My need for God

I love this thought from Bernard Bro: perhaps the best definition [of an adolescent] is that of someone who has not yet experienced her limitations, and therefore has not had to accept them.

It is true. Until I experience my limitations, I have not grown up. Probably my biggest challenge in life will be accepting and dealing with such humanness.

We are not taught about such things. If anything, we are told that we can be anything we want to be. But that is just not so. Every single one of us has limitations in some field. The secret is, those limitations need not make us less; they can be stepping stones not only to a greater maturity, but to a more authentic and sincere form of prayer.

Bro says Prayer brings us back to what is most authentic in our quest for happiness...prayer makes us free...prayer...must teach us every day of our need for God.

Our need for God. That is the reality of life. If I should live without feeling any need, it is most likely that I would become satisfied with life as is. It is when I face limitations, when I am needy, that I pray with a humble heart.

Limitations need not be defeating. For in authenticity, we learn the truth.

Letting another be human

Forgiveness moves us, like seeing the first flowers of spring

Of all the Christian virtues that are difficult to practice, I think forgiveness is probably the hardest. As the mark of the Christian, it is deep, symbolic, and telling.

The gospels have several stories on forgiveness, probably the most succinct and direct being the "Our Father." Forgive us, as we forgive those who sin against us. In the monastic life, it was often pointed out to me that this prayer says, in effect: God look at me. And as I forgive or do not forgive, that is how I want you to treat me.

But I think it is more. I think forgiveness says I accept my vulnerability. I acknowledge my mess up. I see that I am not perfect, and so will not expect another to be what I am not. It is me saying, okay, you offended me, hurt me, abused me. But I will not set that act in stone. Just as I do not always do the right thing, I will give you to freedom to be human and imperfect as well. I will see this for what it is...human frailty.

I think failure to forgive is telling. I think it means I have not accepted my own vulnerability, and so cannot accept the vulnerability of another. It says I am not secure. It says I am still clinging to the fallacy that it is possible to be perfect.

Psychologists and counselors will tell you, forgiveness is not only good, but necessary for your mental health. Jesus would tell you, forgiveness is good for your peace of mind. It is good for your soul. It is good for your heart. To forgive is to acknowledge your own human status. It is to accept that I am not the only one who does not get it right all the time. It is to have the gentle heart and the open eyes that says, yea, we are all in this together.

Transforming stoney hearts into bread

Paul Claudel writes [Christ] did not come to give us a life that would serve only to enable us to die. He did not come on earth to prevent hunger and thirst...He came with his great leaven so that no stone might be incapable of becoming wheat or loaf.

Think of the stones Satan used to tempt Jesus in the desert. Satan placed them before Jesus with an invitation to transform them into loaves of bread. Those stones symbolized human hearts, and Jesus did not come so that we might feed him. He came to feed us. So, even though those stones were meant for transformation, it would not come at the command of Jesus. He could have, but he would not. He waits on us to initiate the transformation. He waits on us to open our hearts.

In the desert of life, we too are tempted to feed off the very things that are set before us, especially in our spiritual quest. We have our devotions, our church time, our meditation time, and our fasts and prayers. But good as they are, they are not meant to feed us, but we are to feed them, with a burning spirit that comes from a heart opening. It's the spirit that prompts the action, not the devotion that calls for it, that gives sustenance to the soul.

Jean-Marie Howe writes to open our heart, to open a depth within ourselves: this is the aim of monastic life, and from this flows its fertility. The treasure hidden in the field of monastic life is depth: to arrive at such a depth of being that our whole life flows from the level of the heart, for it is there where God is, there where God gives to us and through us to the world.

God does more than give to us. When we cooperate in our own transformation, a unity occurs whereby we become like that which feeds us. It's the wonderful assimilation seen when a person takes nourishment, and it occurs on the spiritual plane as well.

Olivier Clement writes to seek the place of the heart. We live so much on the surface of ourselves. We live in our head and in our entrails, and all the vast spaces of the heart we have forgotten. I believe that we must rediscover them.

Discovering them transforms them. The heart of stone can become bread which will feed, but not by Jesus command. Only when I initiate the process. Only when I open.

