Listen with the ear of your heart to Pope Francis’ message to the world. Practice Lectio Divina, contemplating the words and/or images that speak to your soul. Full text and video available at the end of this post.
What are you called to learn during this “unexpected, turbulent storm?” Share your insights in the comment section.
“Like the disciples in the Gospel (Mark 4: 35-41) we were caught off guard by an unexpected, turbulent storm. We have realized that we are on the same boat, all of us fragile and disoriented, but at the same time important and needed, all of us called to row together, each of us in need of comforting the other.
On this boat… are all of us. Just like those disciples, who spoke anxiously with one voice, saying “We are perishing” (v. 38), so we too have realized that we cannot go on thinking of ourselves, but only together can we do this.”
The storm exposes our vulnerability and uncovers those false and superfluous certainties around which we have constructed our daily schedules, our projects, our habits and priorities. It shows us how we have allowed to become dull and feeble the very things that nourish, sustain and strengthen our lives and our communities.
The tempest lays bare all our prepackaged ideas and forgetfulness of what nourishes our people’s souls; all those attempts that anesthetize us with ways of thinking and acting that supposedly “save” us, but instead prove incapable of putting us in touch with our roots and keeping alive the memory of those who have gone before us. We deprive ourselves of the antibodies we need to confront adversity. Continue reading “Urbi et Orbi: A Blessing for the World”→
“There are times when music and other forms of art become vital because words alone won’t suffice. This is one of them.”
–Parker J. Palmer
I love words—to write them and to read them (shared in In Praise of Words and Less Words)—but during the past few weeks, I have found my thoughts turn to words that spiral into feelings of fear, anxiety, and worry. It is one of those times when I need to listen deeply with the “ear of the heart,” according to St. Benedict, for good words, or no words, to replace that which is not edifying.
God is the Great Artist.
Art is incarnational, and the arts have long been celebrated by Christian tradition as a way of encountering Christ. Visio Divina is like Lectio Divina, but instead of using the words from a page of Scripture to pray with, you use an icon, a sacred image, a work of art, or even a sunrise, a sunset, the flash of an oriole, the flight of a red-tailed hawk. (St. Benedict Center, Praying with the Arts)
I invite you to practice Visio Divina with one of my favorite pieces of art at St. Benedict Center, a wood carving of the Makonde clan of Tanzania, east Africa. I have taken dozens of photos and contemplated its meaning from many angles and directions over the years. Only recently did I ask Fr. Thomas, administrator at the Center, if he knew the story behind it. He shared that it is titled “Democracy.” He described that in the traditional Makonde clan when something important had to be discussed, the elder calls the extended family together. After the matter is discussed and everyone has had the opportunity to speak, the elder makes known the decision. The artist is saying, somewhat humorously, in a democracy everybody can speak but are those speakers really listening to one another?
Practice Visio Divina
Relax and come to a quiet before the photos of “Democracy.”
Read the work of art. Listen with the “ear of your heart.” Explore it. Does it remind you of a passage from Scripture or The Rule of St. Benedict?
What is the story being told? Notice colors, shapes, textures, shades, symbols, posture, expressions. How do they work together to tell the story?
Our morning prayer antiphon is inspiration to listen deeply to the word of God in Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32—The Parable of the Lost Son (see end of this post for full text.)
Let us listen to the voice of God; let us enter into his rest
Although we may feel we know this story well, it is a different experience altogether, revealing layers of meaning, to read and reflect on the parable of the prodigal son in the spirit of Lectio Divina. In our oblate meetings, we read the Scripture out loud, followed by a time of silence to contemplate, consider and reflect on what we have heard. We are invited to share a word or phrase that speaks to us after a time of silence.
It always amazes me the different words or phrases that resonate with our oblates. For example: embraced him and kissed him, you are here with me always, coming to his senses, he was lost and has been found, he got up and went back, give me my share, you never gave me even a young goat to feed on with my friends, he heard the sound of music and dancing, has come to life again, longed to eat his fill, this brother of yours….Continue reading “A Conversion Story: Filled with Compassion”→
Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart. -Rule of St. Benedict, Prologue
Listen—the first word in the Rule of St. Benedict. Listening is the essence of Benedictine spirituality and the inimitable path to unity with God.
Lectio Divina, translated as divine reading, is a Benedictine practice of seeking deeper meaning in words and stories. It is listening to what lies beneath the words.
The practice of Visio Divina another kind of listening using art or images can help one intuit spiritual guidance from the still, small voice of inner wisdom. One can use sacred Scriptures, spiritual reading, song lyrics, icons, art, and collage to listen “with the ear of your heart.”
I am still learning. -Michaelangelo
Life, itself, is a listening practice. In our daily living, we can practice divine seeing. I find myself circling back to life lessons, sort of a “life lectio.” Over time there are new revelations and epiphanies —I am still learning. The miracle is that when one looks, there is seeing. When one asks, there are answers. Here is one such experience.
