Saying Yes

I used to wonder why Christ became human when and where he did. Why not 500 years earlier in Europe or 200 years later in Central America? Then I heard a priest ask in a homily, “How many young women did God ask to be the mother of his son until one—Mary—finally said yes?”

Today we celebrate the feast of the Visitation, when, after Mary said yes to God’s request, she and her cousin Elizabeth met and celebrated the ways that God had worked in their lives. Perhaps it is a good day to consider what possibilities remain unrealized in our world because, unlike Mary, we lack the trust, self-confidence, or generosity to say “Yes” to what God asks.

One of the most remarkable aspects of Mary’s “Yes” is that she did not question whether she had the capability or worthiness or stamina to do what God asked; she trusted that God would provide what she needed to fulfill the task, even though it was enormous. What could be a greater responsibility than being the mother of God’s son?

We often back away from engaging in transformation because it feels too big and scary, but tinkering around the edges of our lives fails to satisfy, which is one reason I finally made the decision to join the Mount community. When we choose transformation, God provides the strength and the means, as the life of Mary illustrates. Thankful for her “Yes,” may we have the courage to follow her example and be a bearer of Christ’s light in the world.

Heavenly Chores

Yesterday, my aunt Jean and cousin Bucky and I brought flowers to the graves of family members. Although their earthly remains are at their grave sites, we know that they themselves are no longer there. So where are they, and what are they doing? Some possibilities are explored in the following poem.

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 open to

j  u  s  t

the right

    page

Calling Ourselves Beloved

Memorial Day weekend is an appropriate time to consider the following epitaph of the writer Raymond Carver, from his poem Late Fragment:

And did you get what

you wanted from this life, even so?

I did.

And what did you want?

To call myself beloved, to feel myself

beloved on the earth.

In spite of God’s extravagant love for us, it often seems to take a lifetime to be able to call ourselves beloved and feel that we are beloved during our time on earth. That’s too bad, because people who understand how much they are loved don’t waste time worrying about being judged and whether they merit forgiveness. Instead, they—like Jesus—become remarkably courageous, loving, and compassionate. 

This Memorial Day, may we continue to extend love and forgiveness to our deceased family and friends and remember that we are all held in the loving embrace of our infinite God.

Imagining the Kingdom of God

In an essay in The New York Times, Martin P. Seligman and John Tierney claim that what makes humans wise is that we contemplate the future. Evidence shows that our brains consider the past and present valuable only as sources of information that can help us see and shape the future.

How, then, do the parting words of Jesus—that he is going to prepare a place for us—help us see and shape the future? If we truly believe that “surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Ps 23:6),” how will that affect our behavior? Perhaps we will be more likely to see goodness and mercy at work in our lives if we are on the lookout for it. In addition, perhaps we will anticipate the need to be a good guest in God’s house and thus will practice picking up our dirty socks, pitching in to help with chores, and expressing gratitude now—and by doing so, help create heaven on earth!

When we celebrate Pentecost this year, let us invite the Advocate, who is always with us, to sharpen our imagination so we can envision the kingdom of God—a place of abundance, peace, and unity—and then help it unfold through our attitudes and actions. Let us be dreamers together in the Body of Christ.

Lift Up Your Eyes

The physical environment in which we are raised has a definite effect on the way we see the world. Having grown up in Kansas, my eyes are accustomed to looking outward across open fields to the horizon. Now that I am visiting my older brother in Utah, I am getting a taste of what it is like to have my eyes drawn upward to the mountains.

In scripture, the mountain is the place where Moses, Elijah, and Jesus leave their everyday life to encounter God directly; it is a place of transformation. Although I certainly believe God is present in our daily lives, something about the physical act of climbing helps us be more aware of our desire to be with God. It also literally provides a new outlook and new perspectives.

Although we tend to want to stay on the mountaintop once we get there, we aren't capable of living in perpetual transformation. We humans need time to integrate what we learn on the mountaintop. However, when we are feeling stuck, it's good to climb--be it a mountain, hill, tree, or stairway--or at least lift up our eyes to the heavens. Being rooted is a great gift, but our spiritual imagination needs wings as well.
 

Live On In My Love

Last night at the Catholic Callout at Lansing Correctional Facility, the discussion leader asked the question, “Has there been a time when you truly felt saved?” Most of the inmates replied “No”; one even said he’d be grateful just to get to purgatory. I finally spoke up and said, “You should know you are saved every time you receive the Eucharist. God died for you! What more do you want? What more proof do you need that God loves and forgives you?”

I hope my exasperation got through to them. One of the inmates followed up on what I said by remarking, “I think it’s really arrogant to think that God can’t forgive you. That’s placing limits on what God can do. I just go about my business and don’t worry about it any more.” At least one of them gets it!

We need to relay the good news about God’s love and mercy at every opportunity through our words, actions, and attitude of joy, because the energy of so many people is tied up in worry and self-recrimination when it could be directed toward gratitude and service to the body of Christ. “As the Father has loved me, so I love you; live on in my love.” We have been told; now we need to act on what we know.

The Monastic Practice of Pruning

One of our volunteers at the Mount, Karen Schneller, is a master gardener who has devoted considerable time to the study of pruning techniques. In February she pruned the rose bushes in front of St. Catherine’s guest house, and I was surprised at how little of the plant was left after she was done. Today, however, these bushes are lush and blooming profusely. Apparently, these bushes need to be cut back to their essence to foster new growth—and the same is true of us!

Joining the Mount community required deep pruning of my possessions and lifestyle. Indeed, I think one reason I became a monastic was because I knew the pruning was necessary but didn’t have the strength or motivation to do it myself. Maintaining a house and a car and taking care of pets required a lot of my attention and energy, and though pruning them was painful, the sap can now flow in a new direction. In addition, considering the perspectives and feelings of community members is requiring pruning of my self-centered outlook, which got overgrown after years of living alone.

In a way, living in community is like being part of an orchard—our roots are intertwined, but our branches must be pruned to make room for other trees and to ensure that each tree receives the light and breathing space it needs. I’m grateful for the pruning that has occurred both in me and in the community so I can take root in the Mount orchard.