The Sturdy Shelter of Friendship

Recently I saw the movie Moonlight, which tells the story of a boy, Chiron, who was bullied throughout his childhood, mainly because he was gay. Because Chiron has spent so much of his energy protecting himself and dealing with his anger and rejection, he reaches adulthood without really knowing what he believes, what gifts he might have, and what values he wants to uphold. Chiron ends up becoming a drug dealer, despite the fact that drugs destroyed his mother’s life and killed the man who became like a father to him during his boyhood. Fortunately, Chiron’s sole friend from his teen years reaches out to him, and Chiron has the courage to reconnect with the one person who understands his pain, confusion, and vulnerability and enables him to be honest with himself. By reaching out to Chiron, this friend likely saves his life.

All of us have a deep-seated need to be seen and known for who we are, which is one reason Psalm 139 is so compelling (“O Lord, you search me and you know me….”). We are doubly blessed if we have an earthly companion who knows us through and through, accepts us, helps us discover what we believe and what we really want to do, and encourages us to be a gift to the world by being our own true self. As the book of Sirach says, “A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; the person who finds one finds a treasure. A faithful friend is a life-saving remedy….”

Jesus said, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” We generally think of laying down our life as being a dramatic gesture, such as taking a bullet for another. However, laying down one’s life can also mean the mundane daily dying to self that enables us to put aside our own desires so we can give our time and attention to our friends—creating a sturdy shelter for them, as it were. Actively practicing the art of friendship is important because we never know when we might be called upon to be a life-saving remedy to a friend.

Pain and the Call to Wholeness

In my Wisdom Literature class, we have been studying the book of Job. After hearing Job’s friends speculate about why he suffers and must repent and hearing Job repeatedly proclaim his innocence, we finally got to the part where God responds to Job’s demands for a tête-à-tête. God appears in an impressive display of power and force via a whirlwind, which is appropriate; if you ask for a private meeting with God, you should expect to have your world turned upside down! And indeed, Job discovers that the most important question for him to be asking is not why he suffers, but how God is present to him in his suffering. From the whirlwind, God does not address the reason for suffering but basically says, “I have great power, but what I choose to do with it is to nurture all of creation,” which, of course, includes Job himself.

It is interesting in the story of Job that it is not God who inflicts the pain Job experiences (though God allows the pain to occur). God’s desire for us is not suffering, but healing. As Jack Wintz, OFM, observes, “The best way to know God's attitude about human suffering is to watch Jesus. Jesus embodies God's wishes toward humanity. What do we see Jesus doing? He goes about healing—saving. We never see him inflicting blindness, leprosy, lameness, insanity upon people but setting them free of these misfortunes. Jesus is, indeed, the best gauge of God's true intentions toward us. To follow Christ in the Gospels is to follow a trail of discarded crutches, stretchers, bandages and oppressive bonds of every kind. If Jesus is the embodiment of God's will among us, as the Gospels teach, then certainly God's will is our healing.”

We all know that being human means we will experience pain and death. We don’t know why this is so, and it’s likely we never will during our human existence. However, we can choose how we will respond to this reality. When we resist pain and death, question it, and view it as a sign that we have been abandoned by God, we suffer. When we trust that, as Jack Wintz notes, “The power of God that raised Jesus out of suffering and death to new life will raise us also,” we can face pain and death with a sense of peace. In some way beyond our knowing, out of the whirlwind, God’s power is at work, bringing all creation to wholeness.

Reforming My Approach to Lent

When I speak about Lent to the inmates at Lansing Correctional Facility, I tell them that Lent is meant to be a time of conversion, which means turning our lives more completely over to Christ and his way of life. I note that the Church is wise in setting aside a special time to focus on conversion, because it is a challenging process and, without the mutual support provided by the other members of the body of Christ, we would just as soon remain in our comfortable thoughts and patterns.

A couple of years ago, I remember standing in line next to Sr. Cecilia Olson in the Mount dining room, and she mentioned she was looking forward to Lent. “Why?” I asked. For me, Lent had always been a period I approached reluctantly—a time of self-discipline that I knew would be good for me but that I wasn’t going to enjoy. She, however, viewed it more as a time to leave behind old ways of living and embrace new life in Christ.

If, as noted on the Mount handout on Lenten community observances, “Lent is about changing ourselves so that we have hearts more prepared to be open to love,” that ultimately is a cause for joy. This year, I hope that I can reform my old ways of thinking about Lent and approach it not with grudging reluctance but as an opportunity to grow in the capacity for love and joy.

Letting God Shine Through Our Lives

Recently some students from Benedictine College undertook a “Discovery Day” project in which they studied the stained glass windows and other architectural features of St. Scholastica Chapel at the Mount. As part of this project, the students helped plan a special mass that took place in the chapel and was attended by approximately 400 sisters, students, and faculty and their family members. In her welcoming remarks, Sr. Anne Shepard noted that when the chapel was being designed, the sisters asked that the stained glass windows depict female saints so that as the community and Mount St. Scholastica College students prayed, they would be “surrounded by the saints, living and dead.”

