supper. I have forgotten how I have spent many of my 55 birthdays, but I have never forgotten that one—perhaps because that day my heart expanded with the inexpressible delight of love.

Dorothy Day, co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement and a seasoned practitioner of the discipline of love, once offered the following prayer: “There is nothing we can do but love, and, dear God, please enlarge our hearts to love each other, to love our neighbor, and to love our enemy as our friend.” It’s a good prayer for all disciples of the God of love.

Praying with Art

Recently I attended a Visio Divina retreat offered by Sr. Judith Sutera at Sophia Center. The retreat focused on how we can pray with art, which is a new concept for me. However, asking what God may be saying to us through a painting, sculpture, or stained glass window is merely another way of following St. Benedict’s directive to listen and incline the ear of our heart.

During the retreat, we had the opportunity to choose one of the many pieces of art that grace Sophia Center and spend time praying with it. I was drawn to a painting of a stone bridge that formed an arch over a stream; the arch and its reflection formed a perfect circle in the center of the painting. The thought occurred to me, “What if that circle is the eye of God?” If so, it would mean that the eye of God/the watchful presence of God provides a support for us to get from one side of a bridge to the other. It would also mean that God is not watching us from afar but is in the very midst of our lives. Furthermore, in this painting, a person standing on the bridge would not be able to see the eye of God; rather, it would be necessary to step to the edge of the bridge or even outside the frame to see be able to see God’s presence.

I was surprised at the insights generated by my time with this painting and hope that this experience will change the way I interact with art in the future.

Growing to Love Whom We're Handed

Our tradition in November of remembering those who have died gives us the opportunity to continue to learn from their lives. One important lesson they teach us is summarized by Anne Tyler in her book Back When We Were Grownups: “Apparently you grow to love whom you’re handed.”

My Grandma Halling was handed parents, siblings, aunts and uncles, cousins, a husband, 12 children, 33 grandchildren, and a church community during her life. She grew to love them through the everyday tasks of cooking, cleaning, nursing, gardening, sewing, and praying—all that was required to raise a family on a small farm in Northeastern Kansas in the early to mid 20th century. She didn’t know how the lives of her children and grandchildren would unfold or what would become of the farm after she died; she simply loved those she was handed as best she could in the midst of the circumstances of her life. I don’t know what eternal life is like for her, but I do know that she is still loving those she’s been handed wherever her spirit now dwells.

We don’t have any control over who our parents or siblings or fellow community members are, and often we end up with people who are very challenging to live with. And yet in all circumstances God calls us to love, because that is the nature of God, and it is through God that we live and move and have our being. It’s a process, growing to love whom we’re handed, but our holy dead have shown us through their lives that it is possible and that we can do it too.

Light of the Saints

The saints reach out to us across the centuries to remind us of two things: (1) we need God (which is what it means to be “poor in spirit,” as Fr. Meinrad noted at mass today), and (2) we are deeply loved by God. These two beliefs are like a thread of golden light that connects us to all the holy ones who have come before us and will follow us.

As early as 419, the monk and theologian John Cassian wrote in his Conferences that the mantra “O God, come to my assistance; O Lord, make haste to help me” is an ideal prayer, no matter our condition—when we are in distress, it reminds us that we are in God’s hands, and when we are successful, it helps us avoid pride by reminding us that God is the source of all good. All saints know that they need God, and it is this understanding that helps them be faithful and allow God to work through them.

Further along in human history, around 1395, mystic and theologian Julian of Norwich wrote her book Revelations of Divine Love, which confirmed God’s ever-present love for humans and infinite capacity for forgiveness. All saints have had some type of intimate experience of God’s love for them, which leads to trust and the desire to transmit that love to others.

When we are able to integrate into our lives the beliefs that we need God and we are deeply loved by God, we likely will not minister to the dying in the slums of Calcutta as Mother Teresa did or found a new religious order as St. Francis Xavier was called to do. However, like all holy men and women, we will respond to the needs of our own times and manifest God as only we in our uniqueness can do, using the light of the saints to guide us.

