Saying Yes

I used to wonder why Christ became human when and where he did. Why not 500 years earlier in Europe or 200 years later in Central America? Then I heard a priest ask in a homily, “How many young women did God ask to be the mother of his son until one—Mary—finally said yes?”

Today we celebrate the feast of the Visitation, when, after Mary said yes to God’s request, she and her cousin Elizabeth met and celebrated the ways that God had worked in their lives. Perhaps it is a good day to consider what possibilities remain unrealized in our world because, unlike Mary, we lack the trust, self-confidence, or generosity to say “Yes” to what God asks.

One of the most remarkable aspects of Mary’s “Yes” is that she did not question whether she had the capability or worthiness or stamina to do what God asked; she trusted that God would provide what she needed to fulfill the task, even though it was enormous. What could be a greater responsibility than being the mother of God’s son?

We often back away from engaging in transformation because it feels too big and scary, but tinkering around the edges of our lives fails to satisfy, which is one reason I finally made the decision to join the Mount community. When we choose transformation, God provides the strength and the means, as the life of Mary illustrates. Thankful for her “Yes,” may we have the courage to follow her example and be a bearer of Christ’s light in the world.

Heavenly Chores

Yesterday, my aunt Jean and cousin Bucky and I brought flowers to the graves of family members. Although their earthly remains are at their grave sites, we know that they themselves are no longer there. So where are they, and what are they doing? Some possibilities are explored in the following poem.

Outsourcing

They all prayed my father would rest in peace

whereas he I’m quite certain was much

relieved to discover a long list of chores awaiting

a watchmaker’s skills in the heavens

Spinning galaxies

               wobbling off axis

                              spewing

               s  t  a  r  d  u  s  t

               were long overdue

for synchronization

And angels were in need of precise adjustments

        to maintain their hairspring balance

                            on the head

                                  of a

                                  pin

Meanwhile, my mother

  was awarded a route filling

      neglected hummingbird feeders

          with ruby nectar

               My friend Joan assists overtasked bees

               in pollinating the almond trees

My grandmothers ensure that pies

don’t bubble over in the oven

And when my time comes

I’ll be the one who makes your

book of poetry open to

j  u  s  t

the right

    page

Calling Ourselves Beloved

Memorial Day weekend is an appropriate time to consider the following epitaph of the writer Raymond Carver, from his poem Late Fragment:

And did you get what

you wanted from this life, even so?

I did.

And what did you want?

To call myself beloved, to feel myself

beloved on the earth.

In spite of God’s extravagant love for us, it often seems to take a lifetime to be able to call ourselves beloved and feel that we are beloved during our time on earth. That’s too bad, because people who understand how much they are loved don’t waste time worrying about being judged and whether they merit forgiveness. Instead, they—like Jesus—become remarkably courageous, loving, and compassionate. 

This Memorial Day, may we continue to extend love and forgiveness to our deceased family and friends and remember that we are all held in the loving embrace of our infinite God.

Imagining the Kingdom of God

In an essay in The New York Times, Martin P. Seligman and John Tierney claim that what makes humans wise is that we contemplate the future. Evidence shows that our brains consider the past and present valuable only as sources of information that can help us see and shape the future.

How, then, do the parting words of Jesus—that he is going to prepare a place for us—help us see and shape the future? If we truly believe that “surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Ps 23:6),” how will that affect our behavior? Perhaps we will be more likely to see goodness and mercy at work in our lives if we are on the lookout for it. In addition, perhaps we will anticipate the need to be a good guest in God’s house and thus will practice picking up our dirty socks, pitching in to help with chores, and expressing gratitude now—and by doing so, help create heaven on earth!

When we celebrate Pentecost this year, let us invite the Advocate, who is always with us, to sharpen our imagination so we can envision the kingdom of God—a place of abundance, peace, and unity—and then help it unfold through our attitudes and actions. Let us be dreamers together in the Body of Christ.

Lift Up Your Eyes

The physical environment in which we are raised has a definite effect on the way we see the world. Having grown up in Kansas, my eyes are accustomed to looking outward across open fields to the horizon. Now that I am visiting my older brother in Utah, I am getting a taste of what it is like to have my eyes drawn upward to the mountains.

In scripture, the mountain is the place where Moses, Elijah, and Jesus leave their everyday life to encounter God directly; it is a place of transformation. Although I certainly believe God is present in our daily lives, something about the physical act of climbing helps us be more aware of our desire to be with God. It also literally provides a new outlook and new perspectives.

Although we tend to want to stay on the mountaintop once we get there, we aren't capable of living in perpetual transformation. We humans need time to integrate what we learn on the mountaintop. However, when we are feeling stuck, it's good to climb--be it a mountain, hill, tree, or stairway--or at least lift up our eyes to the heavens. Being rooted is a great gift, but our spiritual imagination needs wings as well.
 

