Advent: Yesterday, Today, and Forever

It might seem as though the season of Advent is unchanging year after year. After all, we erect the same Advent wreath; recite the same prayers about longing for God’s presence; sing the same songs inviting Emmanuel to come; and struggle to protect a small space of silence in the midst of relentless pre-Christmas preparations and holiday gatherings.

A closer examination of this liturgical season reveals that Advent is indeed different every year because we are different every year. It’s likely that some of the people we journeyed with last Advent are no longer with us, and their absence has left a mark on us. It may be that we are dealing with Infirmities we didn’t have last year — a bum knee, a dimming of vision, a worrisome test result — that gives new meaning to the passage from Isaiah about the lame leaping like a deer and the eyes of the blind being opened. Perhaps the birth of a baby within our extended family in the past year has given new meaning to the humility and vulnerability of Christ who came into our world as an infant.

We will always need Advent, because the ways we are called to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ are different from year to year. Whether we are singing with joy and thanksgiving or trying to see light in a dark season of our lives, Advent calls us to be attentive, to trust in a loving God who wants to be present to us, to be patient as we await the fullness of God’s kingdom to become manifest.

Whatever Advent holds for you this year, may you find a blessing in it.

In Your Light We See Light

When we gather for Morning Prayer on these late November days at the Mount, the stained glass windows in our Choir Chapel are shrouded in darkness. As I watch in the silence between the chanting of psalms, the outline of an angel’s wing begins to  emerge … and then St. Benedict’s bald pate begins to glow as he stands beneath the stars and a crescent moon … and then the steps of humility begin their ascent as they pick up the morning light. By the end of prayer, all the familiar colors and images of the windows have been revealed. 

As Thanksgiving approaches, it occurs to me that our blessings are sometimes hidden in murkiness, much like the stained glass images before the coming of dawn. Anxiety, fear, and sadness can obscure the way God is working in our life. Many of the symbols in our Choir Chapel windows provide keys to unlock an awareness of our blessings. For example:

• New branches emerging from a tree stump remind us that God is always clearing the way for new growth in our life

• Hands that are releasing a shower of grapes remind us to be grateful for the food and drink on our table

• A chalice and host remind us that we are nourished and strengthened through the gift of the Eucharist

• A small red devil poking St. Benedict with its pitchfork as he kneels in prayer reminds us that trust in God helps us overcome the things that bedevil us

• An angel with its finger on its lips reminds us to tune out the noise that keeps us from hearing God’s voice

My prayer for you this Thanksgiving is that your blessings come into focus in the midst of any challenges you may be experiencing. Let us say to God with the writer of Psalm 36: “We feast on the riches of your house; you give us drink from the stream of your delight. For with you is the fountain of life, and in your light we see light” (Ps 36: 9-10).

That's Our Job

I got a haircut on November 5, and when I mentioned I was anxious about the outcome of the election, my hairdresser said, “Well, one thing’s for sure; half of the country is going to be unhappy.”

Unfortunately, I landed on the unhappy side of the divide.

I won’t go into the many reasons why I am heartsick. Suffice it to say, I fear what the results of the 2024 election will mean for those who are poor, sick, or elderly, as well as for immigrants and the environment — for all the vulnerable.

After the 2004 election, when the writer Toni Morrison was describing to a friend her depression and inability to work on a new novel, he interrupted, shouting: “No! No, no, no! This is precisely the time when artists go to work — not when everything is fine, but in times of dread. That’s our job!”

The same thing could be said of those who are disciples of Jesus: This is precisely the time when Christians must go to work to feed the hungry, house the homeless, care for the ill, and visit prisoners — not when everything is fine, but in times of suffering. That’s our job!

Many people say that in difficult times, we must trust in God. Sr. Mary Lou Kownacki has an interesting take on that: “As for trusting in God, I think it’s the reverse. I believe God is trusting in us. God is trusting that in giving us the gift of life, we will bear good fruit. That we who claim to be on a spiritual path will accept our responsibility to co-create the kind of world that God envisioned. It’s up to us, each one of us, to be faithful to God’s trust and do everything in our power to bring in the day when ‘justice and mercy embrace.’ The purpose of prayer, Saint Teresa of Avila told her sisters, ‘is good works, good works, good works.’ And I believe her.”

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Adrienne Johnson Martin added, “It is the weight of the work that helps it bend.”

The Talmud advises, “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.” Nor are we obligated to work alone. The weight of our work, when combined with that of others who stand beside us, will help bend our world toward justice. And the community we build in doing that work will be a liberating force for all of us, on whichever side of the divide we find ourselves.

Good Heavens

The psalms are full of references to the heavens. For example, we commonly chant, “I see your handiwork in the heavens, the moon and the stars you set in place”; “The heavens praise your wonders, O God”; and “Your fidelity stands firm as the heavens.”

Before the advent of electricity, the heavens were a source of awe, imagination, and navigation. Today, we generally stay indoors at night, and only an exceptional event such as a solar eclipse or the rare chance to see a comet or the Northern lights draws us outside to gaze at the heavens.

I once read that those of us who spend hours every day looking inside the small frame of a computer screen should rest our eyes by looking outside a window at the horizon from time to time. Not only does this prevent eye strain, but it widens our perspective and reminds us that there is a world outside the screens of our electronic devices.

