Becky Eldredge's Blog, page 6

Resisting Jesus – Resisting Mercy

Resisting Mercy: Connection is the Antidote

We sat at our gate staring at the monitor. Our plane had already been delayed once. If you’d told me that southern California would get a winter storm, complete with snow, I wouldn’t have believed you. Yet here we were hoping to leave San Diego before winter-storm Piper rolled ashore. 

Sitting next to my husband was a tall young man, shouting on the phone. “Yes mom, I’m at the airport. I swear I’m getting on the plane.” He repeated this promise a few times. I looked at my husband curious. He leaned over and whispered, “He’s very drunk. I don’t think he should be flying.”

Memories flooded my mind, reminding me of similar situations, played out over time with my addicted loved ones. I prayed silently for the mother to find peace and detachment from her son’s disease and for healing for the young man whose eyes could barely stay open as he tried to fulfill his promise.

Sometimes, prayers are answered in real time because, a few moments later, a big, burly young man dressed in a Southwest Airlines jacket came over to him, “Hey buddy, can you come over here a minute?” The young man got up. He had to steady himself before walking over to the quiet spot where the airline representative stood. 

I couldn’t hear their conversation but what I saw didn’t require words. Soft facial expressions and eye contact indicated that there was no shame or confrontation. Instead, it appeared to be an offering; a steadying hand as he directed him over to the ticket counter. I imagine that he was getting him on a later flight. There wasn’t one bit of conflict. There wasn’t a scene. And then, the impaired young man followed him off into the distance.

This scene at the airport calls to mind the parable of the woman at the well. It is a parable that feels familiar to me and my family. Christ meets a woman on the margins. Their encounter is not one of judgment. He simply asks her for a drink. 

But she resists. “How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan woman?” We see in her question that she names two issues that should stand in the way of his connection to her: she is a Samaritan, and she is a woman. 

Jesus continues, “If you know the gift of God and who is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would ask for living water.” His statement asks her to look beyond her concerns. Maybe he is asking her to tap into her desires. Still, she can’t see the possibility of hope. 

I see these same actions in this airline employee as he approaches the young, impaired man. He offers dignity by taking him out of the public eye and greets him with a question, “Hey buddy, can we talk over here for a minute?” It’s as if they are saying, I see you. I am not seeing the stigma, I see you. I want to connect to you. 

Jesus continued offering living water (hope) until she was able to accept it. Once that connection was made, Jesus asks her to go get her husband. He was able to call attention to these issues after a relationship was created. It is almost as if he is saying, now let’s get these problems out of our way.

The Spiritual Exercises begin with that foundational understanding that we are loved without condition. Only after we understand we are loved are we invited to look at where we need healing. Christ stood with the woman at the well  until she understood that she too was loved enough to be offered living water. Only then the problems can be addressed.

Like Christ, the airline employee’s compassion created a connection that didn’t leave room for shame or fear to get in the way of him accepting help. He didn’t accuse or threaten. He was just one human seeing and helping another human. He was looking beyond this one problem. He was seeing the whole person and, in the process, offering mercy. Because of their initial connection, he could receive help.

Our delay turned out to be a gift. Seeing the best in humanity offers a glimpse of Christ in action. It is a reminder to see others as God sees us. The offering of God’s love is a miraculous thing. Our actions will persuade others more than anything that nothing can separate us from the love of God.

Going Deeper

Another take on the parable of the Woman at the Well: https://beckyeldredge.com/visit-with-an-old-friend/Woman at the Well Scripture Passage in John 4: 1-30Mercy, Forgiveness & Transformation: https://www.ignatianspirituality.com/forgiveness-transformation-and-mercy/An Examen on Mercy: https://vimeo.com/515385179

Photo by Caleb Gregory on Unsplash

Resisting Jesus – Resisting Intimacy with Jesus

Does anyone else struggle with intimacy in prayer?  This was not a concept or experience encouraged when I was growing up, and it has been a struggle even now after 5-ish years of immersion in Ignatian Spirituality.  Ignatian Contemplation has been a great gift because I find I can step out of my head and out of my time and enter into a scripture passage as though I am there.  With the guidance of the Holy Spirit, I am a participant, and it never occurred to me until just now how intimate this form of prayer is.  I prayed with The Transfiguration in Matthew 17: 1-9 today. It was there on that mountain I surrendered to Love and truly listened.  

So, what exactly happened on that mountain top?  

I invite you to pause here and read through the story of the Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-9). Imagine yourself at the top of the mountain, standing next to Peter, James, and John. They’re exhausted, not only from the steep climb, but they’ve been emotionally trudging along ever since they left their familiar boat and began to follow Jesus. I’m sure Jesus wanted Peter and James and John to understand more than they did, but they were trying the best they could, and they all needed time and quiet with each other. 

A much-needed rest turns into a deep sleep. Suddenly, they are awakened by a piercing light, and Jesus (radiant!) is standing before them speaking to Moses and Elijah. What could this possibly mean? Have Moses and Elijah come back to life? Look at their faces, how expressive they are! Overcome with awe, Peter wants this moment to continue. “Let’s make shelters for the three of you”. 

