Becky Eldredge's Blog, page 7

Setting Up My Year in Christ – Christ’s Call to be the Center of my Life

 

Keep Christ at the Center: Why?

We can cite numerous theological reasons to put Christ at the center of life. But I find it quite effective to look at the alternatives. Why center my life on Christ? Well, if not on Christ, then what becomes my center?

Do I want to center my life on the news cycle? If I want to remain angry, fearful, frustrated, and despairing, then I can watch and listen to news day in and day out—especially from my chosen sources—and become obsessed with the news and the commentary of those who want to influence my decisions. These activities can offer me a sense of wisdom and power, but mostly they will keep my spirit stirred up in unhealthy ways.

Do I want to center my life on my family? U.S. culture has made an idol out of the American Family, and if I follow the culture’s lead, then my every breath, effort, and dollar will go toward making certain that my family is happy 24/7. I don’t want my family to lack any material thing. I want my children to have only the best clothing, activities, and school experience. I don’t want my family to be uncomfortable or bored—ever. I constantly work toward giving my family the best of everything. This will lead to disappointment and exhaustion, but many of us choose to make our families the center of life.

Do I want to center my life on my work and accomplishments? We have an abundance of resources for self-absorption, don’t we? Self-help books and courses, seminars to sharpen our work skills, retreats and spas to pamper ourselves, programs to help us plan better, live better, be better, make more money, work more effectively, market our skills more successfully. It makes sense to become better at what I do and to care for myself. But when what I do and who I am becomes the center of my motivation, joy, and satisfaction, I have entered an endless loop of striving, self-judgment, and ever-increasing hunger for success and affirmation.

Do I want to center my life on being a good person and making the world better? Wow, this sounds just right, doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t I want to be a good person and improve the world? That’s very Christian, too. The problem is that I am making central the results rather than the source. I need God’s help to “be good,” and I make the world a better place by participating with what God is already doing. When I set out to become good and do good—with little regard for how that actually happens—then I have set myself up for frustration and burnout. There’s always one more good cause to work for and one more good personal habit to form. It’s never-ending.

We forget that the words of Jesus happened in real time and with real people. We hear his words as pithy teachings worthy of hanging on the wall. But whatever Jesus said needed to be said—to the original people he spoke to and to us today. 

Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.  I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. John 15:4-5

Jesus knew that the disciples were motivated and would work hard. But he also knew that they must understand that their source of wisdom, power, strength, and love was his own life, in the Father’s life. They must learn how to abide, how to rely on him, trust him, continually turn to him, and take strength from their relationship to him and the Father and the Holy Spirit. We call this theology, but Jesus knew that this is the reality. We need the ongoing interaction between our spirit and the Divine. This is not simply spiritual improvement but our very life.

Do not worry, saying, “What will we eat?” or “What will we drink?” or “What will we wear?” For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Matthew 6:31-33 

There’s a place for keeping up with the news, caring for our family, doing self-work, and contributing to the world’s welfare. But putting any of these at the center of life will drain us rather than sustain us. Let’s explore together how to make Christ our living center in daily life.

Going Deeper

Consider registering for Living with Christ: An Ignatian Discernment Process for Intentional Living by Becky and Chris Eldredge. This four-week program will help you to pray, to listen and to plan your year with Christ.

Read a previous blog post by Becky, Bits of Ignatian Wisdom; Life-Changing Encounter with Jesus

Read Re-Situate Your Life by Becky

Photo by Wesley Tingey on Unsplash

A Christmas Prayer

A Christmas Blessing

Let us pray together this Christmas:

May our minds be opened to further understand where we need Christ’s light in our lives. 

May our ears be opened to hear the words of Christ calling us to make room for Him in our lives.  

May our eyes be opened to see all the ways Christ is being birthed into our lives. 

May our hearts be opened to receive the hope of the light of Christ in our lives. 

May our bodies embrace the deep bone understanding that we are not alone because God is with us in our lives. 