Follow me in the scripture sense

Camino Trail through Cahors, France

Follow me. The words tend to make one think of obedience, submission, and disregard for one's own desires. Yet, when Jesus said Follow me he invited us to a different kind of following, one that used him as an example, one of seeking destiny. For Jesus, destiny did not mean following the status quo. If anything, it meant stepping outside the norm, thinking in terms of truth, not convention. If you hesitate to accept this, think of how Jesus was judged by his own church authorities: he cures on the Sabbath; he eats and drinks with sinners; he makes himself to be like God.

In each of our lives, there comes a time when we too are challenged in our discernment. What seems the right thing to do is not the norm, does not follow protocol, is not offering security. Yet, when we can accept our responsibilities and made the hard decision, we find we step deep into a new level of spiritual life.

It doesn't have to be dramatic. And I can pray, reflect, and seek advise. But ultimate, I have to make the final decision.

Perhaps the difficulty we experience in discernment comes from expecting life to follow some sort of norm. Even though we are scripture people, we tend not to read the gospels very deeply. For when Jesus invites us to follow him, he is really asking us to be willing to risk. He shows us that when following him, we must think not in terms of what is acceptable, but in where I am called; to seek my destiny, not my stability. And, as wonderful as the pilgrim's life looks on paper, it is not so romantic in reality. It requires me to draw deep from inside of myself, and find a stronger faith, a greater trust, and a deeper love.

I find that once I make that step, I begin to live on a different plane, one deeper and more aware of my destiny. I begin to be less afraid of fear, and strengthened in making hard choices. I find myself not looking for peace, but for my calling, for fulfillment in the stage of meaningful living, for God. Because my concept of God has changed, and I know God can be reached, God can be touched, God can be taken at his word. And I know, I too can become like God.

Signs of the nature of 'I'

Tranquility...our attitude toward our humanity

Lent. A journey toward Easter. But often, in this journey, we feel bogged down by our humanity. And we often arrange our Lenten practices as means of overcoming and subduing such humanity.

Julián Carrón views it differently. He writes how many times are we tempted to look at the concrete humanity in which we find ourselves—for example, the unease, the dissatisfaction, the sadness, the boredom—as an obstacle, a complication, an impediment to the realization of what we desire! We get angry with ourselves and with reality…

He goes on to say that we live in the illusion of going ahead by cutting away a piece of ourselves. Instead, we should realize that the very struggles we have in our human nature are there to show us that here, in this life, in this world, we do not have a lasting city. Unease, dissatisfaction, sadness, and boredom are not symptoms of an illness to treat with medicines; this happens more and more often in a society that mistakes disquiet of the heart for panic and anxiety. They are rather, signs of what the nature of the “I” is. The “I” that is created with a capacity for the infinite.

And so, the humanity we discover in ourselves is not something to cut out of our lives (even if we could!) but rather the signature of God written deep in our hearts, a signature that says we are made for something bigger. Carrón continues, The real obstacle on our journey is not our concrete humanity, but [our] disregard for it. Everything in us cries out [for] the need for something to fill the void.

It sounds like we are better off listening to our hearts. Because it will lead us to understand, we have been made for greater things.

A time to be still

Ever have one of those days when you're tired of trying to think wonderful and deep thoughts, when life seems to drag just a bit, and you wonder if you're up to the continual challenge of being true to yourself? During such times, one wants to find a hideaway to mope and feel sorry for oneself, when a safe spot becomes more desirable than a honest one. The storms of life batter and discourage, and its normal to wonder if it all will someday fall into place. Perhaps it never will. And as much as one glories in being a pilgrim, the pilgrim's life can get down right lonely at times.

I suppose we all go through the above emotions. Life isn't a planned, straight road for most of us. Going it alone can be difficult, even for those of us who are used to it.

Then it is good to hunker down in that soul-room of our heart and just let life be. Because if past experience teaches us anything, it is the truth that God takes care of us, in God's time and in God's own way.

So hunker down and enjoy the simple things of life: the sun, the birds, the budding trees. There is a time to let go of bigger issues, and wait on God for strength, hope and courage. There is a time to forget about the bigger issues of life, and just be.

