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May, 2006

Seeing Differently

I have always marveled at the transforming power of one small quotable quote. Sometimes, it appears in the midst of many other sentences on the written page. At other times, it manifests itself in the course of casual conversation. Surprisingly, these unexpected gifts of the Spirit seem to summarize one whole aspect of life, and carry with them a certain energizing strength.

Along this line, there is a quote from St. John of the Cross that comes to mind. Paraphrased in today’s language, it would read: “Make honey out of all that happens.” In this context, St. John bows to the humble bee.

These days, I have been pondering just how one goes about making honey. If there is such a thing as a rain-maker, surely, there must be a honey-maker. It seems to me that if anyone wishes to make honey from all that happens, then that person will need to be someone who sees differently. For the most, it is not what happens to us that affects us one way or the other. It is how we see it. Most of us are acquainted with the well-known writer, Viktor Frankl, who tells us that everything can be taken from us, but one thing – to choose our way of seeing in any given circumstance. In effect, this means that we are always invited to pray the events of life. In a way, the Easter and Pentecost season never really comes to a close.

Recently, one of our homilists at Mass told the story of a little girl, who every day peered through the window at a sculptor carving something out of a very big rock. Finally, the sculptor invited the little girl inside to see the process up close. Caught up in awe and wonder, and watching with eyes wide open, the little girl quietly asked, “How did you know there was a lion in that rock?”

During these Weeks of Easter, the story of the disciples on the way to Emmaus has been told more than once. Their eyes were dimmed and their hearts were heavy. Things were not as they had expected. But then, a Stranger came along. Actually, their eyes were not opened until they extended hospitality. It occurs to me that in most situations, there is a Stranger who wants to be invited in. It can be a person, or even just another way of looking at things. We all know that, although it takes courage and bigness of heart to see things differently, most often the end result is an enviable inner peace and serenity.

Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.

A long time ago, maybe even before Vatican II, one of my younger close relatives shared with me something very special. There was a certain way her husband-to-be used to say her name. Her own name was Mary. “No one else says it that way,” she mused. I have never forgotten this brief sharing. At Easter time, I am often reminded of it, especially when I am meditating on the story of Mary Magdalen in the garden. Mary went there early, while it was still dark. The darkness outside matched the darkness in her heart. She was consumed with loneliness and abandonment. Her world was empty. Memories were not enough.

Being surprised to see that the stone had been rolled away, she ran to tell Simon Peter and the “other disciple, whom Jesus loved”. After the disciples had come and gone, Mary stayed outside the tomb weeping. “Someone has taken my Lord,” she said. A bit later, a figure, whom Mary thought was the gardener, asked why she was weeping. Mary repeated her response. Then Jesus said, “Mary,” and Mary knew to whom she was speaking. She not only knew who he was. She knew who she was as well. She was someone very loved and never- to-be abandoned. In a moment, she would be given an enviable mission. The shadows of the past were forgotten. Only deep love remained.

It is good to remind ourselves again that all these Holy Week and Easter stories are much more than just commemorations. These stories tell us that something new is happening right now, in this place - in the outer world and within.

Will the Risen One come to us? We hope so. Will we be able to recognize the “gardener”? We hope so. Will we be called by name? It could happen. Every Easter Tuesday, at Evening Praise, we sing a beautiful Magnificat Antiphon, composed by our Sister Mary Anne Schuman. The lyrics say it well: “While I was weeping at the tomb, I saw my Lord. Alleluia.”

Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.