“If you know and have been affected by your dreams you will feel in yourself a thread of meaning and purpose that is part of something much bigger than yourself. This is the faith that lives in me.”–John A. Sanford, Dreams: God’s Forgotten Language
Several years ago, in a dream, the words “Just float” and an image came to me. I had been experiencing many worries and concerns and it was a comforting message. My dreaming self was telling me to release my anxiety, or at least to just let it lie for a while. But it’s not easy to “just float” when one is resistant, when one wants to manage, to fix, to control. Continue reading “Life Lectio—Just Float, Move Slowly”→
Sprigs of Rosemary—A SoulFully You Online Advent Retreat
Over the next several days, I will share excerpts from a recent Advent retreat I was honored to lead. Ten women joined me on a journey to explore the significance of seeking, being and finding sanctuary.
The inspiration for the retreat came from the lyrics of this song, Sanctuary by Carrie Newcomer.
Sanctuary was written by Carrie Newcomer after a conversation with her friend Parker J. Palmer. She asked him, “What can we do when we are personally or politically heartbroken?” He responded that we take sanctuary. We gather with those we love. We remember, we share stories or we sit in silence until we can go on. There is time for positive action, to do what needs to be done, but there are also times when we rest in the arms of what most sustains us.
The retreat, Sprigs of Rosemary, was an opportunity to creatively and prayerfully ponder what sustains us—a special time to gather with kindred spirits and create our own sanctuary. Consider asking a circle of friends to join you for this online contemplative retreat…or if that doesn’t work, simply carve out time for yourself, a little each day, to practice Lectio Divina with song lyrics, poetry or scripture and to express yourself creatively through SoulCollage®.
Contemplative Session 1: Listen to Sanctuary by Carrie Newcomer.
Practice Lectio Divina with the lyrics of this song. What words or phrases speak to your heart? Do any of these words or phrases resonate with you?
Refuge (safe, rest, quiet) — Haven in the storm — Fire (all but gone, embers warm) — Sprigs of Rosemary (remember) — Sanctuary — Carry on — Knees (ground, dropped me) — Us and them — Circle of friends
Just in the last few days, I have been impacted by three distinct impressions—a reflection written by Richard Rohr, a poem penned by Emily Bass and a Lectio Divina reading and discussion at our monthly Oblate meeting.
All three Things point to the divine, invisible, and yet very tangible, connection that exists between us.
Thing One—a friend forwarded an email from the Center for Action and Contemplation by Richard Rohr about “quantum entanglement.” He describes quantum entanglement as “a wonderful illustration of the interconnected nature of reality, both spiritual and material. In quantum physics, it appears that one particle of any entangled pair ‘knows’ what is happening to another paired particle.”
Deeply-felt intuition and synchronicities that occur in our lives may be explained as a mere coincidence by some or the work of angels, saints or Divine assistance by others, but Christianity embraces the idea that quantum entanglement, despite the vocabulary used, is a spiritual phenomenon that very much exists. But what does this mean for us as we live out our daily lives?
Rohr writes, “We must deliberately choose to be instruments of peace—first of all in our minds and hearts. This is conscious quantum entanglement.” We make a difference in this world—who we are and how we behave impacts others.
Thing Two—Parker Palmer, one of my favorite writers, shared a poem by Emily Bass on social media followed by the comment, “What if you felt the invisible tug between you and everything”? (Sounds a little like quantum entanglement…)
The World Has Need of You
I can hardly imagine it
as I walk to the lighthouse, feeling the ancient
prayer of my arms swinging
in counterpoint to my feet.
Here I am, suspended
between the sidewalk and twilight,
the sky dimming so fast it seems alive.
What if you felt the invisible
tug between you and everything?
A boy on a bicycle rides by,
his white shirt open, flaring
behind him like wings.
It’s a hard time to be human. We know too much
and too little. Does the breeze need us?
The cliffs? The gulls?
If you’ve managed to do one good thing,
the ocean doesn’t care.
But when Newton’s apple fell toward the earth,
the earth, ever so slightly, fell
toward the apple as well.
Parker writes, “Hard as it may be to believe, our little lives and actions make a difference. There are more than enough people of good will among us to resist the power-hungry, wealth-obsessed, anti-democratic forces that threaten us. If enough of us do what we can—bit by bit, day by day—we can tilt the earth toward sanity and humanity.”
Thing Three—at our November Oblate meeting we read 1 Corinthians 3: 9-11, 16-17 for our Lectio Divina practice.
Phrases that resonated with our group:
You are God’s building—another is building upon it—be careful how he builds—you are the temple of God—dwells in you—you are….holy.
Reflections shared in discussion:
We are the temple of God. Despite our sense of worthiness or participation in good actions, we are the dwelling place for the Spirit of God. We are holy.
This foundation is firm, but we must be full of care in how it is built upon. We must be careful how we build upon another’s temple or let others build on ours. We must protect ourselves, our temple, with what builds us up. We must be careful what we send into the universe— that it builds up rather than tears down.
We are entangled; we feel the invisible tug of the other; and, yes, we are connected to each other, can make a difference and have an impact. I work with God on the building of the temple. We are co-builders with Christ.
