The Chosen

Richard Rohr, OFM, said something recently that particularly caught my attention: “Chosen people are chosen to tell other people that they are chosen too.”

Although we say we believe God’s love is limitless and boundless, we still want to put fences around God’s love. These fences are often made up of words like “deserving,” “worthy,” and “fair,” as is illustrated in the parable of the Prodigal Son. Surely not all people are deserving or worthy of God’s love. Surely it’s not fair that God loves someone who is destructive. Surely if God has a special relationship with me and my people, God can’t also have a special relationship with you and your people.

It is worth noting that in Acts 17:28 it is said, “For in him WE live and move and have our being.” We, not I. All of us dwell within the God who made us, and God dwells in us, for we all exist in the Body of Christ. Thus, when Jesus said we should love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength and love our neighbor as ourself, this means that the God I love—the God in me—is the God I love in my neighbor. Every one is one; everyone is chosen.

If we truly believed that and were able to tear down the fences that we, not God, have constructed—well, as Sam Cooke sang, what a wonderful world it would be.

Oh, My God!

According to Anu Garg at A.Word.A.Day, the abbreviation “OMG” for “Oh, My God!” is not an invention of modern-day texters and Twitterers but has been around since 1917, when it was first recorded in a letter to Winston Churchill.

Although the abbreviation OMG might only have been around since 1917, the impulse to exclaim “Oh, my God!” surely has existed since humans developed the ability to see sunrises and hear birdsong and use language to give voice to their awe. Awe and gratitude in the face of the varied and multitudinous splendors of earth are woven into our DNA; if you doubt that, watch the face of a child who tastes ice cream for the first time.

In the busy worlds we have created for ourselves, we have truncated awe, packing it into a three-letter abbreviation and then moving on quickly to keep up with the demands we place on ourselves. Perhaps a healthy Lenten disciple would be to fast from abbreviated awe and feast on the occasions that lead us to say “Oh, my God!” After all, as the poet W.H. Davies observed in his poem Leisure, “A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.”

Water, Water, Everywhere

This morning, I came across this thought from Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim by Edward Hays: “A new day has dawned, and with it come fresh challenges to grow more mindful of you and of the web that unites me with all life.”

With the catastrophic flooding that has been occurring in the Midwestern United States the past couple of weeks, it occurs to me that perhaps water is the web that unites us with all life. After all, water makes up 83% of our blood, 70% of our brain, and 90% of our lungs; overall, our bodies are about 70% water. Thus, being composed mainly of water is a commonality that all humans share.

In the city where I live, Atchison, Ks., we were instructed to boil water before using it for four days last week, which brought us into solidarity with the 780 million people across the globe who lack access to clean water. Globally, 90% of all natural disasters worldwide are water-related, and thus the flooding we have experienced unites us with others across the world who have their lives threatened and disrupted by floods, landslides, tsunamis, storms, heat waves, cold spells, droughts, and waterborne disease outbreaks. The web of water reminds us that we are all one in our experiences, our needs, and our very being.

The order to boil our water for several days was a startling reminder not to take clean water for granted and to be thankful for this gift. It was a “doorway to awakening,” as Christine Valtners Paintner observes in her poem, “Cup”:

this doorway to awakening,

cup, bowl, basin, bath.

Our lives are filled with vessels

that save us each day.

A Lenten Reveille

The word Lent means springtime, and in the northern hemisphere, spring is a time when earth awakens from the dormancy of winter to enter into a season of growth. Therefore, it appears that Lent is a time when we need our own personal reveille!

According to Anu Garg at A.Word.A.Day, the word “reveille” comes from the French réveillez (wake up!), from réveiller (to awaken), from re- (again) + eveiller (to rouse), from Latin exvigilare (to keep watch), from ex- (out) + vigilare (to be awake or keep watch), from vigil (awake). It is ultimately from the Indo-European root weg- (to be strong or lively). Indeed, Lent is a time to wake up to God’s love for us, to rouse ourselves to perform acts of service, to keep watch in prayer, and to fast from foods that prevent us from being strong or lively.