The Call of Our Common Ancestry

I was an observer at the Mount St. Scholastica Senate meeting on Saturday, when racism and cultural diversity were considered. One thing I learned was that all humans are very similar genetically; on average, only one of every thousand of the nucleotides that make up our DNA distinguish one human from another. And yet, although 999 of our nucleotides are the same, humans have chosen to focus on the one nucleotide that makes us different (resulting in, for example, different skin colors) and use it as the basis for judging the worth of people. Being part of the body of Christ, on the other hand, calls us to recognize our common ancestry as children of God and celebrate instead of stigmatize our differences.

The meeting also increased my awareness of institutional racism—the way in which our government and social institutions disproportionately channel wealth, power, and resources to white people, which is not only unjust but weakens our entire society through the waste of the potential of people of color. Because it is difficult to recognize any system of inequity in which we are the ones who are privileged, many of us are not even aware of the insidious effects of institutional racism. It is hard to believe that we can ever overcome a system that is so entrenched in our country and in our lives. However, I found comfort in our opening song at morning prayer today, Healer of Our Every Ill, by Marty Haugen:

Healer of our every ill, light of each tomorrow

Give us peace beyond our fear, and hope beyond our sorrow

In the pain and joy beholding, how your grace is still unfolding,

Give us all your vision, God of love

Give us strength to love each other, every sister, every brother,

Spirit of all kindness, be our guide

You who know each thought and feeling, teach us all your way of healing,

Spirit of compassion, fill each heart

We cannot overcome racism through our own efforts, but God can heal this wound, and God’s grace is still unfolding. Our role is to be open and responsive to that grace as it leads us to kindness and compassion in all our interactions with others.

The First Duty of Love

Although the theologian Paul Tillich and St. Benedict lived centuries apart, they must have been kindred spirits, because Tillich told us “The first duty of love is to listen,” and St. Benedict chose “listen” as the first word of his rule. We listen to God, ourselves, and others—and God listens to all of us—because love demands it.

Doing one’s duty is not always easy. I remember becoming aware that when my St. Louis book group was having a discussion I often interrupted others, and it bothered me, because it gave the message that I believed my thoughts were more important than those of my friends. Even after becoming aware of this tendency to interrupt, changing my ways was difficult. Loving others, loving ourselves, loving God is an ongoing challenge, but we know we are on the right path when we make the effort to listen more than we speak.

Discovering Who We Will Become

Now and then I encounter people who are surprised that I decided to join the Mount in my fifties. “It’s such a big change,” they say. It’s true that, although I have long-time friends in the community and was an oblate before I entered, I really didn’t know what the experience of community life would be like for me. L.A. Paul stated the situation well in the book Transformative Experience: “For many big life choices, we only learn what we need to know after we’ve done it, and we change ourselves in the process of doing it. I’ll argue that, in the end, the best response to this situation is to choose based on whether we want to discover who we’ll become.”

The desire to discover who I would become if I joined the Mount was a big impetus in making my decision. How would my life unfold in this very different environment, with both the challenge and support of living in community? Thus far it has led to a greater discipline in prayer and in writing; a greater understanding that the nature of God is bound up in relationship, movement, and abundance; and a greater awareness of the needs of others in the body of Christ. The discovery was worth the risk.

When you think about it, the older we get, the more we should be able to risk change, because we have seen in our lives and through Scripture that (a) God is always doing something new and (b) as promised, God is always with us. Through change, God offers us a life that is much more fulfilling than the diminishment, isolation, and stuckness that accompany fear. What discoveries await you in your next life choice?