May our hands and feet carry this Good News to all we encounter in our lives.

May our mouths open and bring messages of faith, of hope and of love heralding the reason for joy in our lives.

AMEN.

— Becky Eldredge

 

Photo by Wesley Tingey on Unsplash

Advent – Seeing Through the Eyes of Joseph

There have been many times I have imagined myself as Mary in a scene from the Gospels. I have imagined almost every feeling she must have had navigating being the Mother of God. I have viscerally felt her fear, anxiety, joy, and, most of all, deep, lasting love for her Son. But, truth be told, I have never tried to imagine myself as Joseph in the couple Gospel scenes he is in. Maybe it’s because he’s the father, and I resonate more with a motherly figure. Maybe it’s because, although he was quite significant to the story of Jesus, he wasn’t in the Gospels all that much. Therefore, he tended to fade into the background of the story for me. 

So, when I sat down to reflect on this Gospel story, I had to admit I was unfamiliar with these lines from Matthew. Sure, I have heard it many times over my lifetime as a Catholic attending mass, but I don’t think I ever really paused to absorb these lines and think deeply about what Joseph might have been feeling in that particular moment. I have never paused to try and enter into his story. In fact, the few times I remember hearing this passage, I thought only of Mary and how terribly sad I was for her that someone she loved was considering abandoning her in one of the hardest moments of her life. I was mad at Joseph in those moments for even considering leaving her thinking, “Believe her, support her, travel down this road with her! Don’t just walk away!”

This time, however, I decided to spend my time focusing on Joseph as I read this passage and let the words seep into my imagination over the last couple weeks. The image of Joseph that came to me during this contemplation was first and foremost the image of a humble, good, and very introverted man who longed to do the “right” thing by everyone he loved. I imagined he overall just wanted to just make the lives of the people he loved … easier. In my mind, he had simple but concrete dreams: get married, have children, support them with his carpentry business, and love them as best he could. At the time of this story, he was already on his way to making these dreams a reality. He was betrothed to a woman that seemed perfectly fit to live those ambitions right alongside him. 

Finding out Mary was pregnant put a gash in the perfect, sensible life he had planned… especially since he knew with 100% certainty the child was not his. The more time I spent in contemplation of this Gospel passage, the more I was able to see Joseph’s agony over how to help the woman he loved while dealing with his own uncertainty, hurt, and disbelief at the situation they found themselves in. I had to remind myself that at least part of Joseph’s internal struggle was likely focused on the brutal consequences Mary could face if seen as committing adultry. In fact, I could imagine that nothing less than an angel appearing to him could relieve the weight of this new and unforeseen situation.

Instead of moving on to the part of the Gospel where the angel appears to Joseph and helps him move forward, however, I decided to remain with the first half and sit awhile with the agonizing Joseph to try and better understand him at that moment. I think sometimes (no, often, if I’m honest) I forget as a mother to consider the emotions and experience of the father. I forget he also needs the space and time to wrestle with the feelings inside of him before he can come up with a way forward. I forget he also needs the grace and love God offers to see how he can live in the reality of the moment and support the one he loves. 

I am so glad for Mary that the angel came and eased Joseph’s agony and gave him the graces he needed to see a way forward. I am also so glad for Joseph that he was open to what incredible things God had planned for him. This experience of trying to walk in Joseph’s shoes for a bit increased my empathy for him and for many fathers in my life who are constantly discerning how they can best love their families.

It reminded me that much about life, especially life as a parent, is far from simple. 

May it do the same for you.