Making friends with the psalms

Cloister in West Springfield Monastery

During the season of Lent, I hope you are making friends with the psalms.

In the monastic culture, the psalms are the daily prayers of the monastic nun. Seven times a day, the community gathers to sing the psalms in chant through the established Hours of Prayer: Matins, Laudes, Tierce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline. As you sing the psalms day after day, they not only become familiar, they become your friend.

Because the psalms express the emotions we all share. And if your prayer is not full of the emotions you have in your heart, then your prayer lacks. 

The psalms not only teach us how to prayer, but offer us an example of the words we should use. As we pray with the psalms, we find that they are indeed very earthy, human, and authentic.

Best of all, when we least think of it, verses will come to mind.

When I am lost and lonely, perhaps psalm 22 will come to mind: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

I am grateful for God's blessings, and feel overwhelmed with God's goodness. Perhaps psalm 33:5 will pop into my head: "The earth is full of the goodness of the Lord."

I finally come through a difficult period in life, and psalm 40 keeps repeating itself: "I waited, waited for the Lord, who bent down to me and heard my cry, Drew me out of the pit of destruction, out of the mud of the swamp, Set my feet upon rock, and made my footsteps sure. And put a new song in my mouth, a hymn to our God."

Can any prayer rival such sentiments?

Of late, I find the verse from psalm 31:4 keeps coming to mind: "You are my rock and my fortress; for your name's sake lead  me and guide me." Yes, lead me and guide me.

What ever lent means to you, however you observe it, I encourage all of us to make friends with the psalms. They have so much to teach us about prayer. They can change our lives and the way we pray.

Ashes on my forehead...

It is good to see you vulnerable the person said.  It was a passing statement I overheard. The person addressed appeared very strong. But for one moment, she let her wall down, and allowed her vulnerability to be seen. The sight of that vulnerability only endeared her to the rest of us.

It got me thinking. In a way, lent is like that. Lent is about letting that wall of protection down and allowing my vulnerability to be seen. It isn't a show. For I am vulnerable, as are you, and you, and you. It is part and parcel of the human condition.

God knows how hard it is for us to accept our vulnerability. For to be vulnerable is to be hurt, to be wounded, and to possibly be destroyed. To let us know it is not the worst thing that can happen to us, God came down to earth, to be vulnerable like us.

It is a reminder that suffering, weakness, pain need not be the conquerors.  No, we are better than that, stronger than that, more resilient than that. But we forget.

So today, if you receive ashes on your forehead, let the words sink in. "Dust thou art, to dust thou wilt return" is not a death sentence. It is a reminder that we have something in common, something we all share. 

For when we remember our vulnerability, when we let it be seen, we are reminding ourselves that we are family, no one is in this alone, that we all share in this journey forward. Vulnerability unites us by reminding us we need one another, that pain has a way of bringing out the best in us, if only we can use it for good. Vulnerability is honesty. And honestly is authenticity.

I will offer a sacrifice

Sacrifice. It seems to be a forgotten virtue.

It used to be an expected part of every day life.

Now, it seems even our spirituality tends toward what's in it for me? And that attitude is always taking, always wanting, always looking for more. 

Sacrifice is about what I am willing to give. Sacrifice teaches me even as it strengthens me.

Because it is a frame of mind. It is me looking for a way to return some of the good that has been handed on to me. Sacrifice is, in effect, gratitude.

Psalm 116:12 says, How shall I repay the Lord for all the good done for me? In verse 17, the psalmists answers, I will offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving and call on the name of the Lord.

Good thoughts. Good advice. 

The demands of the soul

Who has seen the soul? Or known its demands?

I love this quote from Laurence Boldt: The soul too has its demands. It has a way of letting us know when we neglect or abandon its imperatives--authenticity and responsibility, joy and compassion.

Boldt is speaking of the soul in regard to career choices. But the quote affects other aspects of our life as well, especially our concept of spirituality.