Creating a Society Where It Is Easier to Be Good

Peter Maurin, co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement, once said, “We need to build a society where it is easier for people to be good.” I thought of his insight when I heard about the exhibition basketball game that was played by KU and MU to raise money for hurricane victims in Texas, Florida, Puerto Rico, and the Virgin Islands. Some of the people who watched the game might already have donated money for this cause, but nonetheless, the opportunity to see this particular game between longstanding rivals led them to reach into their pockets to contribute an additional $1.8 million to help people devastated by hurricanes. This money wouldn’t have been raised if Bill Self, the KU basketball coach, hadn’t pushed the idea of the game and if the schools hadn’t gotten on board to make it happen.

In my Spirituality of Emotions class, we recently read about how easily people were led to commit genocide in Rwanda and Jedwabne, Poland. Although we can build a society where it is easier for people to be good, we can also build a society where it is easier for people to perform horrific acts of violence. As Herman Goering said at the Nuremburg trials, “Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country.”

Humans have a deep instinct for self preservation. Instead of trying to overcome that instinct, we need to redefine what we mean by “self.” When we recognize that we are interconnected with everything that lives, we understand that what happens to another living thing also affects us; then the borders of the self expand, and suddenly self preservation means preserving all life, not just the life contained within our own skin. Christians understand it as being part of the body of Christ, and it is why we defend life from conception to death, which encompasses (among other things) opposing war, the death penalty, euthanasia, and poisoning of the earth. It is why we are about building the kingdom of God, a place where it is easier for people to be good.

A Lesson in Generosity

Did you know that the earth contains more than 16,000 species of moss? Why in the world did God believe we needed such an abundance of this tiny plant? Perhaps because, as Robin Wall Kimmerer notes in an interview in The Sun magazine, “Mosses teach sustainability. They take little from the world and yet flourish everywhere…. They’re not the biggest or the most species, but they have managed to survive on earth for at least 350 million years…. And they give much more to the community than they take. They build soil, purify water, make seed beds, and provide habitat for microscopic animals. Yet mosses use so few resources. They are a lesson in generosity.”

We seldom if ever take note of moss, but God does. As today’s Gospel reading from Luke observed, “Are not five sparrows sold for two small coins? Yet not one of them has escaped the notice of God.” In the marvel of God’s design, everything is interconnected, everything contributes to the life of everything else, and nothing is without dignity and value.

It is urgent for us to learn the lesson of the mosses—to give more to the community than we take—because, as is becoming evident, to do otherwise is to destroy our common home. Recently reported results of a 27-year study in Germany show a shocking 75% decrease in the number of winged insects in the past 25 years, likely because we have taken over their habitat and poisoned it with pesticides. These insects are vital to life on earth because they pollinate plants, provide food for many animals, control predators, and clean up decomposing matter. Every fly, moth, beetle, and moss matters. Let’s not sabotage God’s clever design of the world but instead celebrate and foster the interconnectedness of all life.

The Honorable Harvest

Today is World Food Day, which is a welcome reminder to be aware of and grateful for the plants and animals that sustain us each day. Unless we grow our own food, we tend to overlook the miraculous ecosystem that provides the roasted chicken and succulent tomatoes sitting on our dinner plate. Unless we have contact with people who are hungry, it is easy to forget that many persons don't have access to the bounty of food we enjoy.

World Food Day happens to coincide with harvest season in the Northern hemisphere. It is a good time to contemplate the indigenous teaching of the Honorable Harvest, as described by Robin Wall Kimmerer in her book Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. May this meditation infuse our prayer today.

Never take the first. Never take the last.

Harvest in a way that minimizes harm. 

Take only what you need and leave some for others.

Use everything that you take. 

Take only that which is given to you. 

Share it, as the Earth has shared with you. 

Be grateful. 

Reciprocate the gift.

Sustain the ones who sustain you, and the Earth will last forever.

Choose Life

Recently, Lamonte McIntyre was freed from prison after serving 23 years for a crime he did not commit. In an interview with the Kansas City Star, he was asked, “Do you have any concerns? You spent more time in prison that when you were free.” McIntyre replied, “I have no reservations about life. I fear not living more than I fear living. So I’d rather choose to live.”

