Stamped With Goodness

In an effort to be less judgmental, I sometimes pray to see others with the eyes of Christ, but gaining such sight is a slow process. Therefore, I found it interesting to read in Give Us This Day that St. Therese Couderc received a vision before dying in which the word “Goodness” was stamped in gold letters on every creature. That would certainly be a helpful reminder!

It is difficult for us to believe that everyone is marked by goodness when we constantly hear about acts of violence, cruelty, and greed. How can any goodness come from people who perform such acts? Unlike Christ, we do not see the original goodness that was the birthright of such people and that still exists despite the circumstances that led their souls to be twisted. In judging some persons to be irredeemable, we attempt to place limits on God’s immense power to heal, transform, and reconcile, and we cut ourselves off from the peace that is the fruit of forgiveness and humility.

Whether we label ourselves and others as “good” or “bad,” we really have no control over the effect our actions will have. Many people with the best of intentions have harmed others by doing what they considered to be good works—for example, by removing native American children from their families to give them a Western education, which was a common practice in the 19th and 20th centuries. On the other hand, a seemingly despicable person such as John Newton, who was a slave ship master for many years, ended up fighting to abolish the African slave trade and wrote the song Amazing Grace.

Ultimately, the best we can do is (1) hew to Jesus’ teaching to love God with all our heart, soul, and mind and love our neighbor as ourselves and (2) trust that God will make something good out of our lives in ways that often are outside our understanding. In difficult times, we can take comfort in the knowledge that we are stamped with the goodness of our Creator. Although in our eyes this goodness is often slow to manifest, we would do well to follow the advice of Teilhard de Chardin and “trust in the slow, slow work of God.”

A Hidden Wholeness

Some people don’t like the season of autumn because, as Fr. Edward Hays observed, “The autumn winds hold the whisper of death.” Brown leaves drift to earth and are crumpled underfoot, any plants left in the garden are blackened by frost, and the hours of daylight diminish. And yet, if we look below the surface of autumn, we find something quite different, as articulated by Thomas Merton at the beginning of his poem, Hagia Sophia:

There is in all things
an invisible fecundity,
a dimmed light,
a meek namelessness,
a hidden wholeness.

We may fear the dimming of our light and the prospect of becoming nameless after we die. However, through the death and resurrection of Jesus, we have been given a share of “invisible fecundity” (fruitfulness) and “hidden wholeness” that survives the death of the body. Similarly, we can look at brown leaves and withered plants and see desiccation, or we can look deeper and see vessels of new life that will emerge in the spring. Not the same life, as we might wish, but life nonetheless.

In her poem Let Evening Come, as the evening of life approaches, Jane Kenyon assures us,

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

Let autumn come, as it will, and don’t be afraid. We have been promised new life, so let autumn come.

Autumn Hospitality

Some people welcome the coming of autumn (Sweater weather! Colorful leaves! S’mores!) and others dread it (Sweater weather! Raking leaves! The end of summer tomatoes!). As with everything, one’s attitude about the changing of the seasons depends on one’s perspective, but whether we love or hate pumpkins, yard cleanup, and the end of daylight savings time, there’s nothing we can do to delay the coming of autumn. St. Benedict would counsel those who are reluctant to let go of summer not to grumble about it (“Above all else we admonish them to refrain from grumbling,” Rule of Benedict, 40:9), and he prudently adjusted the community’s times of prayer, work, and meals to match the rhythm and demands of the seasons.

Perhaps one aspect of autumn we can all embrace is its invitation to slow down. In summer when we mow the lawn, pull weeds, or water the garden, we know we’ll have to do it again in a few days. On the other hand, after we do yard cleanup and put the garden to bed in mid to late October, our work is done until spring. Ahhh! More time to read, to nap, to relax! The chillier weather invites us to linger over coffee or hot chocolate, and brilliant foliage encourages us to put aside our work and go for a walk or a ride to enjoy the leaves while they last.

Although our lives have changed drastically from those of our agrarian ancestors (just having access to light at all times because of the wonder of electricity is a game changer), our DNA still carries vestiges of their wisdom. Our bodies still sense the effects of less light during the day in fall and winter, and we would do well to listen to the urge to go to bed earlier. It’s okay to give in to the urge to “nest,” to prepare for cold weather by making and freezing soups and casseroles and stocking up on ice melt.

