Sanctifying Time

In reference to praying the liturgy of the hours, Benedictine scholar Adalbert de Vogue has noted that “…at the heart of the monastic vocation…is to sanctify time by letting ourselves be recalled, indeed disturbed, at short and regular intervals by the service of the divine praise.”

The idea that we can “sanctify time” is new to me. However, humans regularly refer to “killing time” or “wasting time,” so it stands to reason that time also can be honored and made holy. Time itself is actually a human construct, a tool, to help us live productively and communally. We know in the back of our minds that one day we will die—so how can we make holy our span of existence here on earth?

de Vogue suggests that we make time holy when we stop at regular times during the day to offer praise to God. Prayer is certainly a tool for sanctifying time, but very few people can pray 24/7. Perhaps a different way to look at the sanctification of time is to understand, as Paula D’Arcy says, “God comes to us disguised as our very lives.” All time, all of our life, is sanctified because of our union with God through Christ; as Kathy Coffey explains, “…the Holy One holds everything.” The key to understanding the sanctification of time, then, is to increase our awareness of the One who holds everything, including us. Regular prayer is a time-honored way of increasing that awareness. Even better is developing the mindset that God is infused in all things by actively echoing God’s eternal “Yes” to everything we encounter. Then it is not just time but all life that is sanctified.

Noticing the Gentle Whisper

Brenda Ueland, who wrote a book called If You Want to Write, offers this insight: “Inspiration does not come like a bolt, nor is it kinetic, energetic striving, but it comes into us slowly and quietly and all the time, though we must regularly and every day give it a little chance to start flowing, prime it with a little solitude and idleness.”

I believe the same can be said of God.

For most of us, God does not come like a bolt, like a a voice from the clouds, like a pillar of fire. In general, God avoids drama and instead “comes into us slowly and quietly and all the time.” This characteristic is affirmed in 1 Kings 19:11-13, when God appeared to Elijah not in a powerful wind, an earthquake, or fire but in a gentle whisper. It takes a little solitude and idleness to notice that God is even there, but prayer—when we engage in it regularly and every day—primes the flow of God’s life in us.

Life is challenging enough without added drama from God. May we be attentive to God’s voice that comes to us slowly and quietly and all the time so God doesn’t have to resort to extraordinary means to get our attention!

Seeing With an Artist's Eyes

Sister Gertrude Nagel, who died on October 18, was one of the artisans of our monastery. Sr. Gertrude blessed us not only with the work of their hands but by reminding us to look at the world with an artist’s eyes. As we gathered after her vigil, we heard story after story of how she stood transfixed in the presence of beauty. She loved the feel of clay, the shape of flowers, the colors of creation. Jigsaw puzzles accumulated in her room because she was drawn to the colorful pictures on the box lids.

The trajectory of Sr. Gertrude’s life also reminds us that becoming who we are is a process. She enjoyed doing art projects with her students during the 35 years she taught primary grades, but it was not until she was in her late 50s that she took a class on the potter’s wheel and discovered she was an artist herself. Her creativity flourished as she shared her gifts with her wider Benedictine community in Oklahoma and then Kansas.

Sr. Gertrude showed us how to slow down to see and appreciate the intricate beauty of the world, as well as how to be open to the new things God calls us to throughout our lives. We remember her in grateful prayer.

Fasting from Busyness

Usually when we hear the word “asceticism,” we think of fasting—from food, from possessions, from noise. How often, though, do we think of it in terms of fasting from busyness?

Christine Valtners Paintner points out, “Asceticism does not ring well in modern ears . . . Yet…. There is a profound gift in the invitation to ask ourselves what the things that distract us from God are.” Busyness is certainly one of those things that distracts us from God.

Lately I’ve noticed that I’m generally in a rush to leave chapel after Sunday mass, because even on the Sabbath, I generally have a long list of things I hope to accomplish during the day. Meanwhile, as I’m rushing out the door, Sr. Janelle Maes or Sr. Susan Barber is playing a gorgeous recessional piece on the organ, most of which I miss after I walk out the door. I’ve decided engage in the discipline of slipping into a seat in the back of chapel and listening to the music until the last note. (Not all forms of discipline are great hardships!) It’s a small action but sets an intention about the way I hope to spend the day—leisurely, taking time to absorb the beautiful things offered to me by others or by nature.

Refraining from constant busyness may not entail rigorous asceticism, but it is a discipline, and it does offer us the profound gift of contemplation of the beauty of the world.

The Great Hall of Learning

Yesterday, during an interview for a vocation video, I was asked what I value about Benedictine spirituality. The first things that came to mind were hospitality—the continual opportunity to see and encounter Christ in guests and in community members—as well as cultivation of the awareness of God’s presence through prayer. As I thought about it further, I was somewhat surprised to realize how much I value the Benedictine quality of love of learning.