Gazing out at the world and the heavens is a good practice for other reasons. Seeing the vastness and immensity of God’s creation humbles us and reminds us that this self we are so attached to is tiny and fleeting. Despite our insignificance, we can rely on God’s faithfulness and enduring love and enjoy the beauty of creation in which we are immersed. And then we can join the psalmist in proclaiming, “With a heart full of thanks I proclaim your wonders, O God.”

The Way to the Heart of God

It’s my opinion that people who have too much to do need a patron saint. I nominate St. Gerard Majella, (1726-1755), a Redemptorist who was credited with bilocation — that is, the ability to be in two places at once!

I’m not so sure that bilocation is the answer to the problem of being overcommitted, however. It’s likely similar to multitasking, which gives us the illusion of getting more done but actually wastes more time than it saves and has a detrimental effect on our concentration and creativity.

Many people today believe, as writer Elizabeth Bibesco suggested, that being in a hurry is one of the tributes we pay to life. Our world is full of so many beautiful things to see, places to visit, books to read, food to eat, and people to befriend that we try to cram in as much as we can — and as a consequence, we often don’t fully experience anything.

It’s telling that St. Gerard was not a Benedictine, the only order that takes a vow of stability. What our life lacks in width, it makes up for in depth. Each moment that we fully attend to leads us to the heart of God and relieves us of the anxiety that we might be missing out on something that is happening elsewhere.

As Imogene Baker, OSB, said, “Be where you are and do what you’re doing.” When we attend to the present moment, wherever we happen to be, we encounter the presence of God. To paraphrase St. Benedict, “What could be sweeter to us than the voice of God calling to us? Behold in his loving kindness, the Lord shows us the way to life.”

Where God Wants To Be Met

Spending time with others is key to developing a good relationship. If we want to be in a relationship with God, then, it makes sense to set aside a regular time to pray. However, we can’t expect God to conform to our prayer schedule. As Joyce Rupp learned from her spiritual director, “Meet God where God wants to be met, not where you plan for it.”

What if God wants to be met not in the silence of a church but in the midst of a challenging conversation? The 15th century Indian poet Kabir suggests as much in his poem, “I Had to Seek the Physician:”

“I had to seek the Physician because
of the pain this world caused me.

I could not believe what happened
when I got there — I found my Teacher.

Before I left, he said, “Up for a little
homework, yet?” “Okay,” I replied.

“Well, then, try thanking all the people
who have caused you pain.

They helped you
come to me.”*

Prayer has many benefits, but perhaps its greatest gift is to instill in us an alertness to God’s presence at all times — especially when we least expect it.

*From Love Poems from God by Daniel Ladinsky. New York: The Penguin Group; 2002.

Becoming God's Gateway

St. Benedict devoted the longest chapter in his Rule to the cultivation of humility. Certainly we can benefit greatly by remembering that “God is God and I am not.” However, it also can be discouraging to dwell on our human weakness. As we hear of countries engaged in bitter wars over land and natural resources, immigrants being shunned, and the rich getting richer while the poor struggle to survive, we wonder if the human race will ever grow beyond self-interest. As we ourselves continue to struggle with our own faults of ambition, judgment, addiction, and selfishness, we may wonder if we will ever be able to change.

The spiritual writer Henri Nouwen offers this perspective: “We have been chosen to make our own limited and very conditional love the gateway for the unlimited and unconditional love of God.”

God, who understands our human limitations very well, nonetheless chooses to work through our tentative and conditional attempts to love others to express God’s own love, mercy, and compassion. We cannot assume that our small acts of support and care won’t make a difference in the face of a world awash in greed and hard-heartedness. To fail to act because we don’t believe our actions will make a difference is a form of false humility. It also demonstrates a lack of faith in God’s ability to offer unlimited and unconditional love to the world.

St. John of the Cross summed up this situation succinctly: “Where there is no love, put love, and you will find love.” No effort on our part is too small to be a conduit to God’s blessings of peace, loving kindness, and acceptance.

My, My, My

St. Benedict viewed private ownership as a vice, and he was serious about uprooting it. Here is a list of what the monks in his monastery were provided: a cowl, tunic, sandals, shoes, belt, knife, stylus, needle, handkerchief, and writing tablet. Otherwise, no one was to give or receive anything without the permission of the abbot — no gifts from family members, not even a book. This is why, years ago, books used by the sisters at Mount St. Scholastica were inscribed with the words “Ad usum” — “For the use of” — a reminder that this item was not a private possession but was on loan and thus should be well cared for.

When studying Chapter 33 of the Rule of St. Benedict, “Monks and Private Ownership,” an oblate candidate recently decided to pay attention to how often she used the word “my” in conversation. She was astounded at how often she used the word, not only in regard to possessions but to relationships and intangible things as well — “my sister,” “my job,” “my plans.” Are these things we can actually own? What are we saying with our constant use of the word “my”?

St. Benedict likely was so adamantly opposed to owning possessions for a number of reasons. The practice lends itself to envy and greed rather than gratitude; it leads us to measure our worth by how much we own; it promotes self-sufficiency, rather than an awareness of our dependence on God; it places our focus on ourselves rather than on the needs of others; and it consumes much of our energy, which is directed toward acquiring and protecting our possessions rather than “spending” time with God, family, and friends.

We won’t be able to take any of our possessions with us after we die, so why burden ourselves with them now? Let’s give ourselves the pleasure of walking more lightly on the earth, relinquishing the possessions that weigh us down and trusting in God’s loving providence and care.

