Breath as Prayer

Photo by Steven Depolo. Breath of God Spectrum
 Hospital chapel. 

It is estimated that older children and adults breathe 17,000 to 30,000 times a day, although it is a mostly unconscious activity. With Pentecost approaching, when we remember how the resurrected Jesus breathed on his disciples and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit,” we have the opportunity to be conscious of breathing as an act of prayer, of gratitude, of solidarity with others.

We usually associate prayer with word and ritual, but Thomas Merton offered a different option when he said, “How I pray is breathe.” When we simply sit and breathe, we remember who gives us breath. We recognize how vulnerable we are when we can’t breathe, which leads to humility. We learn that we don’t have to accomplish anything to earn God’s love—awareness of God’s presence through awareness of our breath is itself a gift to our Creator.

In these days especially, our breath can carry a prayer for persons with the COVID-19 virus and other respiratory ailments who are struggling to breathe. Heather Sellers, who had been practicing how to breathe for years as part of her meditation practice, wrote in The Sun magazine that after she contracted the virus, it became her breathing teacher. She said, “It has to do with observing and allowing. Now as I walk…every step is a mindfulness meditation. I can’t believe how hard it is to allow an in-breath and gently let that breath go. There are many moments I think I’m not going to make it…I’m not going to keep breathing. And I must allow that, too. And I do.”

It is typical for us not to appreciate what we have until we are deprived of it, but we can make a different choice. We can let the breath of the Holy Spirit infuse us with gratitude for our own breath, which animates us, unites us to God and each other, and centers us in the present moment. Lenny Kravitz reminds us, “You’re never promised your next breath.” With humility and gratitude, we can set aside time each day to welcome each breath when it comes, so we can let go with no regrets on the day it does not come again.

A Grand Gift for Silence

When people are asked what qualities they look for in a friend, characteristics such as “supportive,” “loyal,” “patient,” and “good sense of humor” are often mentioned. The famous literary detective Sherlock Holmes added a seldom-mentioned quality to this list when he said to his friend, Dr. Watson, “You have a grand gift for silence, Watson. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion.”

Here is a clue as to why being silent is a grand gift to our friends: “silent” is an anagram of “listen.” People who are comfortable with silence are generally good listeners, and to be listened to is healing, because it affirms our worth and leads to clarity.

I recently read an interview in The Sun magazine with Jared Seide, who uses a listening technique called “Council” with people who experience a lot of stress, such as health care providers, police officers, students and teachers in poor neighborhoods, and prison inmates and guards. He reports that simply sitting in a circle and listening generously and without judgment as others speak about their experiences can be “transformative in its ability to cultivate compassion and reduce defensiveness and aggression.” He also notes that it helps us be present to each other and to make sense of our lives.

St. Benedict was careful to school his monks in the value of silence; the very first words of his Rule are “Listen and incline the ear of your heart.” He knew that listening to God and to others is transforming, and that developing “a grand gift for silence” helps us meet the deep longing of others to be heard, to be recognized, and to be healed. May we not overlook the value of silence and listening in our efforts to love God with all our mind, heart and soul and to love our neighbor as ourselves!

We Remember Them

I won't be able to visit graves on Memorial Day this year, but I can remember my deceased family and friends in other ways. In this poem, for example.

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 fall open to

j u s t

           the right

                 page

                             —Jennifer Halling, OSB

The Power of Restraint

I recently watched a National Geographic program on U.S. national parks that showed footage of bighorn sheep, which engage in horn-butting battles during mating season. Given the immense force of these collisions, you would think the sheep would experience concussions, but over time they have developed horn and skull structures that protect them from brain damage. Butting horns is what bighorn sheep do, and because their behavior wasn’t going to change, their bodies evolved to protect them from the consequences of that behavior.

Compared with other animals, humans have not had to develop physical adaptations to protect us from our sometimes destructive behavior. Environmentalist and author Bill McKibben explains it this way: “The turtle does what she does, and magnificently. She can’t not do it, though, any more than the beaver can decide to take a break from building dams or the bee from making honey. But if the bird’s special gift is flight, ours is the possibility of restraint. We’re the only creature who can decide not to do something we’re capable of doing. That’s our superpower, even if we exercise it too rarely.”

From a spiritual perspective, Jesus showed remarkable restraint when he was arrested, tried, and convicted on false charges; he did not defend himself or call on legions of angels to rescue him. As he hung on the cross, he also refrained from condemning those who put him to death but asked God to forgive them.