Then a voice resounds around them, “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him!” As I read those words, it felt like God was speaking to me! I can barely breathe as those words fill my heart. I understand why they are prostrate on the ground.  The tender voice of Jesus gives them the courage to look up. “Don’t be afraid.”  To be honest, I laughed out loud as they were walking down the mountain when Jesus told them not to speak of what happened until later.  “No problem, Jesus. I can barely speak of it to myself!”  

What is the message for me centuries later?

As I imagined myself in the story, I am reminded of the loving invitation to follow Jesus that I received during the Spiritual Exercises. I resisted God’s invitation of unconditional love back then. I would not, could not believe it, even as my heart ached for the experience of God’s love. I was afraid. There were too many wounds and scars. Jesus would need to break through a lifetime of self protection to get to my heart. Trudging up the mountain only made sense to this non-hiker because he asked me to follow him.  I could hear Jesus’ words being spoken to me, “Don’t be afraid. You are safe… I am here…” I knew I could trust him.

In the same way that Jesus helped Peter, James, and John to make sense of that life-altering decision to leave their nets, I knew Jesus would help me understand my own transformation. The Exercises helped me see where God was present throughout my entire life, even when I was not aware of it. Jesus was trudging up every hill before me, with me, slowly helping me to see and hear differently. My once-dulled senses were reawakened and this newfound awareness reaches into every encounter of my life. Trusting takes time, and surrender takes longer. God gives us all the time and grace we need. 

“Do not be afraid.”  

Jesus didn’t ask me if I was afraid. He knew I was. His heart was moved by my helplessness, and he drew me into the space where no words are necessary. This is a place of rest, where I am safely nestled, and like Peter.  I didn’t want to leave. This is intimacy.  We need practice to feel comfortable with such a powerful emotion.  The Transfiguration is one of the most intimate moments in the gospels. Jesus invited the three apostles into a loving relationship with him.  Moses and Elijah represented the law and the prophecies Jesus came to fulfill…for us.  The Father declared his love for Jesus and then tells us all to listen to him. We became family on that mountain.  

Coming down from the mountain is much harder than going up.  

Intimacy with the Mystery of Love transforms us in unimaginable ways. Why would Jesus walk me down that mountain…into real life…into real death? We cannot stay in that place of rest and safety forever. Suffering is unavoidable, but my heart knows God’s unconditional love gives me the courage to face all that lies ahead. 

As we continue on our Lenten journey, we approach the Third Week of the Exercises, as it is presented to us in the liturgical year and in the many ways we experience our own “dying and rising” in our daily lives.  Our transformation will again be realized after the Resurrection.  The Holy Spirit will fill us with the fire of Love that must be spoken, must be shared throughout our lives as Jesus asks.

 This is how we walk down the mountain to live the intimacy that began Peter’s transformational journey and ours. The eyewitness of Divine Majesty and Mercy takes us from our head, step by step to our most vulnerable heart where we can truly rest safely within the heart of Christ.  

My prayer for all of us comes from 2 Peter 1:5-7: 

“ For this reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue…virtue with knowledge…knowledge with self-control…self-control with endurance…endurance with devotion…devotion with mutual affection…mutual affection with love.”  

Amen.

Going Deeper

Consider making the Anima Christi translated by Fr.David Fleming, SJ part of your daily prayer.  How to Pray Using Ignatian Contemplation by Becky Eldredge
Healing through Imaginative Prayer – Into the Deep Blog Series on Imaginative Prayer

Photo by Antonio Janeski on Unsplash

Resisting Jesus – Resisting Forgiveness

Holding Down the Sand – Resisting Forgiveness

“I’m holding down the sand!” My daughter stamped down the shifting beach sand with all her might, trying to keep the waves from pulling it away. Her desperate attempts to contain the earth beneath her feet has become an image of my own desire for control. I struggle to analyze and understand, to force clarity where things remain fuzzy. I take comfort in knowledge and facts, and not in allowing the mystery to unfold before me. I am a child “holding down the sand” of a shoreline, clueless to the relative insignificance of my 35-pound self within this vast landscape. 

In the desert scene of today’s Gospel, the devil preys on this desire to control. He offers Jesus everything that could be lacking after forty days of fasting in solitude. Unlike Jesus who remains confident that God will provide all that He needs, I am swayed by fatigue, frustration, and fear.

These emotions can become crutches enabling me to cling to past hurts and expectations, rather than invitations to place my trust in God. 

The Lenten themes of penance, forgiveness, and reconciliation provide a poignant backdrop to these readings. The actions of sacrifice and self-giving in Lent are meant to create greater space to receive the forgiveness that Jesus offers on the cross. But what if I am feeling stuck in the desert in despair? Have I already decided that a significant relationship in my life is fractured beyond repair? Or the weight of my own failings is too heavy, and I cannot possibly crawl back from that pit?

