About being in need

Continuation of reflections on day with Simone Campbell (See post of Sun., Apr. 14)

One of the things Simone did was cast a new light on the vow of poverty. For her, the vow calls those who profess it to a "radical awareness of our need." It puts the focus not on property and possessions but on an attitude of spirit, one of dependency and mutual responsibility. She didn't say so, but it occurs to me one could translate this as a call to community.

This state of mind is a drastic departure from how most of us in our society are trained. Taking cues from the iconic world of America's early west, most forces during our developmental stages push us to independence. We are consistently told, in one form or another, to "stand on our own two feet." As adults we tend to look at government or church programs for the disadvantaged not as "hands up," but as "hand outs."  Still another facet of this is that collaboration and compromise, basic in any kind of community, are often interpreted as signs of weakness, of not taking a tough stand.

People of faith, and most certainly a Christian faith, are called to a contrasting perspective. Jesus mandated love as the binding force in our lives -- love of self, yes, but love of others in equal measure. This kind of love is not a one-way street; it forms a map of connections and interconnections all grounded in one source, God's love for all of us. And it's a give and take, not give or take!

In genuine community, whether family, business, church, or government, my receiving from others is just as important as my giving to others. I have to know that I am not the holder of all truth and wisdom. I have to realize that my own gifts and talents do not contain everything that the community needs at any given moment. Many times my greatest contribution to building a relationship could be to allow another person to be the giver, the source of light, the healer. I have to recognize that, as Simone said, "I am not enough."

I remember when Hilary Clinton wrote her book entitled "It Takes a Village," many people scoffed at the concept. I hope by now more people see it as a deeply spiritual and practical truth.

a ky monk

This is the first set of reflections on Simone Campbell's workshop. (See previous post.)

One of the things that for me became a thread running through the entire workshop was that of other-ness / we-ness. Often we unconciously treat individuals or groups as other, or something apart from us. We may be doing this when we use phrases like  "They said..." or "It's not my job".

When I find this thinking in myself, I'm often trying to simplify my life, to make it more manageable. I have a zillion things that call for my attention; if I can cut some out, that's a relief. The challenge, however, is the basis I use for making cuts. If, for example, I choose the job I like or to work with a person I like rather than a job I dislike or one done with a person difficult to work with, I may be choosing more on the basis of self-preservation than need.

Using self-preservation as the basis of choices is very natural, very human, and at times, quite necessary. What I find, however, is that because it is so easy, the resulting choice is often not the one that would be best for healing or building relationships in family or society. When I look at a job or another person, for example, as part of "we" or "our", not part of "them," the decision takes on a new perspective. It's part of me that needs help, not something apart from me.

In her workshop, Simone asked this question: "Who is it hard for me to let have a claim on my life?" In my mind, this almost immediately translated into a related question: "Who do I think has no claim on my life?"

Both these questions are hard to confront and need considerable pondering!

a ky monk

Radical food for our journey?

Yesterday I had the marvelous experience of 5-6 hours in presence of Sr. Simone Campbell, SSS. A Sister of Social Service, Simone is Executive Director of Network. This organization works to get  religious values like justice and care for the poor integrated into political law and discourse. As part of this mission, Simone ministers as a creative & reflective spiritual leader, organizer, writer, speaker and poet with a background as an attorney and social worker. While this day-long workshop was directed to women religious, her challenges are certainly not limited to such a narrow group. In fact, I think they can be taken up by persons of almost any belief system. Her thoughts, phrases, poetry --- so many things --- certainly gave the 160+ attendees much food for reflection, but I can see much of it being taken up by seekers in all walks of life.

What I'd like to do here is write down some of her thoughts then, over time, periodically choose some to write about. This first post, then, will list material I think I'll want to reflect on in upcoming entries in this blog. (We'll see if I can maintain this pattern. It could be that over time I'll modify the plan, but it's a beginning.)

