Leaving the beautiful area of Lake Constance, we drive through Germany’s Black Forest with Freiburg im Breisgau in the region of Baden-Württemberg, Germany as our destination with morning Mass at St. Martin’s. We have morning prayers on the bus—again, so relevant to our time of uncertainty. “Ten thousand fears cluster at my door…”
There is much comfort in Church tradition and the liturgy, which we take part in with daily Mass on pilgrimage. It is the beautiful cathedrals, their history, art, and architecture that remind us that through the centuries that people have struggled, feared, and fought and it is in sacred spaces we find hope and sustenance for the journey.
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.
Missionary Benedictines of Tutzing, chapel artwork, “The Living Water”
It’s the night before the first day of school and it is debatable who might be more nervous—my freshman students beginning their high school experience tomorrow or me, a 21-year veteran teacher.
I love starting a school year for lots of reasons—“Every day is an opportunity to embrace “newness”—new technology, new family and social dynamics, new attitudes, new behaviors, new teaching strategies, new curriculum. I am a teacher with experience, and yet I still have so much to learn. I dance between both realms.” (excerpt from “Why I Teach”)
SoulCollage® card: My vision of what teaching would be like, in my idealistic naiveté, is represented by the black and white, old-fashioned image—students with smiles on their faces, eagerly waiting to learn; happy, compliant, and respectful, mesmerized by every word I said. The reality is that teaching is a more “colorful” role than I had expected.
It’s the “so much to learn” part that makes me anxious. Each school year, there is the nervousness that goes with meeting new students. But this school year, I move into a new classroom with brand-spanking new computers to teach a new Digital Design class. I will need to learn Adobe software programs throughout the semester, often just a day or two before I teach my students. I am also cooperating with a new student teacher as she begins a career in education.
“Embracing newness” feels a little scary right now and, truth be told, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to answer student questions, that there will be problems I cannot solve, that I won’t be knowledgeable enough, that I won’t look and feel like a good teacher. Continue reading “Foolish Fears of The Night Before The First Day of School”→
Being Benedictine 