How might someone enter into the Lenten season while feeling significant resistance to forgiveness?

Feel the sand beneath your feet

God always meets me where I truly am, which is not necessarily where I think I am or where I want to be. One of  the most helpful prayers for me when I am struggling with forgiveness (of myself or another person) is to get in touch with that reality. “Lord, I want to be able to forgive this person, but I am still so angry.” “I feel like a fraud, I cannot move on from this.” “Who am I to feel this hurt, other people have way bigger issues than me?” For me, healing comes in gradual waves, like Jesus healing the blind man at Bethsaida. Before I can truly forgive, I must be honest with myself about what remains broken in me. 

I place myself in the desert alongside Jesus, and I feel the sand beneath our feet. I note the heat coming up from it, feel the coarse textures, and note the way it moves between my toes. The sand has both isolated me, and also given me the space to encounter my true self in a more vulnerable way. Where am I? Who am I with? What voices are calling out to me in that place? Can you find a physical space for prayer, a song, a Scripture, anything that grounds you in your authentic mental and spiritual state?

Name what is really going on

A friend recently shared how she recognized in herself a growing resentment for another person with whom she had conflict. The “wrong” the person had done had begun to morph into an actual dislike of the person. After listening to her, I realized I too struggled with this temptation. In a similar encounter, I kept waiting for the other person to change, or to admit that they were ineffective in their role. I lost sight of where God might have been calling me to greater compassion and mentorship.  When the devil offers Jesus bread, Jesus responds “One does not live on bread alone.” I was so focused on what might feed me (or rather my own ego) that I missed  opportunities to notice where God was offering me life-giving bread in my ministry and in my family. 

In some relationships, we are always keeping track of who is more deserving (of excuses, sacrifices) and who has given more (finances, time, chances). When we get caught in that dynamic, we tend to cling more fiercely to what we have while demanding more from those around us. Suddenly our compassion and concern have more conditions on it. Instead of facing our own lukewarm desire to respond generously, we run from the discomfort and avoid engagement.  We say things like: “despite what he has done to me” or “even though she is a ________.” Our focus shifts from the person before us to what we are “owed.”

Remember that forgiveness isn’t a Pass/Fail test

Perhaps I am most guilty of holding God to this test. God who doesn’t answer my prayers, God who lets bad things happen to good people, God who responds in silence. I keep telling God how he hasn’t measured up to my expectations. Why should I show up in prayer again, or give GOD one more chance? Often when I am struggling to forgive another person, it is because I don’t want to deal with my own hurts, or I am not willing to change something in me that is contributing to that strained dynamic. 

Three times the devil tempted Jesus to choose the easy way… and three times Jesus pushed back and chose the path of faithfulness. Lucky for us, God keeps inviting us over and over again (70×7 times) into that reconciling relationship with God. The ground shifts, a new opportunity to trust in God emerges. Some days I’ve missed every question God has sent my way, every invitation to forgive or be forgiven. I’ve chosen security, power, and knowledge. Yet, God keeps calling out to me as God’s Beloved. And for that I am grateful.

Going Deeper

Forgiveness has many different contexts and dimensions.

If you are sitting with your own woundedness in prayer, Vinita Hampton Wright has some insights.If you are struggling to forgive yourself, this post by Charlotte Phillips is a wonderful resource.If you are seeking forgiveness from another person, this article from Beth Knobbe may guide you.If you are struggling to forgive another, consider reading Marina Berzins McCoy’s The Ignatian Guide to Forgiveness.

Photo by Melike Benli on Pexels

Resisting Jesus – Resisting Prayer

Squatting at eye level to see my tiny niece allowed me to hear her more clearly. The whispered voice, warm and moist with a child’s eagerness, played in my ear – “Aunt Mo, how do I talk to Jesus?”

The desire to communicate with God springs forth from the heart of every person, even a child…yet, this often feels as though it is not enough. The words of others, whether ancient or published, can seem preferable to those that rise to the surface of our own souls. We fray the edges of our petitions; ‘Are my words enough to get God’s attention? Someone else must know better.’

Might a resistance to prayer come from this worry? 

Any practice of prayer that I establish and which opens me to the presence of God, is actually a direct response to – a mirror reflection of – the invitation first extended to me by God’s own longing. There is not one original thought in my brain. I don’t just imagine, “Hey, I think I am going to light a candle and sit with God in the quiet today.” The inspiration for this action comes first from God’s own longing.

Still, that is what we can get stuck on – a practice of prayer in response to God’s invitation. Yes, a personal routine and ritual is helpful, yet it remains something that I construct for my own use. I am the creator of my practice…thus; will I also be tempted to control the outcome?

Does my preoccupation with stabilizing a prayer practice take precedence over a surrender to the deeper stirring within me?

Here lies the mysterious tension described by St Ignatius. The ‘push-me/pull-me’ of a divine spirit tucked within a human body; a resistance we often experience when making choices related to the Divine. Interestingly enough, when studying to be a spiritual director, we learn that resistance is actually a sign of the presence of God – of God at work. God’s persistence is revealed in the tension we feel. It’s not like arm wrestling – God isn’t out to win. The original invitation of God is there, deep within us, our own spirit struggling to respond to this yearning, in spite of every outward excuse we make. 