Simone structured her presentation around the vows of chastity, poverty, & obedience, so her thoughts here will be laid out in a similar way. Reader, don't let the notion of "vows" turn you away from considering her challenges. Anyone who feels the desire to grow as a person and to help mend a broken society will, I think, find her ideas worth pondering. In the section below I'm listing notes from her presentation on Saturday. These are not my personal reflections; my own thoughts will emerge in future posts. 

Chastity -
- re-defined as "radical availability," "radical acceptance," "radical responsibility to participate and invite others in".
- related Catholic social principles: a) dignity of human labor; b) we exist in community, in relationship; c) participation in decision-making.

Poverty -
- re-defined as "radical awareness of our need"; admitting I am not sufficient; I need help
- letting other people need me
- related Catholic social principles: a) dignity of work (work as gift); b) being witness to resources for all; c) ecological responsibility (know we don't know enough & that earth needs us)

Obedience -
- re-defined as "radical willingness"
- walk towards need; walk in solidarity and let our hearts be broken so something new can emerge
- quote from Gerald May: "The only thing we bring to the contemplative life is a willing heart."
- overcome tendency to excessive risk management
- need to trust that the Spirit is there ahead of us; do not fear & don't hold on.
- related Catholic social principles: a) solidarity of human family (hold another's concern as dear as my own); b) principle of common good; c) standing with the poor

Other thoughts from Simone -
- when criticism hurts, sit with it to find the truth it contains
- Spirit gives us gifts before we need them. Are diminished numbers and aging gifts we/church/nation need now & for future?
- Jesus walked toward betrayal with love - and even encouraged Judas to :go do what you need to do!

More on some of this in later posts.

a KY monk

A God Unbounded!

Yesterday I wrote about a friend's memorial mass. While thinking about her unique life, I was looking for an adjective that might hint at her vision of God; I didn't find a satisfactory one. This morning one occurred to me: "Unbounded"!

This may or may not be a linguistically recognized adjective, but what it says to me is that God has no boundaries. Sure, "infinite" means that, but "unbounded" also says "unconstrained," "no limits," "free." I think Joyce's God would have been like this, so when her vision took her  "outside the box," which it did lots of times, God was there ahead of her.

As I reflected on this, I realized how important it is for me to make this aspect of God a more integral part of my spirituality than it is. If God is unbounded, with all that implies, it means I need to curtail my judgments, especially of people whose actions seem to be outside the normal expectations of society or even religions.

Over time, each family, culture, society or religion sets up a framework within which members are supposed to operate. Through history there are many stories of how groups treat people who "cross over" the boundary lines. We see extremes of this in the Salem witch trials, the McCarthy era & the Inquisition; more subtle instances show up with red lining in real estate, literacy tests for voting, etc. Then today, for example, there are the multitude of "looks" some people give others when a behavior or practice is considered over the edge, such as unusual haircuts, clothes, multiple tattoos, and so on.

Today, when someone crosses a line I perceive as significant in defining a boundary of appropriateness, righteousness, or whatever, I need to remind myself that my boundaries are not God's, because God doesn't have any. In my meditation and scripture discussions I've often pointed out that Jesus' whole life was spent breaking boundaries. He was always "crossing over" the lines that spoke about who was worthy and what was sacred. Now this observation has been brought a little closer to home.

Joyce, thanks for one more life lesson!

a ky monk

Memorial Mass brings memorable moments

Last Saturday I went to a memorial Mass celebrating the life and death of a long-time friend with whom I'd been out of touch. It was one of those situations where, despite the fact I hadn't seen or really talked to her for some years, I still felt close. She was a marvelous person who had a great deal of influence on me, especially in my younger years. (She was a good 15 or so years older than I.) I could write a lot about her and how she touched me, but at this point I'll just reflect on my experience at the Mass.

Joyce was a woman of great vision who at the same time was always connected with present reality, so I wasn't surprised that she had picked out the readings and music for her own funeral. Others have done that, but the effect on me this day was surprising. Part of it was the music, part of it the readings, part of it the text she chose for her funeral card, and part of it the fact the presider was a close friend who wove the scriptures and personal memories together in his homily.