Finding Our Quiet Center

“Labor Day” has always seemed like a misnomer to me; because it is a holiday for most people, “Laborless Day” would seem more apt! It does seem odd to celebrate our labor by … well … not laboring. However, taking a break from our endeavors gives us a chance to savor the work we do, which is an important element of honoring it and finding satisfaction in it. Wisdom, who was with God during the creation of the universe (Proverbs 8: 22-31), apparently convinced God to rest after working for six days. It was such a good idea that God commanded us to do the same (“Thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath”).

Sarah Orne Jewett told aspiring writers, “You must find your own quiet center of life, and write from that.” It is sage advice, no matter what work we undertake. And to find our own quiet center of life requires time apart for rest and reflection. Jesus found his quiet center of life during his times of solitude in the desert, in the mountains, by the sea, and in a garden. In his Rule, St. Benedict specified specific times every day for the members of his community to rest and read. Humans aren’t designed to work 24/7; when we try to do so, we suffer physical, emotional, and spiritual consequences.

To believe that the world will fall apart if we take a break from work is a sign of pride, especially when we know that Christ has affirmed the value of going off the clock now and then. So I hope you can enjoy your laborless day (or even the entire weekend!) Let’s honor the fact that God gave us a built-in need to sleep, dream, and be human be-ings, not just human do-ings.

A Benedictine Approach to Illness

In chapter 36 of his Rule, St. Benedict says, “Care of the sick must rank above and before all else.” This verse means one thing when you are the one providing the care and something else when you are the one being cared for.

Caring for those who are sick gives us the opportunity to practice compassion and put someone else’s needs above our own. It also teaches us patience and the need to reorder our priorities, as when we care for aging parents or a family member with a chronic illness for years on end. At the same time, being a caregiver is an active role that gives us the satisfaction of helping someone else.

Being sick and under the care of someone else is a very different situation. Our task here is to accept our limitations and practice humility, as we face a situation we can’t control (illness) and by necessity must rely on the assistance of others.

I’m accustomed to being in the caregiver role, but a recent bout with COVID flipped the script and thrust me into the role of patient. Sisters in the monastery who have COVID are quarantined in their bedroom (except for trips to the bathroom) until they have two consecutive negative test results. This means someone must deliver “meals on wheels” to us three times a day, cover any of our regular household chores, and assume any of our monastery assignments, such as leading midday prayer or being lector at Mass.

This situation quickly leads to gratitude for the faithful care of others and appreciation for community life with its built-in support system. It’s also a reminder to enjoy our health while we have it, because it won’t last forever, and it provides an opportunity to practice giving up control, for that too will one day slip away.

It turns out that one of the ways to know Christ and walk the road to eternal life is not just visiting and caring for the sick but practicing patience and humility when we ourselves are ill.

The Pursuit of Happiness

The Declaration of Independence famously states that we are endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable rights, and that among these are “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

If God has given us the right to pursue happiness, what is the best way to go about doing that?

Psalm 1 give us a clue: “If you would be happy, never walk with the wicked….” In other words, keep good company. Don’t hang around with those who think happiness means gaining wealth, fame, and the satisfaction of our desires at any cost. St. Paul gives us another hint in his second letter to the Corinthians: “God loves a cheerful giver.” Apparently we are to share what we have without reluctance, recognizing that we are called to be generous with others as God is generous with us.

And what example does Jesus provide about how to be happy? He kept company with a motley crew of friends. He demonstrated how to find a balance between serving others and having time for prayer and rest. He often attended joyous celebrations — weddings, banquets, religious festivals. He told us to love God and love our neighbor as ourself, linking our happiness to the happiness of others.

St. Benedict devised a rule to help us do just that. He created a way for diverse people to live together amicably in a communal setting. He broke up the day into specific times for prayer, work, meals, leisure, and sleep so as to avoid pietism, workaholism, gluttony, and indolence. He allowed wine at table and extra food when the occasion warranted it. He set up schedules for the monks to serve each other through kitchen work, liturgical duties, and care of the sick.

Does this way of life lead to happiness? Most people eventually come to learn that happiness isn’t a continual state. However, it does pop up frequently when we find contentment by leading a useful life in the company of others. In the prologue to his Rule, St. Benedict says, “As we progress in this way of life and in faith, we shall run on the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love.” It sounds like a pretty happy life to me.

The Workings of God

Ruth Pfau, a medical missionary who spent more than 50 years in Pakistan ministering to persons who had leprosy and were injured by land mines, knew a thing or two about service to others. She offered the following perspective: “Leading a life committed to service does protect the soul from wounds. These are the workings of God.”

How does leading a life committed to service protect the soul from wounds? I suspect it has to do with the ways that serving others protects us from pride and instills us with humility and gratitude. When we put the needs of others above our own desires, we come to understand that we are not the center of the universe. We realize that others often are carrying burdens much greater than our own, and we become more cognizant of and thankful for our blessings. Jesus understood these benefits, which is one reason why he spent much of his life serving others and told us to do the same.

St. Benedict also grasped the importance of service in the spiritual life. In chapter 35 of his Rule, “Kitchen Servers of the Week,” he says, “The brothers should serve one another. Consequently, no one will be excused from kitchen service unless he is sick or engaged in some important business of the monastery, for such service increases reward and fosters love.” In Chapter 36, “The Sick Brothers,” he stipulates, “Care of the sick must rank above and before all else, so they may truly be served as Christ.”

