After canceling everything on my calendar this weekend (between a teacher work week and our first week with students….yes, eye twitching and back-to-school dreams are real), I revisited a poem and a SoulCollage® card I created on The Grandeur of God: Living Life with Wonder and Awe retreat. I gave myself permission to hunker down, pull back from social activities, and center myself in silence and solitude for my 27th year of teaching.
I love this poem from a book called Out of Wonder: Poems Celebrating Poets.
“Majestic” (Celebrating Maya Angelou)
Rise
into the wonder
of daybreak.
Be a rainbow in the cloud.
Be a free bird on the back of the night wind.
Shine on, honey!
Walk with joy in your golden feet
over crystal seas
and purpled mountains.
Know your beauty
is a thunder
your precious heart unsalable.
Be brave,
Like a new seed bursting
with extraordinary promise.
Shine on, honey!
Know you
are phenomenal.
--Kwame Alexander
I am one who is surrounded by beauty and love.
I am one who finds beauty in nature and all that glitters.
I am on a journey of peace, serenity, and wholeness.
On this journey, I can offer what is special about me to others; but when needed, I can hold my gifts close and tight.
I am one who must never forget to take time to pause; I can take moments for peace, serenity, and beauty that ultimately, is the guide to the Christ-center, the sole/soul purpose of my life.
It is only after taking time to pause, that I am able to celebrate “the wonder of daybreak.”
Barbie is a big deal. The smash-hit movie “Barbie” has reached the coveted billion-dollar mark at the global box office and its director, Greta Gerwig, had the highest-grossing opening weekend ever for a film directed by a woman. Millions of women—from 20 something to 70 something—have donned pink attire with their besties or their daughters—and headed to the theatres for pre-movie selfies and a trip down memory lane.
Barbie is a big deal. And, yes, even some guys have gone to the movie and enjoyed it! Every major newspaper, magazine, and news organization has weighed in on a variety of Barbie themes from feminism, patriarchy and consumerism to mother-daughter relationships, authenticity, and existentialism. Since I saw Barbie with one of my besties, Katie, a few weeks ago, I have read dozens of commentaries on the film. One’s reaction to the movie, or, for that matter, any cultural, social, or political phenomenon, cannot be separated from our own interests, values, biases, and experiences.
My experience includes fond memories of playing with my Barbie dolls–selecting special clothes my parents told me Mrs. Clause had personally tailored, organizing my wardrobe suitcase and setting up camp with a Barbie drive-camper. My daughter celebrated a Barbie-themed birthday, loved her Pepto-Bismol pink bedroom with Barbie comforter and curtains, and had all the Barbie things, even a lunchbox. Barbie captured the imaginations of little girls, and when they became mothers, their little girls enjoyed them as well.
“We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back to see how far they have come,” the spirit of Handler, the inventor of Barbie, said to Barbie, played by Margot Robbie, in the film.
I absolutely loved the movie--from the set and costume design (I mean, a life-sized Barbie house!), the special effects, the song selections and dancing, the clever comedy/satire, the Birkenstocks and the many feminist themes that elevated the movie to one for serious discussion. Katie, and I shared laughs and tears, many de-briefing conversations, and a commitment to see the movie again. My one wish–that I can also see it with my daughter someday.
But, this is what I have been considering: Is Barbie being Benedictine? Yes! I see a few themes in the Barbie movie that provide a glimpse of what it means to be Benedictine.
Barbie considers her death.
Early in the movie, Barbie asks her friends, “Do you guys ever think about dying?” This existential question is the impetus for Barbie’s (s)hero’s journey, one of curiosity, self-discovery, and transformation, depicted in religious literature, myths, and poetry since the beginning of storytelling. When Barbie’s perfect plastic curves are met with the disappointment of flat feet, cellulite, and clumsy accidents, she attempts to restore the status quo. She experiences a “dark night of the soul,” desperate only for life to go back to the way it was (as she lies face down, in humility, pining for untroubled times.)
When faced with our own mortality, we come face-to-face with the certain uncertainty of our lives. When Barbie adventures into the Real World, where events are not contrived, she is faced with the purpose and meaning of her life, eyes opened to embracing both joy and suffering, aging and death.
St. Benedict advises in his Rule, to “Keep death daily before your eyes.” These thoughts of death make Barbie more human, real, authentic—once she realizes her own mortality, she cannot unsee it. Her old life has gone, and a new way must be birthed. Barbie is becoming.
Barbie listens.
