current reflections...
Oct.
2007
A Word Hidden In The Heart
Here at the Monastery, we have the custom of each Sister taking a turn at planning the liturgy for the day. In the process, we have found that the designated Sister often spends many hours beforehand, meditating on the theme of the particular liturgy.
Recently, the Reading chosen for Morning Praise was taken from The Cloud of Unknowing (pp.133-34 ,#1). In this particular selection, the author of The Cloud explains that a simple “reaching out” toward God is sufficient, and that a person need not have any other reason for “reaching out” except to be in contact with, and to experience God. The writer suggests that we wrap and enfold this “reaching out” in a single word, like the word “God” or the word “love. For myself, there are times when I find a short phrase to be more helpful than a single word. Eventually though, I do think that the holy invocation gradually becomes just one word.
We know that saints in the past have prayed this way. For example, St Francis of Assisi used to spend the night on his knees simply repeating the acclamation: “My God and My All.” At other times, Francis had a longer invocation: “O God, who are you? Who am I?” And then, there is the familiar one: “Go rebuild my church.” There is another saint, Teresa of Avila. I like to think that St. Teresa, herself, at times used this approach to prayer. She was known as “St. Teresa of Jesus”. One day, the Lord came to her in prayer and referred to himself as “Jesus of Teresa”. What a blessing! From then on, Jesus would want what Teresa wanted. This almost seems too good to be true.
The author of The Cloud suggests that we fasten this word upon our hearts in such a way that no matters what happens, the word will be with us, especially when we need it most. This word will be a shield, a haven, and a source of strength and comfort. Such a word is also fortifying and calming. I recall my grandmother and my aunts, and the Sisters in school, teaching us this way of praying. Later, when I was studying to be a Sister, myself, we were taught that the aim of any prayer was to move the heart. Our instructors pointed out that these small invocations could emerge.
As I reflected on this sharing, I became aware that there are many little phrases that can be used for prayer throughout the day, phrases that move the heart and bear us up when we need it. For example, there is that of Julian of Norwich: “All shall be well.” There are also many sayings in Scripture such as: “Be not afraid.” – “I have loved you with an everlasting love.” – “Peace I leave with you.” And, of course, there is that very familiar invocation of longing we use at Christmas: “Come, Lord Jesus.” The one-word acclamation connected with this prayer would be “Maranatha”.
We have found that sometimes God simply gives us a short invocation which is specifically for us. For some reason, a saying just seems to come to us. When this happens, one can only give thanks. One way, to help bring this about, is to ask God for a sacred saying right before we fall asleep at night, and to be alert when we first awake. It seems like God is always looking for a way to be with us.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D
July
2007
Carmel In The Heart
Here in Carmel , we are surprised by how often we ask ourselves what it means to have Carmel in the Heart. Anne Frank, in her Diary (Pan, 1968), writes the following:
“Today, the sun is shining. The sky is a deep blue. There is a lovely breeze, and I am longing for everything. I feel my heart beating, as if it is saying: “Can’t you satisfy my longing?” I don’t know what to read, what to write, what to do. I only know that I am longing.”
Carmel in the heart seems to be that longing. Sometimes, this longing doesn’t even have a name. Could it be that it is the spark of God given to us when we were born? It is awesome to think that we are carrying the spark of God within us.
Ronald Rolheiser, in Forgotten Among the Lilies , points out that the wisdom seekers of old spoke of “a desire of the part to return to the whole”. In other words, there is a part of us that wants to be with God. We are homesick.
There are times when our longing seems to touch that of another. Recently, my friend, who, for a long time, has been searching for her purpose in life, met another friend and asked how she was doing. To my friend’s great surprise, her friend responded: “ I’m looking for my purpose in life.”
St. John of the Cross feels that we all have a light burning within us to show us the way. I would like to think that this light companions our longings. It is there as a faithful and comforting Presence, quietly encouraging and strengthening us. Sometimes, the prayer of longing is the best kind of prayer. Longing is another way of experiencing God. There may even be times when we long together, without knowing it.
