DEATH by Another Name

What if we gave “death” another name?  Many spend their entire lives trying to avoid any kind of death i.e. anything negative, uncomfortable, difficult, unfamiliar, dangerous, or demanding [Richard Rohr, OFM].  And yet, we know instinctively that we can’t actually run away from life’s negative realities indefinitely.

For centuries various traditions have given us parallel words/experiences that invite us to shift our response to the death-realty in our lives.  Rohr reminds us that in male rites of initiation the young boy must face death directly.  Sometimes he had to dig his grave and sleep in it for a night.  Those who created this difficult rite, perhaps had themselves discovered their latent capacity to bravely walk through frightening choices. 

I find myself asking, “How bravely can I take in, walk through and be formed by my “death experiences?”  Do my daily “small deaths” ever move me to create alternate life-giving paths?  For St. Francis facing the unfamiliar was an expression of “poverty”, the poor side of everything [Rohr].  Can it happen that if I choose to face the poor side within me, I can glimpse unexpected inner riches?  Apparently Francis’ ability to boldly look at the poor side of things, led him to abolish fear of failure and experience immense joy.  I know I would welcome the result.  The question I’m left with is, am I willing to hang out with that poor side of myself long enough to receive the resulting prizes? 

Mary Rachel Kuebelbeck, OSB

Fasting: The Prophet Isaiah's Advice

Fasting is one of the three hallmarks of our Lenten observation. Often, in our liturgies, we hear the Prophet Isaiah  instruct and test us on our motives for fasting. But do I really believe what I hear?  Do I really listen to and through the words that ask me how my fasting is going this Lent?  Do I make a distinction between how I define fasting and how God defines it?

 I suppose it is no surprise that instead of comforting me, God may need to rebuke me since I am like a yo-yo with reference to my disciplinary abilities.  Through Isaiah, I hear:

 “Lo, on your fast day you carry out your own pursuits and drive all your laborers.  Yes, your fast ends in quarreling and fighting, striking with wicked claw.” 

“Really, Lord,” I ask in self-defense, “How do I do that? I am not an employer, a CEO, a farmworker’s boss or a trafficker of women and children? Whom do I seek to control?  Do I criticize my student who is just learning to create something new? Don’t I truly appreciate the gifts of the persons I live with?  I don’t think that I am so insensitive.”

 But God goes on almost begging me to look again, listen anew: “Would that today you might fast so as to make your voice heard on high! Do you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord? “No!” God says.  “Rather, this is the fasting that I wish: releasing those bound unjustly, untying the thongs of the yoke; setting free the oppressed, breaking every yoke . . .” This time, with a softer heart I may ask: “Lord, do you mean I have to stop squeezing the last penny out of my renter? Do I really have to go along with raising the minimum wage when I could lose millions? Why should I give something to the Sunday Offertory plate?”

 And that is not yet sufficient, God says: “I want you to share your bread with the hungry, shelter the oppressed and homeless, clothe the naked when you see them, and not turn your back on your own. . .”

”What do you mean, Lord, am I my brothers’ keeper?  Catholic Charities can do that or the Bishops’ Relief fund or there are the Lutheran Relief Services and the Salvation Army.  Why should I have to do that, too?”

And God may answer: “Because you are, indeed, your brothers’ keeper, but fear not, there is something for you too! When you do these things, the LIGHT shall break forth like the dawn, and your wound shall quickly be healed.  Your vindication shall go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Moreover when you cry for help, I will answer: ‘Here I am!’”

Now, who among us would not long to answer wholeheartedly: “Thanks, God, for speaking to me!” 

And, one last word on fasting.  If we need further instruction on how to fast, we can find it in the writings of 5^th century St. Peter Chrysologus: “Fasting bears no fruit unless it is watered by mercy.  Fasting dries up when mercy dries up.  Mercy is to fasting as rain is to the earth. However much you may cultivate your heart, clear the soil of your nature, root out vices, sow virtues, if you do not release the springs of mercy, your fasting will bear no fruit.”  Again, we answer: “Thanks, God, for speaking and helping us!  Without you we can do nothing; but with you we can do all things.”

Renée Domeier, OSB

Ash Wednesday

Tomorrow, March 5, is Ash Wednesday. Lent is about to begin. Many people don't particularly like the season but it's one of my favorites and Ash Wednesday is a day I really appreciate. I actually thrill to the words: "Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return," as my forehead is marked with the ashes. This isn't because I'm being morbid. It's more because it's a "reality check" - I'm human; my life on earth is finite. The unspoken declaration that it it is not so with God and that that the immortal, everlasting God can and will lift me from the constraints of my humanity hangs in the air beside the spoken words. And I feel an uplifting of my spirit.

Part of the reality check of Ash Wednesday is also that I am a sinner. Now, I know the ideas of sin and unworthiness are not very fashionable at present. But I find it a relief to admit that I'm not perfect, could do better, and that God knows that, yet still loves me and will lift me up. Ash Wednesday is, for me, a call to look at myself honestly, to start again, all the while knowing that it is that very honesty, authenticity, trust in God and a determination to persevere, even when things seem difficult, which are leading me towards God.

Yes, the ashes remind that I'm human and a sinner, but they also remind me that I'm a sinner on the path to finding God, the God who turns sins to ashes because, in the end, God is greater, stronger and more loving than my failings.

