Sustained in Life and Death

On Wednesday morning, I sat for a while with Sr. Dorothy Heideman, who was approaching the end of her earthly life. I was touched by the number of sisters who came to her side and stood in reverent silence to pray her home. When Sr. Elaine Gregory brought Sr. Dorothy communion and she could not be roused, Sr. Elaine pressed the pyx containing the Eucharist firmly against her forehead and lips so she could be sustained by the essence of her Savior. This image stayed with me as we sang the following refrain from the song Behold the Lamb at mass the next day:

Behold, behold the Lamb of God,

All who eat, all who drink shall live;

and all, all who dwell in God,

shall come to know God’s glory!

Fr. Richard Rohr has observed that “In Paul’s letter to the Romans he says quite clearly ‘the life and death of each of us has its influence on others’ (14:7).” Sr. Dorothy’s life certainly had an impact on us as we watched her serve quietly and faithfully as a teacher, principal, and librarian and then suffer for years with restlessness and confusion as a result of Alzheimer’s disease. I believe the community (including the Dooley Center nurses and CNAs) learned the depths of God’s own patience and commitment as we cared for her during those final difficult years, and she learned to surrender to God’s love through the care she received. Surely her death during Evening Prayer on Thursday was a blessed event, for as she took her last breaths, we were praying the following canticle from 1 Peter 1:

Bless God, the father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

through whose great mercy we are born again

into living hope through Jesus’ resurrection,

into an inheritance ever fresh and pure and bright,

kept in heaven for you.

May the memory of Sr. Dorothy be a blessing for us as we await our own rebirth into living hope and the inheritance of those who dwell in God.

Strength in Fragility

Lately, signs of the fragility of the world and its people have become increasingly apparent. Large swaths of the rain forest are burning in Brazil, ice sheets are rapidly melting in Iceland, diseases are starting to become immune to antibiotics, and persons with fragile egos are going on shooting rampages. Closer to home, several of our sisters have been banged up in falls, and one of our volunteers is recovering from injuries sustained in a bicycle accident. How do we respond to these signs of fragility?

First, we can interact with others with as much kindness as we can muster. As Rev. John Watson noted, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” We treat people who have bruises and broken bones with sympathy because their injuries are visible, but many people are carrying financial, caregiving, mental health, or family-related burdens that we know nothing about. Any kind or affirming word we offer might be a lifeline to help them get through the day.

Second, we can remember that, ironically, those who are truly strong accept their own fragility with equanimity instead of wasting their energy fighting against it. In a recent interview on 60 Minutes, former football star Tim Green, who has the degenerative neuromuscular disease ALS, said the following: “When people tell me, ‘God bless you, “ I say, ‘He already has.’” Instead of being bitter about his disease, he is grateful for the many blessings of his life and is focusing on the things he can still do, such as writing, raising funds for ALS research, and being with his family. Facing our human fragility  can teach us humility and strengthen our spirit.

Finally, we can remember that for God, “darkness itself is not dark, and night shines as the day” (Ps 139:12). It is easy to feel overwhelmed by the environmental and human rights challenges facing us, but God who created the universe has a different perspective, and we can trust in the light of that vision. Our earthly home and our very lives will grow strong in the broken places.

Capturing the Light

I recently read some excerpts from the memoir A Dream About Lightning Bugs by musician Ben Folds, in which he muses about the process of becoming an artist. It occurred to me that his observations also apply to the process of discovering God and becoming a person of faith.

Consider the following comments by Folds and my own related observations:

• "At its most basic, making art is about following what’s luminous to you and putting it in a jar, to share with others."

     At its most basic, living a life of faith is about following the light of Christ and capturing its essence, so we can share it with others.

• "We all see something blinking in the sky at some point, but it’s a damn lot of work to put it in the bottle. Maybe that’s why only some of us become artists. Because we’re obsessive enough, idealistic enough, disciplined enough, or childish enough to wade through whatever is necessary, dedicating life to the search for these elusive flickers, above all else."