It is my soul that pines and yearns, that feels empty or filled. It is from my soul that I put forth authentic deeds and works of compassion. It is in my soul where I find what Julian of Norwich referred to as the hazelnut:

• He [the Lord] shewed me a little thing, the quantity of an hazel-nut, in the palm of my hand; and it was as round as a ball. I looked thereupon with [the] eye of my understanding, and thought: What may this be? And it was answered generally thus: It is all that is made. I marvelled how it might last, for methought it might suddenly have fallen to naught for little. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasteth, and ever shall for that God loveth it. And so All-thing hath the Being by the love of God.

If I would keep these things in mind, I need heed the voice of my soul. It is not easily satisfied. It will not keep silence, but will haunt me until I learn to listen.

For it is my soul that gives meaning to my life.

Lenten preparation: empower yourself with a resolution or two

Lent is coming, I strongly encourage the making of some kind of resolutions, even for those who do not particularly observe lent.

Resolutions have gotten a bad rap in recent years. Probably because for many, it focused only on the negative: find a way to punish myself for these forty days.

Resolutions should empower. It should strengthen our will so that we are in charge, not our emotions or our passions.

Before making a resolution, pray and reflect. What will help me along my spiritual journey?

Write the resolution down, and check on compliance every day.

A resolution that is easily broken is not a good resolution. Find something better.

A resolution should have a spiritual goal. Otherwise, it will be weak; only a temporary thing. It will not empower.

We should share our resolution with someone. It helps us be accountable when we go public.

Find the element of joy in the resolution. Otherwise, it will become a burden.

Then, when lent begins, you will find excitement instead of dread. You will be taking yourself on another journey.

Monastic Ponderings gets Liebster Blog Award

~ The Liebster Blog Award ~

Recently Monastic Ponderings was awarded the Liebster Blog Award by Jeff from The Blog News.  So Awesome! Thanks so much, Jeff!

Liebster Blog Award Rules

The rules for this award were passed on to me as follows:

In accepting this award, the recipient agrees to:

1. Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the blogsphere – other bloggers.
5. And, best of all – have fun and spread the karma.

Please Note: In the past this award was typically given to blogs with 200 or fewer followers, a small blog. But with the variety of following methods available nowadays, it is hard to know a blog's actual follower count.

My Five Picks

I have chosen the following blogs for this award:

• Healthy Spirituality by Jean Wise
• Monks and Mermaids by Fr. David
• Marbury's Hilltop by the Monastery of St Jude in Marbury AL
• Mercy Not Sacrifice by Cindi
• Salon for the Soul, by Cathy Barney

I hope you will all enjoy your new celebrity status!

Backpacking through lent.

Lent is closing in. Before Ash Wednesday comes, I want to prepare myself to best benefit from the opportunity of 40 days dedicated to reflection and compassion. I want lent to make a difference.

First, I want to remember that lent offers me the opportunity to remember the real Jesus. If I can believe anything of the gospels, it is that Jesus reached out to me at my level. He did not pretend to take suffering or sorrow away. He came to endure as I endure, and to suffer as I suffer.

Lent reminds me of this very subtle theme. And if I want to be a true Christian, I too must learn to suffer with those who suffer and endure with those who endure.

For Christianity steps into the unity of commonality. It should make me closer to my fellow human beings, not set me apart. It should bring me into the reality of life, not remove me from it. It should build my empathy, and enrich my charity. This is how Jesus lived.

Lent offers me the opportunity to do just that. It invites me to prepare myself for the unique journey of life by focusing on my attitudes.

As the days of Lent approach, instead of joining in the wild parties that mark Shrove Tuesday, I want to gear up for a more solid spiritual journey, as one about to go off on a long backpacking trek.  I want to make sure I add meditation, austerity, and silence to my backpack. Because, I want this lent to make a difference.

Preparing for Lent

Lent is just around the corner, February 22 to be exact. And it is not too soon to begin thinking of ways to make this Lent unique. I would like to suggest that we try to go into the desert, just as the gospels tell us Jesus did before he began his ministry.

The desert is a favored place among early mystics. It offered them a secluded spot where they could delve into the innermost part of their souls. And what they found supplies the rich literature of early christian writing.

But why a desert? I think that it hints at the importance of putting aside regular life when you want to get serious about finding God within. There is also the sense of silence, of solitude, of alone-ness. Of having to find it yourself. No guide, no soul-mate. Just you and God.

