Sowers Needed; Reaping Not Required

We have heard Jesus’ parables so many times over the years that we tend to believe we already understand their message. For example, we believe the parable of the sower and the seed is telling us to let the word of God take root in us. That’s true as far as it goes, but in this week’s retreat at Mount St. Scholastica, Fr. Eugene Hensell proposed another lesson of this parable: Our task as disciples is to be sowers of the seed and let God take care of the harvest. How different our lives would be if we simply did our work without basing our self-worth on the outcome!

If our task as disciples of Jesus is simply to spread the good news, it bears considering how we should go about doing that. After all, not everyone has the skills or opportunity to be a preacher. Jesus gives us a hint: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (Jn 13:35). Francis of Assisi is even more clear: “Preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.” Our acts of kindness and compassion speak more loudly than words about the good news: There is another way to live than to measure our days based on wealth, success, fame, productivity, and competition. When we act lovingly, we proclaim that we are rooted in God’s ways, with the freedom that comes from letting God take it from there.

It appears that Jesus’ parables have more to teach us than meets the eye, even after a lifetime of listening to them.

Benedictine Timesucks

I recently learned that 1 billion hours of videos are viewed each day on YouTube, and 400 hours of new content are uploaded each minute of every day. Most people find it easy to get caught up in a loop of watching video after video, which is known as a “timesuck” (an activity that sucks up your time).

Someone observing the Benedictine way of life would likely identify liturgy of the hours, lectio divina (praying with scripture), work, and sharing the common table as timesucks. What is the difference between watching videos and these activities? Through the centuries, those seeking God have identified prayer, work, and communal life as avenues for transformation, for putting on the mind of Christ. To be sure, some content on YouTube is educational, inspirational, and even transformative, but in general people watch videos for entertainment. It’s usually a solitary activity that does not lead to communion with God and others.

St. Benedict valued moderation and balance. If he were living today, I imagine he would allow his monks to watch videos that lead deeper into the heart of God. However, I believe he would also counsel us to monitor our activities to ensure that we are sucked into God’s way of passing time—by creating, being in relationship with others, and just being—instead of getting sucked into the distraction offered by the vast world of media available to us today.

All Are Welcome

Yesterday it was cool enough to sit on the patio outside the dining room for breakfast. Sr. Micaela noted a straggly purple petunia growing out of a crack in the sidewalk, and Sr. Susan Barber murmured, “All are welcome.”

I’ve heard it said that weeds are commonly defined as plants that are growing in a place where they are not desired. If that is the case, the word “weed” is not in God’s vocabulary, because God loves and desires all that God has created.

Unfortunately, some people view other human beings as weeds—being in a place where they are not desired—when they seek asylum in the United States because of economic hardship or political or religious persecution. Sometimes these immigrants are tolerated if they stay out of sight and perform difficult work, such as slaughtering and dressing livestock or picking fruit and vegetables. If they stray outside certain areas, however, they are plucked up by the roots and tossed out to survive as best they can (or not).

We who are made in God’s image need to adopt God’s vocabulary, which includes such words as “welcome,” “share,” “compassion,” and “serve.” Phrases such as “this is mine,” “get out,” “you’re not one of us” and “there’s not enough for you” are incomprehensible to God, who said, “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt; I am the lord your God” (Lv 19:34). In other words, God says: “Repeat after me: ‘All are welcome in this place.’”

Planting Trees as an Exercise in Humility

On Memorial Day, I went to Mount Calvary Cemetery in Leavenworth, Kansas, to visit family graves with an aunt and a couple of cousins. It’s a good way to follow St. Benedict’s advise to “keep death daily before you,” as every year we come across new grave stones and freshly dug graves. Memorial Day is second only to New Year’s day and perhaps one’s birthday in leading us to consider what type of person we want to be in the time we have remaining on earth.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that since my last visit, a maple tree had been planted not far from my parents’ grave. In years to come, it will add beauty to their resting place and provide shade for visitors. I don’t know who planted the tree—probably the family of the man recently buried two plots over—but they certainly understood, as Nelson Henderson said, “The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit.”

Humble people recognize the limitation of their life spans and undertake tasks that will be of no benefit to them but will serve future generations. What type of person do I want to be in the time I have remaining on earth? I want to be the type of person who plants trees.

Creation's Slow and Powerful Rhythms

I recently came across this observation by Michael Crichton: “To the earth, a hundred years is nothing. A million years is nothing. This planet lives and breathes on a much vaster scale. We can’t imagine its slow and powerful rhythms, and we haven’t got the humility to try.”

A similar sentiment was expressed by Thornton Wilder said in his play Our Town: “Oh earth, you’re too wonderful for anyone to realize you.” The same could be said of God. In our short human time span, how can we begin to imagine the slow and powerful rhythms of God and of earth?

Humility, echoing scripture, says that we shouldn’t even attempt to understand the majesty of God and God’s creation, because in trying to understand them, we are trying to control them. We are much more likely to enter into relationship with God and earth when we surrender to mystery—to not knowing—and  open ourselves to sacred surprises.

Today I took a walk and saw cottonwood leaves shimmering in the breeze, sunlight dancing on water, and grass growing in sidewalk cracks. One of earth’s vast and powerful rhythms is optimism that comes from participation in the paschal cycle of death and life. We can despair at the degradation of earth and the suffering of its inhabitants, or we can do the best we can from where we are with what we’ve got, and put the rest in God’s hands. Though we may never attain understanding, we can count on experiencing the joy of transformation.

When the Chips Are Down

One of sessions at the Novice and Director Institute explored different ways of engaging in lectio divina outside of the traditional method of using scripture. For example, we were invited to spend some time outside to let nature lead us into meditation.

I came upon a pile of 14 bags of premium red cedar wood chips and stopped for a bit of conversation. “After being a majestic tree that stretched up into the sky, it must be tough to be chopped up for mulch,” I said. Surprisingly, what I heard back was, “Yeah, being a tree was great, but this is good too. I’m kind of looking forward to being closer to the earth and protecting other plants so they can grow.”

I didn’t expect to learn a lesson in humility from some bags of wood chips. However, we all face times when we are called to let go of who we were and accept new limitations. If we don’t cling to who we used to be, we can find blessing both for ourselves and others in our new situation. So says my friend, the red cedar mulch. I’m grateful I took the time to listen to one of the many insights that nature, in all its forms, has to offer.

Our Spiritual Thermometer

In his homily at mass yesterday, the priest mentioned that when he was formation director at his community, a novice came to him and asked, “How do I know when I have become holy?” The priest replied, “I don’t have a spiritual thermometer you can stick in our ear or under your tongue! However, you can ask yourself: Have I changed since I became a novice? Have I grown closer to God? Have I allowed God to grow closer to me?”

The last question particularly caught my attention. Benedictines focus on seeking God, but sometimes I wonder if we unconsciously keep God at arms length. We might do this because we feel unworthy of God’s attention, or because we fear losing who we are if we become intimate with God, or because we are afraid of what God might ask of us if we let God get too close.

Allowing God to grow closer to us is a lifelong process of keeping the channels of communication open through daily prayer/lectio divina. As we grow in trust, love will cast out our fear, and our spiritual thermometer will glow with joy and zeal, true indications of holiness.