Live On In My Love

Last night at the Catholic Callout at Lansing Correctional Facility, the discussion leader asked the question, “Has there been a time when you truly felt saved?” Most of the inmates replied “No”; one even said he’d be grateful just to get to purgatory. I finally spoke up and said, “You should know you are saved every time you receive the Eucharist. God died for you! What more do you want? What more proof do you need that God loves and forgives you?”

I hope my exasperation got through to them. One of the inmates followed up on what I said by remarking, “I think it’s really arrogant to think that God can’t forgive you. That’s placing limits on what God can do. I just go about my business and don’t worry about it any more.” At least one of them gets it!

We need to relay the good news about God’s love and mercy at every opportunity through our words, actions, and attitude of joy, because the energy of so many people is tied up in worry and self-recrimination when it could be directed toward gratitude and service to the body of Christ. “As the Father has loved me, so I love you; live on in my love.” We have been told; now we need to act on what we know.

The Monastic Practice of Pruning

One of our volunteers at the Mount, Karen Schneller, is a master gardener who has devoted considerable time to the study of pruning techniques. In February she pruned the rose bushes in front of St. Catherine’s guest house, and I was surprised at how little of the plant was left after she was done. Today, however, these bushes are lush and blooming profusely. Apparently, these bushes need to be cut back to their essence to foster new growth—and the same is true of us!

Joining the Mount community required deep pruning of my possessions and lifestyle. Indeed, I think one reason I became a monastic was because I knew the pruning was necessary but didn’t have the strength or motivation to do it myself. Maintaining a house and a car and taking care of pets required a lot of my attention and energy, and though pruning them was painful, the sap can now flow in a new direction. In addition, considering the perspectives and feelings of community members is requiring pruning of my self-centered outlook, which got overgrown after years of living alone.

In a way, living in community is like being part of an orchard—our roots are intertwined, but our branches must be pruned to make room for other trees and to ensure that each tree receives the light and breathing space it needs. I’m grateful for the pruning that has occurred both in me and in the community so I can take root in the Mount orchard.

A Flowering Presence

Recently a friend gave me the book Gifts of Near-Death Experiences by Sheila, Dennis, and Matthew Linn. One of the gifts observed by the people who have these experiences is an understanding of how close our deceased loves ones are to us after they die. Although we generally are not attuned to their presence, they are still with us in a very real way.

I’m always more aware of my mom’s presence in the spring, when the flowers and hummingbirds that she loved return to lighten our hearts. I especially think of her when I see irises, columbine, bleeding heart, lilies of the valley, vinca, roses, salvia, Stella de Oro daylilies, gladiolus, globe amaranth, zinnias, cockscomb, and clematis, all of which she planted at our house in Leavenworth. When my parents married and bought their first house, my mom told my dad she wanted to plant some flowers, and he said, “Why? You can’t eat them!” I’m grateful that she was not swayed by his philosophy and instead followed her instincts to bring beauty to our home through flowers.

My gardens have always primarily contained vegetables, but now that I am at the Mount, I hope I can learn how to grow flowers as well, especially as a way of honoring my mom’s continued presence in my life.

God the Dream Maker

The Bible is full of stories that describe how God has communicated with people through dreams. Notable dreamers in the Bible include Jacob, Joseph the son of Jacob, Daniel, Jesus’ earthly father Joseph, the three magi, and Pilate’s wife. Today, we who live in the “Information Age” generally do not include dreams as one of our primary sources of knowledge. That’s unfortunate, because as Srs. Emily Meisel and Jeanne Ranek note in their seminar “Dream Work on the Spiritual Journey,” dreams are a powerful avenue of the communication of wisdom and are one way God seeks to help us achieve healing, growth, wholeness, and balance.

About two weeks ago, the thought crossed my mind that I should arrange a visit with my aunt and cousins from my mom’s side of the family (the Will family) before I enter the novitiate, but I haven’t contacted them yet. Then last night I dreamed that my dad, who was very devoted to family, was going away for a long period and was coming for a visit before he left. I turned the porch light on but I saw him go into the house next door, where my mom’s family was gathered. I heard someone say that he only had time to visit one side of the family, and he chose to visit the Wills. It appears my dream was encouraging me to follow my Dad’s example—and so I “will”!

I suspect I’ll be gifted with more dreams in the coming year and look forward to decoding the messages they provide. As Srs. Emily and Jeanne said, the God who lives in us is a dream maker and has endless imagination and dreams for our healing and our growth. We need to do our part by being receptive, writing down any dreams we remember, and making them part of our lectio practice.

Journey to the Center

Recently I attended the workshop “Dream Work on the Spiritual Journey” at Immaculata Monastery and Spirituality Center in Norfolk, NE. During my stay I had the opportunity to practice a form of walking meditation using the labyrinth on the monastery grounds. Labyrinths are symbolic of pilgrimage for people who cannot travel to holy sites and lands and remind us of our journey to God, who is at the center of our being and of all things. Here are some thoughts on the spiritual journey that came to me as I walked:

• We need to trust the path, even when it seems to be leading away from the Center instead of toward it.