Most of us would probably say we don’t fear living, but our actions speak otherwise. Any time we avoid others who are different from us, resist promptings of the Spirit that will disrupt our comfortable lives, or refuse to face our shortcomings, we are demonstrating that we fear life. Humans generally seem to prefer that life be contained, predictable, and safe—and then, on our deathbeds, we are filled with regrets that we did not love more freely, play more frequently, and notice the wonders of the earth more readily.

In the book of Deuteronomy, we are offered a choice: “I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life, then that you and your descendents may live, by loving the Lord, your God, heeding God’s voice, and holding fast to God.” Lamonte McIntyre held fast God for 23 years, and upon being released from prison, he has chosen life: “I want to enjoy my journey. I want to stop and smell the roses. I don’t want to rush through life. I don’t want to take nothing for granted.” We, who are in prisons of our own making, can also find freedom by loving God and heeding God’s voice; we too can fear not living more than we fear living, and choose life.

The Path to Holiness

James Finley has noted, “The mystic … is not more holy but is granted a greater realization of the infinite holiness of the simplest of things.”

The simplest of things tend to escape our notice until spilled flour sends us to the broom closet, or we feel the tickling of a ladybug on the nape of our neck, or someone points out a cloud that’s shaped like a bunny. Even then, we tend not to recognize the holiness of brooms and ladybugs and clouds. If we did, we would treat them with greater reverence and care.

Mystics understand that the path to holiness is not performing great feats of asceticism but recognizing the holiness that exists all around us. When we can do that, we will join the ranks of those who have learned to “rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:16). Then we will understand what Abraham Joshua Heschel meant when he observed, “Just to be is a blessing; just to live is holy.”

Knowing Our Path in the Midst of Change

Change is difficult for humans, from the moment we are expelled from the comfort and warmth of our mother’s womb. Because it is the fate of most of us to grow up and grow old, life is always changing, whether we like it or not. Change that we are ready for and desire is often exciting, but we have reached a point in human evolution where change seems to be happening faster than we can process it, leaving us overstimulated, anxious, and fatigued.

I believe God designed the earth to be cyclic to soothe us in such times of anxiety. It is encoded in our DNA to hunker down in winter, plant in the spring, enjoy growth in the summer, and harvest in the fall. Yes, climate patterns are changing, but the seasons are still with us, the sun rises and sets each day, and the moon continues to move through its monthly phases. Taking a cue from the earth, we design our holidays and rituals to provide stability and comfort through their cyclic nature; we know to expect fireworks on the Fourth of July and It’s A Wonderful Life to appear on TV in December.

Furthermore, even though God is always making things new, we have learned through the ages that God also has some never-changing qualities that we can count on: mercy, lovingkindness, compassion, forgiveness, and intimate knowledge of who we are at our core. Psalm 142 says, “When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then you knew my path.” When we become still and in sync with the rhythms of the earth, we know our path too; it is the one that winds through the heart of God.

Art and the Truing of Vision

Christ the Light Giver Icon
Sister Paula Howard, OSB

On Saturday, October 7, the topic of Oblate Renewal Day at the Mount was “Artisans of the Monastery.” Dr. Dennis Dunleavy led the group in an exploration of how symbols are part of our daily lives, and many oblates displayed original photographs, paintings, and crafts, while others led workshops that enabled participants to engage in hands-on art projects.

It’s not surprising that St. Benedict includes a section on artisans in his rule. As the poet Jane Hirshfield notes, “Good art is a truing of vision…. The desire of monks and mystics is not unlike that of artists: to perceive the extraordinary within the ordinary by changing not the world but the eyes that look.” In St. Benedict’s time, as in ours, anyone who can pick up a pen, a needle, a penny whistle, a lump of clay, a paintbrush, carving tools, a spatula, or a garden spade can enter into the creative process, enabling us to participate in God’s life of continual newness and transformation. Anyone who has lost track of time while immersed in writing, drawing, making music, or any other creative endeavor knows what it means to die to self and see with the eyes of God.