Going Deeper

Pray a Guided Imaginative Prayer of Joseph’s Dream led by Into the Deep writer Charlotte Phillips 

Read Gretchen’s Advent Reflection on Mary called Love Like God:  The Most Important Yes

Read More About Joseph’s Faithfulness 

Photo by St. John Seminary on Unsplash

Advent – A Pregnant Pause

You too must be patient.  Make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand. – James 5:8

During pregnancy everyone (and their mother) feels the need to offer all kinds of advice, from what to eat to what to name the baby. I politely ignored all the people who criticized my lifelong vegetarianism. Yet, I obsessed over every recommendation for baby gear that was loved or hated. I got lost in the online mommy blogs and ratings games. Well-meaning people offered comments like “enjoy this time while you can” and “sleep now before the baby arrives.” As each of my pregnancies neared the end, I felt sicker and sicker. I didn’t sleep, I could hardly eat, and there was little to “enjoy”. I was counting down the days so at least my sleepless nights would include the company of a new baby. There was not a lot of patient waiting happening. 

Around the third trimester of pregnancy, many people have baby showers or getaways to celebrate the new baby but also the changes coming for the couple and the family.  For my second pregnancy, my sisters and I got massages and that was exactly the extra care I needed. The Third Sunday of Advent feels a lot like the home stretch of my pregnancies. I am caught between the reality of the now and the anticipation of the joy to come. The Church gives us Gaudete Sunday, meaning rejoice, to buoy our spirits and strengthen our joy when the waiting gets tough. This Third Sunday is like the spiritual babymoon we all need to fully open our hearts to receive the miracle of Jesus’ birth. 

In these liminal spaces of waiting, some of us struggle to name our shifting identities. A mom or not a mom, a family of 4 or a family of 5? One who works or one who stays home? Perhaps you have felt this way during periods of major transition in your own life.The person I was is already fading away, but my new self is not yet fully formed. 

Just like a family welcoming a new addition or facing the loss of a member (to death, divorce or distance), the early Christian community struggled to understand who they were individually and collectively. Tensions arise as the discomfort of settling into newness begins to grate on insecurities. Each Christian is asking “who am I?”. Sometimes the answer we hear in prayer is murky. Pointing out the shortcomings in those around us is easier than waiting for clarity to emerge.

The new beginning that God is nurturing within us takes time and patience, like crops thirsting for rain in order to grow. I do not want to be suspended between the person who lived before and the person who I will become. 

Gaudete Sunday is a pregnant pause. Amidst the flurry of tinsel and sprinkles and holiday cheer, it is a moment to ground ourselves in the joy of waiting.

Going Deeper

Meditate on the sense of anticipation in Advent.

Read Waiting in Hope by Becky Eldredge

Spend time with the prayer You Keep Us Waiting posted by Becky, originally published in St Louis University Prayerbook.

Photo by Omurden Cengiz on Unsplash

Advent – Justice Shall Flourish

I volunteered at the county jail for 5 years. The first time that I was buzzed through those heavy steel doors, I prayed for God to show me how to help the women who lived beyond them. 

The women sat in a small room, each sporting the same uniform, emblazoned with DOC (Department of Corrections) across their backs, waiting quietly. It didn’t occur to me that I was carrying a lot of preconceived notions about them when I entered the room. Subconsciously, I’d been sorting people into ‘good or bad’ categories. I’m ashamed to say that I saw myself as good and them as bad. I thought that I could help them.

I came to know these women over time. I learned that one woman had been sold into sexual slavery as a child. I thought that was something that only happened in big cities. While we live just outside of a city, this was the first time I’d felt the effects of it touching our community. 

As a preteen, one woman was sent to live with her mother’s drug dealer after she had been arrested.  There was no one else to care for her. Still another woman remembers a day from childhood where the police broke down the front door as her mother ran out the back door, leaving her alone and frightened.

I couldn’t imagine living through the horrors that they’d survived. Each woman was kind to me. I enjoyed their company and looked forward to seeing them each week. As my eyes began to open to the wounds of my students, I realized that I was the one being taught. 

On the second Sunday of Advent, the Psalm (Psalm 72) is a prayer for good judgment for the king (Solomon) and justice for the king of kings (Jesus). It asks us to notice the difference between these two things. As a human being, I can make a judgment about something, but I cannot read a soul. 