Jesus did not attempt to protect himself because he had learned to trust in a loving, merciful God who would not abandon him, even in the face of suffering and death. His resurrection shows that God’s love cannot be contained by the grave. Jesus used the tools of nonviolence and love, not an impervious physical body, to overcome the human tendency to seek power, prestige, and wealth. As we face the forces of greed that lead to so much human suffering and destruction of the earth today, we can trust that the tool of restraint expressed through nonviolence and love will allow us to be victorious as well.

Honoring God's Imagination

Credit: brianlean.wordpress

We can say without a doubt that God delights in diversity. What else could we believe of a God who created both pygmy seahorses (no bigger than 1 inch long) and the blue whale, which can weigh up to 200 tons? Why else would God create fluid water and dense rock, colors from the deepest magenta to the palest peach, and voices that range from the trill of birds to the croaking of toads?

Somehow, humans came to adopt a much narrower vision. As architect and suffragist Florence Luscomb (1887-1985) noted, “The tragedy in the lives of most of us is that we go through life walking down a high-walled lane with people of our own kind, the same economic situation, the same national background and education and religious outlook. And beyond those walls, all humanity lies, unknown and unseen, and untouched by our restricted and impoverished lives.”

When we create, something of ourselves lives within our song, our painting, our poem, and our children, and the same is true of God the Creator. Thus, when we choose to avoid people who are different from us in race, religion, culture, country of origin, sexual orientation, economic standing, and level of education, for example, we are cutting ourselves off from different aspects of God that are expressed in everything that has being. God offers us richness and the joy of discovery, whereas we often choose constriction and fear of that which is unfamiliar.

We can choose to be seekers of God in all that has being by rekindling our holy curiosity: What does that food taste like? Will that plant grow in my yard? What was it like to grow up in Syria? Why do Muslims fast from sunrise to sundown during Ramadan?

We’ve been given a world created by a very imaginative God. The height of gratitude is to venture beyond our well-trod, high-walled lane to explore and delight in all aspects of creation with our God, who wants to be seen and known.

Our Lovable Father

St. Gertrude of Helfta (1256-1301), a German Benedictine nun, mystic, and scholar, wrote a prayer that included this line: “I sing to you, Lord God, lovable Father.”

I have never heard God referred to as “lovable Father” before. Generally we consider people who are kind, generous, lighthearted, and amusing to be lovable. Yet isn’t God all those things—the one who constantly forgives, provides a fertile earth to meet all our needs, is filled with grace, and creates goofy-looking creatures such as giraffes and platypuses? Despite this evidence that God is lovable, somehow God has gotten a reputation as being aloof, stern, judgmental, and difficult to please.

Jesus certainly thought of God as lovable. He spent as much time with his “Abba” as possible, engaged in intimate conversations with him, and looked forward to returning to him at the end of his earthly life. Jesus not only helped us see God in a different light but invited us to enter into this nurturing relationship: “Whoever loves me will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our dwelling with him” (Jn 14: 24).

St. Gertrude clearly thought of God with great affection. Because she felt reassured in God’s unending love, she was able to ask God to be her all in all, as the conclusion of her prayer demonstrates:

Be my honor, Lord,

my joy,

my beauty,

my consolation in sorrow,

my counsel in uncertainty,

my defense in everything unfair,

my patience in problems,

my abundance in poverty,

my food in fasting,

my sleep in vigilance,

and my therapy in weakness.

May our meditation on this prayer lead us closer to our lovable Father, who invites us into a circle of mutual delight.

Remain In My Love

When Jesus said, “As the Father loves me, so I also love you,” he was teaching us an essential truth about the nature of love: it cannot be contained. When we are loved, we in turn extend that love to others—period. Believing that God—and by extension, Jesus—and by extension, we ourselves—have a limited amount of love to give is a falsity. That is one reason Jesus said, “Remain in my love.” As long as we do so, we have access to an unlimited source of love that heals, unites, and leads to peace. This is the secret of people who seemingly have an endless capacity to accept others as they are and perform good works.

I also believe Jesus said “Remain in my love” because he knew that what love draws forth from us might feel too daunting, and thus we might be tempted to turn away. The heart that is inclined to volunteer at a soup kitchen, advocate for the rights of immigrants, or go on a mission trip is often stymied by a mind that generates self-doubt, fear of change, and judgment. By remaining in Christ’s love, we bypass the overcautious mind and remain centered in the generous heart.   