We don’t often consider the fact that the people who surround us may be saints. However, if saints are those who, in the words of Joan Chittister, “…[pursue] … the one thing that matter[s] in life—the awareness of the presence of God,” then saints are indeed all around us. We may be saints in the making ourselves!

Around the time Mother Teresa was canonized, my friend Mike Sanem was part of a panel discussion on saints that was broadcast on the radio program Up to Date. The radio host, Steve Kraske, noted that the number of saints who have been canonized in recent years has been increasing, and he wondered if that made sainthood less special. Mike responded, “It’s not that the have too many saints, it’s that we have too few saints; we are all called to sanctity, to saintliness, to letting God shine through our lives, no matter how messy or humble…we’re all called to be a sign in world of God present among us, to be an example to others of who God is and what God cares about.”

I’m grateful to be part of a community where we have daily reminders to let God shine through our lives, whether those reminders come through the stained glass windows in our chapel or the people sitting in the choir stalls next to us.

Balance and the Good Life

My living group at the formation house (Marywood) is studying the book Monastic Practices by Charles Cummings, OCSO, and this past week we discussed the chapter on work. One observation Cummings made is that in Genesis, humans were given the responsibility to care for the earth and its creatures before the Fall—that is, work is not a punishment for sin, but it “belongs to the essential rhythm of a fully human life.”

I like the concept of rhythm when it comes to work. Because we often tend to base our self-esteem on the type of work we do and how much work we accomplish, it is easy to let our lives be driven by activism or workaholism. Monastic life attempts to counter this tendency by establishing a daily rhythm of prayer, sacred reading, work, shared life in community, and leisure. Once that rhythm becomes engrained in us, it becomes easier to notice when we are out of balance as a result of too much work or not enough leisure, for example.

Striving for balance can sometimes seem like a safe, boring practice. Doesn’t the intensity of pursuing one’s passion with singleminded determination get lost when you have to stop to pray or work or attend a community meeting? I don’t think so—not if we let our passion infuse every aspect of our life. Wisdom says that balance is key to the pursuit of the good life, as reflected in the words of Thomas Merton, who said, “Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm, and harmony.” That works for me!

The Force of Human Presence

In my wisdom literature class, we are currently studying the book of Job. I found it interesting that at the end of Chapter 2, after Job had been afflicted and his three friends journeyed to give him sympathy and comfort, “they sat down upon the ground with him seven days and seven nights, but none of them spoke a word to him; for they saw how great was his suffering.”

Being present to persons who are suffering is the greatest gift we can offer them, but as we ultimately see with Job’s friends, something in us believes that is not enough. Instead, because of our own discomfort or our need to fix things, we feel compelled to tell suffering people that we know how they feel, or offer an explanation for their suffering, or provide suggestions for how to overcome it—none of which is helpful to the person who is suffering.

The best response to suffering I have encountered was articulated by Alan Lew in his book Be Still and Get Going: “Suffering is one of the deepwater mysteries of human existence. It can neither be explained nor controlled, but it can be met by a deepwater mystery of equal force—the mystery of human presence.”

It takes courage to be with someone who is suffering—to counter the cry of “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” by manifesting God’s presence in our own being, as did the women who were present at Jesus’ crucifixion. Suffering is a force that we all encounter, but we can take comfort in the knowledge that it can be met with the humble and yet equal force of human presence.

Mending the World Through Reverence

This past weekend I saw the film Outcasts, which depicts the work of the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal as they accompany and minister to people who live in poor communities throughout the world. Two friars who appeared in the film were present for a question and answer session, and in response to the question, “What can we do if we are not called to live among the poor as you do?” one friar replied, “The word that comes to mind is reverence. We must have a sense of reverence for each person we encounter in our daily lives.”

This statement made me think of a video that Sr. Esther Fangman included in a presentation on prejudice at the most recent Senate meeting at the Mount. A white woman, apparently angry that she was standing in line behind a woman of color at a customer service counter, began spewing a loud tirade of hate and bigotry. No one standing nearby attempted to interrupt the tirade or moved to support the verbally abused woman in any way. However, if we have reverence for all people, we are called to intervene in such situations—for example, by moving to the side of a person who is being bullied as a sign of support.

As Clarissa Pinkola Estes has noted, “Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely.” The needs of the suffering people of the world can feel overwhelming, but we are not asked to address these needs by ourselves. One of the beauties of being part of the body of Christ is that, when we each work to mend the part of the world within our reach, the world is knitted together in a web of healing and of peace.