As I write, a story comes to mind. Brian Kokensparger, in the Creighton Daily Reflection of June 13, 2006, recounts an event from his childhood. One summer, his family was camping at a nearby state park. In the middle of the park, there was a huge water tank. To help the tank blend in with its surroundings, dirt had been piled up around the tank nearly to the top. One dark evening, he and his brother prevailed upon their mother to allow them to go and play on top of this tank. Finally, their mother agreed.
With that, the two grabbed their flashlights and ran up the hill. From the top they could see campfires and lanterns in many directions. They experimented with their flashlights to see how far the beams would travel. Then, it happened. First one flashlight, then, another. Gradually, dozens of flashlights shone from all directions and could be seen ascending the hill.
I ask myself what is so attractive about this story. I can feel myself being up on that hill with a flashlight. I see the lights in the dark. I can sense people around me. There is an air of oneness. The night is peaceful and delightfully cool. It seems like that for a brief time, the longing is lifted. There is a feeling of intimacy with God and with one another. The longing in those around me is quieted, also.
Sister
Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D
June
2007
In The Shade of God's Hand
The “Come” of Pentecost is almost like the “Come” of Christmas. With deep yearning, we beg the Spirit to come. From now on, with the close of Easter, we will be in the season of the Spirit, that Spirit who is “God on our side”.
In the liturgy, we not only beg the Spirit to come, we spell out all the ways we so need the Spirit. There is an ache inside of us.
We ask the Spirit to fill us with light that we might see and enjoy the goodness of life, even in the midst of difficulties. We ask to be comforted in our sorrows, to experience “coolness in the heat”, and to be given “rest most sweet” at the end of a long hard day. It is as if we believe that somehow God knows what all of this feels like. In this, we may not be far from the truth.
During our Pentecost retreat, I found myself returning to Francis Thompson’s The Hound of Heaven . Unlike our pleas for the Spirit to come, the poet flees the Beloved down the nights and days and labyrinthine ways of his own mind and heart. In his search, he longs to find and experience what he so desires. Later, in the midst of tears, he chides God for needing to char the wood in order to write with it. Who of us have not experienced this?
However, near the end of the poem, there is a breakthrough. God speaks to this searching soul. “All that I took from you, I took not for your harms, but only that you might seek it in my arms. All which your child’s mistake fancies as lost, I have stored for you at home. Rise, clasp my hand and come.
The poet then realizes that the gloom he experienced was only the shade of God’s hand outstretched caressingly.
We forget that, with gentleness and tenderness, the Spirit also purifies us in order that God may come closer. In prayer, we might want to ask ourselves what it is that we feel has been taken from us, (and that we fancy as lost), only to find it safe and at home in the arms of God.
Sister
Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D
May
2007
To Know As We Are Known
I am always impressed when I run across a quote that some one said many years ago and which still holds true and helpful today. St. Teresa of Avila had many such quotes. The beautiful part of this is the fact that many of her sayings came from her own experience of God.
Recently, I have been reflecting on one such saying of hers, namely that there is no growth in prayer without self knowledge. Along this line, I have come up with my own related thesis that goes something like this: Even though who we are and what we do in life are not exactly the same, the two are intimately related. This also means that who we are finds expression in what we do. A corollary of this would be the belief that how we respond to what happens to us tells us more and more about who we are, and of how God is choosing to work within us.
Carmelite Edith Stein, Sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, felt that who we are is veiled in God’s secret, a secret story which we will only know fully when we meet God face to face. For her, recalling this aspect of God’s secret gave her courage and strength when life was difficult.
While I was putting these few thoughts together, I came across a children’s story having to do with a conversation between two leaves on a tree. (This is my own retelling.) Daniel, the larger leaf, was regarded as the wise one among all the leaves. Freddie, the smaller leaf, loved being a leaf. He especially liked his branch high in the sky. He liked the wind and the sun, and the moon that covered him with soft shadows in the night. Being summertime, many people, the old and the young, came to the park and sat under Freddie’s tree. Daniel told Freddie that providing shade was part of Freddie’s purpose. “What’s a purpose?” Freddie asked. “It’s a reason for being,” came the answer. Daniel went on to point out that leaves were there to make things pleasant for others. Freddie’s purpose for being was to provide coolness for the people who came to the park with their checkered tablecloths, searching for just the right place to have a picnic. Later on, Freddie would contribute to people’s joy by turning different colors in the autumn. *
In the face of all this, it would appear that who we are, and what we do, is very much related to our mission in life. Little by little, and often in secret, this purpose unfolds. If and when we look back, we might find that we were fulfilling our purpose without knowing it. All along, there was Someone guiding us.