When John the Baptist drew followers, Jesus asked those followers "What did you go out into the desert to see?" We might ask ourselves the same questions. What is our purpose in pursuing a greater connection with God? Are we programming our spiritual life like we do our career or our social life? Do we go out into the desert because we are curious? Or are we in search for something else?

I personally believe that the greatest gift the desert offers is its silence and solitude. It makes me realize the potential for a new way of living. It offers me a new level of understanding. It demonstrates how small things may be great rewards.

I want to remember to prepare for Lent by entering the desert, without a schedule or a plan. Then, what I find may surprise me. And in that surprise, I may discover a deeper relationship with God.

Going beyond security

Each new day holds its own challenges

The class had to decide on priorities. A sheet of values had been handed out, and we had to number them from one to thirty, from most important to least. Then we shared.

I was not surprised that politics were very low on everyone's list. But I was surprised that I alone put security down at the bottom as well. Most put power. Or wealth. Or beauty.

I put security down because I found it can be a trap. It can become the focus of my life (and honestly, who doesn't want to be secure?) or it can keep me bound in the secure zone. I no longer want to be held bond. I want to be free.

I do not disdain security. I just know, from personal history, how deceiving it can be.

For too many years, I banged my head against the door that was obviously closed to me, willing it to open. I did not have the courage to turn to the doors that were open. I could not. It involved stepping out into the unknown.

Since stepping out, since risking all, I have found that the journey offers a great deal more than security could ever offer. Yes, it is unnerving at times. Yes, it requires that I constantly renew my faith. But that is the gift of the journey. It demands that my spiritual life never settle.

Andre Louf's book, Teach us to Pray, says: There has come down to us from one of the early Fathers of the Church a profound saying: 'Prayer is as yet imperfect where the monk continues to be conscious of it and knows that he is at prayer.'

Daring to risk taught me that kind of prayer. It became natural because my constant need kept me turning to God. There were great revelations along the way. And there were scary moments when I wondered, if just perchance, I might have a bit of respite.

I do not suggest that you should toss security to the dogs. Your journey is whatever it becomes for you. I am only sharing how, having been forced into a life without security (and God does have a way of forcing the issues at times!) I have found that this too has its rewards. And that is why it is at the bottom of my list.

Oh, and at the top, I put spiritual growth. Something many others put as well.

The Pilgrim's prayer

I commit to the journey, not knowing where it will lead.

I trust in your spirit, Lord, to open the doors, so that I may progress.

When the way is clear, I rejoice.

When the way is clouded or confusing, I wait patiently for clues.

For the crooked road invites me to surrender to your plan.

And no matter how many times I do it, I still struggle each time You ask it of me.

For in truth, I would like to have "arrived" and not still wander.

And yet, I am on a journey, a journey that calls forth faith.

A journey that challenges me to continue moving and not sit idly by.

Sometimes, though Lord, I get pretty tired of the journey.

So send down some of that loving Presence, to encourage my soul.

For otherwise, I might falter and stumble.

Which is not the end of the world.

But is a type of darkness. And You are Light.

What can I touch...

When we read scripture, instead of looking to remember a verse, I think it better to discover the person hidden within. Not that I cannot find great verses to memorize, verses that come to mind when I need it most. But verses can only carry me so far. If I learn the person, I learn about God.

Most of all, I learn about Jesus. Jesus certainly did not fit the image people had for him. He did not come off as the typical carpenter's son, nor did he act like the savior of the world. No wonder people were confused. Jesus as a person was totally out of the box.

Lately, I have been thinking of Jesus as a man on a mission, one preaching the kingdom of God to the world. He walked countless miles, endured privations, cold nights, and endless crowds in an effort to get the message across. And what happened? He was endlessly interrupted, called upon, sought after for his healing powers.

And how did Jesus deal with this? He did try to remind others that his mission was to preach the good news. But most of the time, in fact, every time recorded, he stopped his mission to offer compassion to another. Whether it was a leper, a women outcast in her society, a child dying, Jesus stopped whatever he was doing.

Not only did he stop, he reached out. He touched those in distress. He let his humanity bring his compassion to another by touch, by power going out from the hem of his garment, from water turned into wine.