This morning when I walked down the hall to the bathroom, someone’s door was open and I heard an alarm clock sounding with soft musical peals. We all respond to different wake-up calls—some of us need a blaring alarm to rouse us, whereas others respond to the gentle invitation of soothing music. The nature of our own personal reveille doesn't matter—what's important is that it keeps us from sleeping Lent away!

Crossing Borders

In her welcoming comments before mass at the Mount last Sunday, when we heard the story about Jesus’ transfiguration in the company of Moses and Elijah who came from other times and places, Sr. Esther Fangman observed that “heaven is the moment that crosses all borders.” Does that mean that the opposite is true: hell is the moment of separation that establishes borders? If we desire to be transfigured, does that mean that we need to transcend all borders?

In our human experience, we learn that we need to establish boundaries between ourselves and others. The process begins as we grow out of infancy, when we learn that we are separate from our mothers. Then we get busy creating a persona: I am this and not that. I am part of this group and not part of that group. If I believe this and not that, I will be accepted by others. Developing boundaries is an important part of maintaining our psychological health and physical safety, but in doing so, we often lose sight of the fact that we are connected with each other and with the earth as members of the body of Christ.

Jesus spent his life reaching across borders between men and women, between Jews and Samaritans, between the wealthy and the poor. Through his actions, he taught us that this is the way to make God’s kingdom come and do God’s will “on earth as it is in heaven.” We can experience heaven on earth when we cross social boundaries to recognize God in each other and care for the needs of each other. When we maintain rigid borders, on the other hand, we create hellish experiences for people seeking asylum in our country and those with a differing ethnicity, religion, or sexual orientation. The choice is ours: will we create heaven on earth by dismantling borders, or hell on earth by reinforcing them?

Our Mission Continues

I recently read an interview with addiction researcher Bruce K. Alexander, who notes that addiction usually occurs because people’s needs for belonging, identity, meaning, and purpose are not being met. He observed that during the fall of the Roman Empire in the fifth century, when St. Benedict lived, addiction to alcohol and to the violent “games” at the Roman Coliseum was almost universal. Alexander describes life in the capital city of Rome: “Intellectual life was degraded. Schools, law, and religion were corrupt and chaotic. Violence erupted. Political collapse was well underway. When bribes of bread and circuses—consumer goods and entertainment—failed to keep the people in line, law enforcement relied on brute force and the emperor’s despotism.”

Life at the time of the fall of the Roman Empire has many parallels to contemporary life. Many people today feel alone and neglected, don’t know who they are, have the sense that the world is random or ruled by evil forces, and lack purpose. Schools accept bribes from the wealthy, courts are packed with cronies of politicians, and many clergy abuse the innocent and the faithful to satisfy their appetites for sex and lavish lifestyles. Gun violence erupts regularly in our streets, workplaces, schools, and churches and the incidence of police shooting innocent black men is increasing, while people are distracted with consumer goods and video games and get addicted to alcohol and opioids.

Now, as then, St. Benedict offers us a way out of this dysfunction. Alexander notes that “…in cultures where everyone has a place and a purpose and a stable way of life, addiction is rarely found…. We need to get individuals out of the modern rat race and into less competitive communities where their work is valued and there is time for individual and group spirituality and celebration.” In writing his Rule, St. Benedict provided a blueprint for how to do just that.

Benedictine monastics and oblates continue to offer the world a model for how to live a balanced, fulfilling, contented life by centering their attention on Christ and providing a place of prayer and hospitality where others are welcomed, cared for, affirmed, and given purpose. As Fr. Duane Roy often says at the end of mass, “The mass is ended; our mission continues.” By our seemingly simple lives, we provide a remedy for the unrest in the world. May God bless the work of our hearts and our hands.

Obedience to Being, Not Doing

At our 2019 retreat on spirituality in the wilderness, Abbot Jerome Kodell offered an insight we can learn from Rebekah, wife of Isaac. God told Rebekah before her twins were born that the younger would serve the older, but Rebekah was impatient for that to happen, so she devised a plan whereby her son Jacob would dupe his father and cheat his brother to receive the blessing of the firstborn. This plan caused a rift in the family that separated brother from brother and child from parent; Rebekah never saw either of her sons again, and it took more than 20 years for the brothers to reconcile.

