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.