Fr. Ed Hays welcomed autumn with these words: “Come, autumn, enter my home with your golden wisdom; be my guest and share my table. Teach me to take stock of what I have given and received; may I know that it’s enough, that my striving can cease in the abundance of God’s grace.” Those of us who follow the teachings of St. Benedict can recognize this call to offer hospitality not just to other people but to the seasons of the earth as well.

Elevated Wisdom

After a delay of many months, the elevator at Mount St. Scholastica monastery is being repaired and will be out of commission for a couple of weeks. Consequently, a number of sisters who live on the third and fourth floors of the monastery are moving to our guest quarters to make it easier for them to get around.

The Rule of St. Benedict doesn’t include any mention of elevators, which is not surprising, given that it was written in the sixth century! The world has changed greatly since then — at a time when owning a single book was a luxury, Benedict could not have foreseen our modern libraries, let alone the Internet. Monastic chores such as cooking and cleaning are now much less labor intensive thanks to refrigerators, stoves, washing machines, and the like. Travel by plane and automobile is much speedier than by mule. Does this mean that the Rule of Benedict is no longer valuable as a guide in modern life?

Like all wisdom literature, the Rule of St. Benedict offers timeless guidance to persons who seek God. It is true that the nature of our work and communication has changed since the sixth century and we have many more conveniences today. However, as in St. Benedict’s time, society is still dealing with violence, greed, corruption, dissension, alcohol and drug abuse, racism, sexism, and other difficulties. If we choose, we can still find a remedy by following the advice of St. Benedict: Listen with the ear of the heart. Practice humility. Welcome everyone as Christ. Make the Gospel your guide. Pray several times a day so you are always aware of the presence of God. Live in moderation, taking only what you need. Curb your tongue and do not murmur. Make the needs of the sick, the elderly, and children (that is, the vulnerable) a priority.

We can figure out protocols for using elevators, the Internet, cell phones, automobiles, the modern marketplace, and other things St. Benedict never heard of if we stay true to his general guidelines of how to love God and our neighbor and curb our desires for possessions, status, and power. Don’t count out the Rule yet — in fact, you might want to keep a copy with a good commentary at your bedside.

When Differences Come In Handy

Recently I learned a sinister new word from the A.Word.A.Day e-newsletter — “sinisterity” — which can have several meanings: left-handedness, skillfulness in the use of the left hand, awkwardness or clumsiness, and evilness or unluckiness. It is from the Latin sinister (left, left hand, unlucky).

How did left-handed people come to be viewed as evil or unlucky? Likely because approximately 90% of humans are right-handed, making left-handed people different and thus suspect. Despite this perception, the world has benefited greatly from the contributions of left-handers, who despite opposition have thrived in the fields of science (Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton, and Alan Turing); philosophy (Aristotle and Frederick Nietzsche); the arts (Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Raphael); sports (Babe Ruth, Sandy Koufax, Stan Musial, and Ty Cobb); politics (Harry Truman, Ronald Reagan, and Barack Obama); and business/philanthropy (Bill Gates and Oprah Winfrey).

The brain is cross-wired, meaning that the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body and vice versa. We also know that the two sides of the brain control different functions. Left brain functions include right-hand control, numbers skills, written skills, science and math, reasoning, language, and analytic thought, whereas right brain functions include left-hand control, insight and intuition, creativity, imagination, art and music awareness, 3D perception, and wholistic thought. Therefore, we need both “left-brained people” and “right-brained people” to tap into all the potential of our humanity and form a vibrant, diverse kingdom of God.

From now on, you might wish to silently bless each left-handed person you encounter, for they are living reminders to embrace rather than judge people who are different, to accept the ways that we ourselves may be different, and to remember that God loves all of us in our marvelous diversity.

The Call to Be Discoverers

When was the last time you created something beautiful?

I took some beautiful pictures outside this morning, but I wouldn’t say that these photos are something I created; rather, I noticed something beautiful, paid attention to it, and documented a moment in time.