Although service of others may entail a dramatic life change, such as joining the Peace Corps or studying to become a nurse, most often it means “doing little things with great love,” as Mother Teresa counseled. The acts of cleaning the kitchen, making sure the household doesn’t run out of toilet paper, and providing soup to a sick family member or friend aren’t earth shattering, but they make life more congenial and help others understand that they are loved and cared for, while strengthening our own soul. Thus when we engage in these simple acts, we are participating in the workings of God, which can only lead to a life of goodness and kindness for ourselves as well as others.

 

Imitating God's Generosity

In the great crowd of people who were present at the multiplication of the loaves and fishes by Jesus, I wonder how Andrew happened to find the boy who had five barley loaves and two fish. I suspect that Andrew might have shouted out, “Does anyone here have something to eat?” It’s likely that those with food avoided eye contact, looked down at their feet, or ignored the question, continuing their conversations. However, before his parents could stop him, one child with a generous heart and a desire to please ran up to Andrew with a small basket of bread and fish.

This humble offering was all Jesus needed to create an abundance of food for more than 5000 hungry pilgrims — with twelve baskets left over.

Often we believe that what we have to offer is too small to make a difference. We might be embarrassed by how little we have to offer or reluctant to give up the little that we have. Children don’t stop to think about these things but follow their impulse to be generous, which is one reason Jesus said, “the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”

Everything we have, including our very being, has been given to us by God. When we imitate God’s generosity by sharing what we have with others, we can trust that God’s abundance will overflow in our lives. What we have is enough; who we are is enough. That belief and our trusting heart is all Christ needs to work wonders through us and our own humble offerings.

A Conversation Without Words

Once you make time to “listen with the ear of your heart,” as St. Benedict advises, you discover that God is a sparkling conversationalist. You also learn that God often converses without words. “God spoke today in flowers, and I, who was waiting on words, almost missed the conversation,” said Ingrid Goff-Maidoff.

Thomas Keating observed that “God’s first language is silence,” which implies that to hear what God wishes to communicate to us, we need to escape the barrage of words that constantly surrounds us. People who come to the Mount often comment on how peaceful it feels here, and I think part of what they are responding to is the periods of silence we intentionally cultivate as part of our prayer and the rhythm of our day.

One way we ourselves communicate with others silently is through gifts we give them or things we do for them. Gestures such as baking cookies for a friend or cleaning the car windshield of a family member are ways to show we care for them. It’s not a stretch, then, to believe that God does the same with us — wishing us good cheer with flowers, comfort with the shade of an oak tree, sweet sustenance with a crisp apple.

Once we learn God’s language, which typically does not entail the use of words, we discover that the creator of the universe has scattered love notes for us pretty much everywhere we look. Blessed are those with the eyes to see.

Home Sweet Home

It’s worth noting that according to the creation story in the first chapter of the book of Genesis, God created plants, water creatures, and land animals before humans. Thus these other life forms had created homes for themselves on earth before humans came to be. This is important because, as Sarah A. Bowen observes, “...every location on our planet is a home for someone. That means I need to be sensitive when I enter another’s home.”

When we dig into the earth to plant gardens and crops or to build structures or roads, we are crossing into the abode of worms, fungi, roots, and insects. When we go for a swim or a boat ride, we are diving into the home of fish, crustaceans, and water plants. When we erect tall buildings or take plane trips, we are affecting the air quality and migratory patterns of birds that claim the skies as their home.

It is in our best interest to respect the habitats of other life forms, because we need them to sustain our own life. Trees provide us with oxygen and help clean the air. If we didn’t have bees and insects to pollinate plants, many of our food sources would disappear. By absorbing the carbon generated by our use of fossil fuels, oceans protect us from living in an even hotter and stormier world.

When we visit the homes of family or friends, it is common courtesy to be respectful of their space and customs and to clean up after ourselves before we depart. We should carry that same spirit of reverence when we enter the homes of non-human life forms, for they too were created by God and merit our respect and care.

Our Need To Be Seen

One wonders why Thomas wasn’t with the other disciples who took refuge behind locked doors after Jesus’ death. Was he sent out to buy food, or perhaps to gauge the level of persecution they might be facing as disciples of Jesus? Did he have to attend to urgent family business? Whatever the reason, his absence made him an outsider after Jesus appeared to the other disciples. They saw Jesus, and he did not. The others were reassured by Jesus’ presence, and he was not. Thomas must have felt sidelined, overlooked, jealous; no wonder he responded with defensiveness, belligerence, and bluster: “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nail marks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”

Thomas really didn’t need to see Jesus’ wounds; he needed Jesus to see his wounds. He needed reassurance that he too was beloved, that he was worthy to be in Jesus’ inner circle, that he mattered to Jesus. By addressing Thomas directly at the time of his next appearance, Jesus let Thomas know that he was seen and he was blessed, while also affirming those who are able to trust in Jesus’ love for them despite their wounds.

Thomas isn’t a particularly prominent character in the gospels; he is only mentioned twice, as opposed to Peter, James, and John, who seemingly accompanied Jesus everyone. And yet Thomas’ story has endured through the ages and continues to speak to us today — perhaps because we are all wounded, we all need reassurance, and we all need affirmation of our value and worth. Jesus knows this, as he knew it of Thomas. Thus if we, like Thomas, continue to show up and stay in communion with our fellow disciples, we too will experience Jesus’ presence, and our soul will know it’s worth.

