A HEART OF FLESH

Give us hearts of flesh, O God, that we may serve you.

This morning I was drawn to a passage in the book of Ezekiel that has captivated me for many years:

A new heart I will give you,

And a new spirit I will put within you;

And I will take out of your body the heart of stone

And give you a heart of flesh.  (Ezekiel 36:26)

 I was again reminded that it is God, the Divine Mystery, who fashions the heart and has the power to heal and transform it from stone into flesh. As I look at myself and my world today, I sense in a new and deeper way how much we all need soft hearts of flesh to live well in our current circumstances.

A family friend offered this simple yet very demanding suggestion to help navigate today’s waters:

Listen and Care.

I believe that a heart of flesh fully listens to the other and cares. I want to ponder that a bit and ask for the grace to carry that out day by day. Listening and caring may offer a way to live in the fullness of life under any circumstance. A soft heart of flesh keeps us human and capable of seeing the humanity in all others.

To go a bit deeper, here is a reflection to consider:

“Transformation through immersion and consciousness depends on our capacity to be penetrated by the Mystery of Christ. Our being, our substance, must be porous in order for the Mystery to enter, to penetrate. That is the crux of the matter. It is not enough simply to be immersed in…life. We must let ourselves be plowed so that the furrows of our person become deeper and deeper, so that our earth becomes softer and softer. This is something our being craves, but this plowing is kenosis (emptying, the death which must precede new life, rebirth) and kenosis is not easy. In the measure that our being becomes porous and open, grace can penetrate us. Depth is possible. Transformation is possible. Thus, an ever-deepening penetration by the Mystery can fill us with spiritual being.”   Jean-Marie Howe, “Cistercian Monastic Life/Vows” A Vision

I see these words speaking to how the Divine Mystery transforms our hard hearts of stone into soft hearts of flesh. We are plowed by life’s events, by deep pain, and invited to surrender our prideful ways and allow God to make us porous so grace can penetrate us and make us soft. Painful, but oh so beautiful in the end.

I am reminded of times in my life when I have experienced what I call a deep cut – when I have been deeply hurt and wounded. Though painful to walk through, they ended up being times of great awareness and spiritual growth. My tears softened me and Divine grace entered into my being, changing me. Each time, I have been left with a sense of how little I am and how much I deeply need my Maker. Best of all, I receive the grace of a deeper knowing of how much God loves me.

When I’m softened from the hardness of anger, resentment, and fear, I am truly free to love well – God’s way. I receive the grace of a heart of flesh. A recovery friend of mine often poses the question, “How free do you want to be? Are you willing to go to any length for that freedom?”  Those questions are powerful motivators for me to allow myself to be plowed by the Divine.

Today’s morning prayer time was followed by Sunday mass. The Old Testament reading from 1 Kings related the story of Solomon asking the Lord for an understanding heart so that he would know what was right. The Lord granted this request and gave him a heart so wise and understanding.  Hard hearts keep us stuck but a soft heart is able to receive God’s wisdom and understanding. May we follow Solomon’s example and ask God to fashion in us a wise and understanding heart.

I encourage you to take a few moments now. Breathe deeply for a few breaths. Reread the Scripture and reflection passages here. Sit with them. Let them penetrate you. As you finish, ask for the grace to live with a heart of flesh that cares.

PONDER ANEW…

Processed with VSCO with a6 preset

At mass this morning, I joined in declaring the words of a lovely old hymn:

Ponder anew what the Almighty can do, if with his love he befriends you.

2020, with its coronavirus, has offered me the time and the material on which to reflect, to pray, and to ponder. My hope is that God will sort this all out and show us the way. However, I have my moments when I long for all this to be over. To move on to the next thing. To close this chapter and put it behind us. Yet today, I find myself drawn to these words: ponder anew.  What does that mean for me now?   Could it be an invitation from God for me to stay put in this present discomfort and to take me deeper in some area? To continue to go to him and to ponder, perhaps in a new way?

I sometimes lament: “Am I at this place again?”  This old hurt or fear or resentment. Maybe God is calling me to go higher, inviting me to learn to love beyond my present capacity. Perhaps God is perfecting me. Bringing me to something that I have not been able to do up until now.