What can we learn from this story? Abbot Jerome quoted St. Vincent de Paul: “Those who are in a hurry delay the things of God.” We need to be patient and wait for God’s way to unfold, for that way contains wisdom beyond our own ability to see and our own desires.

It is hard for humans to wait. It feels like we are wasting time. The following meditation by Bob Holmes offers a helpful perspective:

In Christ,

Being always precedes becoming and doing.

Take time to be, to breathe and dwell.

Take time and own this moment.

Take time with eternity.

Most of us are very busy about becoming and doing. Even on retreat, I find myself working to accomplish things: Finish reading that book. Write that letter. Prepare that lesson for the prison. Instead, as Jesus showed, we need to show obedience to God first by being and by leaving the rest in God’s hands.

How Do You Know God Loves You?

In one of his conferences during our 2019 retreat at the Mount, Abbot Jerome Kodell observed that throughout human history, God’s message to us is consistent: (1) I will be with you; (2) I love you; and (3) trust me.

Paul Quenon, OCSO, a monk at Gethsemane Abbey and a former directee of Thomas Merton, has helped me flesh out what it means when God says to me, “I love you.” In his book In Praise of the Useless Life: A Monk’s Memoir, Quenon relates this story: “One time he [Merton] asked me, ‘How do you know God loves you?’ I fumbled out some vague reply. He said, ‘You know God loves you because he brought you here and takes care of you.’”

I considered how I would answer the question, “How do you know God loves you?”

• My first thought was that I know God loves me because God created me, and everything God does is done out of love. Fair enough—but that can be said of everyone.

• Well, I also know God loves me because of God’s self-revelation through creation and specifically through Jesus. That’s true, but again, it could be said of everyone.

• Okay, how about this: I know God loves me because he has given me teachers and friends to guide me, inspire me, and provide comfort and companionship. That feels more personal—that God has chosen these particular, extraordinary people to be my companions.

• And then there’s this: I know God loves me because God gives me challenges that increase my wisdom and insight. It is clear that these challenges are designed specifically for me with an understanding of what I need to grow.

• Even more intimately, I know God loves me because of the desire that has been planted within me to know God.

• Which leads, coincidentally, to the same reply Merton gave Quenon: “You know God loves you because he brought you here [to the monastery] and takes care of you.”

Knowing God’s individual, personal, intimate love for us helps us accept the other parts of God’s message: “I will be with you” and “trust me.”

So. How do you know God loves you?

Our Choice in the Wilderness

The theme of the Mount’s 2019 annual retreat, preached by Abbot Jerome Kodell, is “The Spiritual Path in the Wilderness.” One of the intriguing points Abbot Jerome makes is that, when Moses says to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and lead the Israelites out of Egypt?” God does not reply by affirming Moses and listing his qualifications. Instead, God says, “I will be with you.”

How would our lives change if we truly believed that God is always with us? We likely would be more courageous in living the gospel and less fearful that our own needs won’t be met. Yet we don’t believe God is always with us because, after all, bad things have happened in our lives…illness, the death of loved ones, financial difficulties, relationship problems. How can God be with us when things like that happen?

When we equate God with an invisibility shield that will protect us from all of life’s struggles and pain, we are bound to be disappointed and lose faith. As difficult as it is to accept, a life without struggle and suffering is not in our best interest. Sr. Jeanne Weber has noted, “We need to enter into the mystery of suffering instead of trying to understand it or evade it, and that suffering has the potential to open us to God in ways not otherwise possible.” As Abbot Jerome explained, “Unlike other creatures, humans are given a choice. If you don’t have to struggle, you don’t have to choose. Wilderness is not a punishment but a gift that helps us keep choosing God.”

In response to the temptations he experienced in the wilderness, Jesus chose God. His choice helped clarify who he was and what he was intended to do. The same is true of us. The path won’t be easy, but along the way we will receive signs that God is with us if we listen and incline the ear of our heart, as St. Benedict advises us to do in the prologue to his Rule.

Navel Gazing

I learned a fun new word today: omphaloskepsis (om-fuh-lo-SKEP-sis), meaning contemplation of one’s naval or complacent self-indulgent introspection. Overcoming the tendency to engage in omphaloskepsis is one of the purposes of Lent. We can do this by focusing on the opposite of omphaloskepsis: giving our full attention to others.