Persons who think art is dispensable typically are resistant to change. Hirshfield goes on to ask, “Why ask art into a life at all, if not to be transformed and enlarged by its presence and mysterious means? … And by changing selves, one by one, art changes also the outer world that selves create and share.” Art thus helps us transform the world into the kingdom of God, so we should actually be picking up our paintbrushes, musical instruments, writing tools, and other implements of creativity at every opportunity! 

End of the Line

In 1988, musician Tom Petty, a member of the Traveling Wilburys, co-wrote a song called End of the Line that included this lyric: “I’m just glad to be here, happy to be alive.” And then, as of October 2, 2017, at the age of 66 years, he was no longer here, having died of cardiac arrest. Another lyric from the song suddenly became more poignant: “Maybe somewhere down the road a ways / You’ll think of me, wonder where I am these days.”

Why is the death of a musician, actor, or politician we never even met such a shock to us? Somehow we connect with them emotionally through their music, art, or the way they lived their life; their death then triggers grief that may be surprising to us and provides a stark reminder that our own time is limited. A few weeks before his death, Petty said in an interview that he wanted to take on a number of different projects, but “There’s never enough time, you know?”

We do know, but we don’t act as if we know that our time is limited. St. Benedict advised us to keep death always before us. The death of anyone who has touched us in some way is a reminder to use our time wisely, because we don’t know when we ourselves will come to the end of the line.

Water of Life

Although we often talk about seeking God, I find it more helpful to think in terms of becoming more aware of God’s presence in my life and in the world. The distinction may seem subtle, but I think it is important. Is God somewhere I am not, meaning that I need to go and find God, or is it a matter of needing to become attuned to God who is already present?

In a commencement address at Kenyon College, the writer David Foster Wallace told the following story: “There are these two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, ‘Morning, boys, how’s the water?’ And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, ‘What the hell is water?’”

It is important to maintain awareness that we are swimming in the sea that is God because it changes the way we approach life. For one thing, such awareness helps us be more courageous, as the psalmist notes: “The Lord is my life’s refuge; of whom should I be afraid?” (Ps 27: 1). Furthermore, when we swim in the same sea of God that Jesus did—that is, when we experience God as a loving, affirming, and liberating Father—then we can participate in the flow of God’s life by living joyfully and reaching out to heal and liberate others.

How do we go about becoming attuned to God’s presence? Tried and true tools that can help us include practicing prayer and gratitude every day and striving to develop humility. One way to combine all three attributes is to recite this simple prayer every time we use water throughout the day to quench our thirst, brush our teeth, cook, wash, or bathe: “Loving God, thank you for being my water of life!”

To Infinity and Beyond

Last night, the TV show 60 Minutes included a feature on the Hubble telescope, which has been transmitting photos of space since its launch in 1990. One detail that caught my attention was described by NASA astrophysicist Amber Straughn, who noted what happened when the telescope was pointed at a seemingly empty, black patch of sky directly above the Big Dipper. After staring for days into what seemed to be a deep, dark void, the Hubble telescope revealed that the region includes thousands of galaxies—not just stars, but galaxies. The interviewer, Bill Whitaker, asked, “Is it that Hubble just stares into that dark spot until the light penetrates and reveals itself?” Straughn replies, “That’s exactly what happens. It’s sometimes many, many, many days of just staring at one part of the sky and allowing the photons to collect on your detector.”

It appears that the Hubble telescope, in addition to revealing the secrets of the universe, has also revealed a secret of the spiritual life: Light always exists, but sometimes we have to sit for many days and stare into the darkness until the light penetrates our limited vision and reveals itself. It takes patience to sit long enough for “the photons to collect on our detector,” but eventually we learn to trust that Christ our Light is always there, even when it doesn’t seem to be. Thus our attempts to learn more about the far reaches of the universe inversely are teaching us about the inner depths of our life in God. As Scripture tells us over and over, the beginning of wisdom is awe at the workings of the Lord!