The Instincts of Love

Today we celebrate the feast of St. Scholastica, the twin sister of St. Benedict and founder and prioress of a monastery of nuns at Plombariola, Italy. Twins are said to have a special bond, and it appears that Scholastica and Benedict remained close throughout their lives, setting aside time for a day-long private visit once a year. St. Gregory the Great, in his Dialogues, relays the most well-known story of St. Scholastica—how, in the year 543, as her yearly visit with Benedict was concluding, she asked him to extend his stay overnight so they could continue praying and conversing. Benedict, not wishing to break his own rule, refused, insisting he must return to his cell at his monastery. Scholastica then began to pray, and soon a fierce storm commenced outside the guest house where they were staying. Benedict had no choice but to spend the night, and three days later, Scholastica died.

This story reminds me of a statement by Mohandas Gandhi: “Love is the strongest force the world possesses, and yet it is the humblest imaginable.” Scholastica’s love for her brother and trust in God unleashed a mighty storm that served the ends of love … all as the result of a humble (though confident) prayer. Her love overrode Benedict’s determination to follow the rules, despite the fact that his 63-year old sister (an advanced age for the times) likely was showing signs of frailty and infirmity. Her wisdom in following the instincts of love and asking God for extra time with her brother likely was a comfort to Benedict after her death. May St. Scholastica guide us in following the instincts of love, so we too may humbly but confidently unleash the strongest force the world possesses for those who are greatly in need of it!

Discerning Our Call to Witness

Today in the resource Give Us This Day we learned about St. Josephine Bakhita, a woman born in Southern Sudan in 1869 and sold into slavery. She ended up in Italy, and upon learning that slavery was illegal there and that she was free, she joined the Daughters of Charity, where “She lived to the age of seventy-eight, mostly engaged in simple tasks, cooking, sewing, serving as doorkeeper.” Upon being asked by a visiting bishop what she did, she reportedly replied, “What do I do? Exactly what you are doing—the will of God.”

It was interesting to read this story after watching a video of an address by Dr. Greer Gordon on Leadership and the Church and having a discussion with my living group about our call to be witnesses to the Gospel. It appears that we can be witnesses through our very being, as St. Josephine was; her existence as a free black woman who, of her own accord, chose to serve God and others was a form of witness in and of itself. On the other hand, our witness can also take the form of concrete actions of advocacy and care for persons in need.

If we are seekers of God, our lives become a witness to the presence of God in the world no matter what tasks we are called to do. Some people seem to be called to quiet lives of service in the household, whereas others are called to march and launch initiatives and protest on behalf of others. Discerning our particular call to witness is an ongoing challenge because we sometimes make judgments that some forms of service are more important than others, or we wish we had a different call, or our call changes as our lives progress. Ultimately, though, if we live as though we are beloved of God, listen, and respond to the needs that are brought to our attention, our witness can’t help but bear fruit.

Wrestling with Restlessness

In my class on Benedictine values, we learned that Fr. Ronald Rohlheiser identified restlessness as an obstacle to developing a sense of contemplation. One definition of restlessness might be “The desire to be someplace other than where we are.” Monastics are not immune to restlessness—for example, it may appear we are praying in our choir stalls at vespers when our minds (and stomachs) are already walking down the hallway to the dining room!

Being present wherever we are is a form of discipline. It helps us avoid the pitfall of judging that this place is better than that place or being with this person is preferable to being with that person. It is an acknowledgment that God is always present, no matter where we may find ourselves or whatever task we may be undertaking.

The following questions asked by Christine Valtners Paintner are worth pondering: “Is there a place for each of us, where we no longer yearn to be elsewhere? Where our work in to simply soften, wait, and pay close attention?” Although initially it may not seem like very consequential work, undertaking the practice of presence is key to bringing wholeness and peace to our fast-paced, fractured, and restless world.

God's Delight

The other day I noticed a piece of artwork near the monastery recreation room that says, “The Lord takes delight in you!” This reminder echoes the words of the Wisdom Woman in the Book of Proverbs, who “rejoices in God’s inhabited world and delights in the human race” (Prov 8:31).

Most of us believe that God grieves with us when we are sorrowing, but do we ever consider that God “shakes with our laughter,” as Bernadette Farrell proclaims in her song, God, Beyond All Names? I thought of this on Wednesday when I visited Christo Rey High School in Kansas City. The school day ended with a pep rally, and the gymnasium thundered with music, cheers, dance, and laughter as students and staff competed in such illustrious competitions as the crab walk race and a rousing game of “rock, paper, scissors.” I could imagine God down on the gymnasium floor, dancing with the school mascot (a puma) and putting an extra spin on basketballs as they swished through the hoops.

I hope these students are able to sense that God delights in them, as God delights in all of us, especially when we laugh, create, support each other, and, along with the Spirit of Wisdom, rejoice in God’s inhabited world and in each other.