As Karen Casey and Martha Vanceburg have noted, “When we give one another our full attention, we embrace one another’s humanity.” To embrace a person’s humanity is to be aware of and celebrate God the Creator’s presence in that person and in the space between us. To have someone look directly into our eyes and listen to us is a holy moment, and it is a gift that we can offer to others at any time and any place.

When Jesus retreated into solitude during his years of active ministry, it wasn’t to practice omphaloskepsis but to gaze into the heart of God. During Lent, may our gaze be directed toward God in times of silence and toward others in our day-to-day activities.

An Offering of Well-Being

This Ash Wednesday, I am pondering a curious line from the book of Sirach: “One who heeds the commandments makes an offering of well-being.”

What does it mean to make an offering of well-being? Doesn’t it seem selfish to offer our own well-being to God?

First, God desires our well-being, because people who are physically and spiritually healthy have more energy to participate fully in the life God has given us, which leads to an enhanced ability to love, to serve, and to be grateful. Why would God want us to experience the pain of addiction, illness, and broken relationships when they cripple our ability to live and love fully? God who loves us desires our well-being.

Second, achieving well-being requires sacrifice. To be physically healthy, we need to eat healthy foods in moderation and avoid overindulging in fatty, sugary foods, alcohol, and other drugs that dull our senses and deplete our energy. We must sacrifice our tendency to work so much or engage in so many sedentary activities that we don’t take time to exercise or get enough sleep. To be spiritually healthy, we need to pray every day, listen more than we talk, curb our pride and our tendencies to judge and gossip, and cultivate gratitude. These sacrifices are not self-indulgent, because when we live a balanced life, we can enhance the lives of others. Nor are these sacrifices easy to achieve; they require dedication, patience, and dying to self.

Our bodies and our lives do not belong to us; they are given to us in sacred trust. As Thich Nhat Hanh observed, “Your body belongs to your ancestors, your parents, and future generations, and it also belongs to society and all other living beings. All of them have come together to bring about the presence of this body. Keeping your body healthy is an expression of gratitude to the whole cosmos — the trees, the clouds, everything.”

This Lent, may we make God an offering of our well-being as an expression of gratitude and our desire to live fully the life to which we are called.

God's Dwelling Place

The psalms repeatedly insist that the earth praises God. How does the earth do this? Through its very being, because Christ is present in all things. What goes for the earth goes for humans (for we are, after all, of the earth). Our very existence is an acknow-

ledgment of God’s creativity and love, which is not earned and cannot be negated. Here is a poem to encourage you to embrace the God who dwells in you, in all your complexity.

Multitudes

Stop screening your gaze

and you will witness all the earth

living the fullness of God—

Buttercups,

       blushing sunrises,

                     and coral beds,

Yes, but also

               howling gales,

      stinging sleet,

            and erupting lava,

For creation is

      the body of God

            and it contains

                 multitudes.

You too are

a masterpiece

     of magnanimity

            and miserliness,

        fragility and ecstasy,

                 impulsiveness

                         and despondency—

An honorable vessel

   of the holy imagination,

        a blueprint of possibility                       

for the revelation

              of the infinite One

Who says where I Am

            you will be.

                    –Jennifer Halling, OSB

The March of Our Contradictions

It is said that the month of March either enters as a lamb and departs as a lion or vice versa. Garrison Keillor quipped that God invented March to show people who don’t drink what a hangover is like. It’s a month of sudden changes in weather—one day can bring a blizzard, the next 70° temperatures. For Catholics, it’s a month of penitence interrupted by the feasts of St. Patrick, St. Joseph, and the Annunciation. What are we to do with this month of contradictions?

The poet Walt Whitman would tell us to embrace March’s contradictions, along with the contradictions within ourselves. He famously said, “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.” Similarly, Whitman’s contemporary, Ralph Waldo Emerson, said, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.”

Consistency, sameness, routine, and boundaries can offer us the comfort of knowing what to expect. However, they can also be stifling when they blind us to the multitudes within ourselves. Such multitudes are surely in us because the God of multitudes dwells in us through the boundary-less Christ. May the March winds remind us to be open to change, to newness, to the surprise of what God will be doing in us next.