Behold

Humans are fascinated about the possibility of life on other planets. Countless science fiction stories, movies, and TV shows have imagined what life forms from other worlds might look like, from “little green men” to creatures with two heads to jellyfish-like beings.

Why do you suppose we are so intrigued by the possibility of fantastic life forms from outer space when our own planet is teeming with an incredible array of life to spark our imagination? For example, what would it be like to drink water over our entire body, as a lichen does? What if we could evade threats by pretending to be a rock, as Lithops plants do? How would it feel to be a Wolffia, the world’s smallest flowering plant, which is so tiny that two adults can fit inside the letter “o”?

Given the marvels of life on earth, you would think we would be living in a perpetual state of awe. Somehow, however, in the transition to adulthood, we lose the wonder and curiosity of children, for whom everything is new and exciting. Yet, doesn’t God say in scripture, “Behold, I am making all things new”?

In some families, everyone who comes to the dinner table must relay something new that they learned that day. Perhaps we could adopt this practice to ensure that we take time each day to behold the wonders of God’s creation. As Shug Avery says in the book The Color Purple, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it. People think pleasing God is all God cares about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.”

The Way of Truth and Love

I am especially looking forward to morning prayer these days because we are reading from the book of Judith, which relates how King Nebuchadnezzar dispatched the general-in-chief of his forces, Holofernes, to conquer the world, a job he relished and accomplished with great cruelty, until he came across the Israelites. It’s like listening to a serial on the radio or a drama on TV—you can’t wait to see what’s going to happen next. Because “all of Israel cried to God with great fervor and did penance…[and] the Lord heard their cry and had regard for their distress,” I have a pretty good idea about how the story will end, with the overthrow of Holofernes and the delivery of the Israelites from his hands. As we hear over and over again in scripture, God hears the cry of the oppressed and responds with mercy and lovingkindness.

In this story from Judith, it so happened that a single woman was the instrument God used to defeat the oppressors of the Israelites. Last Friday night, I had the opportunity to watch a documentary, Taking Root: The Vision of Wangari Maathai, about a woman from our own times who was instrumental in delivering her people from a Kenyan ruler who oppressed the people and exploited the environment. The stories of these two women remind me of a statement by Mohandas Gandhi: “When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it—always.” Often it takes just one person of tremendous faith, courage, and ingenuity to help people overthrow their oppressors. We should rouse ourselves to support them so we, too, can be instruments of God’s compassion.

Abundance Mentality

Throughout my life, I have not always had what I wanted, but I have always had what I needed, and even more (as attested by my ongoing struggle to maintain a healthy weight). In spite of a lifetime of evidence that God will provide, however, I still find myself operating out of a scarcity mentality (I’d better keep that, because you never know when I might need it!). The often unconscious belief “There’s not enough to go around; I’d better be sure there’s enough for me,” which is so prevalent in our world, leads to tragic consequences as some people hoard wealth and resources while others suffer from hunger, war, lack of clean water and sanitation, and lack of health care.

Our worship aid on Sunday, September 24, included a thought-provoking quote from John Shea: “Remember, you are now in a consciousness called the kingdom of heaven and not in a consciousness that could be called “Comparative Status” or “Fear of Not Getting What You Deserve.” You do not need to worry and look out for yourself, for the One for whom you work knows what you need and is only too willing to supply it. You no longer live in the envious world of comparison but in the abundant world of God’s goodness.”

People with an abundance mentality are grateful and generous and live simply. By reminding ourselves of God’s everlasting history of goodness through praying the psalms, reading scripture, and recalling our blessings, we can live with trust and become an oasis of abundance for others in the midst of a perceived desert of scarcity. The psalmist invited us to taste and see the goodness of the Lord; today it is more important than ever to extend that invitation to others and radiate the joy of the good life.