*Leo F. Buscaglia, Inc . The Fall of Freddie, the Leaf , 1982.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D
April
16 2007
A Hidden Strength
In the face of the recent tragedy of Virginia Tech, all of us have been affected. It is as if this has happened to each one of us, even those of us who are many miles away. In times like these, something happens within the human heart of our whole nation. The opening of this common heart enables those who are touched close at hand by this event to shoulder a terrible sorrow that seems unbearable.
However, there is another side to all of this. Because we are one in suffering, a hidden strength within all of us is awakened. The heart is made that way. With heartfelt sympathy, sincere prayer goes out from the Carmelite Monastery of Eldridge , Iowa , for our country and for all of those who have been touched acutely by such a deep sorrow. For us, suffering in one heart is another way of praying. We believe that a new vision and a new hope will come.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D
Easter 2007
Making a Pathway For God
I have always been impressed with the way God can take small beginnings and do something worthwhile with them.
When I was a small child, we lived in a big picturesque farm house in northern Iowa . The setting was much like the kind one sees pictured in magazines. Our family lived in half of the house, with our grandparents occupying the other half. Every week, my aunt, also my godmother and daughter of our grandparents, used to come and tidy up the place. I can still see her shaking out the rug and having a conversation with our mother about the “holy will of God”. (Not just the will of God, but the “ holy will of God”.) Although I did not know what the will of God was, I figured it must be important since all the adults were impressed with it. Little did I know that God’s will, in all its different guises, would be following me all of my life.
Through the years, I have come to realize that the desire to do God’s will is a hidden longing deep within the heart of most people. There is an unspoken sense that following the will of God will lead to completeness and peace, even if the end result is not what we would have chosen from the beginning.
The fascinating thing about all this is that frequently we feel that we do not know what God’s will is. However, if we examine the dilemma in depth, we might find that the God among us is not as hidden as we might think. My belief is that God acts quietly and oftentimes imperceptibly right where we are. As John Macquarrie points out in The Humility of God , God is never an absentee God. Ours is a God who continuously acts for our good in the human situation, even before we come to pray. Sometimes, though, it may seem difficult to understand just how God might be acting where there is suffering and pain. Still, God is there.
Our task, then, is to create a pathway for God to act and to get through, even though what we offer may be a small pathway. It could be as simple as a phone call or a conversation with another person. God can do great things with small acts of trust. St. Teresa of Avila points out that we should take comfort in knowing that there is great power in one small step toward God. Sometimes, that is enough for God. God will do the rest. Rejoice! Easter, too, comes to us in small ways.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D
LENT 2007
The Call To Come Home
Strangely, there is something very attractive about the season of Lent. Although it is a time for others, it is also a very personal time. With a certain passion, people really seem to want to give up something, or to do something special as a positive gesture. Actually, all of this is probably just the call of the heart to go within and to touch again all those things we believe in.
Lent is also a call to come home to the intimacy of a personal God who lives within and to touch again our deepest desire. Patiently, God holds and guards this desire for us. Spiritual writers tell us that our deepest desire is to know that we mean something to the One who created us, back on “that other day”, as St. John of the Cross puts it. If we think about it seriously, we know that God really doesn’t need what we are inclined to give up. God only desires that we come back to a life of intimacy. For some reason, opting for being loved can, at times, be difficult.
Even though God may not need what we are prompted to give up, we know from experience that doing something concrete can be helpful. Perhaps, a Lenten offering could be the resolution to pause at least twice a day at a designated time and to say a prayer that comes from the heart.
Gracious God, I believe that I am known by you
and deeply loved.
For me, this is enough. You will always be my All.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D