To have peace, we wait for the one who can provide justice that we each long for. We wait for the Savior. He will bring something that no one else can. As human beings, we don’t ever have enough information. The fruit of his wisdom and justice is peace.

The responsorial refrain this week is “Justice shall flourish in his time and fullness of peace forever.” We are waiting for a Savior who can offer justice in his time. This is the hard lesson for me to accept. I get impatient waiting on God’s time. Reckoning with this truth helps me realize that any thoughts of control over a situation are merely an illusion.

The scriptures this week remind me that his justice and peace will flower in his time until the moon is no more. It is a promise that provides hope. When I see a problem through the lens of my abilities, I get anxious. But if I stop myself and remember the source of true justice and rely on God instead of self, then I find peace.

The Psalm continues, prompting us to follow Christ’s lead. Christ shows mercy for the poor, afflicted and lowly. Thomas Aquinas’ said, “Mercy without justice is the mother of dissolution; justice without mercy is cruelty.” Christ’s love of those on the margins is a product of his love. 

The last verse  of the responsorial psalm reminds  us to keep our eyes on Christ as we move forward. Only through him can we judge wisely. The wisdom of our good decisions comes from our efforts to try to see things as Christ does. 

Many days, I’d show up at the jail to learn that the women met every night in one cell to pray for my family. The first time that they told me what they’d been doing, I cried.  As my eyes began to see these women as Christ does, I realized that my heart was being justified, a little bit at a time. 

Going Deeper

Read more about prison ministry in this post Women and Men for Others: Behind the Barbed Wire and Beyond.

Being a Contemplative in Action – what does this mean? Read more from Becky in this post Bits of Ignatian Wisdom: Contemplative in Action.

Learn more about social justice by visiting Ignatian Solidarity Network, advocates of social justice animated by the spirituality of St. Ignatius of Loyola.

Photo by Priscilla DuPreez on Unsplash

Advent – Heading for the House of the Lord

I love celebrating four weeks of Advent plus a full 40 days of Christmas until Candlemas on February 2 – each as their own lovely season. And while I can be a bit of a purist, I’m not grinchy. I appreciate that the preparations, festive parties, songs and carols of the seasons overlap, all helping us in our journey to visit the first “house of the Lord,” the manger in Bethlehem.

Many traditions we hold dear from childhood, some we have reinvented for new circumstances. What we see, hear, smell, taste and touch help guide us toward the Feast of the Incarnation. These rituals are especially helpful when we might be feeling far away from home.

For those of us with Coloradoan roots, whether we find ourselves in Los Angeles, Chicago, or somewhere else this time of year, hearing the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s song, Colorado Christmas, brings tender pangs of longing:

But all along the Rockies you can feel it in the air
From Telluride to Boulder down below
The closest thing to Heaven on this planet anywhere
Is a quiet Christmas morning in the Colorado snow

As you enter the Advent season, what seasonal songs and carols hold a special place in your own heart? What place on this planet is closest to Heaven for you? 

On the first Sunday of Advent this year we hear from the Prophet Isaiah (Is 2:1-5),

…In days to come, the mountain of the LORD’s house shall be established as the highest mountain and raised above the hills. All nations shall stream toward it;…

The image of all nations streaming toward the Lord’s house stirs memories of a time my mother and father traded Christmas in Colorado for a week with me in the Windy City. We chanced upon an exhibit of crèches from around the world. The centerpiece was a large display of finger-tall figures approaching the Holy Family from every direction. Diverse people in regional attire, various modes of transportation, as well as animals from around the globe, were headed for the manger. I was mesmerized, grateful to the artist for helping me look with the Holy Trinity from their heaven’s-eye-view upon the longings of God’s children, drawn to encounter Jesus at his first home away from Home.