Ignatius calls this tension ‘Agere Contra,’ which means ‘to act against’ or ‘to act otherwise’ regarding choices we are drawn to make that aren’t life-giving or that keep us from God. In the case of prayer, we might deliberately choose to go against whatever tendencies we have in resisting God’s invitation. 

Nagging awareness of this call to the quiet is also a sign of God’s presence. Beside the typical ‘I’m too busy’ excuses we give to even get to the point of entering prayer, we may also distract ourselves during the practice of prayer, with the mechanics of prayer, so that we stave off what we most long for – what God most longs for. 

As I reflect on my own challenges to maintain a morning ritual, an old realization cuts through me. I know I’m actually resisting the intimacy that results from the practice. If I surrender completely to God, what will be left of me? How can I go on living that way?

This is no idle reflection. Have you felt this resistance to Divine intimacy, too?

God’s longing isn’t satiated with the rattling off of prayers. However, the consideration that God wants more, sometimes causes my heart to seize with a kind of fear. Do I have the ability to respond to God’s kind of love? 

This surrender of my whole liberty, memory, understanding, and will – using Ignatius’ own words – isn’t a one-time deal. This surrender takes a lifetime, piggybacked on eternity. Yet, it starts with setting aside time to respond to God’s original invitation and choosing to work through all that I resist of this deep, resonating call.

When noticing resistance, this can be helpful:  1) name your resistance,  2) hold and honor it,  3) and then release it into the hands of God. Giving yourself grace, being kind, and acknowledging the struggle, is also important. ‘I see you, Resistance, and unmask your hold over me with love.’

The other day I prayed, ‘What do you want, O loving God?’ I heard God say, “Monique – stop thinking so much and just let me love you.”

During these days of Lent, which frame for us the most loving act that God could ever express, it might be tempting to take up a new practice…but perhaps, this year, the invitation is to lay aside anything we can create for ourselves – Agere Contra. To lay aside the practice for the sake of the fruit, and just come to the quiet so that God can love us.

Going Deeper

Agere Contra as explained by Fr Tim Kesicki, SJ for the series 25 Days of Ignatian Spiritual Gifts – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fK-TE5j5-G0 Another strong article from Sr Janelle Sevier, SNDdeN on praying through resistance – Praying When It’s Hard: https://beckyeldredge.com/praying-when-its-hard-praying-through-resistance/ Hillsong United sings from the heart – I Surrender – a song that echoes our desire for total union with God in prayer and worship – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4N2ausO6Sw St Ignatius’ own prayer of surrender beyond resistance – Suscipe – https://www.loyolapress.com/catholic-resources/prayer/traditional-catholic-prayers/saints-prayers/suscipe-prayer-saint-ignatius-of-loyola/ 

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Setting Up My Year in Christ – Who am I being called to love?

I feel guilty each time I drive through an intersection and see someone with a cardboard sign asking for help. I rarely carry cash. While I know that my small token of money will not change that person’s life, I wonder if maybe I should do more.

Who are we being called to love? Is it just your family members? Is it only the folks that share our common values? Is it the people who are easy to love? If I love like Christ, then I know that I am being called to love those that are easy to love as well as those who are not. Thank goodness for that. I need to remember that I am not always an easy person to love.

As I drive through the intersection, I make eye contact. It seems like a little thing, but I realize that I have trouble looking at them because I feel guilty. I try to acknowledge their presence as a fellow human being. And silently, I ask God, who is all powerful, to give them what they need. In accepting that I am powerless over that person and that I cannot read their soul or know their needs. I can pray for them. And I can try to see them as Christ does.

I am learning that when we don’t see others, it is an act of dehumanizing them. To see someone is to offer connection; you are worthy of my attention even if it makes me uncomfortable.

I often wonder if Saint Teresa of Calcutta used Imaginative contemplation. One quote in particular notes how she uses her imagination when she reads scripture: “I see Jesus in every human being. I say to myself, this is hungry Jesus, I must feed him. This is sick Jesus. This one has leprosy or gangrene; I must wash him and tend to him. I serve because I love Jesus.” No sermon ever preached has taught me more about loving like Christ than the life lived by this tiny Albanian woman.

Her words, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other” carried weight because she lived out that gospel every day. 

So inspired by her love in action, I converted to Catholicism over 20 years ago. I wanted the kind of love for Jesus that she possessed. I imagine that she took the words of Jesus Sermon on the Mount to heart as it provided the philosophy behind the care given at her Home for the Dying.

Her words: “Stay where you are. Find your own Calcutta, Find the sick, the suffering, and the lonely, right where you are — in your own homes and in your own families, in homes and in your workplaces and in your schools. You can find Calcutta all over the world, if you have eyes to see.”