So, I have a decision to make. I can resist or I can receivestaying open to what God has for me in this moment. To receive means to let it be done unto me. To let go of my natural desire to control and let God lead me. Be not afraid. Trust in God’s tender care for me and all His creation. Constantly claim God’s strength—His sovereignty. So, what does that look like in my day-to-day?

I can start by pondering anew. One way I do this is by reviewing my journals and my notes to self, reflecting on how they might apply to my present moment. In my review, here are a few notes I plan to ponder anew this month:

  • We’re not here to make an impression. We’re here to make a difference.
  • We make a greater difference by the love that we give rather than the positions that we take.
  • You can either play God or you can reflect Him.
  • Criticism is a detriment to the soul whether I’m criticizing another or myself.
  • We can meet as equals and help one another.
  • When I pray, I am saying that I’m willing to be helped.
  • What is the best and most loving thing I can do in this situation?  What would be most loving to myself and to others?
  • Seek the good, the common good, in all things.
  • What is God up to and how can I cooperate?

Each of these statements challenge me to think more deeply about areas where God is still at work in me.  In a time of division, fear, and uncertainty, I sense that God is not done yet. Though I might want to be done, I believe God has more to say, more to do, more to give. God has more. He’s not done with the world, and he’s not done with me.

I recently ran across this prayer in my journal that I think applies not only to one’s family but to our world and our common good:

Lord, pour the balm of your mercy on the wounds of my family—the wounds I have suffered and those I have inflicted.

I’ll close with a piece that speaks to me personally and globally and gives me hope that there is purpose to this time.

 PATIENT TRUST

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

We are quite naturally impatient in everything

to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something

unknown, something new.

And yet it is the law of all progress

that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability—

And that it may take a very long time.

And so, I think it is with you:

Your ideas mature gradually—let them grow.

Let them shape themselves, without undue haste.

Don’t try to force them on,

as though you could be today what time

(that is to say, grace and circumstances

acting on your own good will)

will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit

gradually forming within you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing

that his hand is leading you,

And accept the anxiety of feeling yourself

in suspense and incomplete.

                                                                             Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ

 

 

 LET US NOT FORGET…

Lake Bloomington

Last fall I joined a small group, Retreat in Daily Living, for a 32-week prayer practice using the Ignatian exercises. I feel as if I have spent much time of late with St. Ignatius and the Jesuits, and I have thoroughly enjoyed their company. I’ve had the privilege of feasting on a rich buffet of high-quality spiritual cuisine. Midway through these exercises, the pandemic came upon us. In a sense, I have experienced a retreat inside of a retreat. And like all good retreats, it has been a time apart from the normal and a season of less. Retreatants normally describe their time of separation as a blessing—a time of healing, a pruning process. Many wise folks recommend periodic house cleanings and heart cleanings. These past few months have allowed time for both. This Ignatian prayer retreat has come to an end just as we are coming to an end of sorts to our mostly at home season.

I find myself drawn to stepping back a bit and reflecting on life in recent times—what has it held and what have I learned? How do I carry on from here?  I have a sense that I have been given something valuable, and I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to forget what has come my way during this time. Ignatius believed in the value of paying attention to God, to oneself, and to others, and to receiving the gifts that each brings to us. We are invited to see and experience how all creation is ongoing—a process unfolding. We see it in the spring flowers blooming, the trees budding, and the earth greening. In my own ongoing creation, I can look to nature as a guide showing me how to surrender to the Creator and His sovereignty. I have been learning to: Stay little. Pay attention. Receive. Resist not. Let God take me deeper.  I allow God to lead me.  I stay fully present to each moment and movement of God. I experience His slow and gentle work in my life and in the lives of those around me.

I am struck by how God has protected, pursued, and corrected me during this time. I hope and pray that my vision has been sharpened by the exercises.  There have been times that feel like a new depth of reality. I would describe it as vibrant— as if life just shimmers.

Each week as we met in group to describe our prayer experiences, we were invited to share the one thing that came to mind to describe the week’s experience. Reflecting on this season of retreat, I felt led to ask God to show me the one thing I have received from Him during this time and to let Him take me deeper into that truth.  I’d like to share my ponderings on that question.