Each year Christian hearts are drawn to return to this story of Jesus’ birth. His human origin story is especially resonant in the Northern Hemisphere as our Advent journey takes us through the longest nights of the year. We yearn for the days to grow longer, for light and peace, justice and mercy, love and truth, to become more present in the world.

I had the great gift of experiencing a part of my family’s origin this past summer while traveling through Ireland, the birthplace of my great-grandfather in County Roscommon. Some branches of our large family tree still live in the area, one of whom continues to run the farm in Laragan. 

The aging cottage where previous generations were born and raised before a peat fire now has a metal roof instead of thatch. It’s covered with vines, holding old tools, cobwebs, and memories. I lingered by the splintered doorway close to my grandmother’s cousin, delighting in her childhood stories, and recalling family reunions and visits from other American cousins.

Unexpectedly moved, my eyes misted as I gazed across the road. Light and shadow played in an elderly overgrown apple orchard next to the new house. I’d never been to this farm before, yet felt welcomed. Embraced by a spirit of love, a place and people known only through stories recounted over the years, what grace to encounter the source of their incarnation on summer vacation, a taste of Christmas in July.

Isaiah goes on to say:

…many peoples shall come and say, “Come, let us climb the LORD’s mountain, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may instruct us in his ways, and we may walk in his paths. …

I had this experience of God providing instruction at both the exhibit of the crèches and great-grandfather’s Irish home. I learned from the generous welcome of families who love to feed hungry, weary travelers. Through tales of brave souls drawn down a path to new life, I was encouraged by their hope-filled journeys to unknown shores. I was inspired by accounts of love and sacrifice, letting children grow, forgiving long-held grudges, and finding ways to maintain ties during long periods of separation.

I invite you to take some quiet moments during Advent to reflect on your own “Graced History”. Where and from whom have you come? What highlights of your origin story might you want to share as you gather to celebrate the coming of Christmas? What are others’ treasured stories you want to hear again?

Going Deeper

”Images of Jesus’ nativity remind us that God has made our world his home,” notes John Cavadini, McGrath-Cavadini Director of the McGrath Institute for Church Life (Notre Dame). Sign-up to pray with the Institute’s Digital Advent + Christmas Crèche Calendar. Or journey with the hopes and needs of our global family through Catholic Relief Services’ digital Advent calendar.

While decking your halls with cherished keepsakes, or pausing to catch your breath between batches of gingersnaps, put on some music and let yourself wander through memories as you listen to your favorite Christmas albums, CDs, or playlists. Here is one of my favorite collections for Advent: A Winter’s Solstice II.

Let us guide you on a path of prayer that strengthens your knowing that God was, is, and will always be with you. You may wish to join others for Living into Advent: An Ignatian Path of Prayer for Individuals and Small Groups, offering an Ignatian guide to a deeper, more personal, and more meaningful Advent season.

 

Photo by Vidar Nordu-Mathisen on unsplash.com

Nature As A Holy Teacher: The Call Of The King In A Pile of Leaves

November has had a lot to say to me this year.  Light is changing and temperatures are dropping here in Northern Vermont.  The iridescent colored leaves of October have surrendered their grip on their branch homes and have fallen to rest together on the forest floor.  Now they crunch under foot and offer piles for children and pets to play in.  When whispering wind gusts move them they speak a soft, melancholy message of endings, of lasts.  The birds have flown south and the woods are still.  Lush trees are sticks now.  Their sap has circled inward to fortify them for the coming cold.  Our firewood is cut and stacked in the woodshed, gardens are put to bed, their fruits are frozen or canned, deck furniture is moved under cover. I am surrounded by Nature’s lasts.  They are endings before beginnings.  November is an in-between month.  

With these changes surrounding me,  I notice the liturgical year is going through the same process. We begin with All Saints Day and are reminded that they are us…regular people who lived their lives doing their best.  With God’s grace that best was very good.  Thomas Merton wrote that, “For me to be a Saint is to be myself.”  No comparing, no judging of myself.  To be a Saint is to grow in grace to be able to live the Great Commandment right down to that powerful ending of loving myself.  Why is it so much easier to love other people?