Perhaps creativity, then, consists not so much in creating new materials but in making new connections. For example, photographers make connections between objects, light, and space. But then again, are we making these connections, or just observing connections that already exist? Wasn’t the object, the light, and the space there whether or not I noticed it?

It might well be that what we term “creating” is really “discovering.” We discover beauty and connections that haven’t previously been observed in the way musical notes or colors or words or spices fit together.

To know ourselves to be discoverers rather than creators is an important distinction because it fosters humility and gratitude. Knowing that God creates and we discover keeps our ego in check; for example, wise artists often say that a work didn’t come from them, it came through them, and they are grateful to be an instrument of revelation. Our real work, then, is to be disciplined in our openness and attentiveness so that beauty can be revealed through our painting, composing, cooking, or whatever medium we are drawn to.

God says, “Behold, I make all things new” (Rev. 21:5). We will never run out of new things to discover, which means that every day holds the potential for exciting revelations. No wonder Jesus said, “Therefore, stay awake!” (Mt 24:42). We don’t want to be asleep to the signs that God is present with us now through the beauty of creation that surrounds us and flows through us. Otherwise, at the end of our earthly life, we will join Jacob who finally awoke from a dream and proclaimed to his regret, "Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it!" (Genesis 28:16).

A Change of Perspective

I’ve had a head cold for the past five days — which, in a monastic setting, calls for modified isolation to help prevent it from spreading to others. Therefore, during communal prayer times I’ve been stationed by myself in the choir loft, and I’ve been eating dinner and supper alone on the patio or in my bedroom. It’s not a situation I would have chosen, but it has given me some new perspectives I wouldn’t otherwise have obtained.

Being in the choir loft has helped me hear the unity of our chanting and see the beauty of our chapel in a more wholistic way than when I am in my choir stall. Yesterday when the community sang “Light our way, O God of the living, / May we learn to see with new eyes!” from God Is Alive by David Haas, it took on a new meaning as I contemplated the string of pendant lights now at eye level that seemed to be lighting the way to eternity. Sometimes seeing with new eyes requires a literal change of perspective.

Eating outside by myself also has been a meditative sensory experience. I’ve been serenaded by crickets and a wind chime with a lovely tone, caressed by breezes, cheered by flowers and grasses, awakened to the taste of my food, and entertained by hummingbirds.

Furthermore, being sick gives me permission to do what seems impossible otherwise —set busyness aside and dive into some novels (A Canticle for Liebowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr., Still Life With Bread Crumbs by Anna Quindlen, and The Painted Drum by Louise Erdrich thus far).

Often, we experience a change of perspective only when we are forced to by illness, loss, or the actions of others. Although the circumstances often are outside our control, we always have the choice of how to respond — and when we expect God to be with us no matter what we encounter, we can anticipate hidden blessings to materialize through the opportunity to “see with new eyes.”

Just To Be Is a Blessing

On Sunday, Sister Elena Hernandez of my community celebrated her 101st birthday. Today is the birthday of soul singer Otis Redding, who died in a plane crash at age 26. Tomorrow is the 15th death anniversary of my Mom, who lived to be 77. Saturday will be the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 catastrophe, when thousands of people of all ages went to work without an inkling that they would die that day.

If there is one universal truth that should help us grow in empathy, kindness, and forgiveness, it is that every human being and animal is going to die one day (including us!), and we don’t know when. Therefore, today might very well be the last day we have to savor a cup of coffee, to lend an ear to someone who is having a bad day, or to bury a grudge. Because we didn’t die yesterday or the day before that, the mind is tricked into thinking we won’t die today, either. Most days, that will be true. One day, it won’t.

Someone once told me that one particular morning he was impatient and testy with a beloved friend, who died unexpectedly later that day. Because we are human, such things sometime happen. However, our chances of avoiding these type of regrets increase when we take to heart the wisdom of the Buddha, who said: “In the end, only three things matter: How much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”

Each day, our mortality calls us to be loving, to live gently, and to be grateful for what is instead of what we think we want. As the saying goes, today is the first day of the rest of your life; it also might be the last day of the rest of your (earthly) life. However close you are to the end of your human journey, may you be a blessing today to others and remember, as Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “Just to be is a blessing; just to live is holy.”