The temple may be destroyed but will rise again. It happened with Christ, it happens over and again throughout history, and it will in our own life.
The temple is WHO I AM. I need the One who can rebuild. It is through Christ living in me that I am able to build myself again and to build others up. Nothing can destroy our temple, a blessing freely given from God.
Yes, I think things happen in threes—at least this week they did.
Quantum Entanglement, The Invisible Tug and The Temple of God. Words of wisdom may come from a variety of traditions or sources but point to one Truth.
Be careful builders. Be intentional. Be peace. Amen.
“Winter, spring, summer, and fall are mulch for each other. The seasons of our lives are like that also. We learn from the layers of life. Our joys, sorrows, regrets, hopes, miseries, and enthusiasms are mulch for each other.” The Flowing Grace of Now, Macrina Wiederkehr
Book Review by Jodi Blazek Gehr— “The Flowing Grace of Now,” Macrina Wiederkehr
Our storehouse of personal experiences can be our greatest teacher as we move through the seasons of life. The lessons we have learned through good and hard living can give us insight to navigate our worries and fears, to help us find answers to hard questions, or to let go of the questions altogether, and to, ultimately, help us make peace with our past, present, and future.
Flood the world with love. These words came to me this morning after I woke up anxious and fearful. I had a disturbing dream, but it was more about what is happening in this country— a foreboding sense of hopelessness for the future, so much political tension, blatant racism and xenophobia, and strained relationships with, even aggressiveness from, those who don’t see what is so very wrong with the words and actions coming from the White House.
Flood the world with love. I remembered that several months ago I had written a blog post titled, Flood The World With Love, but I didn’t remember exactly what I had written, or why. As I read it again, I realized that my own words had come at just the moment I needed them.
Flood the world with love. Inspired by the lyrics of a Carrie Newcomer song, what I wrote gave me enough light to start my day with the hope that if I just flood the world with love, I am doing something.
Flood the world with love. I had written about practicing lectio divina with both song (“I Heard an Owl” by Carrie Newcomer, much-loved folk singer, and spiritual teacher) and scripture.
I heard an owl call last night Homeless and confused I stood naked and bewildered By the evil people do
Up upon a hill there is a terrible sign That tells the story of what darkness waits When we leave the light behind.
Don’t tell me hate is ever right or God’s will Those are the wheels we put in motion ourselves The whole world weeps and is weeping still Though shaken I still believe The best of what we all can be The only peace this world will know Can only come from love.
I am a voice calling out Across the great divide I am only one person That feels they have to try The questions fall like trees or dust Rise like prayers above But the only word is “Courage” And the only answer “Love”
Light every candle that you can For we need some light to see In the face of deepest loss, Treat each other tenderly The arms of God will gather in Every sparrow that falls And makes no separation Just fiercely loves us all.
My heart is heavy with the darkness of the world, of “the evil people do” in the name of our own opinion, religion, political party, racial or economic privilege. Our collective anxiety, fear, anger, and hostility have led to so much division and violence—in our spirits and in relationships. We must
Flood the world with love.
The words are a meditation of love, peace and courage—and a good reminder of how to be a living light in the world. As the antidote to confusion, fear, hatred, and darkness, we must
Flood the world with love.
With so much darkness, “the best of what we all can be” is to
Flood the world with love.
I want to “fiercely love,” to build others up, to “treat each other tenderly,” to ease another’s suffering, to remind others of their divine spark, to err on the side of compassion, to
Flood the world with love.
I want to be a light in this world. We are creators, too—with our thoughts, actions, and energy. We can either live in love or live in fear. Mother Teresa said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to each other.”
Flood the world with love.
St. Benedict instructs, “Let peace be your quest and aim.” (RB, Prologue 18) We cannot accept hate as the new normal. It can feel overwhelming at times—“I am only one person,” but we must, at least, try. We must “light every candle” that we can. We must
Flood the world with love.
“The only word is “Courage”/ And the only answer “Love.” I pray for the courage to bring more light and less darkness in the world. And as I wait for the ultimate display of love that “The arms of God will gather in / Every sparrow that falls / And makes no separation / Just fiercely loves us all”, I choose, in all my imperfection, to
Flood the world with love.
Read the original post in its entirety HERE.
And if you haven’t listened to I Heard an Owl, you must.
Deep prayer, or contemplation, requires a commitment. Prayer can happen anytime, anywhere, in an instant, but deep prayer requires attention and intention to create pockets of silence in our day to listen to what the Divine is revealing. God speaks always and in diverse ways, but it is our own awareness that must be cultivated.
The practice of Lectio and Visio Divina, sacred reading and seeing, is a prayer practice that helps me slow down, to be quiet, to become aware and to listen. The value of Lectio Divina is that our understanding of Scripture or other spiritual writing is influenced by what is happening in our life. The richness of what we read can breathe new life into us and bring new thoughts for us to consider again and again. Continue reading “Trust: Justice Breaks Forth Like the Light”→