Barefoot Weather

I love the months that don’t have an “r” in them for several reasons. One of the main ones is my inclination to go barefoot whenever possible, especially on warm grass. I’m sure I may have lost some “cold feet” readers just mentioning the removal of shoes. But I wager there are a good number of us that rarely wear shoes in the house, even in winter. Might it be that taking our shoes off in the house acknowledges it as “sacred space”. You can probably guess my scriptural basis for this belief.

Remember when Moses saw the burning bush and God called out to him saying, “Remove

the sandals from your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ground” [Exodus 3:5]. When we remove our shoes, could it also be possible that this very act creates a sacred space? I think of the many early tribal peoples that have a profound reverence for the earth. They learned to walk as gently as possible on mother earth, acknowledging that it is pregnant with life. And those would silently let nature speak to their being, often report how each dimension of creation is a sacred aspect of ourselves that we may have forgotten.

Did you say you were going to join me in the revere of removing your shoes and running through a yard sprinkler… clothed but shoeless?! Some children never recover from their childhood delights.

The "Dead Church"

Two weeks ago, we celebrated the feast of Pentecost! It’s one of my favorite feasts but it is also a disturbing one!


Scripture gives us the wonderful story of the first coming of the Holy Spirit upon Mary and the Apostles by referencing many images of surprise, change, movement, energy, fire, empowerment, understanding of foreign languages. And, today, if we consult Scripture scholars and spiritual directors, they will tell us that the same-- the exact same-- changes, surprises, energy and empowerment are meant also for us, gifts from the same Spirit, to fit our needs, in our specific place and time! That’s the disturbing part of the Pentecost liturgy and truth! But also the most promising part of Pentecost! So, you may ask, how can it be both disturbing and promising? Where’s the missing link?
Recently I received the following e-mail message entitled “Dead Church.” There are times, aren’t there, when we feel we are dead members of a dying church? Let me share this email with you! It seems a new Pastor in a small Oklahoma town spent the first four days making personal visits to each of the members, inviting them to come to his first services. The following Sabbath, the church was all but empty. Accordingly, the pastor placed a notice in the local newspapers, stating that, because the church was dead, it was everyone’s duty to give it a decent Christian burial. The funeral would be held the following Sabbath afternoon, the notice said.

Morbidly curious, a large crowd turned out for the ‘funeral.’ In front of the pulpit, they saw a closed coffin, smothered in flowers. After the Pastor delivered the eulogy, he opened the coffin and invited his congregation to come forward and pay their final respects to their dead church.

Filled with curiosity as to what would represent the corpse of a ‘dead church,’ all the people eagerly lined up to look in the coffin. Each ‘mourner’ peeked into the coffin, then quickly turned away with a guilty, sheepish look.

In the coffin, tilted at the correct angle, was a large mirror.

Am I the missing link? And perhaps you too?

Mothers Never Leave Us

Mothers Never Leave Us

Does anyone ever really remain free of delight when the warmth of May comes around each year? I, for one, consistently revel in its appearing. Among the many reasons for this is the forceful presence of my mother and Godmother (my mother’s sister) at this time. Both of these formative “Ammas” [wisdom women] died in May.

In 1983 (3 years after my mother’s death) I was invited by the pastor to give a few remarks at the Saturday and Sunday Eucharist in my home parish, St. Boniface church, Cold Spring MN. This invitation came because that year I was celebrating my 25th Jubilee as a Benedictine sister. I actually welcomed the opportunity to comment on how several parishioners were wonderful role models for me as I was growing up.

After having repeated the same remarks for the third and final time, I finally felt relaxed as the sun streamed in the large church window landing on my left cheek and shoulder. After the Eucharist, my cousin who was present, came to me and asked, “Did you feel the sun on you as you spoke?” I needed to admit that I had and its warmth felt so comforting. She responded, “That was your mother, she wanted you to know she was with you again today.” The flood of tears that followed her remark revealed again how terribly much I continued to miss her. However, almost immediately, the refrain of a popular John Denver song came into my mind.

Sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy.
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely.
Sunshine almost always makes me high.

So now, all year round, whenever the sun warms my left cheek or shoulder I say, “Hi mom, I’m so glad you keep letting me know you’re with me. I love you too.”

Rush Upon Us, O Spirit

In a very short time, we will be celebrating the soul-shaking, global-shaking feast of Pentecost. St. Luke says that the Spirit came down upon Mary and the disciples with power to open the gates of life to all nations! Peoples of every language and culture could now become proclaimers of the message, “Jesus is Lord”, in their own tongue and with their own expressions of joy and faith! St. Paul teaches the early Church by using my favorite image of the Body of Christ: “As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ. For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free persons, and we were all given to drink of one Spirit.”


Now, obviously, not all of us are shaken to the depths of our beings, nor is our world so shaken by the coming of the Holy Spirit. For that reason, I have been praying the following Spirit Psalm which may appeal to you as well. It is inspired by the image of the Spirit rushing upon David when he was anointed King (1 Samuel 16: 13) and it can fit any time or clime:

Rush upon us, O Spirit of God!