Still, I didn’t know where my Calcutta was until 13 years ago, when we learned of an adult child’s addiction to drugs and alcohol. I started attending a 12-step program for those affected by the addictions of others. At that first meeting, they took me in. They didn’t know anything about me except my first name. They fed my frightened soul with love and acceptance. As I told them what I was ashamed to tell others they held my hands and offered a steady and loving gaze and shared their personal stories with me. 

When I started to gather myself together from the strength that they offered me, I became the listening ear to the newcomer in the meeting. I tried to see that newcomer in the same way that they welcomed me. I realized that I didn’t have to fix anyone’s situation. I only had to love them.

Before I knew it, I started seeing from a place of love rather than a place of fear. Because they loved me no matter what, I started to accept myself. This self-acceptance helped me to see my adult son beyond his disease. They taught me to love him right where he was until he could love himself and make the changes that he needed to make. Learning to love like Christ is where my power for change lies.

Thomas Merton had a mystical experience later in his life. He was walking in downtown Louisville Kentucky when he realized that he was walking amongst his brothers and sisters in Christ. I’ll leave a quote from that experience with you. I hope that the next time you see a stranger, you will take these words in and let God use them in you. 

“Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts, where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are.  If only we could see each other that way all the time.”

Going Deeper

My favorite book about Mother Teresa

Greg Boyle, SJ’s Tattoos on the Heart is another good example of loving like Christ

A Deeper look at Imaginative Contemplation with Jim Manney and Father James Martin

History tells us that Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob Smith, co-founders of Alcoholics Anonymous used Matthew 5,6 &7 and the book of James as the foundational philosophy for the 12-steps that are used around the world today. Emmett Fox’s Sermon on the Mount is read and studied as a part of many 12-steppers program work today.

Photo by Matt Collamer on Unsplash

Setting Up My Year in Christ – Noticing Control and Responding in Surrender

I’ve always loved new beginnings: the blank slates they offer to me, the invitations to reflect on where I’ve come from and where I hope my path will take me next, the chances to express gratitude for what has shaped me and let go of what has weighed me down. Of course, at times, the excitement I feel with a fresh start coexists with varying levels of nervousness, apprehension, or even fear about the unknowns, but generally, I like getting to begin again, to see with new eyes, to cultivate a new perspective for how I look at my life and world. Starting 2023 is no different.

Late last year, my spouse and I welcomed our third child to our family. As we dream of who he might become while also witnessing his two older brothers’ constant growth and evolution, we’ve been having a lot of conversations about the role of control–or, rather, the lack thereof–in our parenting journey. Four and a half years into this blessed, beautiful, and trying thing called parenting, I feel like I still experience at least one daily internal conflict between thinking I can make my children act in a particular way or do something I think they should (health and safety considerations aside), and letting go of that so as to let them become, little by little, the fullest manifestations of who God created them to be. Being a parent continues to humble me and show me that I am a steward, not the designer, of these amazing little humans God has entrusted to my spouse and me. Not only do they have their own minds, wants, and passions, but so, too, does God have those things for them, far greater than I could ever imagine.

It’s hard to undo ingrained ways of thinking and being. Aware of the privileges and opportunities I’ve had throughout my life, largely due to my identities and the family and socioeconomic status into which I was born, I’ve lived most of my life with the illusion that, with some mix of carefully-discerned decisions, hard work, and enough determination, I can make things turn out as I’d like. But parenting (among other more recent parts of my life, like serving as a hospital chaplain) has undone that certainty and revealed to me how little power and control I actually have–not in a disempowering way, but rather in a way that opens a greater fullness of life to me. I fight this truth all the time, yet God keeps showing me in ways big and small that it’s God at the helm, not me. God’s currents are stronger than the metaphorical rudder on the sailboat of my life; I can choose to go with the flow or exhaust myself trying to resist.

This year, I feel more deeply than ever that I’m being drawn into a place of letting go and surrendering to God at work in the world and in my little corner of it. Yes, indeed, it is hard for me–and, I imagine, for many of you reading this–to relinquish control. It’s scary. It’s uncertain. Yet it’s also humbling in that it has the potential to root me deeper in my relationship with God and my reliance on God’s love and steadfastness. I’ve often turned to St. Ignatius’s Suscipe prayer in times of discernment and decision making, but his words are so very apt as I think about noticing and responding to this surrender.

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.
You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.
Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.

As this year begins, I feel deeply God’s invitation to examine my life in light of the theme of control and consider where I am being called to surrender to God’s love, mercy, and call. I’m being invited to notice when my very human desire and need for control overshadow my awareness of God’s presence and beckoning. Whether it’s something similar that speaks to you or something altogether different, I encourage you to take some time to consider what God is inviting you to notice and how you might answer. How can you be more aware of and responsive to God’s call? When the end of the year comes around and it’s time for another new beginning, may you sense deeply the fruits of this noticing and carry those into your next chapter.