After the celebration of All Saints, All Souls Day follows. It is a reminder that before the celebration in Heaven, we are on a life journey of endings, lasts, goodbyes and finally surrender.  Church colors move from white to black and purple…mourning colors.  If we are grieving the death of someone we love, we remember the space in our hearts which is empty and no missing can fill. The weather certainly adds to the melancholy and sense of loss.  We are held by the constraints of time. But when I think of them and Purgatory, I consider how lucky they are.  Outside of time, they have all the help they need to see their lives through God’s eyes.  God’s mercy and compassion offers healing and forgiveness as they are gently brought into the Light of Heaven. 

This year, I am noticing something that changes this focus for me.  The leaves that have fallen have created openness and I can see through the trees to the other side of the valley. The sun is lower now, it can offer light and warm us because the leaves have fallen.  The blanket of  leaves creates a cover; the seeds and bulbs and roots and little critters shelter under them.  Pope Francis said on All Saints Day, “The life of Jesus and the saints tell us that the seeds of peace, if they are to grow and bear fruit, must first die. Peace is not achieved by conquering and defeating someone, it is never violent, it is never armed.” If All Saints Day is encouraging me to be myself for God, All Souls Day is encouraging me to see that my plain, flawed, “doing the best I can” life is all and everything God asks of me.  The pains I feel as I grow, as I shed false images of myself, as I offer myself in service to others are not violent.  They are building me, enriching the soil like the leaves.  Metaphorical Mary Ann, living with skinned knees while happily holding up her fist full of crumpled dandelions is who I am called to be.  Like Merton, I find peace in being a soul hoping to be a saint now and someday.  

The liturgical year ends with the feast of Christ the King, and He calls to us. He has work for us to do if we say yes. We are encouraged to hear our hearts’ longings as ways to grow in holiness.  Those whispers are a gentle call to let go like the leaves and fall into the grace-full plan God has for us.  I always think of plans for the future and can miss what is happening right now.  What is Christ asking of me right now?  Now is all I have and most of my “nows” really do resemble crumpled dandelions and dried up leaves. They are the best I have.  If Christ wants them, needs me to offer them, then they are His. Who does He want me to share my time and talents with?  

St. Ignatius leads us to our Lord in the Spiritual Exercises, and we ask to be permitted to serve Him.  There are no endings in His kingdom, there is only life.  Jesus showed us that in His life, His surrender to death and His return in Love.  He is past, present, and future all at once.  Christ the King is our constant, our center, our freedom.  We are living our lives in His Kingdom right now and in all our now moments throughout eternity.  Our church year ends and begins in November.  We can all rest under Christ’s consoling graces, under the deep, protective blanket of Love our Lord gives us and asks us to share.  We will keep bravely changing as we need to because we trust that we will have the time and receive the grace we need.  We can only ask to grow in that loved understanding, in our devotion to this Love and to serve Christ now and always.

Going Deeper

Read Soul of Christ by David Fleming, SJ, Hearts on Fire, Praying with the Jesuits

Watch this brief video with Fr. Kevin O’Brien, SJ on the Call of Christ the King

Read My Both/And Call by Becky

All of our falling leaves can be a habitat for butterflies, bees, moths and more. Learn more here: Leave the leaves.

 

Photo by Martin Murphy on unsplash.com

Nature As A Holy Teacher: Darkness Is Not Dark For You

Nature As A Holy Teacher: Consider the Lilies

In the Gospel of Luke (12:22-34), Jesus not only offers his disciples some guidance around trust and faith; there is also an invitation to look at the myriad gifts from God that surround us. Among other examples, he says, “Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these…Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your [Creator’s] good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

Earlier this summer, my spouse, our two young boys, and I took a road trip from Chicago to Colorado to spend a week in the mountains. Most of our waking hours were spent outside: going for hikes, throwing rocks into the many streams that dotted the area, climbing logs, and looking for local wildlife. Witnessing my kids’ enthusiasm for all that surrounded them–new and familiar–and watching their senses come alive in each new moment is connected to what, I think, Jesus was getting at with his disciples. God cares so deeply for each of us, regardless of our strengths and weaknesses, surrounding us with abundant reminders of that abiding care and love if only we are able to pause, notice, and appreciate.