     Integrating the light of Christ into our lives—entering through the narrow gate, as it were—is hard work and requires that we be obsessive enough, idealistic enough, disciplined enough, and child-like enough to dedicate ourselves to pursuing and trusting in that light.

• "Position yourself upon a bedrock of honesty and self-knowledge, so that your writing comes from your own unique perspective. Know where you stand and what your flaws are."

     Be honest about your motivations, be clear about your beliefs, and cultivate humility by knowing your flaws and limitations.

• "Empathy and perspective are everything, and neither should be taken for granted."

     In our interactions with others, we need to love our neighbors as ourselves (that is, be willing to understand their experience as well as we understand our own) and remember that others have thoughts, feelings, and experiences that are different from ours and no less valid.

• "I think it has to be about subtraction. It’s not a matter of cooking up a persona or style so much as it is stripping away what’s covering up the essence, what was already there."

     We need to strip away the self image we have spent a lifetime constructing (that is, die to self) to reveal the essence of Christ, who already dwells in and through us.

Artists and people of faith have a lot in common—dedication, perseverance, fidelity to the truth, humility, appreciation of diversity and beauty, and the luminosity of those who seek and find. We are kindred spirits—let us value and support each other!

Getting in Alignment

Recently I have heard it mentioned that there is a difference between attempting to do God’s will and aligning ourselves with God’s will. It’s a subtle difference that is worth exploring.

In general, we can say that it is God’s will for us to be in relationship with God, respect all forms of life, act with integrity, and serve others, especially the poor and marginalized. The ways we can align ourselves with God’s desire for us are as unique as we are, whether we choose to be a teacher, a parent, a health care provider, a monastic, or a professional athlete. The how is not as important as the desire; as Thomas Merton said in his well-known prayer,

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,

though I may know nothing about it.

To align ourselves with God’s will entails a sense of humility and mystery, whereas seeking to do God’s will implies that one has been given a specific task and a specific way of doing it. We have all known people who, in their zeal to do what they believe is God’s will, are actually imposing their will on God by insisting on following a particular path, regardless of their own gifts and limitations and the needs of the people they encounter.

It is significant that St. Benedict begins his rule with the words “Listen and incline the ear of your heart.” Listening is key to discernment of how to align ourselves with God’s will. When we feel a sense of peace and well-being, we are on the right track. When we feel agitated, restless, and angry that other people aren’t cooperating with our desires, it’s time to ask if we are truly doing God’s will or imposing our own will on God and others. May we all be blessed in our discernment, because to be aligned with God’s will leads to the good life that comes with wisdom.

Wisdom in the Balance

I have come to believe that wisdom resides in the balance of knowing this: 

(1) I am unique and wonderfully made.

(2) So is everything else in the universe.

Psalm 111 proclaims, “Great are the works of the Lord,” and that includes humans! We are a complex symphony of differentiated cells with their own specialized tasks that work in concert with every other cell in the body to pump blood and oxygen, transmit electrical impulses, process food and stimuli, create new cells, and eliminate waste. As Maria Popova states, “…even the smallest and most invisible of these processes, phenomena, and laws are not trifles but condensed miracles….” That’s what each of us is: a walking condensed miracle. Furthermore, although the same biological and chemical processes are at work in every human, no two humans are exactly alike in how they experience and choose to respond to the wonder of being. There’s no doubt about it: humans are awesome. Appreciation of the wonder of our bodies and the love we receive from our Creator is one aspect of wisdom.

Lest we let our awesomeness infect us with pride and a sense of superiority and entitlement, Psalm 147 reminds us, “God counts out the number of stars, and calls each one by its name.” It appears that God also has an intimate relationship with other the other forms of life that God has created, including stars and plants and animals. It is humbling to consider the vastness of the universe and realize, as Ella Frances Sanders puts it, “just how indisputably tiny we are in the grand scheme of things.”