I have had a lifelong love affair with words, so it makes sense for me to follow a Rule that gives the best part of the day to reading. Although Benedictines take a vow of stability, our minds are free to encounter the wisdom of other times, cultures, and peoples through books, classes, workshops, speakers, and videos. Just in the past several months I have visited Egypt through a class on Desert Spirituality; the southern United States through a workshop on Flannery O’Connor; Honduras and Mexico through the stories of guest speakers who spoke about immigration; and the outer reaches of the universe through Richard Rohr’s book The Universal Christ.

Although I was sad to give up the bulk of my personal library when I joined the monastery, I have discovered that my access to the great hall of learning, the Body of Christ, is unlimited. God truly does make all things new, and the love of learning takes us to fresh and surprising places. As G.K. Chesterton said, “There are no uninteresting things, only uninterested people.”

The Courage of Receptivity

Jesuit priest Dean Brackley, who taught and ministered in El Salvador from 1990-2011, said this to students and other visitors who came to the country for brief immersion trips: “Have the courage to lose control…to feel useless…to listen…to receive.” This sound advice is useful not just for persons immersed in an unfamiliar culture but for all people who value humility as a tool for growing in wisdom and kindness. Usually we think of needing courage when we are about to take action in some way, but courage is also required to release our desire to control our circumstances and be receptive to what other people have to offer.

Last night I had my annual initial formation review meeting with the eight other members of my living group and two members of the Formation Team. Although Psalm 139 assures me that I dwell continually in God’s awareness (“you know when I sit and when I stand; you are familiar with all my ways”), I’m still not accustomed to being the center of attention and was quite ready for the session to conclude after the first of five areas of discussion! Nonetheless, my willingness to (1) give up control of the conversation, (2) listen to the observations of others regarding both my strengths/gifts and limitations/opportunities for further growth, and (3) receive the wisdom of others who have lived in a monastic community for a long time allowed me to be nurtured and encouraged in the practice of conversatio, that is, openness to change/conversion.

One wise aspect of monastic life—that great experiment in communal living that has been going on for 1500+ years—is to put structures in place (such as retreats and annual review meetings during the years of initial formation) that ensure we have opportunities to listen, receive, and practice conversatio. Although most of us tend to resist examining the ways we might need to change, mustering the courage to be receptive to such an examination leads to a holy experience, especially when you have the support of a group of loving, insightful, and wise companions.

Cultivating a Wider Heart

One aspect of entering a Benedictine monastery that is quite different from life outside the monastery is the practice of undergoing an annual review meeting with members of  one’s living group and formation team during the years of initial formation (until final profession). Most people aren’t likely to sit down with a family member, friend, or colleague once a year and ask them, “What do you see as my strengths and weaknesses? Do I need to make any changes that will make it easier for us to live or work together?”

I doubt that anyone in initial formation would say that these annual reviews are their favorite part of monastic life. The cultivation of humility—accepting that our talents are God given and entail responsibility and that our weaknesses and failings affect others and need to be addressed—is not easy. However, it does bear fruit. In this year’s review meetings with members of my living group I learned that I fidget a lot in chapel, something I was not aware of but likely reflects the racing of my mind when I should be focused on prayer. I was also cautioned against perfectionism, which reveals the lack of trust that leads me to want to rely on myself instead of God (and can be a trial for others as I try to get things just right!).

Ironically, although this annual examination during the years of initial formation feels very self-focused, the goal is to move outside the self. As Christine Valters Paintner notes in Desert Mothers and Fathers: Early Christian Wisdom Sayings Annotated and Explained, "As the desert monks moved through their daily lives, they cultivated an ability to let go of their self-consciousness about whether they were doing something correctly and their self-preoccupation about whether their spiritual practice was getting them somewhere. The motivations behind so many of our actions are to be loved, approved of, seen, or accepted. These are all valid needs. However, we get transfixed by them, and they become the primary reason we do anything at all. Those who advanced on the desert path moved slowly past these tiring and narrow concerns about the self, cultivating a wider heart. They were able to step outside of themselves and meet others where they are.”

To cultivate a wider heart and step outside of ourselves to meet others where they are should be the goal of all Christians. Although I can’t say I look forward to my annual review meetings, I am grateful for the monastic wisdom that provides this structured means of helping me work toward this goal.