From this time on, rush upon us

like living water,

like leaping fire,

like fresh breath through an open window.

For this time, rush upon us, O Holy Spirit,

with wisdom and knowledge,

with understanding and counsel,

with wonder and recognition and awe.

Just in time, rush upon us, O Spirit of God,

in life-giving words,

in songs from the voiceless,

in passion for witness.

At this time, rush upon us, O Holy Spirit;

this hopeful time,

this searching time,

this preparing time,

this coming and going time,

this trusting time,

this new time,

this full time.

All the time,

Rush upon us, O Spirit of God!

AMEN! ALLELUIA!

Listening at it’s best

Lately I’ve been thinking more about how tough it is to really listen. Maybe you can relate to this too. What got me started was an article I read in the Feb 13, 2012 issue of the America magazine entitled, “Vatican II at 50” by Richard Gaillardetz. Gaillardetz focused on Conversation starters: Dialog and Deliberation during Vatican II. He remarked that one of the dynamic characteristics of Vatican II dialogs was humble learning.

According to Gaillardetz, Vatican II reminded us that all disciples of Jesus are lifelong learners. And that this is as true for the pope as it is for children preparing for first Communion. And research has shown us that the greatest barrier to listening is, “having your mind so steadfastly made up that there is no room for dialog, no room for 'being a student' ” in the presence of someone who thinks differently than I. Christ was only impatient toward those who were arrogant in their certitude.

I cringe when I think of how often I have my response ready for anyone who disagrees with me on a given topic, even before they have had a chance to tell me why they value certain aspects of their lived-truths on this same topic. I can hardly ever stop my chain-of-thoughts unless I figure out a way to really be quiet long enough to take in what they are trying to tell me.

So far, the only ear-opening behavior I have found to learn from others, is to “Sit still, be quiet, and then ask them to give me an example of what leads them to value their opinion on the topic at hand." Often their example provides ample room for dialog that is both humbling and open.

I’m here to confess that I fail at this oftener than I succeed. That doesn’t keep me from continuing to try to hang out with others who think differently than I, so that my life-long-learning-lens can include an expanded view of unfolding lived-truths. I certainly know the safety I feel when I have been with someone who respectfully provided me the time and space to be- honest-out-loud in their presence.

THE EMPTY EGG

Jeremy was born with a twisted body and a slow mind. At the age of 12 he was still in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, drool, and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy just irritated his teacher.

One day she called his parents and asked them to come in for a consultation. As the Forresters entered the empty classroom, Doris said to them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there’s a five-year age gap between him and the other students."

Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her husband spoke. "Miss Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here."

Doris sat for a long time after they had left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write. Why waste any more time trying?

As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. Here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared to that poor family, she thought. Lord, please help me to be more patient with Jeremy.

From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. Then one day, he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him. “I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loudly enough for the whole class to hear.

The other students snickered, and Doris's face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-why, that's very nice, Jeremy. N-now please take your seat."

Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus and then, to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. "Now," she said to them, "I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Miller," the children responded enthusiastically--all except for Jeremy. He listened intently, his eyes never leaving her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he under-stood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.

That evening, Doris' kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse, and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.

The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller's desk. After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs.

In the first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground, we know that spring is here."

A small girl in the first row waved her arm. "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out.

The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that's new life, too."

Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine."

Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom. "My daddy helped me," he beamed.

Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty. Surely it must be Jeremy's she thought, and of course, he did not understand her instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents. Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another. Suddenly, Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk about my egg?"

Flustered, Doris replied, "But Jeremy, your egg is empty." Jeremy looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty, too."

Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, "Do you know why the tomb was empty?"
"Oh, yes," Jeremy said, "Jesus was killed and put in there. Then His Father raised Him up."

The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away. Three months later, Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty.

The Instant They Surrender

I have been enamored lately with spring: trees bearing green buds, crocuses announcing the beginning of a new season, tulips springing up, and bright yellow daffodils greeting me on my walks. Every year the wonder of spring amazes me. As I prepare for Holy Week at the monastery, I am aware of how nature parallels the Easter season and the Paschal mystery. Life comes from death. Death cannot overpower life and resurrection. Amazingly, our spirit witnesses that same process in conversion and the journey of our lives.


In a reflection titled, “The Courage of the Seed,” Mark Nepo writes:

All the buried seeds
crack open in the dark
the instant they surrender
to a process they can’t see.
                                                  -- The Book of Awakening

Spring discloses a powerful lesson. All around us, everything small and buried surrenders to a process that none of buried parts can see. And this innate surrender allows everything edible and fragrant to break out of the dark and damp ground into a life we call spring.

Quietly, nature offers us countless models of how to give ourselves over to what appears dark and hopeless, but is really an awakening beyond imagining. Moving through the dark into more abundant life is the Easter of our soul. Like a seed “cracking open” in the process of becoming, may Holy Week open us to the mystery of God’s love blossoming into divine beauty.