In addition to our trip, this year, our family has been trying to spend as much time outdoors as possible. All of the hours I’ve racked up alongside two little ones have drawn me closer to the earth (figuratively and literally). My preschooler is intent on filling his treasure box with whatever special nature items he can find and is full of questions: how do tiny seeds become giant trees? Why do bees have that yellow stuff all over them when they leave a flower? What makes the rain leave the clouds and come to the ground? And my toddler is the biggest bundle of wonder and joy when he’s exploring the natural world, stopping to smell the roses (and clovers, and dandelions, and whatever other flowers he stumbles upon). He can watch ants crawl for minutes on end and roars with laughter when he spots yellow finches eating kernels off our sunflowers. 

There are many things I think God invites me to learn when I look at the world through my children’s eyes, but certainly one of them is realizing how much the beauty around me is an unearned, freely-given manifestation of God’s love, just like the beauty of the lilies comes not from anything they’ve done but simply from God’s goodness. 

Not every day as a parent is what I’d like it to be. I lose patience, I raise my voice, I have plenty of moments where I’m not my best self. Yet it doesn’t matter if it was an ideal day of parenting or whether I’m barely surviving the hours with my kids. God loves me unconditionally and welcomes me with celebration of my parenting “wins” and in spite of my many growing edges. Even though I’m always trying to do better, just like those lilies in the field that Jesus uses as teaching examples, I don’t have to do anything to earn God’s love and care, and I don’t have to worry about God’s constancy. What a gift!

One of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, wrote frequently about how prayer can simply be paying attention, being present, and noticing the tiniest things easy to overlook. In “The Summer Day,” she writes, “I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. / I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down / into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, / how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, / which is what I have been doing all day.” 

Through Oliver’s poetry, we’re encouraged to slow down, to immerse ourselves in the experience at hand, and simply to be in touch with that which is beyond ourselves, gracing our every moment. Like the lilies in all their glory, God both creates and sustains us as expressions of God’s love. In every moment, if only we have eyes to notice, God gives us reminders, big and small, of that love alive in our world, all without us having to do anything to prove ourselves or earn those gifts.

Going Deeper

Pray with scriptures that refer to nature such as the lilies of the field found in Luke 12: 22-34. As part of your prayer or reflection, read one or more of Mary Oliver’s poems. You might start with “The Lily,” found here, or “Praying,” found here. Try to make a regular practice of venturing out into your neighborhood or a nearby park for a walk, noticing the little things all around you and pausing to express gratitude to God for all the beauty. Especially as the seasons change, note what shifts are occurring in you and how greater attention to the world in which you live might influence those shifts.  Use the Prayer of Consideration prayer card as a guide.  Find a prayer or two rooted in the natural world to incorporate into your own prayer life–or write your own. See this collection from Xavier University as a starting point.Check out Christ in a Grain of Sand: An Ecological Journey with the Spiritual Exercises , by Neil Vaney, SM, for more on the connection between God’s creation and Ignatian spirituality.

Photo by Kimia Nemati via unsplash.com

Nature As A Holy Teacher: Golden Moments

Golden Moments – The Ginkgo Tree

Sioux Spiritual Center rests in a hollow held by steep hills, the terminus of a long dirt road near the Cheyenne River about 100 miles mostly east and a little north of Rapid City, South Dakota. I arrived for retreat in late October, the time of year when short sleeves are comfortable in the afternoon, but good layers are essential at night, and snow might arrive at any time.