In one of the most poignant scenes in the film, Barbie is overwhelmed with the stimuli of the Real World. She pauses to sit down on a bench to consider her next steps. This act of pausing to contemplate is the epitome of being Benedictine.
I have been enchanted by the poem The Grandeur of God, by Gerard Manley Hopkins, for years. I practiced Lectio Divina, a sacred reading practice, with this poem and wrote about it in God’s Grandeur: Praying with Poetry.
I cannot confess to understanding every word of this Victorian-era sonnet, published nearly 30 years after Hopkins’ death in 1889, but I feel the same passion for the beauty and sacredness of creation “that gathers to a greatnesslike the ooze of oil / Crushed” with which he writes. Hopkins writes with celebratory confidence,
“And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things”
But we know as global temperatures rise, more droughts, storms, rising sea levels, melting glaciers and warming oceans are impacting both human and animal life. Nature has been used and abused in so many ways. Is it true that “nature is never spent?” Can this earth withstand the heavy burden of “man’s smudge…and smell?” Indeed, we seek comfort in the notion that the sun will always rise as “the brown brink eastward, springs” and always sets as “last lights off the black West went.”
We hope for the future of our planet, but we must be caretakers, not just takers. We must be co-creators with the Divine to ensure the “grandeur of God,” our planet, is full of wonder and awe for future generations.
“Glance at the sun. See the moon and the stars. Gaze at the beauty of earth’s greenings. Now, think. What delight God gives to humankind with all these things. All nature is at the disposal of humankind. We are to work with it. For without we cannot survive.”
Our being is often crowded out by our doing. Each day we are summoned to be creators of the present moment. Artists know the value of white space. Sometimes what isn’t there enables us to see what is.
Macrina Weiderkehr
In art and design, white space, also called negative space, is the area of a page without images or text. It is the space between lines, margins, graphics, and other design elements. Without white space a reader would be terribly distracted, having difficulty understanding the message or determining what is most important to see.
So, too, with our lives. Our moments can be filled with distractions, both in our thinking and in the many daily responsibilities we have. Macrina Wiederkehr, Benedictine sister, suggests that we are the creators of our present moment. We must, as the artists of our life, create our own white space—perhaps in simply being rather than doing, taking moments of silence to pause between activities, or practicing creativity or contemplation. It is when we create white space in our lives that we see differently, appreciating the wonder of an ordinary day.
Recently I guided a retreat called “The Grandeur of God: Living Life with Wonder and Awe.” Taking a retreat, time away from ordinary life, can be the “white space” that one needs to relax, rejuvenate, and refocus. When we look at our life as a means to an end, something to endure until things get better, we steal opportunities to live a life with wonder and awe.
It is not always possible to leave our homes, families, or places of employment, but science and religion unequivocally agree on the importance of creating white space in our daily life to experience wonder and awe. Experiences of awe, what C.S. Lewis calls “golden moments,” can reduce stress, loneliness, and physical distress, and bring one a sense of expanded time, perspective, and connection.
Lectio Divina—I am the way and the truth and the life, John 14:1-12
Book Discussion—The Oblate Life, edited by Gervase Holdaway, OSB, 2008
Disclaimer:
I cannot claim to have captured all of the wisdom shared in our monthly oblate discussions or that I represent all oblates in attendance. The group discussion is a starting point for this reflection, but it is my interpretation of what I heard and what resonated with me. There could easily be as many different blog posts or reflections as oblates. Each of us comes to Lectio from our personal experience of God at that moment and we receive what we need in that moment as well. The beauty of Lectio Divina is that the reading, insights, and discussion may fall differently on each of our hearts. How blessed we are that there are “many dwelling places” (John 14:2)” and we are all invited to “listen with the ear of the heart.” (RB Prologue)
“Just as the word ‘oblate’ comes from a root word denoting the offering of a gift, each oblate’s life is an offering to God and a gift to the Benedictine community, which is enriched by the oblate’s presence and prayer…. A Benedictine way is not to be harsh or burdensome but is offered to those who seek God and the sweetness of God’s voice.”
The Oblate Life
Do not let your hearts be troubled
The opening verse of John 14:1-12 implies that we can let or NOT let our hearts be troubled. We have agency–we can choose or not to follow the way Jesus shares with his disciples. This way, having faith in God, will relieve us of our troubles.
“In my Father’s house, there are many dwelling places. If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you?” Jesus asks. As a personal offer, he tells them “I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be.”
Life is difficult. The first three words in M. Scott Peck’s classic The Road Less Traveled, which I read in my early twenties, left me feeling both comforted and troubled. Oh, thank God, I’m not the only one going through hard things; this is normal…but oh my God, is life really this hard? As I “grew up”, I learned that despite the challenges of life there are plenty of opportunities to practice gratitude and seek joy and wonder.