Going Deeper

Read and reflect on Matthew 14:22-36, where Jesus invites Peter to walk on water and then calms the wind. Where has your trust in God faltered, and what was it that helped to restore that trust?Spend some time with St. Ignatius’s words in the Suscipe prayer, found here, or listen to a musical adaptation by the St. Louis Jesuits.Use this audio rendition of the Suscipe prayer, read by Into the Deep contributor Vinita Hampton Wright, in your own prayer.Consider Thomas Merton’s words in the prayer below and how they invite you to deeper surrender and trust through the various experiences of your life.

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

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Setting Up My Year in Christ – Christ’s Call to Greater Trust

“Mary Ann, you speak of yourself as a tired sheepdog constantly watching the edges of the field. What would it look like if you were a sheep?” I could feel myself stiffen, my hands clenched.  “What would you be losing if you changed roles?  What would the gains feel like?”  That discussion happened a year ago almost to the day and I still grapple with those questions. What would it look and feel like to be a sheep?

Words can be tricky and have lingering emotional impact, have you noticed? Independent, self-sufficient, accomplished, responsible, resilient can’t help but create a sense of strength.  Every celebrated growth step in our lives recognizes the hard work and effort to achieve those characteristics.  That’s good right?  Never in my growing up and most of my adult life had I heard that powerlessness, dependence, helplessness were values.  Sheepdogs are strong, reliable, observant, brave, responsible.  Sheep are slow, loud, obstinate, dependent, not very intelligent, willful, smelly.  Be a sheep? I was so confused. That moment of questioning drew me to what life had taught me to avoid.  My transformation which began while praying the Spiritual Exercises has organically flowed into my chaplaincy training.  While the struggle continues,  I pray to have the courage to be Christ’s  sheep. 

What does it look like to trust Christ more this year?  

For me, it means picking trust ,which I find so challenging, and allowing myself to be vulnerable with you, the reader, to share myself imperfectly as best I can. It means releasing a desire for certainty for the risk and surprises of curiosity.  It means unlearning and deconstructing for the freedom that follows and allows Light to shine in newly opened heart spaces.  It means looking within for the Spirit, which longs to move out to touch the spirits sharing my path. 

Trust is found in forgiving and being forgiven, knowing that I am stronger for having fallen in my weakness and helped to stand again. Trust comes in believing that Jesus promised to always be with us while remembering that those promises are always kept.  Trust allows us to listen without trying to craft a response.  Trust allows us to truly, bravely sit to hear the emotions of others while believing that the right words will come.  When we see trust in the eyes of others looking at us, we see ourselves as Christ sees us.  Trust allows us to surrender to Love which only desires to love us more.  

The sheep are able to munch and rest in the shade because they know they will be watched and protected.  It wasn’t always so in my human life, and I’m guessing you can say the same.  As we move through life, we are wounded and those wounds can harden us. We learn to protect ourselves and to depend on ourselves sometimes to the exclusion of others.  What we thought was helping us…and perhaps it did for a while…might not be helping now.  

Jesus came to be like us so that we will always have someone who knows exactly how we are feeling.  Trust is His grace which gives us the peace and courage to be dependent and the confidence that we are safe to be helpless in the arms of the Shepherd. We can be dependent because His Spirit is constant and dependable.  We can enter this year with confidence, trusting that while we live in this always uncertain world, we are sheltered and safe within the heart of Christ. 

Trusting God Doesn’t Slumber or Sleep

In my ministry as a hospital chaplain, I visited a woman recently  who had just begun palliative chemotherapy.  She was exhausted and resting before the next administration of what is hoped will minimize the impact of her cancer.  She spoke of prayer and wondered if God was able to still hear her.  She chuckled softly and smiled to herself as one does when teasing a dear friend who she knew was listening.  I had brought a card for her with a picture of a stained glass window of a mountain landscape at dawn before the stars hid. It was inspired by Psalm 121. My thought was that she could look at the picture and the words might come when reading was too difficult.  She absorbed the words with her eyes closed, holding my hand as I read them and then stared at the picture.  “It’s working,” she said with a smile. “It is good to be reminded that God doesn’t slumber or sleep. I can rest in that.”  We sat for a while in silence and then she said, “The Lord is my shepherd…I shall not want.”  During another long pause, we were two little sheep nibbling on the grass in the shade without a care knowing that the Shepherd was watching and would keep us safe…and would come and find us quickly if we were whimpering, stuck in the thicket.  We would be lifted up, hugged and carried to safety.  “I am counting on it.” she said.   That is what trust looks like.

Going Deeper

Pray: 

Read Psalm 121 or Psalm 23 this week. Rest in the words of the Psalm. Allow yourself to rest in the words of the Psalmist and experience the consolation they promise.  Reflect on how the words touch you or might be speaking to you: 

 What parts of your life feel tender and touched by the words of the psalm?  Where are you most vulnerable and in need of healing?  Rest with Jesus and ask with trust for comfort and healing.  Close your prayer time by slowly rereading the psalm aloud.  During your day notice when the words of the psalm come alive and express your gratitude.

Read: 

Read Becky’s blog on Patient Trust.Learn more about Praying with Scripture by accessing the free resources on our website.