Trusting God's Wisdom

Moses makes a very interesting statement to the Israelites in Deuteronomy 4:2: “In your observance of the commandments of the Lord, your God, you shall not add to to what I command you, nor subtract from it.”

It’s easy to understand why we shouldn’t subtract from the ten commandments that God entrusted to Moses. For example, skipping the part about keeping the Sabbath when we’ve got a ton of work to do undermines the underlying purpose of this commandment. Keeping the Sabbath teaches us that our self-worth is not to be based on what we accomplish but on our relationship with God, which requires setting apart time to be with God.

But why would Moses caution that we shouldn’t add to the commandments? I can think of two reasons. First, adding a commandment such as “Thou shalt tithe 20% of your income to the Church” is more likely to feed the ego’s desire to appear more holy than everyone else than to be a true act of generosity. Second, by choosing to add an easy-to-fulfill commandment — such as, say, “Thou shalt volunteer at your church’s food pantry once a month” — one can avoid focusing on a commandment one finds more challenging, such as “Thou shalt not covet” (thy neighbor’s new iPhone, spouse, job, etc.).

St. Benedict was aware of these traps, for in Chapter 49 of his Rule, “The Observance of Lent,” he says that each monk should share his Lenten resolution with the Abbot so it may be done with his prayer and approval. Why? The monk may unconsciously be seeking glory or avoiding needed reformation in his life through his choice of what he will or will not do.

The psalms constantly proclaim God’s wisdom. Thus we should (1) trust that God carefully crafted the commandments to help us mature in our relationships with God and our fellow human beings, and (2) resist the lure of pride, which leads us to believe that we know best how to conduct ourselves. God covered what we need to do in ten commandments — no more, no less. As it says in psalm 86, “Teach me your ways, O Lord, that I may live according to your truth! Grant me purity of heart, so that I may honor you.”

Called By Name

In a recent New York Times article,¹ it was reported that elephants apparently have their own language and call each other by name, and that “social bonding is fundamental to everything about elephants.” What really caught my attention was a statement by a researcher, Dr. Wittemyer, who said that this commonality between elephants and humans might well benefit elephant conservation efforts, because it might “help us recognize ourselves in them, which is the only way we seem to understand anything.”

Unfortunately, human understanding does seem to be limited by our need to relate everything to our own experience. We find it hard to believe that any non-human form of life (plants, for example) may have its own type of consciousness if it doesn’t communicate through sound, use tools, and live in social groups as we do. God, who knows us intimately, understands our need to recognize ourselves in the things we relate to and came up with a very creative solution in order to be known by humans — God took on flesh and became one of us in the person of Jesus.

Now we know that God is compassionate through Jesus’ acts of healing. We know that God is forgiving through Jesus’ parables. We know that God grieves through the tears Jesus shed when his friend Lazarus died. We know that God suffers through Jesus’ passion on the cross. We know that God raises everything that dies to new life through Jesus’ resurrection.

God is so much more than we can grasp — and yet, thanks to the Incarnation, we know enough to trust in a God who loves us, walks with us, and continually calls us to new life. That grace is more than we could have hoped for at this stage of our unfolding existence and is a cause for deep gratitude.

1.     Golembiewski K. Every Elephant Has Its Own Name, Study Suggests. The New York Times, June 10, 2024.

A Rock Solid Image of God

I love trees and gardens, but mountains? Not so much. I’ve spent little time in mountanous regions and they just aren’t part of the landscape of my soul, so to speak. 

In the Bible Jesus is referenced as spending time both in the Garden of Gethsemane and on Mount Tabor, so clearly he resonated with images of both trees/gardens and rocks/ mountains found in the psalms. I, on the other hand, need to work on expanding my appreciation for all God’s creation and how it informs my spiritual life.

The following observation by Christine Valters Paintner was helpful in this regard: “Stones are an icon of grace; they reveal to me a face of the Divine that endures and is ever-patient with the world’s unfolding.”

In the midst of a society where humans have become programmed for speed, productivity, and instant results, it is comforting to know that God who is ever patient. As I feel myself aging and encounter the fragility of a growing number community members and friends who are dealing with illness and dying, it helps to remember that God endures and that we who share God’s life endure too.

Although I’ll never have the stamina to “climb every mountain,” maybe it’s time for me to add a stone to the landscape of my soul (or at least to my prayer corner).

Seeing God in Our Ordinary Lives

In Paris in the 1940s, a “Worker Priest” movement was started, in which priests applied for factory jobs so they could enter into the daily lives of the working class and understand better how to serve them. In this way, they affirmed the value of the ordinariness of most people’s lives.

Now that we have completed our celebration of the Easter season and Pentecost, in a liturgical sense, we are all settling back into our ordinary lives in what the Church terms “ordinary time.” It is perhaps more difficult to connect with God outside the dramatic events of Jesus’ birth, passion, death, resurrection, and ascension and the coming of the Holy Spirit, for now we need to seek God in the ordinariness of our daily lives.

Yet God comes to us within the ordinary as well as the extraordinary. Consider this prayer by Fr. Edward Hays, from his book Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim:

“O Divine Giver of Life, you in whom we breathe and live, show yourself to me this day in countless ways. And grant me the grace to bow in wonder and in joy wherever and whenever I discover you.”

When we dare to ask God to appear to us in countless ways, how will God respond? Are we prepared to bow to raindrops as they fall on thirsty ground, to the person who restores our power after an electrical outage, or to the family pet that shows us unconditional love? Can we dare believe that God is present in our very ordinary lives and respond in wonder and joy?