All of this came together to give me an almost tangible sense of her presence; it was as though I could see her there in our midst. It also combined to give me a one-word key to her life, and that was love. I'd never thought of that specifically about her. In my mind she was generous, stimulating, visionary, calm, usually "out of the box"...... Now I could see that all she did came from a deep, all-embracing love of God. This love was manifested in ways that, while often out of step with most of society, were integral to her understanding of and her relationship with this infinite Being whose ways could never be limited.

I was grateful too that this Mass brought together many people whom I knew long ago, often because of our mutual friendship with Joyce. I find it a gift to have wonderful experiences of our past resurrected to be enjoyed again in a new way, and that's another one of the things that this day brought. Indeed, Joyce, both in her life and in her death, was a memorable gift.

a ky monk

Notes from God

Today at morning prayer a couple of things caught my attention in the psalms. The first thing was this line:
    By day you hand down your steadfast love,
     and at night your song is with me,
     a prayer to the God of my life. (Ps. 42)

The psalmist is telling me God sings a prayer within me, especially at night when
things are supposed to be quieting down. The song is one of praise to the very one
who is the Source of all love and all gifts, the "God of my life."

This gives me another slant on those bits and pieces of music that drift in and out
of my days. Some are bits from my own mind, others are remnants of hymnody
we used at liturgy, while others may be random memories from who knows where.
If I pay attention, any of them could literally be a "note from God". Instead of finding
them annoying, as I do at times (especially if I don't like the song!), next time I'll try
to hear what truth might be hiding behind the words, what insights the melody
might be offering me. Maybe there's a mini-prayer there!

a ky monk

Jesus: God's Invitation to Listen

In a post a while back I said I'd been asked to do a presentation about listening at a retreat. During preparation a number of insights came to me, and I thought a few could be worth noting here. For some readers they may not be especially insightful, but they were for me.

As I reflected on the act of real listening, I understood that it involves conscious steps: hearing  some message, taking it into myself, making it part of me in some way, then performing some action such as paying more attention to someone who is present or even changing something in myself; the action depends upon what the message is calling me toward. (These steps are what distinguish listening from hearing. The latter may bring some sound in, but nothing happens that affects me; there's no conscious action on my part. Some writers noted how hard listening is, one going so far as to say, tongue in cheek, that no one really listens, and if we tried it, we'd understand why!)

Amidst all these observations came the notion that much of what we listen to are words. Then the thought of Jesus as Word entered the mix. It dawned on me that one way to look at the incarnation is that Jesus is God's invitation to listen; he is the perfect Word! Next came the thought that Jesus was not only God's complete Word, but the perfect Listener because he did the will of his father totally and completely.

Since I am part of Christ's body, I share in this mysterious reality. I am to be God's word as well as one who listens to God's word wherever I am. This is quite a challenge to reflect on and try to make part of my daily living.

a ky monk

Looking for God

This morning I was struck by a passage from Psalm 48. The psalmist told listeners walk through Zion, go all around it, count its towers... basically, to consider their surroundings so they might know God as the one who guards them forever and ever.

I never thought about it before, but this is a reminder to reflect, to contemplate, to open ourselves to our environment because God is there with us on our journey. I'd not been aware of the psalmist giving that kind of advice; I'll have to pay more attention.

Many decades ago Bro. David Steindle-Rast, a Benedictine retreatmaster and author, told our retreat group that contemplation was listening to the conversation between our feet and the sidewalk. This spoke volumes to me. It had been a kind of guiding light in my spirituality; it still is. Weeds fighting thru cracks in the sidewalk,  the ornamentation of sewer lids, the motley faces that pass by -- these and so much more reflect God. This is a gift. The constant challenge is to increase my awareness of this sacred reality.

a ky monk
 

Seems death has been making the rounds recently in my small corner of our world. We've had 3 community members die since December. In my last blog I commented on the death of Bishop Hughes and the impact he had on my life. Today another acquaintance died. This one, Sara, had recently become more of a friend; I was growing in a deep appreciation of her -- her gentleness, her humor, her fidelity, and her patience with suffering. (She had cancer.)