Photo by Efdal Yildiz on Unsplash

Setting Up My Year in Christ – Discerning Christ’s Call to Put My Gifts in Action

How I long for people to understand how their gifts are woven through everything. My gifts work within my personality, my history, my experiences. Your gifts work within your desires and loves. This is the way God created us.

On the one hand, gifts are natural and ordinary in the sense that everyone has them. On the other hand, our gifts fit us to contribute to the world and God’s kingdom in specific and powerful ways. The fact that I have gifts does not make me more special than anyone else. But my gifts equip me to be the unique person God dreams me to be.

Therefore, through my gifts I can learn to embrace myself as God made me; and through my gifts I can learn humility as I see other people as gifted also.

We have multiple gifts, and they come into use at different times, according to our season of life, our situation, and the needs around us. In the same way Christ calls me to be kind in a certain situation that calls especially for kindness, Christ calls me to use my gift for, say, nurturing others, when someone in my life needs to be nurtured. And in the same way I must discern from day to day what Christ asks of me in my work and relationships, I must discern day to day what Christ asks of my gifts. 

It’s quite freeing to understand that I am not required to use every gift all the time, and to know that some gifts lie in my life, dormant, until the right time. I have met many women (and men) who, at midlife, discover gifts they didn’t know they possessed. But this new season of life called out those gifts. I did not know I had a gift for spiritual listening—what some call spiritual direction—but now, in my senior years, this gift has emerged, and I honor and nurture it as God calls me to sit in love and listen to others’ lives.

One of the gifts that has remained rather constant for me is communication, mainly in the form of writing. But there was a time when I did not write for months—over a year, really—because I was called to care for someone in medical crisis. I knew that I could not do my creative work while caregiving and a full-time job used up all my energy. Did I worry that my writing gift would get rusty? A little. But I could let it go in the interest of God’s call at that time.

Our greatest work in this world is to love others. Our gifts help us do this. And so Christ’s call to love will naturally bring along our gifts. 

This is very important to understand: The first person God helps through your gifts is you. You are the first recipient of your gifts, and this is how it’s supposed to be. God through Christ and the Holy Spirit continuously and moment by moment works to make you whole; out of this wholeness you minister to others. What this means is that you may be the only person for a while who benefits or notices a particular gift that has emerged in your life. It will likely take some time for this gift to develop enough to help others. During this infancy time, simply enjoy the gift.

And here’s another really important thing: Your greatest gift to others and to God’s kingdom is yourself. Your presence is always a gift, or is meant to be. You may think that people need to read your articles or attend your Bible study so that your gifts can help them. Yet, what they need even more is for you to sit with them (or talk on the phone or do a Zoom meeting) and simply be there, be Christ’s presence to them.

Don’t stress over gifts. Pay attention when they appear, say yes to them, enjoy them, and, when the time is right, share them. And remember that, in God’s economy, gifts might come and go but will never run out. God will always provide yet another way to express love in the world.

Going Deeper

Use this prayer guide to discern your gifts: Discovering Your Gifts and CallEnjoy Vinita’s gift of writing by checking out one of her books: The Art of Spiritual Writing Set the World On Fire: A 4-Week Personal Retreat with the Female Doctors of the ChurchDays of Deepening Friendship: For the Woman Who Wants Authentic Life with God

Photo by Vladislav Babienko on Unsplash

Setting Up My Year in Christ – Christ’s Invitation To See My Gifts

The idea of God giving gifts to anyone seemed so foreign to me. I believed God’s gifts were reserved for priests, nuns, saints, and laypeople who devoted their lives to God’s mission. A few weeks ago, I was at Sunday mass at my parish, and Fr. Andrew gave his sermon on 1 Corinthians 12:4-11: 

There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; there are different forms of service but the same Lord; there are different workings but the same God who produces all of them in everyone. To each individual, the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit. To one is given through the Spirit the expression of wisdom; to another the expression of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit; to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit; to another mighty deeds; to another prophecy; to another discernment of spirits; to other varieties of tongues; to another interpretation of tongues. But one and the same Spirit produces all these, distributing them individually to each person as he wishes.

Fr. Andrew left us with “Do not let fear stand in God’s way.” This really stuck with me and gave me much to reflect on. God gives us all gifts. Sometimes, we let our fear stop God from doing the work God wants to do in us. Who am I to stand in his way? I started thinking about fear and how it had impacted my life. 

If I had given into fear I would have missed my calling as a teacher. A principal asked me to apply for a full-time position. I never thought I could be a teacher. Despite my fear, I said, “Yes!” I have now been a teacher for ten years. The more I grew in my relationship with the Lord, I realized he gave me the gift of fully seeing my students and being present for them when they need me.

More recently, I had the confidence to lean into childhood fears. When there was an opportunity to lead the Inner Chapel prayer group, I raised my hand without realizing it. I do remember feeling fear, yet I volunteered anyway. What if I had not become a teacher. What if I didn’t answer his calling 10+ years ago? Would I have missed this amazing opportunity and the beginning of life-long friendships.