What a pity it would be if, after we die and see God face to face, it turns out that God looks very familiar because we have caught glimpses of that beloved face throughout our life but didn’t realize who we were seeing.

Are We Listening?

The French author André Gide said, “Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But since no one was listening, everything must be said again.”

I thought of this quote in light of the scripture readings during the last two weeks of the Easter season. How many times did Jesus tell us he loves us and that we should love others? “As the Father loves me, so I love you. Remain in my love.” “This is my commandment: Love one another as I love you.” “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.”

Like any good teacher, Jesus used repetition to get his message across. He expressed his love (and by extension, his Abba’s love) by healing others, forgiving them, and befriending them. He told parables about love (for example, the prodigal son and the good Samaritan), he used images (“I am the vine, you are the branches”), and he spoke of his love directly. Ultimately, he gave up his life so we might know that God is not distant but, out of love, suffers with us and raises us to new life.

The question remains: Are we listening? I daresay that a great many people are not listening to Jesus’ message of love, given the greed, judgment, disregard for the needs of others, and exploitation rampant in our world today. Yet every act of generosity, kindness, and self-sacrifice that we encounter reminds us that Jesus’ message lives on and that we, his followers, have been charged to make God’s love manifest in the world.

Listen — do you hear the love of Christ echoing through the ages? If so, how will you live in that love?

The Challenge of the Ascension

My favorite depiction of the Ascension of Christ is by the German painter Hans Süss von Kulmbach. All we see of Christ are his feet dangling from the top of the frame as he ascends; I am amazed that the disciples below were able to stifle the urge to jump up and grab his ankles — either to try to pull him back down to earth or catch an express flight to heaven! Only Mary has her hand half lifted, as if to wave goodbye to this son of hers who is always flitting off somewhere.

In his book The Holy Longing, Ronald Rolheiser describes the importance of ascension in the paschal cycle. After an experience of death and the reception of new life, we undergo a time of readjustment to the new and grieving the old, but then we must let go of the old so we can receive a new spirit for the new life we are already living. The challenge of ascension for us is this: “Do not cling to the old, let it ascend and give you its blessing.”

Although Jesus’ disciples often didn’t understand what he was trying to teach them, it appears that they trusted Jesus’ promise that his Spirit would always be with them, because they didn’t try to cling to him as he ascended. We, too, are challenged to trust that when we let go of the things that die, no matter how much we loved them, we will receive a new spirit of life that will bring us joy, purpose, and wisdom. May we follow the example of Jesus’ first disciples in supporting each other in our grief and periods of readjustment and trusting that we will receive the new spirit that has been promised to us.

Sticking To Our Job

On one occasion in the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, 6-year-old Calvin makes this observation: “It’s hard to be religious when certain people are never incinerated by bolts of lightning.”

Most of us believe that God must surely judge others as we do: bad people deserve punishment and good people merit a reward. It can be infuriating when God offers mercy to one who has done wrong — just ask the brother of the Prodigal Son. In fact, God has quite a reputation for being merciful. In Psalm 69, after detailing the evil deeds of his enemies, the psalmist implores God, “Keep a full record of their guilt; none of your mercy for them!”

Thomas Merton observed, “Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy. That is not our business and, in fact, it is nobody’s business. What we are asked to do is love, and this love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbor worthy.” This is what Jesus did, and that is what he called us to do.

It’s hard to overcome our tendency to be judgmental, but God doesn’t need our input in that regard. God wants us to be “religious” in the root sense of religio — which, as Fr. Richard Rohr points out, means to connect, to bind back together. And that can only be achieved through love, not through bolts of lightning.

Biding Our Time

It’s easy to understand why many people name Spring as their favorite season. Every day new sprouts emerge from the ground, trees wear a misty light green halo, and pops of yellow, pink, and purple flowers draw the eye and cheer the heart. Earth is entering its fecund season as we marvel at baby turtles, bee swarms, and thunder showers. New life is at a crescendo.

Where was all this new life during the quiet, dreary days of late fall and winter? It’s difficult for us to feel the drumbeat of life when browns and grays dominate the landscape and the songs of birds and insects are hushed. Yet nature accepts that it must bide its time in the tomb of the earth, just as Jesus did, just as we all must do one day, before we can rise to new life.

Periods of drought, darkness, and fallowness may affect us at any time, regardless of the season of the year. Although we find these episodes trying, they teach us how to bide our time and provide reassurance that new life always emerges in God’s time and often in unexpected ways. As Peter Gzowski wrote, “We need spring. We need it desperately and, usually, we need it before God is willing to give it to us.” Yet spring always comes, and the grooves that patience carves into our souls create reservoirs of hope to nourish us when death approaches.

As trees and plants produce seeds with trust that they will result in new life, and as Jesus was confident that he would rise three days after his death, we too can trust that our life will ever continue in a new form — we who were created in God’s everlasting image. Every year, Spring reminds us of this. Let us rejoice and be glad!

Eastertime Incarnational Wisdom

We generally focus on the incarnation of God at Christmas, when we celebrate the birth of Jesus. However, Easter is also filled with stories about God’s physical being as Christ, in the form of the resurrected Jesus.

