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

Time sure gets away from me. Seems like most times I come to post an entry it has been forever since the last one. For any readers, I apologize!

Yesterday morning I was walking up to the monastery about 6:30. There was a touch of winter in the air (Our weather recently has been more like Fall than Winter; this morning was no exception.)

Since it was still quite dark, I was looking down to make sure I didn't slide on some broken twigs or wet leaves. A short distance from our house I looked up and saw an almost breathtaking view. There was a slight foggy mist hanging above the road, and the streetlights had taken on a lustrous shine. Since the fog was not heavy, it gave the appearance of being gently laid out so it would float quietly just above eye level, creating a space where something magical might happen. It formed a filmy scarf  suspended between me and the front lights of the monastery while the air around the building itself was clear. The chapel's stained glass was brightly lit as usual.

I didn't recall seeing fog just like that before, so I stopped and tried to absorb the scene. A jogger was approaching and I wondered if I should suggest he stop and look back as he passed. I greeted him, but he was absorbed and didn't respond. I didn't try to tell him, but I was sorry he missed it.

This was quite a lovely Advent/Christmas gift from mother nature. It will stay in my memory for a while, I'm sure. I hope it doesn't too soon fade away like the fog.

a Kentucky monk

Surprising gifts

Over the weekend I had the wonderful gift of making two new friends -- and they are relatives! A second cousin and his wife were coming to town to bury the ashes of his mother in the family plot at a local cemetary; I invited them to stay overnight in our Guest House.

We had met once before, but hadn't had much chance to get to know each other. This single overnight here in KY, from Fri. to Sat. afternoon, provided space and time to remedy that. We hit it off famously! Two of my sisters came over because neither of them had met this couple, and they wanted to connect. By the time we parted, all 5 of us felt we had started a great friendship and strengthened family ties that had pretty much been ignored in the past.

We never know, do we, when surprising gifts are out there waiting for some gesture or effort so they can unfold in our lives. I hope I can be at least a little more alert to possibilities that are latent around us.

a kentucky monk

More images catch my mind

Since I wrote about images the other day, I guess I've become more sensitive to them.
This morning at prayers my mind was more tuned in to the countless pictures created by the words of the psalms.

The imagery that caught my attention today was the vivid language used by the psalmist to describe the bad things he was calling down on the enemies of Zion. (This brings up a whole other topic of how they expected God to treat people who did bad things to them.  Since this reflection is about images, I'll wait and see if the other topic comes up in my thoughts at another time!)

Anyway, the psalmist says:
    May all who hate Zion be put to shame and turned backward.
    Let them be like grass on the housetops
    that withers before it grows up,
    with which reapers do not fill their hands
    or binders of sheaves their arms.....

The striking imagery of how God was expected to treat the enemies of Zion really jumped out at me.  First of all, to be shamed would, in itself, be terrible, for honor was at the core of relationships in this culture. Then to have the grass on your housetop and in your fields get so dry that it produces nothing. In this desert land homes would heat even more because the roof had no protection, the crops would fail, and food would become very scarce. This is a quite timely image for us in our country because daily we experience or read about what havoc the draught is causing in many regions.

This prayer says to me that the psalmist had great confidence in God. While I would not feel comfortable praying anything comparable to this about someone I was having trouble with, it seems to fit what I understand of the culture of the time where tribal rivalries generated much hostility. However, if I could take that degree of confidence and mingle it with my understanding of how Christ showed us how to treat our "enemies," I think my spiritual life would be a lot stronger.

a kentucky monk