As Fr. Peter, my spiritual director for the week, listened to my heart during our first few meetings, he suggested this verse from Isaiah (42:1) for the following day, 

Here is my servant whom I uphold,
my chosen one in whom my soul delights.

Fr. Peter’s guidance was to take time in prayer to hear from Jesus:  what he saw in me and my life the past year, what delighted him, what warmed his heart, how he held me up. 

The next morning I was up early. Waiting for the pot to brew while preparing to pray, I felt an inspiration to head to the log chapel, Woniya Wakan Oti (in English, “House of the Holy Spirit”).  Fortified by coffee, I zipped up my fleece, pulled on mittens, and slipped out the cozy kitchen into brisk air. Light frost and gravel crunched as I stepped off the porch onto the path. Breath condensed as I exhaled prayers for the grace to see the previous year through Jesus’ eyes.

Just beyond the footbridge, shimmering gold ginkgo leaves caught the first rays reaching over the ridge. Their brilliance illuminated turquoise berries nestled in the neighboring juniper and scraggly scrub oaks hanging on to former crimson glory.

Smiling as I passed underneath the branches, as if with a big happy sigh the ginkgo tree dropped its leaves all at once over my head! I watched wide eyed as everything that was bright and beautiful fell as one. Countless tiny fans applauded, dancing their way around me to earth, encircling the trunk in the still air. 

After a mystified pause I moved on to the chapel. Was this how Jesus saw last year, I wondered, a cascade of golden moments? 

Sun was pouring out honey pools on the chapel’s pine floor. I followed an urge to lay down. Warm floorboards received and distributed my weight, and then I lost track of time as I imagined playing in a pile of gold-leaf-moments with Jesus. Fleeting images of caring for others and being cared for, comforting, cooking, cajoling, connecting, confronting, swirled around me.

When I look back now, I notice the tree trunk. In my mind’s eye, I see the structure of barren branches, ages older and wiser than the leaves. Leaves who in their season nourished the tree’s growth and provided oxygen to breathe before returning to enrich the soil, food for the future. 

Grateful to re-experience a deep consolation almost a decade later, I am reminded of how the Book of Proverbs (3:13-18) personifies Wisdom,  comparing her to precious wealth and as a tree of life:

Happy are those who find wisdom,

    and those who get understanding,

for her income is better than silver,

    and her revenue better than gold.

She is more precious than jewels,

    and nothing you desire can compare with her.

Long life is in her right hand;

    in her left hand are riches and honor.

Her ways are ways of pleasantness,

    and all her paths are peace.

She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her;

    those who hold her fast are called happy.

This year, during a season of remembrance, I once again take to heart Fr. Peter’s encouragement to look upon my life through the eyes of Jesus:  His Tree of Life upholds me still. Wisdom’s ways don’t always feel pleasant and peaceful, but in holding fast to her, I am happy, blessed to receive the wealth of experiencing God’s love and grace through priceless moments as numerous and luminous as autumn leaves soaked in sunshine.

Going Deeper

Listen to Seasons of Love from the musical, Rent.  525,600 minutes. How do you measure a year?Ponder the ancient mystery of ginkgo trees in the short reflection, Night of the Ginkgo, from the Sidewalk Department of New Yorker magazine.Talk a walk, becoming aware of the trees around you. Notice leaves – gold, ruby, garnet, topaz. Some might still be emerald. Others tarnished brass hinting of life well-lived. Find a sunny spot to lie down or a sturdy trunk to rest your back against with Wisdom. Ask for the grace to see what Jesus saw in you and your life this past year, what delighted him, what warmed his heart, how he held you up. Offer a prayer of thanksgiving to the One who upholds you.Reflect on Autumn with Rainer Maria Rilke

The leaves fall, fall as from far,

Like distant gardens withered in the heavens;

They fall with slow and lingering descent.

And in the nights the heavy Earth, too, falls

From out the stars into the Solitude.

Photo by Cole Keister on Unsplash