In the five or so years since attending one of Becky’s workshops at RE Congress for the first time, the growth in my prayer life has been tremendous. I am so thankful to have this renewed perspective on gifts shared between God, me, you, and all of us.

One of my favorite lines from the Inner Chapel book is, “Each of us has the promise of being personally invited by Jesus into a relationship and being uniquely chosen and called into service to God according to our gifts.” The idea of God giving us gifts that are uniquely for us does not seem foreign anymore. The more you prioritize your relationship with God, the more you will see the blessings God continues to give you. So, I invite you to say, “Yes!” Do not let fear keep you from receiving the Lord’s gifts saved for you.

Going Deeper

Busy Lives & Restless Souls by Becky Eldredge The Inner Chapel: Embracing The Promises of God by Becky EldredgeRead 1 Corinthians 12: 4-11

Photo by Mateo Campos Felipe on Unsplash

Setting Up My Year in Christ – Christ’s Hopes for my Prayer Life This Year

Like many of you, I find that January is a good time to review the past year, notice hopes and desires that might be stirring, and make some choices about where I want to refocus my energy. Over time I’ve become more intentional about including Jesus in this review, turning to forms of prayer that bear good spiritual fruit for me. Through colloquy and visio divina, I explored some metaphors that shed light on Christ’s shared desires for my prayer life this year.

One of the gifts of Ignatian prayer is an encouragement to engage in conversation with Jesus in a form of prayer called colloquy, “as a friend talks to a friend.”  We trust that the thoughts and feelings arising during prayer are part of a dialogue between dear friends. As my relationship has deepened, conversations with Jesus have become more like those I have with people closest to me: those I listen to with my heart and who listen to me with theirs; those I allow myself to be vulnerable with and them with me; women and men who are mutually supportive when we struggle and celebratory when we succeed. 

As the saying goes, a picture is worth a 1000 words, so sometimes when I have a question I’m pondering I engage in a form of visio divina for prayer-conversation with Jesus. I choose pictures, either prints of my own or use a random picture generator, to suggest images as metaphors that can “speak” a response to my question. Playing with these metaphors helps lead me to insights. 

Authors, psalmists, poets, and songwriters use metaphors to convey multiple meanings simultaneously. As a figure of speech they connect seemingly unrelated ideas. For instance, Mary Oliver’s “Starlings in Winter” uses an image of “acrobats/ in the freezing wind. And now, in the theater of air, they swing over buildings,/ dipping and rising.” Oliver leads us through her poem connecting the sight of black birds in flight to her experience of “grief, and of getting past it.”  

Turning to visual metaphors, I asked Jesus, “What are your hopes for my prayer life this year?” and randomly chose some of my own photos. As I reflected with each picture, I asked Jesus and myself,  “What are we looking at? What else do you/I see? What details do we notice?” Then “In what ways is this image like prayer life? Why do you/I say that?” capturing notes in my journal. Here are some highlights of what I saw and “heard” during prayer:

Sunsets and sunrises revealed an invitation to be as intentional in prayer at the end of the day as I am at the beginning. I recalled from Genesis: “evening came, morning followed…and God saw that it was good.” This connection felt like a hope-filled invitation that I take time to notice how each day has been part of a new creation with, in, and through Christ.A gothic church with soaring wood vaults, a rose window warming cool green granite walls with rainbow-hued medallions, and the sun blazing a shaft of light into the sanctuary offered Jesus’ hope to continue to see me in church during parish adoration on Tuesdays while soup kitchen volunteers gather in the undercroft to prepare a meal for evening guests. In a second interpretation, this image also felt like encouragement to share Christ’s word with others as I prepare through prayer to facilitate retreats and other programs.I was moved by a picture of my mother in a sight-seeing gondola smiling as we ascended taking in dramatic views of the Tetons. Her presence felt like Christ reminding me to pray with my communion of S/saints, conversing with her and other loved ones in prayer.Tree-lined mountain streams recalling past 8-day retreats reminded me that between the pandemic and my mother’s illness and death it’s been awhile since Jesus and I shared that kind of experience. I felt Christ’s invitation to find a time and place to once again sink my roots into life-giving waters with him in the coming year.

What was also helpful for me to notice is that while my prayer and Christ’s hopes are leading to action, in many ways they are less about doing something new and more about a shared desire for being together, companions through the ups and downs of everyday life. What might be Christ’s hopes for your prayer life this coming year?

Going Deeper

Reflect with Pope Francis about friendship with Jesus, and how conversation begins with a simple “hello”.  Read more about collogy in this article, “Listening for God in Colloquy “.

Similar to visio divina, consider praying with art and image as you might an icon. Or if you are more of a “word person,” you might capture your conversation as dialogue in your journal. 

There are many opportunities for Ignatian-inspired retreats around the country.  Explore a Jesuit Retreat Center in your area, or check with your church or local diocese for suggestions.

 

Photo by Jamieson Gordon on Unsplash