Thus, in the balance between the aplomb that results from knowing we are a condensed miracle and the humility of understanding that everything else in the universe is miraculous as well, we find wisdom, which leads to gratitude, wonder, joy, and reverence for all creation. That is, the good life—not just for us but for all the other tiny bits of creation that dwell in the heart of God.

Directing Our Gaze

The ancient Israelites apparently had only a short-term memory of their spiritual heritage, for not long after the people told Joshua “We will serve the Lord, for he is our God” (Joshua 24:18), “…a later generation arose that did not know the Lord, or what he had done for Israel; abandoning the Lord, the God of their fathers, they followed the other gods of the various nations around them” (Judges 2: 10, 12). This story illustrates well the following observation by Simone Weil: “Sin is not a distance, it is a turning of our gaze in the wrong direction.”

Like the Israelites we read about in Scripture, we too lose sight of what God has done for us and turn to idols that seem to offer cheap grace. All humans have a tendency to be blockheaded, and we all require a lot of repetition for a concept to travel from our heads to our hearts. Therefore, although I often tire of hearing the Exodus story over and over and over again in our psalmody and Scripture readings at liturgy of the hours and daily mass, the repetition is important. It serves the purpose of keeping our gaze turned in the right direction—the direction of God who has made a covenant with us, who leads us through trials (mostly of our own making), and who loves us despite our infidelity and pride.

One value of praying daily, even when it seems tedious, is that it keeps our gaze focused on God. When we remember God’s goodness, we are less likely to be distracted by that which does not give life—by idols who “have mouths but speak not, eyes but see not, ears but hear not…their makers shall be like them, everyone that trusts in them” (Ps 115). We imitate the characteristics of that which we worship. Let us worship God, who is compassionate, merciful, and faithful.

Whatever Happens

Although we who live in North America begin to lose a bit of light every day beginning on the summer solstice, the loss generally is not noticeable until mid August, when suddenly we realize it is getting dark around 8:15 pm. Our eyes are then opened to other signs that autumn is inching toward us: the last of the sweet corn is picked, students start returning to school, and ribbons are awarded at the county fair. Persons who love summer cling to their gardens and outdoor activities as long as possible, while those who favor autumn start dreaming of wearing sweaters and eating pumpkin pie.

At the beginning of the year, the word I chose to focus on was contentment, and the changing of the seasons provides a perfect opportunity to practice that virtue. Although I would prefer to eat home-grown tomatoes all year round, I’ll be much happier if I am content with and grateful for whatever food lands on my plate. Sr. Jeanne d’Arc recently showed me a short poem by Galway Kinnell that succinctly describes an attitude of hospitality to the present moment:

Prayer

Whatever happens. Whatever

what is, is what

I want. Only that. But that.

One of the great benefits of dying to self—letting the self’s desires and preferences wither and drop away—is that we gain the grace to welcome life as it presents itself to us each day, in whatever guise. When whatever happens is what you want, you can’t be disappointed. We say that people with this attitude have few wants, which is true. However, they do still have the desire to embrace and experience life, which is not nothing—but they greet life as a guest instead of trying to manipulate who or what shows us at the door each day. As Robert Frost concludes at the end of his poem The Road Not Taken, “And that has made all the difference.”

Painful Lessons

I’ve been dealing with a toothache for the past two weeks. My sister-in-law has had pain in her right hand and wrist for the past two months. I have several friends who have been living with chronic pain for years as a result of autoimmune disorders. How can any good come out of physical pain that is so disruptive?

I do believe that experiencing pain can help us become more aware of and compassionate toward others who are in pain. I have ready access to a dentist, but lots of people don’t; how many of them have only a bottle of ibuprofen to dull the throbbing in their jaw as they drag themselves through the day? Do I even think about that possibility when I encounter people who are irritable or worn out?