This is the Jesus I want to remember, to contemplate, to imitate. If I can likewise bring compassion to another through a touch, a thought, a hug, then I have come to understand the Jesus of the Gospels better.

Sacrifice transforms love...

It was the only movie at the theater that did not include blood and gore, animation or violence. The tag line said it was based on a true story. So, I went. I saw. And I was inspired.

I hear it was the number one box office hit over the weekend. I can see why. It isn't just a love story. It is a story of sacrifice, of trial, of choices. It is love under fire. And the end result is made beautiful because of that struggle.

But this story, powerful because it is true, happens to each one of us. Life is a series of choices, of challenges, and of sacrifices. We know this. What we forget is, those struggles and challenges can also transform.

That is where the movie, The Vow, has a lot to teach us. It is a vivid reminder to you and me that trial need not be a kill joy. If we work with it, (which does not necessarily mean overcoming it), trial can yield surprising results. We just never know.

On a weekend full of news of Whitney Houston, with her signature song "I will always love you" playing over and over again, I found "The Vow" a solid example of what that looks like in real life.

I share this in the hope that you too will find your inspiration, one that keeps you going forward in the midst of whatever challenges you meet.

Monastic recipes

I've posted a number of recipes from a number of monasteries. If you are interested, go to

.http://www.examiner.com/spiritual-perspectives-in-baltimore/a-monastic-recipe-chocolate-chip-date-cake

It will give you the recipe I posted today, as well as a list of other recipes available.

Happy baking or cooking or whatever!

Increasing our longing.

Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee speaks to our masculine vs our feminine side. He notes that in our quests in life, we tend to focus on our masculine side, seeking goal-oriented ends. And, he says, masculine values even dominate our spiritual quest: we seek to be better, to improve our self, to get somewhere. We have forgotten the feminine qualities of waiting, listening, being empty (24). I find these words ring true for me.

Perhaps some of these problems stem from our concept of waiting. For us modern folks, waiting is more of a punishment, an inconvenience, a test. Waiting implies some sort of failure to arrive. Possession is seen as accomplishment. And not "to have" implies emptiness.

Yet, much happens in waiting. We do more self-reflection while waiting than in possession. We are more attentive, more alert, more filled with desire. Waiting also increases our yearning. Vaughan-Lee  says longing awakens us to our own need,a need which we can never satisfy...

To long, to wait. That is what the feminine qualities teach us. That is how we increase longing. And longing is not a bad thing...

Longing that transforms

This blog often speaks of longing and of seeking in our journey. For me, it is the difference between a spirituality of contentment (I say all my prayers and do all my duties, so therefore all is well) and a spirituality of never enough (when I go beyond obligation). But the "never enough" isn't helpful unless we realize where this discontentment comes from: our longing for the Ultimate.

Vaughan-Lee speaks to this in his book Love is a Fire: Just as Love is the Essence of the path, so is longing its agent of transformation. Vaughan-Lee reminds us that though we are born for God, we forget. We lose sight of our Ultimate; we get distracted. And then life gets messy. We get promptings of our loss: dissatisfaction with our job, our career, our present stature in life. Having all, but feeling empty. Wanting more, but not sure what "more" is. And, he says, sometimes people brush it aside; the last thing they want is to be distracted from their outer goals, their achievements, and to be taken into the vulnerability and need that are within them.

I suspect that that last part of his statement, to be taken into the vulnerability and need that are within really speaks to the problem. No one wants to be vulnerable, because to be vulnerable means, in some way, to be weak.

And yet, as in so many other areas, faith changes that. For in faith, to accept my vulnerability is to accept the truth about myself. And to do that, I must have a very strong belief in the power of the Divine One. It is only with the strength of that belief that I can journey into the interior and look honestly at the need within myself. It is only with a strong faith can I accept my mortality. Accepting these things opens the door to transformation.

Paul puts it another way: God chose what is weak in this world to shame the strong (1 Cor. 1:27). Because I discover my real strength when I believe in Someone stronger and more powerful than myself. And then, I can let go of the distractions, and journey inward. I can sit on the broken seat of my humanity and contemplate the Divine. I can enter into my vulnerability and know, I can be transformed.

There would be diminution...