Karen Rose, OSB

"Return to Me with All Your Heart"

“The life of a monastic ought to be a continuous Lent.  Since few, however, have the strength for this, we urge the entire community during these days of Lent to keep its manner of life most pure and wash away in this holy season the negligences of other times.” (RB, Ch. 49) Next week, on Ash Wednesday, we will hear these words from Chapter 49 of the Rule of Benedict at Morning Prayer. Benedict tells us that Lent is an excellent time to do some house cleaning, house cleaning of our soul.  What does “house cleaning of our soul” mean?  I have a bowl on my dresser in my room similar to the one in the picture and a lot of things end up in the bowl:  my sunglasses, keys, medals, pennies, and small mementoes.  Once in a while the bowl is overflowing and I am reminded that it is time to clear the bowl.  “A monastic Lent,” Joan Chittister, OSB, tells us, “is the process of emptying our cups. Lent is the time for trimming the soul and scraping the sludge off a life turned slipshod.” It is good that Benedict in Chapter 49 provides us with some antidotes to the sludge we have accumulated since Lent last year.  He suggests a little more prayer, a little less food, drink, sleep, needless talking and idle jesting. I am reminded of the athletes who competed recently in the Winter Olympics in Sochi. Monastics are not very different from athletes who build up their strength by hours and hours of grueling practice to be in tip-top shape when the time comes to compete. We build our stamina to face the spiritual challenges that come our way by adopting the antidotes that Benedict invites us to tender to.  Just as athletes don’t decide on their own what exercises they will do to reach their peak, they rely on their coaches to help them make those decisions, the same is true of monastics. We consult the wisdom of the Prioress or Abbot before undertaking our Lenten practices so that we don’t go to extremes.  That is not the Benedictine way.

As we embark on this holy time of Lent I pray with the psalmist for you: “Create in me a clear heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.  Do not cast me way from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me.” (Ps. 51:10-11)

Hélène Mercier, OSB

 

The Freedom Lion

We have had two Sisters die recently who were in their upper 80s and early 90s. Neither of them was often in the spotlight. However, they emanated delightful uniqueness. 

One had an insatiable fondness for history. Though she lived many years with intractable neck and arm pain, she chose not to let altered health status dictate how she would spend her days. She quieted any inner voice that might have crowded her mind, inviting her to close down her life a bit, by giving herself over to her natural love of history. It would be difficult to name the number of 8-volume history texts she read and reread from a wide range of historical perspectives. Nor could we estimate the hours she spent applying her preference for natural healing by relaxing her body and energizing her brain with classical music each week. She definitely defied what crowds of people around her thought she was capable of.

The other sister, another avid reader, also silenced any inner voices she might have had that told her to slow down as her health diminished. Instead she used her active mind and clever use of language to write “spicy” newsletters for sisters who needed to be away from the monastery while doing their ministries. As blindness advanced, she invited books-for-the-blind into her life. Then, as her hearing diminished and the crowd of those around her wondered how she would deal with yet another loss, she welcomed three different volunteer-visitors into her room each week. Each would sit near her, project their voice and dialog about politics, current events and “matters of consequence”. 

These women’s lives kept reminding me of the “roar of freedom” described in Osho’s comment,

The greatest fear in the world is of the opinion of others,
and the moment you are unafraid of the crowd,
you are no longer a sheep, you become a lion.
A great roar arises in your heart, the roar of freedom.

I pray that the roar of freedom continues to arise in me and each of us.

Mary Rachel Kuebelbeck, OSB

 

 

 

In the Desert



My blog this week is connected to last month's, another musing on living monastic life. I had some interesting responses to January blog it which have helped me as I continue to reflect on my commitment.

Last month, I indicated that it's not how I thought it would be. Yet I don't think I had a clear idea about what it would be or how it ought to be. I visited the monastery and I felt called . It was as simple as that. There were, of course, complexities involved in answering the call, but it was clear to me that I would, so I don't really regard that as a challenging period.

When I say that I didn't have a clear idea of what my life would be that isn't the same as saying that I didn't have a sense of what the essence would be. What I craved at the time was to shed everything because everything, even good things, seemed to be a distraction from God. I craved the desert, at least metaphorically, and that's what I prayed for - a desert where there would be just me and God.

Well, surprise, surprise, there are all these other people around in community; there isn't just God and me. Every day I have to try to find God  in  them. Sometimes that's difficult - as I'm sure it's difficult for them to find God in me. It would be much easier if we weren't all so human!

But, at another level, my prayer has been answered. It is the desert because so much of what was familiar isn't here, but somewhere else, back in my old life. Living monastic life is radically different the more I live into it. The surface things are the same because I have food, shelter, warmth, basic security as I was fortunate to have before I entered. But beneath that is a different landscape, a landscape which tests me in ways I wasn't expecting and don't control. It isn't the desert as I would have imagined it to be but it's uncharted territory for me. It can be dry and unforgiving but I keep hoping to find an oasis now and then and trusting that I can keep travelling.

Karen Rose, OSB

Where Have All the Flowers Gone ...

And where does the tic/tock of my clock go when it has done its momentary job?  And words, once spoken, where do they go?  Do they continue sending a message of the passage of time, of the mind’s thought or the heart’s longing to be in relationship, to change the world, to write a perfect poem or to make at least an imperfect apology. . .  

That melody haunts me still, so long after Simon and Garfunkel wrote it and the sad war was the sad answer to their sad and probing question, “Where have all the flowers gone?” 

“Long time passing. . . . long time ago.”

Where do waves go once they hit the shoreline? Or what happens to the snowflakes when they melt? Or a rainbow when it is no longer?  What happens to our memories when death comes?

“When will we ever learn? When will we ever learn?”

Where have all the flowers gone, indeed? And when will we ever learn that those lovely flowers may be decorating the graves of legendary '60’s people like JFK, RFK, MLK, Jr. or our century’s victims of war, trafficking, abortion, starvation, injustice and crime.

When will we ever learn?  When will we ever learn?

Renée Domeier, OSB