Jesus told us that it is by keeping his commandments that we remain in his love. Again, he reinforces the generative nature of love: when we love God with all our heart, mind, and soul and love our neighbor as ourselves, we remain in Christ’s love. It’s like an infinity circle or a water wheel that gives and receives and gives and receives, generating an inexhaustible source of energy—which might be termed joy—in the process. All we have to do is stay engaged and not remove ourselves from the cycle.

Here is the sign of people who know they are chosen by God to be holy and beloved: They help others understand that they are chosen too and invite them into the ever-widening circle of God’s love in a universe so vast that the circle can never be contained.

Unlikely Messengers

One of the gifts of attentiveness is that it opens our eyes to wisdom where we don’t expect to find it. The following poem that I wrote recently considers some unlikely sources of wisdom. May we not allow fear or judgment to obscure the way God may be communicating with us!

Unlikely Messengers

If you can’t look beyond

the sting of the bee,

you miss valuable

lessons from earth’s

masters of communication

and teamwork on behalf

of the common good.

If you view poetry solely

as a tool of courtship,

you live the impoverished

existence of those who

who never learn to see

from another’s perspective

or practice the art of attention.

If you hold people

you dislike in disdain,

you bypass the truest

mirror of your own

faults and weaknesses

with all the consequences

of an unexamined life.

If you only see COVID-19

as an instrument of death,

you won’t learn how

the good life is linked

to sacrifice, creativity,

and compassion within

our shared existence.

In your restless quest

to learn what Robert Frost

and countless other teachers

keep trying to show you—

that earth is the right place

for love—don’t overlook

life’s unlikely messengers.

—Jennifer Halling, OSB

To What Do You Pay Attention?

One of the most frequently quoted lines of the poet Mary Oliver is “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” It is also instructive to consider a different twist on this question: “Tell me, what is it you plan to pay attention to in your one wild and precious life?”

It is difficult not to be anxious as we live in the midst of a pandemic. However, we can alleviate that anxiety by going on a “media fast”—that is, limiting the amount of virus-related news that we consume each day. By now, we all know how to keep ourselves as safe as possible: hand washing, disinfecting, wearing masks and gloves, and social distancing. A quick scan of the headlines in the morning and evening is enough to keep us updated on any relevant developments, potentially freeing up hours each day during which we can turn our attention to more life-giving activities, such as reaching out to others in creative ways, praying, exercising, gardening, making music or art, and learning new skills.

Just as the foods that we choose to eat can literally clog us or cleanse us, the news we choose to imbibe can clog us with depression and anxiety or cleanse us with hope. Bad food and bad news will continue to exist if we choose to filter them from our lives, but to some extent, by limiting our exposure to them, we can rob them of their power to affect our physical and mental health.

Jesus said, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.” Now that we are in the midst of troubling times, will we allow ourselves to be guided by his words? As the 14th century mystic Julian of Norwich said, “If there is anywhere on earth a lover of God who is always kept safe, I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me. But this was shown: that in falling and rising again we are always kept in that same precious love.” Personally, in my one wild and precious life, I’d rather meditate on that than on the day’s fleeting headlines.

It's the Little Things That Matter

Sr. Bettina Tobin is one of the sisters
who is sewing masks for the
community and its employees.

The other day the Mount Communications Committee had a meeting to discuss articles for the next issue of our magazine, Threshold. Sr. Barbara Ann Mayer suggested that we include a feature called “It’s the Little Things That Matter.” One effect of the pandemic is that every small act of kindness is magnified—for example, Sr. Mary Teresa Morris has been knitting ear guards for people who wear masks, Sr. Maria Heppler occasionally puts a piece of candy in our mailboxes, and on May Day, nurse Dorothy Herring came in on her day off to bring individual bouquets of flowers to the sisters in Dooley Center.

Sometimes we have a tendency to discount our daily tasks and thoughtful gestures because they don’t seem that important. However, as poet Gary Snyder says, “Changing the filter, wiping noses, going to meetings, picking up around the house, washing dishes, checking the dip stick, don’t let yourself think these are distracting you from your more serious pursuits.” Caring for others is perhaps the most serious pursuit we can undertake, as Jesus affirmed when he said, “Love one another as I have loved you” (Jn 15:17).

Indeed, as Danusha Laméris observes in her poem Small Kindnesses, it is our thoughtful words and acts that create a dwelling space for God among us:

What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these

fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,

have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”

Creating a dwelling place of the holy—what can be a more serious (and joyful) pursuit than that?