It was just Friday that I found out Sara was dying, so I made arrangements to go over and visit with her in her home. When I walked in I was struck silent by how close she looked to leaving this earth that she embraced so vibrantly. I knew she loved music, particularly mine, so I had taken along some appropriate pieces to sing to her. I did that, but she couldn't acknowledge with any kind of response. (She did have tears running from her eyes, but when I inquired from her daughter, she said that happens on frequent occasions since her stroke. I figure it could have been a response to the music or it might not. No matter.)

The next day, today, I was shown a little memoir about her mother that Sara had written. I read almost the entire thing in one sitting, and Sara's personna just jumped out and danced in my mind. I wished I had known about the book sooner. I wanted to tell her what delight I found in its pages and how much it revealed about her, not just her mama. In between jobs during the day I kept thinking I wanted to go over and tell Sara how much I enjoyed her writing. Even tho she might not understand, there was a chance she might, so I wanted to tell her. I couldn't get away. Then this afternoon Sara died.

One of the losses death can bring is the loss of potential, the loss of the possibilites
that exist in every relationship. I will miss Sara, not only for her bright eyes and quiet smile, but for all that she bore within that I didn't know about. I didn't "tune in" to her soon enough. She is a treasure that was just beginning to be unearthed in my personal garden. Thank you, Sara, and thank you, God. Help me to learn from this to start knowing people sooner.

a ky monk

Death brings both shared pain and treasured memories

Yesterday evening I had a beautiful, sad experience. The bishop who many years ago hired me for a leadership position in our diocese was laid out in the cathedral, and many of his friends and co-workers gathered with the current bishop to celebrate a vigil service. He was a marvelous man and a bishop who saw his role as that of a "servant of the people of God," embracing Vatican II's definition of church. The gift he was to so many was evident in the faces of those who came to honor and pray for him.

I and many others experienced a bittersweet joy in greeting each other, recalling our working alongside him, sharing with him the major challenges and sweet delights of navigating the post-vatican II developments of our church. The pain of loss was evident among us.

As the eulogist said, he gave us a powerful lesson in letting go as the institutional Church began to shift over the years to a stronger emphasis on structure and a stricter interpretation of tradition. All of us who knew and loved him, and who embraced his understanding of church, now have a challenge. We need to learn, as he did, what to let go of and what to hold on to amidst changes already here and those still pending. May the Spirit who strengthened him be the spirit that strengthens us.

a ky monk

Musings about Listening

Once again, my apologies to any readers. I keep hoping to be more consistent, and my hopes get swamped with the daily, weekly and monthly to-do's. Today is Ash Wednesday. Who knows. Maybe my lenten resolutions will get me to these pages more often. Here's my first attempt at some regularity this Lenten season. We'll see how it goes.

I've been asked to do a reflection on listening for a small retreat group next month, and my mind is already becoming more sensitive to the topic. I pick up references to it more often in the psalms,  music lyrics, and in my own random meanderings.

An image crept into my mind yesterday that I want to think about for a bit and see where it leads: it's "listening as breathing." When we breathe, we take in air and it becomes part of us. When we listen, we take in something -- words, ideas, information, attitude, desires -- and it becomes part of us. I want to think about that.

Like the air we breathe, does everything we hear become part of us in some way? If we don't want it to, can we control that? Does what we'd rather not hear leave a residue despite our best efforts?

Only a few highly trained individuals can really control their breathing. The rest of us can stop for a while, but soon our body will step in and force us breathe.  We can't physically close our ears like we can hold our breath, so do we have to hear? What's the difference between hearing and listening? How does our free will enter into the act of listening? What happens differently within us when we choose to listen and when we choose not to do so?

I'll think about this. If any readers want to add any thoughts to this process, please feel free to do so. You can help me shape my reflections, and I'd appreciate that.

a ky monk