Probably the question most common to all ages is the question of evil. I have my own theories, about the power of free will and its affects on others; God's ability to bring good from it all. So, I was intrigued when I read Anscar Vonier's words: It is a certain truth that if God in his providence exterminated every evil deed at once, killed every evil-doer, the final sum of goodness would be less. We have our Lord's own words for it; there would be diminution.

Vonier explain: when we who believe encounter evil, we draw more on faith, courage, and fortitude. He reminds us that we are a community; we are bound up with one another, we affect one another, not just for evil, but also for good. But there is the fact--an absolute certainty, goodness inevitably produces goodness; it is unconquerable, it cannot be stifled, it has greater ramifications than evil can ever have...

Perhaps we concentrate too much on the question of evil, and not enough on the power of goodness. Light means more when you have known darkness. Hope holds power when you've experienced the heaviness of despair. The list can go on...

Perhaps we should renew our faith in our own goodness. For when we have confidence in God's power to overcome evil in our own lives, we show others that no darkness can overtake the light.

Entering into mystery

Lately I have been reading a lot about mystery and how we mortal beings really like to know. We don't like being kept in the "dark" as it were.

John Shea has an interesting view on such things. In his book Story of God  he quotes Kazantzakis's description of mystery, which calls it the luminous interval between two darknesses. He then notes that when the reliability of all we have constructed is brought into question, we enter the dimension of Mystery (25).

In our desire to know, to be in the light, we forget that unknowing can contain something positive and fulfilling. This is the difference between faith, and having a vague spirituality with no particular beliefs.

But some say, are you just trying to put a good spin on pain and injustice? Are you making light of sickness or poverty or emotional distress? I don't think so. Science bears out the fact that having the ability to find something good in a bad situation actually speeds healing. But what Shea is speaking about is more. It is about discovery, and sometimes we don't really search until our world falls apart. Then we find that what has up till now proven good enough is no longer sufficient, and we seek something better.

Shea speaks at some length about the need for our ready answers and expectations to fail. He says Disenchantment is a traditional and well-established path to the awareness of Mystery...the beginning of mature religious consciousness (28-29). Shea's statement is obvious: I suspect every one of us can look back over the times in our lives when we entered into a new spiritual consciousness, and can track it to some form of  disenchantment we experienced.

Mystery. It is not something to be feared, but something that invites us to enter more deeply. And only after we enter, do we discover.

Experiencing the presence of God in silence

It happened in church. The baptism was finished, the families had stopped taking their pictures, one by the baptismal font, one in front of the altar, one with extended family, one with just the family, one with the godparents, one with the grandparents... I stayed in the sacristy keeping busy, waiting for them to finish up. The church was noisy as everyone talked quite loudly, catching up, I suppose on events and news. Fifteen minutes passed, and then thirty. I lowered the lights, hoping they would get the hint to move on out of the church with their conversations. They finally did.

I locked up the church and came back inside. And there it was, the silence, the presence, the atmosphere I so loved in the monastery. And I wondered: why do we prefer to talk in church, to visit, to catch up? Why do we not want to experience the presence of God in the silence? It is so powerful....or is it?

Perhaps I first have to find the Presence in silence before I can appreciate the places of silence. Perhaps I have to experience the uselessness of words, the pit of unanswered prayers, the inability to find words, before I realize, I don't really need them to experience the Presence of the Divine One. I have to sit with that stillness forced upon me before I begin to realize, it carries Gift, it holds a Presence.

When I walked down the aisle of the church, everyone gone and the place quiet and still, the sun streaming through the stain-glass windows, I knelt down on one knee and bowed my head. I knew God was in this place.

The power of being

Christ, by Mary Grace Thus, OP

I like words. But words hold no real power by themselves. Perhaps that is why Jesus never left us anything in writing. He knew that somehow, we would get stuck on the words, and miss the message.

Antonin Gilbert Sertillanges writes How did the Savior proceed in his preaching? He offers no text, no system, and nothing organized or presented according to any order whatsoever. He presents himself, and it is he who is the doctrine and the truth. He permits himself to be seen, and that is already teaching; he acts, and that is teaching; he speaks, and the teaching becomes more precise, but without being fitted into the adapted framework of a system. His message exposes itself to the apparent chance of circumstances, and it is the ordinary environment of Jewish life that will be that of his apostolate...