I am inspired, and filled with awe, by those who meet challenges and overcome obstacles with resilience, courage, kindness, and positivity. In Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life, author Dacher Keltner outlines eight wonders of life that bring us a sense of awe and wonder. Music, nature, spiritual practices, and more influence us, but “we are most likely to feel awe when moved by moral beauty…in fact, it was other people’s courage, kindness, strength, or overcoming” that inspire us most.
This leads me to the story of Regina and Achim—I am inspired by them both. Regina met the challenge of a life-threatening illness with humor, positivity, faith, and courage. Achim showed selfless kindness and generosity by becoming Regina’s lifeline.
Recently I shared this image and quote attributed to St. Hildegard of Bingen:
The quote and image so resonated with me, that I shared it on my Being Benedictine Facebook page. Just as I was posting it, two finches, as seen in the image, landed just a few feet away near the birdfeeder I received as a Mother’s Day gift, hung just the day before. (For more on my love of birdwatching, see Birds Are Still My Prayer.)
I love synchronicities like this, little holy surprises—the same birds, the same colors, the same postures, at the same moment I shared the image. It’s a whoa, you-need-to-pay-attention kind of moment. Curious, I began a deeper dive into what context Hildegard had made the statement.
I love Hildegard. I was enthralled with my visit to the Abbey of St. Hildegardin Germany on pilgrimage in 2019. I love that she was a 12th-century mover and shaker, truly a woman who used her voice. Hildegard, a German Benedictine nun, was a mystic and theologian, prophet and artist, poet, playwright and composer, healer, naturalist, and pharmacist. She became a Benedictine abbess, was both challenged and received affirmation from church clergy, bishops, and popes, moved her monastery of sisters to be independent of the male monastery, and, throughout her life, had visions of the Divine that she was reluctant, but ultimately encouraged, to share in writing.
But spoiler alert: The quote in the image is NOT a direct quote from St. Hildegard. It is from an article written ABOUT Hildegard. Here is some context I discovered that contains (closely) the quote from the shared image:
“We often look to someone like Hildegard or to other great people throughout the ages as if what they have is not ours to have; we admire them, honor them, study them. We want to make use of them, and we allow them to consummate our inner light for us. We allow them to be the still point of our turning world. We feel incapable, yet the world wants to infuse us and to be infused by us. At that point no one can help us, not angels, not men, not Hildegard, not Jung, not Rilke. We cannot live securely in a world which is not our own, in a world which is interpreted for us by others. An interpreted world is not a home. Part of the terror is to take back our own listening, to put our ears to our own inner voices, to see our own light, which is our birthright, and comes to us in silence.” (Source: Hildegard of Bingen, Warrior of Light, Elaine Bellezza, Gnosis magazine, vol 21, 1991)
The quote, incorrectly attributed to Hildegard of Bingen in sermons, social media posts, and even books, has been widely shared. There is no doubt that the image and quote need to be attributed correctly—to Elaine Bellezza not Hildegard of Bingen.
One of my favorite places to visit is a former dump site.
Despite its location on the corner of a very busy intersection in Lincoln, a former landfill is now a sanctuary with thousands of flowers planted on its one-and-a-half acres. The iconic Sunken Gardens, perfect for wandering, contemplation, and enjoying the beauty of nature, has a healing garden, stunning sculptures, a cascading fountain, and open lawn spaces. Through the years, the gardens have been a special venue for weddings (although brides and grooms must be prepared for cars honking as they drive by), art shows, family picnics, contemplative walks, a quiet place to read, photography, or friendly conversations.
On one of our many sightseeing or historical tours of Lincoln as a child, my dad shared that the gardens had originally been a dump. Amazed, I couldn’t imagine how that kind of transformation could take place. In 1930, as part of a depression-era city program to help unemployed men earn a little cash, the idea of Sunken Gardens was birthed. Crew members worked eight-hour shifts, two days a week for a total of $6.40 per week. Through the years, the gardens have been improved and renovated, most recently in 2005 with a $1.7 million fundraising campaign. I am so grateful for that vision and the continued effort of volunteers to create something of such beauty from trash.
Sunken Gardens is often a specific destination for me but if I happen to be driving nearby, I might make a spontaneous visit. Recently, I had a few minutes after an appointment, and knowing the tulips and other bulb flowers wouldn’t last much longer, I drove a little out of my way to visit. It was a soulful, wonder-full fifteen minutes of enjoying the fleeting blooms. Finding wonder in nature is a path to practicing contemplation and observing silence.
