For a moment, think of Life—God’s Life–flowing through every vein and in every artery, and between every synapse. Breathe joy into every cell. Did you know that you can reduce carotid artery build up by saying “Joy is flowing through every cell”?
It has been said that if you made it a rule that wherever you are, whenever you can, you try to act a little kinder than is necessary, the world really would be a better place. And if you do this, if you act just a little kinder than is necessary, someone else, somewhere, someday, may recognize in you the face of God.
Madame Guyon (French, 1648-1717) writes in her poem “Live to Love” that “Our days are numbered, let us spare/Our anxious hearts a needless care,–/’tis Thine to number out our days,/ Ours to give them to thy praise.” With the coming of November the Church turns our thoughts to those who have gone before us. The calendar turns our thoughts to veterans, living and deceased. The landscape looks barren, death-like. And those in middle-age are prone to look to their own demise and wonder When?
Guyon continues “Love is our only business here,/Love, simple, constant and sincere,/ Oh blessed days Thy servants see,/ Spent O Lord, in pleasing Thee!” November is also a time of thanksgiving. For each day let us give thanks and spend the twenty-four hours in pleasing God.
When I get to heaven, I’m going to ask Mary about the infancy, childhood, and young adulthood of Jesus. Probably Mary has already told the story millions of times to those entering the celestial heights. Yet I can’t imagine she’d tire of telling the story by the time I get there. Moms seem to relish opportunities to talk about their children. What were Jesus’ first words? Amma? Abba? When did he take his first steps? What were some of the cute things he did? Tell me about his schooling and his early efforts in the carpenter shop. Just what was it like to be the “Holy Family”? If only archeologists could find Jesus’ baby book!
When I give talks on prayer I ask the audience to call out the things that fill their day. Depending upon whether the audience consists of adults or students, answers may include work, study, meals, sleep, homework, sports, piano practice, and so on. As they call out each item, I throw a piece of dry sponge into a glass. When the glass is full, I observe, “There’s hardly room for anything else. So when can we pray?” Then I pour water into the glass. Yes, there’s room for prayer. And the water makes the sponge soft and pliable. The “water” of prayer can easily surround the busyness of our day. George Herbert said it well in his poem “Prayer (II)”: “Of what an easy quick access,/My blessed Lord, art thou! How suddenly/ May our requests thine ear invade!”
Elizabeth Barrett Browning in her poem “Substitution” pens that there are times when nothing meaningful can fill the silence. It is then that she begs in her last line: “Speak THOU, availing Christ!—and fill this pause.” We’ve all had times of boredom, emptiness, a feeling of meaninglessness or hopelessness. We might look for something to excite us or fill us or at least give us something to look forward to. Some thing might be a bit helpful momentarily. What our hearts really need and want is God to caulk our holes. So call out “Speak THOU, availing Christ—and fill this pause.”
Lectio divina refers to meditative reading on the Scriptures. Sarah Arthur speaks of lectio sacra or holy reading. Good literature, not only the Bible, presents itself as a source of communion with the Divine. Arthur describes it thus: “Here at the still point, in the nook at the top of the stairs, the Holy Spirit hovers, waiting, waiting for the sound of the turning page.” I am very grateful to the editors and writers of spiritual, liturgical, and ecclesiological publications. I read America cover to cover. Worship magazine presents challenging information, but the magazine is taken in small bites. Articles like ”Thyranoixia and Hajmah: A Study of Polyvalence in Antiochian-Usage Byzantine Liturgical Ritual” can wait another month or three. Many of us religious sisters read The Occasional Papers published by the Leadership Conference of Women Religious. I relax each evening before bedtime with a novel. Fiction can also be lectio sacra. The novel’s characters give insight into humanity. And, after all, isn’t that what Christianity is all about—Jesus Christ coming among us to teach us how to be human?
In her compilation of poems and essays titled At the Still Point, Sarah Arthur writes “Warning: Powerful Spiritual Moment Ahead.” It is the cautionary notice she would like to give her readers before they engage in meditating on the readings. However, she refrains, because “What is a spiritual encounter for one person may not be for another.” Craft this warning into a book mark for your Bible. Post the warning on church doors. Make it a plaque and hang it beneath a clock, for any moment of the day is potential for grace. God comes every moment into our lives—ready or not. You have been warned.
When I visit a church, I go through the front door. But God can easily be met through the back door. Just knock and yell, “I know You’re home.” God has millions of back doors: lakes, trees, mountains, turtles and turkeys, pears and plums, sand and stone, eclipses and hurricanes, beaches and boulders, sofas and rocking chairs, gyms and soccer fields. God’s back door can be found underground and in the sky, in the east and in the west, up or down, country or town.
Jesus said, “Knock, and it shall be opened.” Front door and back. Prayer is just the neighborly thing to do.
Sun no longer wakes me,
Just faint light of a new day.
Electric light needed, but still
Housecoat of summer
Cotton suffices.
First snirkle of brewing coffee,
Brain directed on day’s agenda,
While warm cascade flows over lathered head.
Hot washcloth springs soul to remember
“Good morning, God!”
Toothbrush, too, pushes aside slumber.
Mug in hand,
Blanket caressing shoulders,
I open the day’s Scriptures.
“Cheers!” God and I signal each other–
Our daily brew extended
Mine upward; His downward.
My soul ready to commune
Like late summer pecking early autumn on the cheek.