Abiding in Love

The COVID-19 pandemic has heightened our appreciation of age-old wisdom that we tend to neglect in busier times. The pandemic has certainly been a time of darkness, but it also has provided moments of enlightenment, like a ray of light that hits a facet of a prism and makes it sparkle.

One example is the observation by Mother Teresa that “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” Generally, we don’t give a thought to the myriad of small things that make up our days, judging them to be of small consequence. However, unlike us, God doesn’t distinguish between great and small acts of love. To God, baking a German chocolate cake for a friend’s birthday because you know it’s her favorite is just as consequential as finding a cure for a deadly disease or negotiating a ceasefire in a war zone.

If our goal is to participate in God’s life during our time on earth, that means we will try to respond in a loving manner in every occasion that arises—and those occasions are usually quite ordinary. Generally, they involve taking time for such things as writing a condolence card, watering a patch of thirsty flowers, doing household chores without grumbling, or listening to someone who is lonely.

Sr. Joan Chittister says, “What humans do on this earth either continues creation or obstructs it.” Our small acts done with love help creation unfold in peace and abundance. I see that in the monastery in the bread that is lovingly baked by Sr. Loretta McGuire, in the plants that are tenderly nurtured by Sr. Delores Dolezal, in the bees that are diligently cared for by Sisters Elaine Fischer and Patricia Seipel, in the liturgical piano pieces that are practiced by Sisters Susan Barber and Cecilia Olson. It all matters, even when others don’t see us doing it or fail to acknowledge it. What you do matters, and I am grateful for all the ways you further the unfolding of creation in love, as God hoped and intended.

Does God Pray?

In Chapter 43 of his Rule, St. Benedict says, “Nothing is to be preferred to the Work of God.”  St. Benedict is referring to prayer, but the phrase “Work of God” makes me think that God works too. Does this mean that God prays?

The Kingdom Within by Greg Olsen

Because the nature of love requires that we freely choose to enter into a covenant relationship with God, we were given free will. Therefore, I do think that God prays for us —that we will make good choices, that we will listen to the promptings of the Spirit, that we will be open to the love God wishes to lavish upon us. Furthermore, if —as St. John of the Cross says —“Silence is God’s first language,” then it stands to reason that God engages in silent prayer. Certainly Jesus followed his Abba’s example by withdrawing from the crowds to pray in silence. We are invited to do the same.

The benefits of silent prayer are that it minimizes distractions, reminds us of God’s presence, and makes it easier to listen and incline the ear of our heart. This Labor Day, it makes sense to honor the work not just of our hands but of our hearts by taking some time for silent prayer — to rest in God, who is always praying for us and within us.

Honoring the First Word of God

The International Forest of Friendship in Atchison, Ks., includes trees representing all fifty states and more than 35 countries. The tree of my home state, Kansas, is the cottonwood; we also have a state flower (sunflower), bird (western meadowlark), animal (American buffalo), insect (honeybee), reptile (ornate box turtle), soil (Harney silt loam), amphibian (barred tiger salamander), grass (little bluestem), rock (greenhorn limestone), mineral (galena), gemstone (jelinite), fish (channel catfish), and red and white wine grape (chambourcin and vignoles, respectively).

The natural world creates a home for us; it centers us, helps us know who we are, and nurtures us. The old saying “Home is where the heart is” rings true, because for many of us, our heart can be found in the mountains, at the ocean, in the forest, or on the plains.

As we enter the Season of Creation today, I’m reminded of a line from a poem by W.H. Auden: “We must love one another or die.” Typically by “one another” we think of other people, but as we are seeing the consequences of using up the earth’s resources and polluting the air, water, and soil, it’s time to extend our concept of “one another” to animals, insects, fish, and plants. We must love all forms of life on earth or die, for as Chief Seattle said, “Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.”

Although the environmental challenges facing us are daunting, we can start by learning to love and be grateful for what is in our own back yard — the trees that provide oxygen and shade, the bees that pollinate our food, the flowers that delight our eyes. Our appreciation will lead to the desire to nurture the life around us, and in doing so, we will nurture ourselves and honor the first divine revelation, the first Word of God: creation.