The retreat facilitators often encouraged us to go deeper with a feeling or an awareness. In the beginning, I found myself recalling heart hurts from long ago. At first, I felt that I must be doing this wrong. I thought this was about going deeper in my faith walk.  I now see that God needed to clear away some old ruins in my heart—to do some heart cleaning—to make room for me to experience more of Him in my life.  I recently heard this heart cleaning described as God putting His finger on a wound and how that hurts.  Yet, we trust that God’s hands are healing hands; His touch loving. As we think of God Incarnate, Jesus, we can imagine Him bringing us into His own wounds. We can lay on His pierced side to find healing. As the retreat continued, I was drawn more to simply rest and relax in God’s presence, trusting Him to do the work that needed to be done—slowly and gently.  I needed only to rest upon the side of Jesus in my smallness and weakness. Before beginning to write this piece, I began my day by participating in an online mass. These words from the homily reached out to me…

When we descend into the depth of what troubles us the most and frightens us the most, we will find Christ there.

These words feel like truth to me—a truth I desire to experience, a truth that comforts me, calms my fears, and gives me courage to go forward. I can learn to be with suffering—in others and within myself. To suffer with Christ. To sit with my own woundedness. I know that I have a resistance to sadness. I prefer to stay in my head rather than in my heart.  I now see that when I’m thinking, “I’m not doing it right,” I need to go to God and ask what He would have me do, remembering that God always does it right. An Ignatian retreat focuses on the life of Jesus as revealed in the Gospels. I have spent much time reading and reflecting on how Jesus lived and loved here on earth. I am continually struck by how often people in Jesus’ life got it wrong. How often we humans can be wrong—how often I am wrong. I also saw how Jesus always had a better way.  I am coming to believe that only God truly knows me and wants to show me the best way to go. I can pass from former ways into newness of life.

These awarenesses over the past few months have led me to focus more on the Divine and less on human frailties—mine and others. I am coming to sense Jesus as a dear, faithful friend. He wants the very best for me, and always treats me with respect, patience, and lovingkindness. He wants me to do likewise. To love well whomever He puts across the table from me. He is an advocate who fights for me. I am also beginning to see the role and power of silence in God’s plan. To be still and know.

As the retreat came to a close, we were asked to reflect on this question: How have I grown in faith, hope, and love, and where does such life-giving growth lead me now? I pray that I may continue to ask and answer these questions in the days ahead. For now, I ask God:

  • for the grace to be a faithful and faith-filled presence in another’s life and
  • to give me a listening heart that I may hear the hearts of others and accept our differences.

I want to stay very connected to God and slow to react. To wait and let God aim me. To first pay attention to what is going on in the well of my heart. Then look for God’s loving presence in myself and in all.  I can then relax, and wait to see what happens next.  I remain in God’s love. That may be the one thing God is saying in this unprecedented time of pandemic:

Remain in my love.

 Oh, please Lord, let me not forget.

 

 

 

 

Lake Bloomington-2

SIT. STILL. QUIETLY. ALONE.

Sitting still--high back chair

At the beginning of each new year, I pray for God to give me a word—a theme or focus for the upcoming year. This year I felt drawn to the word savor and particularly to its meaning: to take delight in. I began my year paying attention to all that I could delight in and then savoring each thing. However, of late I’ve realized that I have not been thinking of this word very often. So, I asked myself and God, “Can I still savor during this time of pandemic with all its pain, suffering, anguish, and uncertainty due to illness, death, unemployment, and isolation?” “Can I experience Easter joy this year?”  I felt the answer within me, “Yes, you can.” The scripture verse that came to mind was:

Be still!  And know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:11)

God is giving me a time with very few distractions and only a small amount of decisions to make. I have a slow, simple routine. I am in my home every day. I start each day with a leisurely prayer time and a good cup of coffee. I ask God to show me who He would have me reach out to that day. My husband and I attend daily mass online. My main outdoor activities are morning walks in my neighborhood and afternoon drives with my husband in our Mini-Cooper convertible. As the weather warms, I am able to savor times on my front porch and back deck drinking in the wonders of Springtime in Illinois.  I serve as a mentor and spiritual companion to some precious women here and in the Dominican Republic. I continue to do that online. I also attend recovery meetings via Zoom. I write. I enjoy Face Time conversations with my four children and my large, extended family. The sameness and simplicity of my routine give me much calm and very little stress. Since I can’t do much planning for the future, I find it easier to live one day at a time and to carpe diem (seize the day).  I know from experience that both of these practices result in a very full and rich life. Much to savor.