Another possible consequence of pain occurred to me as I read the following insight by Christine Valtners Paintner: “When we rush from one thing to another, we skim over the surface of life, losing the sacred attentiveness that brings forth revelations in the most ordinary of moments.” Pain prevents us from skimming over the surface of life. It demands that we be fully present to the sensations we are feeling at this very moment. Most of us would be hard pressed to call pain sacred, but it certainly teaches us attentiveness.

Here is a question that pain invites us to consider: Can we be as attentive to God—and to the Christ in others—as we are to our pain?

As with everything that enters our lives, pain can be our teacher if we stop resisting it and listen to what it has to say.

A Little Bit of Common Day

Yesterday at mass, Fr. Duane Roy noted that we were celebrating the 19th Sunday in common time. The phrase “common time” caught my attention; according to the dictionary, common can mean relating to everyone (as in the common good), known by everyone (as a common nuisance), belonging to or shared by everyone (a common friend), occurring or appearing frequently (a common sight), widespread or general (common knowledge), or characterized by a lack of privilege or special status (a common laborer). Thus when time is common it relates to everyone, is known by everyone, is shared by everyone, and is widespread, and those who have it lack special privilege. It almost sounds like a definition of Christ!

Time is humbling, the great equalizer, because it is common to all of us; no one has more minutes in an hour than anyone else. As with most things, we make judgments about the value of time—for example, I viewed the time I spent with my friend Louise last week as precious, whereas the two hours I spent in mandatory training to be a prison volunteer felt like a waste of time. However, when are part of the body of Christ, all time becomes extraordinary because we are always encountering Christ in everything and everyone we encounter and in all that we do.

As Sr. Mary Faith Schuster said with characteristic wisdom in her poem Pre-Dawn, “I’ll have a little bit / of common day, / please.” Having a little bit of common day is reason to celebrate, indeed.

Shepherding the Wind

Hosea isn’t exactly my favorite book of the Bible, but it does include the marvelous phrase “shepherding the wind,” which caught my ear recently during morning prayer and inspired the following poem.

Acquiescence

Humans who believe

they can command nature

to do their bidding

by shepherding the wind

with gigantic turbines,

seeding clouds to make it rain,

and capturing the sun’s

radiance in solar panels

eventually will be humbled—

whether through gales,

drought, or the limits

of technology—

and cease their efforts

to bend the natural world

to their will, instead

observing it as closely as

one watches one’s beloved,

accepting her independence,

marveling in her strength,

abandoning attempts to dictate

the terms of a relationship

but seeking only to accompany

her on the byways of life,

to dwell in the presence

of her loveliness and

contentment with who she is,

learning from her at last

the secret of how to flow

with life’s mystery.

Blessing the Work of Our Hands and Hearts

One of the beautiful rituals of monastic life at Mount St. Scholastica is the blessing of ministries that occurs at the end of our community meeting in August. Although the time when hundreds of sisters departed at the end of summer to teach in schools throughout Kansas, Missouri, Nebraska, Iowa, and Colorado is long past, we continue to embrace the Benedictine values of ora et labora—work and prayer—at Keeler Women’s Center, Sophia Spirituality Center, Maur Hill–Mount Academy, Benedictine College, Donnelly College, various health care settings, and the monastery.

At the blessing ritual, we accept the call to ministry by committing ourselves to seek God, lovingly receive others as Christ, extend compassion to the poor, and undertake the work entrusted to us in the name of the community. Each sister then receives a personal blessing from the prioress, including each sister in Dooley Center, whose ministry is to pray for a specific person, group, or intention.

I wish that each person in our society was able to have his or her work affirmed in such a way. Every type of work is important because it allows us to serve each other, which affirms our value as humans. Performing some type of work—including prayer, which is the work of God—is an acknowledgment that I have time, effort, and/or a talent to give, and you are worthy of receiving it. We may not perform our work perfectly, but it is important that we offer ourselves to God as we are, invite God to dwell in us, and allow God to continue to form us, as expressed so eloquently in the song Take, O Take Me As I Am by John L. Bell:

Take, O take me as I am

Summon out what I shall be

Set your seal upon my heart

and live in me