This physical manifestation of God walked, talked, and broke bread with two people on the road to Emmaus. He was taken to be a gardener by Mary Magdalene. He appeared to a group of his disciples and said, “Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself! Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have….” He then asked them if they had anything to eat, and upon giving him a piece of broiled fish, he took it and ate it in their presence (Luke 24: 36-43). Later, this incarnated Christ cooked breakfast on the beach for his friends.

Why was it so important that, after the death of Jesus, he should again take on flesh after his resurrection? Why not appear as a disembodied spirit, a voice from a cloud, or an image in a dream?

In his book The Holy Longing, Fr. Ronald Rolheiser sheds some light on this question. He explains that God took on flesh because God, having created our nature, respects how it operates and thus deals with us through our senses. Therefore “God takes on flesh so that every home becomes a church, every child becomes the Christ-child, and all food and drink become a sacrament. God’s many faces are now everywhere, in flesh, tempered and turned down, so our human eyes can see him.”

If God respects the fact that we humans interact with the world through the senses, through our physical body, then we should do the same. Often it seems like we try to approach life through our mind alone, but the body offers us wisdom we can only attain when we pray through our breath, attend to others through our listening, appreciate beauty through our eyes, recall memories through smells, and comfort others through our touch. As we age and our body becomes less functional, we should still honor the lessons it offers about humility, endurance, diminishment, and gratitude.

The first creation story in Genesis says that after God created humans, he looked at what he had made and found it “very good.” It is very good that we are physical beings, at least during our short time on earth. Let’s take advantage of every opportunity to know God through the taste of a ripe peach, the smell of the soil in spring, the sight of a loved one’s face, the sound of the wind, and the way our hands can create art, food, and music. It makes good sense, after all.

And the Award Goes To....

Our world is consumed by “Top Ten,” “Hall of Fame,” and “Best of” lists. Millions of people watch popular shows such as the Academy Awards, Emmy Awards, Grammy Awards, and Tony Awards, not to mention the Olympics; colleges and universities vie to be on U.S. News and World Report’s annual list of the best educational institutions; a select number of athletes are admitted to their sport’s respective hall of fame annually; and newspapers are full of cultural “best of” lists at year’s end.

Given that St. Benedict says, “Your way of acting should be different from the world’s way” (RB 4:20), it follows that Benedictine monastics and oblates don’t share the world’s preoccupation with receiving recognition or landing on a “best of” list. However, I recently discovered an exception to the Rule. Every year, the Global Listening Centre compiles a list of the Top 25 Outstanding Women Listeners. Now, being on a list of the top outstanding listeners is an achievement all followers of St. Benedict’s Rule should strive for!

The very first word of the Rule is “Listen,” which indicates its importance in a Benedictine life of prayer, community, hospitality, and discipleship. Although the Global Listening Centre’s most recent list of outstanding women listeners doesn’t include any Benedictine women, those on the list nonetheless are living out Benedictine values of peacebuilding, wise leadership, communal prayer, welcoming the stranger, human rights, care of earth’s resources, education, and artisanship. Listening is key to creating a world where the practice of love of God and love of neighbor leads to peace and fullness of life for all.

St. Benedict quotes Romans 12:10 in saying that monastics “should each try to be the first to show respect to the other.” And because the best way to show respect is to listen, becoming an exceptional listener is something we should all aspire to.

Hearing God's Voice in the Psalms

St. Benedict gives a lot of specific instructions in his Rule about how and when the psalms are to be prayed. To this day, chanting the psalms is the primary form of prayer used by Benedictine communities at Liturgy of the Hours. Why do Benedictines place such an emphasis on praying the psalms?

Sr. Irene Nowell sheds some light on this question in an article from Benedictines magazine:

“Because the psalms are the Word of God, we come to them daily with the same question: What is it that God wants to say to me today through this text? We have a right to expect to hear the voice of God in the psalms — every day. Every day that word will be different — sometimes challenging, sometimes comforting, sometimes the still small sound of silence, sometimes the roar of the devouring fire. Every day, as we listen to the psalms, we listen to the voice of God.”

I confess that my mind often wanders during Morning and Evening Prayer. However, Sr. Irene’s words are a call to attention; if God is going to speak to me today through the psalms, I don’t want to miss what God has to say! If I have the right to expect to hear the voice of God in the psalms, I also have the responsibility to listen to those words of challenge, comfort, instruction, and even the sound of silence, which can be very rich.

The circumstances of some of the psalms may be hard to relate to, because many of us have been blessed in that we have never directly encountered war or been a refugee, for example. There are plenty of people in the world who face those circumstances every day, however, so perhaps in those psalms God is inviting us is to a greater level of compassion.

More often than not, though, the psalms touch on emotions that are common to all humans — awe, gratitude, mourning, jealousy, desire, fear, betrayal, temptation, and pride, to name a few. These feelings touch every aspect of our lives. How good, then, that God helps us navigate these complex emotions by guiding, comforting, and challenging us in the psalms each day.

As St. Benedict says, we just need to listen and incline the ear of our heart.

You Only Learn By Listening

It’s always a pleasure to pick up echoes of St. Benedict’s teachings in unexpected places. 

Nihar Malaviya —the CEO of Penguin Random House, the largest book publisher in the U.S. — grew up in Rajkot, India, and moved to the U.S. when he was 13. He doesn’t come from the Benedictine tradition, but listen to what he said in a recent interview:

“Coming to the country at a young age basically meant I had to completely change my worldview. I went from somewhere where this was very important to somewhere where this completely different set of things was very important. That created in me a respect for looking at different perspectives and the ability to take those in to shape my thinking. I like to learn. And you only learn by listening.”