I Call You Friend

Throughout our life we encounter many images of God—most often father, creator, judge, and guide. However, Wisdom leads us to a more intimate image of God: “Passing into holy souls from age to age, she produces friends of God and prophets” (Wisdom 7: 27).

Given God’s power and magnificence and our lowliness, friendship with God may not seem to be within the realm of possibility. However, Scripture indicates otherwise. For example, the creation story suggests that in the early days of human life, God was in the practice of walking with Adam and Eve in the garden (Genesis 3:8). Abraham and Moses certainly can be said to have a friendship with God, with whom they conversed frequently; we are told that they felt free to argue with, ask favors of, offer gifts to, and negotiate with God. Jesus, the incarnation of God, said to his disciples, “I no longer call you slaves, because a slave does not know what his master is doing. Instead, I have called you friends, because I told you everything I have heard from my Father.”

How does Wisdom produce friends of God? Paradoxically, I believe it is through a combination of humility and self-esteem. Friendship requires the intimacy of self-disclosure, which means we must be humble enough to share our failings, struggles, desires, and dreams and in turn listen to what our friend shares with us. Friendship also entails delighting in the other. It is easy to delight in God, but do we have the confidence that God also delights in us—our humor, our generosity, our creativity, our uniqueness?

With Pentecost on the horizon, perhaps we can ask the Spirit of Wisdom to make us friends of God. Then we can rejoice in saying with the psalmist, “I walk with you, God, in the light of your life” (Ps 56: 14).

Opening the Gate

My mom’s Uncle George was a taciturn cattleman whose eyes betrayed a shrewd intelligence. I gather that he teased my mom unmercifully when she was a child and a young woman. However, after her beloved father died of a brain tumor when she was in her mid twenties, my mom was able to lean on Uncle George, and it was he who walked her down the aisle at her wedding.

I suspect that my mom’s uncle came to mind yesterday because in the Gospel reading Jesus said “I am the gate,” and Uncle George’s last name was Gates (changed from the German Goetz when he immigrated to the United States). If we are to imitate Christ in all things, then we too should attempt to be gates for others, as Uncle George was a gateway to the understanding of God’s support and protection for my mom.

Although Christ is the primary gate by which we come to know God, we can be smaller gateways to God’s love, compassion, mercy, wisdom, and steadfastness for others. By being open conduits of the life of God flowing through us, we can invite others to overcome obstacles and join us on the way. When others knock, may we be a gate that leads to fuller life in Christ!

The Gift of Perspective

May 1 is the memorial of St. Joseph the worker and also the name day of Sr. Jeremy Dempsey, who died on May 15. As I continue to reflect on her life, I realize that one of the gifts she offered me was perspective. During many of our visits, after we discussed the world’s woes, she would inevitably say, “Well, there must be something good in the world,” and our conversation would turn to the beauty of nature or kindnesses we had witnessed or the way people used their skills and gifts. Thus she taught me that while problems, disappointments, and frustrations need to be acknowledged and addressed, we don’t have to let them overwhelm us by dwelling on them. We can choose what we attend to.

I believe that Sr. Jeremy gained this ability to keep things in perspective by being rooted in the land and in the Word of God. People who grow up in farming communities learn that some years the harvest will be abundant and other years it will be stunted by poor weather conditions or disease; you have to support each other as best you can in the hard times and trust that the earth will yield its fruit again. The very cycle of the seasons teaches us that everything that lives goes through a cycle of new life, growth, harvest, and death; to resist the dying process is to delay the advent of new growth that is to come.

Likewise, the Psalms take us on a continual cycle of lamentation and rejoicing, complaint and thanksgiving. Yet we always end up at the same place: trusting in the God of wisdom and might who loves us, guides us, and won’t leave us in the pit of despair.

The current pandemic has shown us the brokenness of our world. We need to acknowledge that, but instead of dwelling on it, we can choose to place our hope in the way so many people have responded with selflessness, care, creativity, compassion, and humor. It is in our power to mend what is broken. Humans have faced tremendous worldwide challenges before and have always—incrementally and with great struggle, to be sure—been able to resolve environmental threats, quell aggression, address disparities in wealth, and improve the quality of life for greater and greater numbers of people. By keeping our perspective and drawing on the strength of God’s Spirit, we will survive this crisis and learn yet again to rejoice in the gifts of the earth and each other.