A Robust Path to Peace

Most people probably would not use the word “robust” to describe their relationship with God. Consider, however, the following definition of robustness by David Whyte in his book Consolations:

To be robust is the be physically or imaginatively present in the very firm presence of something or someone else. Being robust means we acknow-ledge the living current in something other than ourselves…. Without robustness all relationships become defined by their fragility, wither and begin to die. To be robust is to attempt something beyond the perimeter of our own constituted identity: to get beyond our own thoughts or the edge of our own selfishness. Robustness and vulnerability belong together.

How else can we be present to God, who is firmly with us yet clothed in mystery, without using our imagination? When we try to define God, we place limits on who God is, which in turn limits the experience of God we are able to have. As Whyte goes on to say, “[Although] a robust response always entertains the possibility of humiliation, it is also a kind of faith; a sense that we will somehow survive the impact of a vigorous meeting, though not perhaps in the manner to which we are accustomed.” Certainly the Israelites fleeing from Egypt did not expect God to part the sea for them, and Jacob did not expect to spend the night wrestling with God, yet they survived the impact of these vigorous meetings, which led to a deepening of their relationship/covenant with God.

Tapping into the living current that is God in the world helps us die to the boredom, complacency, and dissatisfaction that we feel when we stay within the perimeter of our own constituted identity, thoughts, and desires. It leads to the good zeal that St. Benedict speaks of—the openness to surprise, the delight in discovering new things about God, the sense of excitement and love that spills out of us into the world when we answer the invitation to participate in the life and love of the Trinity.

Jesus could just as easily have said, “Robustness be with you; my robustness I leave with you.” It is certainly one of the paths to peace.

A Zeal for Reverence

In the prologue to his Rule, St. Benedict counsels us, “If we wish to reach eternal life…then—while there is still time, while we are in this body and have time to accomplish all these things by the light of life—we must run and do now what will profit us forever.”

John Muir offered a different perspective on our journey to the “Holy Land” when he said, “Hiking—I don't like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains—not hike! Do you know the origin of that word 'saunter?' It's a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, 'A la sainte terre,' 'To the Holy Land.' And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not 'hike' through them."

Here we have a dilemma. Do we “run on the path of the Lord’s commandments,” as St. Benedict advises, or saunter along the path to eternal life with reverence? If we saunter, will we lose our zeal, our burning desire, to know and serve God? If we run, will we miss God’s presence in whatever is before us?

Perhaps one response to this dilemma is to have good zeal about sauntering! If we burn with a desire to reverence God and God’s creation, then we will take the time to saunter along God’s beautiful paths and respond with our attention and gratitude. Good zeal and reverence are both vital characteristics of the good life. To live in balance, we need to make room for both running and sauntering on the road to eternal life.

In Christ There Is No Apophenia

I learned a new word this week: apophenia, meaning the perception of connections or meaning in unrelated or random phenomena. For example, some people would say that seeing the image of Christ in the form of Jesus on the top crust of a grilled cheese sandwich is an instance of apophenia.

In that particular instance, those people would be wrong, of course. As Paul says, “He (Christ) is before all things, and in him all things are held together” (1 Col 17). God is incarnate in the world through Christ, and thus there is no disconnect between Christ and anything that exists. Christ is sort of like our DNA; we generally aren’t consciously aware of it, but it is always present in our body nonetheless. Any perception of separation from Christ is false. When we awaken from this illusion of separation, we are like Jacob, who, when he awoke from his dream, proclaimed, “Truly the Lord is in this spot, although I did not know it!” (Gen 28:16).

When we do come to know that the Lord is in this spot—is in every spot—we become transformed people. Apophenia may exist when we see a horse’s head in a cloud formation or an archer in the stars of a distant galaxy, but it is not a word that applies to Christ, who is all in all.

Shaking the World Through Gentleness

October 2, 2019, is the 150^th birthday of Mohandas Gandhi, one of humanity’s great spiritual warriors, who showed us through his choices and actions how to live out Jesus’ teachings on non-violence and love. Gandhi said, “My life is my message,” a breathtaking statement that calls for our contemplation.

In reality, we all could say “My life is my message,” for what we believe is illustrated in the way we live our life. The question is, what message are we sending to others? People who believe in a merciful God forgive others. People who believe in God’s providence share their blessings with others. People who believe Christ is incarnate in the world treat everything in creation—water, earth, plants, animals, and people—with reverence.

One reason Gandhi is a great role model for us is his integrity. He believed in living simply, and at the end of his life, his only possessions were his spectacles, a bowl and plate, a spinning wheel, a few articles of clothing, leather sandals, a pocket watch, and a few scripture books. He believed in nonviolence and helped his people gain freedom through fasts, imprisonment, and peaceful marches and protests. His life truly was his message. May he inspire us to be true to our own call to simplicity, nonviolence, love, and service as followers of Jesus.