St. Benedict also valued learning, prescribing set times for the monks in his community to read each day. And like Mr. Malaviya, he knew that you only learn by listening, for the first words of his Rule are “Listen and incline the ear of your heart.” Apparently, St. Benedict took to heart the words of God recorded in scripture regarding the transfiguration of Jesus: “This is my beloved son. Listen to him.”

Listening to Jesus calls us to completely change our worldview and transition from a societal regard for wealth, power, status, and self-interest to God’s regard for generosity, humility, service, and love of neighbor. As we listen to Jesus, can we take in his perspectives to shape our thinking and use it as a model for the way we live?

As our Lenten journey continues, may risk entering more deeply into the attentiveness of prayer so we can hear what Jesus is saying to us through Scripture, the Rule of St. Benedict, and our neighbors, as well as in our own heart.

Called Out for Divine Purposes

In a reflection from Not By Bread Along 2024: Daily Reflections for Lent, Catherine Upchurch observes, “Human flaws and weaknesses do not diminish holiness. To be holy means to be called out for divine purposes.”

We see this truth play out over and over again in Scripture. Abraham betrayed his wife; Jacob was a cheat and a liar; Noah was a drunkard; Moses, David, and Judith were murderers; Solomon betrayed the covenant God made with him by worshipping other gods; Zechariah doubted God’s word; Peter betrayed Jesus out of fear. And yet, with all their weaknesses and flaws, these people were instruments in God’s unfolding plan of Self-revelation, liberation, and the peace that comes from living in right relationship.

In this sense, we all have the capacity to be holy, because we are all called out for divine purposes. However, for various reasons, we may not recognize or respond to that call:

• Sometimes we don’t recognize our call because the things we are drawn to do seem so ordinary. How can treating our coworkers with kindness and respect or volunteering to walk dogs at the animal shelter be part of God’s divine purpose?

• Sometimes, like the prophet Jonah, we recognize our call but resist it because we think we know better than God what should be done or who should be invited to the table of forgiveness and mercy.

• Sometimes our understanding of our call is clouded because of self-doubt, societal pressures, indecision, or lack of insight.

God’s creation is in great need of healing and peace. When we are true to the way the Divine Presence is present in each of us, we can live out our unique calling to contribute to the loving, creative, interconnected universe that God envisions.

What God Wants To Do In Us

Lenten resolutions are generally a litany of good intentions about what we intend to do during the six weeks prior to the Easter Triduum. Perhaps we plan to read a spiritual book, start a new prayer practice, fast from unkind thoughts, cut out between-meal snacks, donate money to a homeless shelter, or help out at the local food pantry.

One interesting aspect of Lenten resolutions is that they tend to focus on what we want to do instead of what God wants to do in us. How would our Lenten practices be different if we asked God, “What gifts do you see in me that I’m not using?” “What habits or attitudes are keeping me from having a closer relationship with you?” “What do I need to learn to be a more loving person?”

These questions were sparked by a statement by Dr Glenn Young, a teacher in my spiritual direction training program, who said, “Contemplative prayer is not something we ourselves achieve but something God does in us.” In prayer, as in the rest of life, we like to be in control — but that leads us to judge ourselves by our productivity and can result in feelings of guilt and shame when we fail to reach our self-imposed goals. Admitting that “without Christ we can do nothing” (Jn 15:5) requires humility, but it is the channel to fullness of life.

Asking God, “What do you want to do in me?” does not engender passivity. Maintaining an attitude of attentiveness and openness, giving up our own desire for control, and recognizing that God’s capacity for love, wisdom, and mercy is infinitely greater than our own requires a high degree of trust and engagement.

As usual, I have made some Lenten resolutions this year — to read Holy Longing by Ronald Rolheiser, to try to be less judgmental, to divest myself of items I no longer need. But perhaps most importantly, I hope to practice centering prayer — simply sitting in the presence of God — so if God has some different ideas about where to lead me, I’ll be listening.

Practicing Presence in Prayer

The impulse to be human doings instead of human beings extends to the realm of prayer. We can become overly concerned about achieving benchmarks in prayer (e.g., praying the rosary each day or making sure we get to Bible Study each week). All too easily, we fall into the trap of believing that our worthiness in God’s eyes is tied to the productivity of our prayer life.

 

Image by Lorenzo Quinn

To be sure, prayer practices are essential because of their role in helping us build a relationship with God. Through prayer, we can remember that God is the source of our life; voice our desires and discern what God desires for us; recognize that God is God and we are not; intercede for others, expanding our understanding of what it means to be part of the body of Christ; develop gratitude for the gifts of life; and, ultimately, grow into a bond of love and trust with the One who has loved us into being.

When we love someone, what makes us most happy is simply being with them. The same holds true of God. Eventually, more and more of our prayer entails just sitting in God’s presence. It doesn’t feel like we’re doing anything, and that can be uncomfortable, until we relax into this practice of being. As Richard Rohr, OFM, says, “So much of life is just a matter of listening and waiting and enjoying the expansiveness that comes from such willingness to hold” [this tension].

 

I continue to be touched by a story that was relayed by a sister who was sitting with Sr. Maria Van Hee when she was close to death. Sr. Maria started giggling, and her companion asked, “What are you laughing at?” Sr. Maria replied, “God just told me a joke!” May we all enjoy such intimacy and expansiveness when we open our being to God, whose love and joy is eternal.