All of this speaks to the power of being. I find myself so persuaded by good words that I sometimes forget the real power comes only when I am convinced of their truth. Because words can do nothing for me by themselves. To go beyond, I must find the spirit and become transformed, enlightened, and inspired.

If I stay with words, I will get caught up in discrepancies, in accurate histories, in contradictions. If I look at the model, I will be able to bypass all of those cracks and see a person, one giving me an example. I am the Way, the Truth and the Life Jesus is quoted as saying in John 14:6. And Jesus' way is free-flowing, appropriate, and sustainable. He refused to be caught up with the politics of his times. Because he came that we might have life, and have it more abundantly (Jn. 10:10).

Facing the sun...

I watched a video of a political prisoner in Romania during the communist era, arrested because he had faith and refused to give it up. The prisoner describes his inhumane treatment, and then says he always remembered the line he had heard in a sermon: When you approach God, you have a shadow on your back. When you walk away from God, the shadow is on your face.

Listening to his story, I am reminded of the power of faith. Here was a man tortured in ways unimaginable, and yet through it all, he discovered and developed a deeper faith in God. The story is moving and inspiring, making the words powerful.

Let us face God, so that the shadows we have will always be on our back. For pain does not have the power to break us. You and I with God have the power to discover a deeper faith despite the pain.

I have plans for your future...

Continuing the thought from yesterday, that God finds me beautiful. I think we (or I) too often forget just how much I mean to God. I get so involved in trying to find God, please God, live for God, that I lose sight of how wonderfully made I am!

And yet, remember that I am precious to God, that God finds pleasure in me, that I am fearfully, wonderfully made, this remembrance brings such deep peace and joy. How can I forget that to God, I am unique? How can I fail to remember words of Jeremiah 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." 

We so often worry about how to approach God. And yet, according to scripture, God is already in our heart. As we read in Luke 17:21, Do you not know, the kingdom of God is within you?

And I would add, God wants us to believe, "you are so beautiful...to me."

You are so beautiful...

During a conversation yesterday with a good friend, we talked about trust in God, and how it seems that God does take care of us....but takes his time doing it. "If only God wouldn't drag his feet so," I complained to my friend. "If only God would take care of things sooner, without me having to wait and wait and wait!"

I think we all have experienced a trust that waited on God. And waited. And waited. Times when our hearts said, "God I only want to do your will....if only  you would let me know what that is!"

Today, I had an opportunity to make a small gift. It was a sacrifice, because it cost me. But as I started to brood over the offering, I stopped myself and made the gift an offering to God.

I barely did this when I got into my car to go home and prepare for this evening's class. I started up the car, and on the radio, the song by Joe Cocker began, "You are so beautiful....to me." As the song hit my ears, I experienced an overwhelming sense of the presence of God...and that it was not by chance that I got into the car at the exact moment this song started on the radio.

I began to drive away, and as I listened to the words, I thought of them as God singing them to me. The more I listened, the more a realization of what I mean to God overwhelmed me.

I encourage you to download the song for yourself. I encourage you to listen to the words, and hear them as God singing them to you. I think you will then understand how I felt....

A transformed person

Sometimes I re-read things I've written in the past and think, wow, I wrote that? Other times I say, wow, I thought like that?

I realize now that such reactions are part and parcel of "journey". If we are moving forward, we are changing. And this change, when it is determined and sought after, has long been termed "conversion."

Conversion makes me a different person. Not all at once. But one step at a time. And over time, I become a very different individual, one I can hardly recognize down the road. A person whose world has become different.

That change depends totally on how I am searching, seeking and discovering. If I go with the flow, my change will be out of my control. But if I am deciding what to read, what to listen to, who to follow; if I am pursuing God in an active and contemplative way, then my change will be deliberate. I will be deciding the direction I want to go and making choices that move me forward.

Because true conversion is, after all, transformation. And a transformed person is a wonderfully authentic, generous, revealed individual. A transformed person is one who remembers life is a journey, and I am not there yet. I have more to learn.