As this year unfolds, I have reflected on what it means to receive as that relates to savoring. God has always gifted me with a lot of energy and an optimistic spirit. So, I naturally lean towards being proactive and taking the initiative. There are times in life when this is appropriate and helpful. However, in spiritual and emotional matters, it is not beneficial. When I take the initiative or try to control, I don’t allow God or others to give to me. I miss out on the gift.

The eleventh step of the twelve-step recovery program states: “Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.”  In short: sit still, quietly alone.  We have the opportunity to make this a part of our new daily routine.

Some are referring to this time of staying at home as imposed monasticism. Over the years, I have spent time with Catholic nuns in monasteries. I cherish those times filled with stillness and peace—God’s presence so real to me. During this current season, I notice the parallels with a monastic way of life. I sense God drawing me to take delight in His presence in all of His creation—His people and nature.  To allow God to gift me in many ways and to receive the gift of His love from Himself and from others.  I have the time to treasure and ponder many things. To go slower and deeper with life’s bigger questions. To explore myself and my world. And in this way, I am able to savor.

“As for Mary, she treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19)

Two years ago, I started meeting with a Franciscan sister in her home, a stately monastery in all its splendor. As we talked, I sensed how fully present she was to me and to God. I could tell how much she enjoyed –took delight in—getting to know me.  It felt like she was thrilled at the fact that God had brought a new person into her life. Her attitude of gratitude and trusting surrender to God’s plan was apparent and attractive. That memory has stayed with me. I left with a strong desire to live like that, and to relate that way with the people that God puts in my life—to savor them, to take delight in them. As well as to be open to God putting people in my life who will savor and delight in me. I find that to live this way well requires a slower, unhurried pace. I need time to pay attention—to God, to my interior life, and to others.  So, this imposed monasticism offers me this time. I pray that I will give and receive love better as a result of sitting still and listening more.

These days of pandemic have much to teach us.  We have seen people at their best and at their worst. I remind myself that we have never been this way before. Therefore, I think it wise to be very gentle with ourselves and with others. Planet earth is hurting and we have an opportunity to look after one another as best as we can. Let God bring to mind those that need a loving touch. Receive the loving touches given to you as a gift from God.

When I spend time alone with God, I sense His immense compassion. I see how Jesus was never surprised by human weakness. Yet I am so often surprised by human weakness—in myself and in another. Jesus’ response to weakness was mercy and love.  I, on the other hand, can be quick to judge, be critical, and feel superior. When I sit quietly, God gently shows these things to me along with His mercy and forgiveness towards me. I see how He is guiding me and transforming me little by little, reminding me that I am still in the making. This gift of time is changing me. I want to be quick to give and receive forgiveness.

“If at times we can just be, just quietly sit in the sun of God’s love for us, if we can believe that the One who formed us in the first place is waiting to transform us in the embrace of love, then in what we are doing with our lives, God will increase and we will decrease in the best sense of the word.”  Elizabeth Meluch, OCD

We just celebrated Divine Mercy Sunday in the Catholic tradition. This year as I pondered Christ’s wounds on His hands, feet, and side, I was also struck by His wounded heart. His friends wounded Him in their human weakness. We do indeed have a God who understands our woundedness and helps us walk alongside others in their woundedness. God has insight into people’s hearts and people’s hurts. Jesus always meets people where they are and how they are.   I have often underestimated the power of simply being in God’s presence. Who we spend time with changes us, so this matters. I believe spending time with God in prayer and reflection will make me more like Him. His presence and love expressed in and through my life have the power to change lives around me.

As this season of pandemic continues, let’s remember that the life of a disciple has a very long apprenticeship but can yield a beautiful bounty—the mind and heart of Christ. I believe this all begins when we learn to sit still, quietly alone. And from that place, go out into the world with Christ’s peace, love, compassion, and forgiveness. That is a great gift to the world.

“The role of committed Christians is always to grow richer themselves so that they can richly give to others.”  The Rule of Benedict