St. Benedict invites us to “listen with the ear of the heart” (Rule of St. Benedict, Prologue:1).
“This calls for a contemplative stance, an ability to experience wonder and joy in nature. It can also prompt me to ask: when was the last time I really saw the swift flight of a bird, the delicate beauty of rose petals?? Rather than trying to fill every moment with sound and distraction, the Benedictine way of life is characterized by peace and silence. Benedict instructs his followers to “diligently cultivate silence” (Rule of St. Benedict, 42:1)
I considered this dump-turned-garden as the ultimate metaphor for transformation. Truly, all things can be transformed, and have the potential to be created anew, in our planet, in ourselves, and in relationships.
God did not create creation light years ago, he continually maintains it in existence. God is constantly in the very act of creating. He fills us with his Spirit of creativity so that we can transform the world according to his creative will. –Anselm Grün OSB, Benedict and Creation
To be Benedictine is to be open to conversion within ourselves, with people we might disagree with, or in protecting our environment. We allow for the possibility of reconciliation, and restoration of how things could be at their fullest potential. Just as creation is constantly creating and evolving, so must we. We must adapt and change to the environment we are living in by not taking too much or giving too little. Enjoying nature, being in the present moment, and nurturing silence that brings creative thought is the call of Being Benedictine.
Living with a sense of wonder, my word for 2023, is my intention. Being open to surprises, having a sense of curiosity, and having the desire to learn is important to my spiritual practice of “being Benedictine.” Wonder sees the sacred in the ordinary and is a doorway to gratitude, but seeing with eyes of wonder is a much easier proposition when our daily life is comfortable. My sense of comfort was recently challenged.
On a cold, windy February morning, my little dog Bailey did not want to do her business outside. Fourteen degrees in Nebraska, who can blame her? Worried about potentially icy roads and getting myself to school in time, I hurriedly picked up my little dog and headed out to accompany her on a potty trip. After stepping down onto our (apparently icy) landing, my feet slipped out from underneath me. It happened so fast yet every second my body met the icy ground, pain pierced through me–first on my bottom, then as I slid to my left side hitting my elbow sharply. I felt several crunches on my arm as I continued sliding on the pavement finally stopping several feet away.
I knew immediately I had broken my arm, and later it was confirmed–a fractured ulna and a chipped elbow. The entire event was captured on our doorbell video. I watched it only one time to see if it was as I had remembered. Seeing myself fall has ruined me forever from watching America’s Funniest Home Videos again. Falls that used to crack me up (no pun intended) seem not so funny anymore.
Wonder is the doorway to gratitude.
Making meaning out of life’s experiences and practicing gratitude is foundational to my spirituality, but much of my broken arm experience (7 weeks to date) has been spent feeling like I am not being very Benedictine. I am grateful for much, but I have also been so tired, irritable, and moody. It has been more traumatic for my body, mind, and spirit than I could have imagined.
Despite my general crabbiness, I know my injury could have been worse–for that I am grateful. Thank God I hadn’t hit my head and been knocked unconscious. I am grateful that it was my left arm that was broken, and not my dominant right. After a week of wearing a splint, I was grateful to learn that the fractured pieces of my ulna had, amazingly, stayed in alignment. I would not need surgery and instead of needing a cast, I would wear a brace that I could easily remove to shower. A welcome reprieve from the confinement of a splint, there would be enough space to wiggle a pencil through to scratch my arm. (More things to be grateful for at the end of this post.)
Gratitude is an emotion that reflects our deep appreciation for what we value, what brings meaning to our lives, and what makes us feel connected to ourselves and others.
Atlas of the Heart, Brene Brown
I thought my attitude of gratitude would carry me through the weeks of convalescence in front of me, but I underestimated the many conflicting emotions I would have–frustration, overwhelm, disappointment, empathy, compassion, and wonder, just to mention a few. Out of 87 identified emotions (and experiences or thoughts that can lead to emotions) in Atlas of the Heart by Brene Brown, I have felt no less than 40 of them since I fell.
Early on I had decided I would be a resilient, strong, and compliant patient. I would remain calm in the face of discomfort or pain, knowing “this too shall pass.” Spoiler alert: I have grown weary, increasingly frustrated, and borderline hysterical from the discomfort and/or pain. Betty the brace–named after my strong, steady, prayerful oblate friend, Betty–has been called many other names besides Betty (Betty, the friend, took no offense.)
Being Benedictine 