• Parts of the path are straight and other parts are twisting, but it is necessary to walk the entire path to get to the Center.

• At some parts of the path we are tantalizingly close to the Center when in actuality we still have a long way to walk.

• Parts of the path are beautiful, offering lovely views and marked by lush growth, whereas other parts of the path are undeveloped, dull, and boggy.

• You can’t take a shortcut to the Center.

• Sometimes you end up to the right or left of where you want to be.

• Walking the path takes as long as it takes.

• The desire to get to the Center will lead you there.

Finally, it was appropriate that I encountered this labyrinth at a Benedictine monastery, for it made me grateful that I am on a Benedictine path with my Benedictine companions.

Let All Around Us Be Peace

This weekend I officially signed a contract for the sale of my house in Leavenworth. It’s a lovely place … the semi-secluded location with a field behind the back yard, five large oak trees, and a wooded area/creek at the end of the cul-de-sac exuded a sense of peace. The paint on the outside of the house was even called “Peace Yellow.” It was a gift to live there for four years, and it feels bittersweet to let it go. Still, as the poet Ludwig Jacobowski said, “Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.”

Grieving our losses is necessary and important, but gratitude for what has been is key to moving on. The solitude I experienced in that house was what I needed at the time, but then I was called to grow in a new direction and learn the lessons that come with living in community.

It is also important to recognize the fine line between grieving and clinging. Ronald Rolheiser has noted, “By clinging to what once was we cannot recognize God’s presence within a new reality.” The birds sang sweetly and I felt a sense of peace at my house, but I can hear birdsong and feel at peace at the Mount—not by stepping out onto my back deck, true, but by walking in the cemetery and the woods and gardens located on the grounds at the back of the monastery. In addition, I can recognize God’s presence in the new reality of voices blending together in the chapel and conversing at the dinner table.

It’s time for the house in Leavenworth to be a blessing for my friend who is buying it and will now dwell there. Peace before us, peace behind us, peace under our feet—peace within us, peace over us, let all around us be peace.

They Won't Ever Be Gone

On Wednesday, May 3, Sr. Rosemary invited us to celebrate Sr. Lou Whipple’s 51st birthday with chocolate chip cookies in the lunchroom. Sr. Lou died in March, but it felt appropriate to feast in her honor as she herself was celebrating at the heavenly banquet. As George Eliot said, “Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.”

Willie Nelson echoed this idea in a tribute song to the late Merle Haggard: “He won’t ever be gone / His songs live on / We’ll be singing him back home from now on / He won’t ever be gone.” I can imagine Jesus’ disciples saying this to each other in wonder after they encountered their risen friend: “He won’t ever be gone!” Their ears were opened to a new understanding of his words, “I will always be with you.” Perhaps they even sang a farewell song to Jesus as he ascended on his way back home to his Abba.

“Happy Birthday to You” should be part of our repertoire as we sing our loved ones back home to God—what better way to commemorate both their time on earth and their new life in the Spirit? So happy birthday, Lou—we rejoice in knowing that in the tree of life, our roots are forever intertwined. 

Turning Toward the Light

When we are gifted with a sunny day after experiencing a long period of clouds and rain, I wish I could feast on the light, as plants do. Actually, however, because Christ is the light of the world, when we consume the body of Christ in the Eucharist, we are in effect feasting on the light! This musing prompted the following poem of gratitude for the lessons we can learn from plants about being sustained by the light.

Sustenance

I envy plants for many reasons,

but primarily because they feed

on light, whereas I must shop and cook

and chew and digest and expel

instead of simply standing

in place and harvesting

the sun’s rays to create sugar,

guaranteeing a sweet life

and generating oxygen

for other beings,

breathing into our nostrils

with the gentleness of a Creator

who forever wants us

to turn toward

the light.

Images of God the Worker

Today, May 1, is International Workers’ Day, as well as the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker. Interestingly, at the leadership seminar I attended this past weekend, I came across an unusual image that made me think of the future of the Mount Community—several women, side by side, working in a rice field! I’m certainly not suggesting that the Mount should flood our lower field to grow rice! However, the picture was interesting in that the women’s reflection could be seen in the water, which led me to meditate about how, no matter what work we might do in the future, we can be reflections of God during our time together in the school of God’s service. As Pope Francis has noted, “Work, to use an image, ‘anoints’ with dignity, fills us with dignity, makes us similar to God who has worked and still works, who always acts.” Thus we are images of God when we work, whether that be in a school or a rice field or a kitchen. And when we work side by side, the reflection grows to become an image of the body of Christ, which is a beautiful picture indeed.