current reflections...
October
2003
Walking in the Promise
Rachel Naomi Remen tells the story of an only daughter attending the last days of her dying father. Although her father had been outstanding in his profession, it appeared that he had considerable difficulty communicating anything that did not have to do with his work. Before his death, however, this changed. One day, the daughter asked her father what he felt was the contribution he had made to the world that made everything worthwhile. She expected him to mention some award-winning project. Instead, her father smiled at her and said, “You, of course.” These were the last words he spoke to his daughter.*
Around this time of year, we find our hearts pondering the life and works of St. Teresa of Avila, a very determined woman, foundress, and a well-known teacher of prayer. We may ask ourselves what was the one thing this saint gave to the world, a gift that has endured. Although Teresa had many gifts, the one thing that should be mentioned is that she taught the world how to be a friend of God. Without a lot of strenuous work on her part, Teresa walked in the light of God's promise to her, a promise that was fully realized in the Seventh Dwelling Place. What is attractive to the promises of God is that we need not wait until the end of our lives to see them unfold. The promise is there at work upon awakening, even before we know what day it is.
It seems helpful to reflect on what the special and unique promise of God to us might be. One way to find out is to ask ourselves what we like most about God. A corollary of this is to ask ourselves what we like the most about ourselves, something that seems to come naturally. It is this that we will leave to the world in the end.
* Rachel Naomi Remen, My Grandfather's Blessings . (New York: Riverhead Books), 2001, p.166.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
October
2003
My Vocation, My Mission
When it comes right down to it, there is something we all have in common, whether we are young or old, consider ourselves important, or not so important, whether we spend our day in the whirlwind of activity, or just sit around wondering. We all desire to discover our mission in life.
We know that St. Thérèse of Lisieux wrestled with this issue. After much anguish and struggle, she found that she would be love in the heart of the Church, and love in the heart of the world. With this discovery, she was ecstatically happy.
There is something else, though, that Thérèse gave to this world. She taught us how to receive. In her writings, she points out that prayer does not consist in doing much but in receiving much.
We know that God is continually giving to us from the first moment that we awake, and even while we are sleeping. When one ponders this gracious activity on the part of God, it would seem to be a sad commentary on life if there were no one available to receive what God is giving. If one further reflects on this, one soon realizes that receiving is also apostolic, that is, a service for others. How else do the gifts of God come into this world? Furthermore, with Thérèse, we receive with a deep sense of emptiness, itself a tremendous act of self-giving love that leads to union with God, and union with all of life.
On days when prayer, or life, are difficult, or we feel out of touch with our deeper selves, it can be a great help, and a solace, to ponder what God, through the intercession of Thérèse, might be wanting to give us, at any particular moment. We all long for that traditional rose, the rose that appears in so many different forms.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
July
2003
I Did Not Know It
I have found that there are some profoundly human experiences that can be described in just one simple sentence. Recently, in going through some old papers, I came across such a sentence: “Hope is the bird that sings in the soul before the light of dawn.” (Tagore) For days, I walked around with this quote inside of me. I felt enveloped in the ambiance of Hope. I also experienced what it is like to walk the world “before the light of dawn.”
In ancient times, seekers of the inner life were accustomed to asking their spiritual mothers or fathers for a “word” that would sustain them and give direction for life’s way. Today, this is referred to as the “monastic word.” In casual conversations, I sometimes ask God to speak through the other person. This approach is rather enjoyable. It’s like a little secret that goes on while the other is speaking. Sometimes the word comes without my asking.
Summertime, here at the monastery, is the season for visitors dropping by to say hello and to touch again the deeper things, including friendship. Winter snows have a way of deterring such special visits. Recently, on one such visit, a friend shared with us an event that occurred many years ago, a happening that has stayed with her. Hard times had come upon her. She prayed, of course, and when she did, the words of Psalm 138: 3, seemingly coming from nowhere, rose up within her: “When I cried out, O Lord, you answered. You strengthened my spirit.” Some translations speak of God giving the soul courage, or renewing the spirit. Interestingly enough, this shared “word” became a “word” for others.
Our friend went on to say that sometimes God answers us, not by taking the trial away, but by giving us courage and strength to bear it. Although most of us would prefer to sidestep hard times, we do know that trials have their own work to do for us, and often, in looking back, we find that difficult moments held treasured blessings, although we did not know this at the time.
With a stone for a pillow, we read that Jacob had a dream about a ladder resting on the ground and reaching to the heavens. (Gen. 28:10-22) With God standing beside him, Jacob heard the words: “Know that I am with you. I will protect you wherever you go. I will never leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” What a comforting “word”! When Jacob awoke, he exclaimed: “Truly, God was in this place, and I did not know it.”
As I meditated on this, I found my own soul presenting a “word” to God, who so desires to enter our neediness:
Speak to me, O Lord, a “word” that will sustain me this day.
Truly, I believe you are in this place, both in my inner life
and without. Help me to be just where I am, and where you
most desire to find me. I wish to be nowhere else.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
June
2003... 
Mystic Within
I have come to know that there is something we all have in common. It is there when we go to bed at night. We awake in the morning with it. We sense it, sometimes, when we are out walking on a nice day, or when the music is especially beautiful in church on Sundays. When we are very busy, the awareness seems to lessen. Very likely, we were born with it – that abiding thirst for God. However, sometimes, it seems like the One, Who made us this way, leaves this deep longing within us, unattended.
We come to wonder, then, what is meant by the experience of God. In this arena, many believe that the only way to experience God is when life is going very well. Jesuit writer, Karl Rahner, had a different thought on this. For him, there are many ways to experience God. He felt that we experience God right down the middle of everyday life.
For example, have we ever just managed to get through the day and survive? Often, this is an experience of God. Were we ever able to forgive without hearing the words: “I’m sorry”? Did we ever do the right things when no one was around? Did we ever do the right thing, knowing that the consequences would be unfavorable to us?
There are many other examples. Did we ever continue believing, even though we seemed to have no faith at all? Against odds, did we ever make efforts to love, mostly because we believed that every person is precious in the sight of God, hoping that, someday, we ourselves might come to grasp this fully, deep down? Did we ever walk, with a heart full of tears, and still kept on being kind and out-going?
Did we ever have a fear that wouldn’t go away, only to wake up some morning and not have it be there? I recall that one time, a long time ago, I felt bad about something. (At this point, I cannot remember why.) I went and baked two apple pies. When the pies were done, the sadness was gone. These are all experiences of God.
It would appear that thirsting for God not only propels us forward into God, but is at the heart of all real life, and all real prayer. In fact, it may be that longing for God is itself a very special and unique way of praying.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
Sometimes, I wish I could have met all those people who gave the world quotable quotes and then left this same world with the illustrious title of “Author, unknown.” In my own life, I find that there are quotes that keep coming back. One recurring saying is: “If you love something, set it free.
If it comes back, it is yours. If it does not come back, it was never meant to be.” (Author, unknown) Maybe the reason why some quotes endure, in spite of not knowing the name of the author, is because, initially, these words emanated from the Heart of God and are meant to be universal.
There are times, because of circumstances, we are forced to let go. Paradoxically, difficult times may end up serving us well in this. But, even if letting go is one option among others, why is it good to set free that which we love? Hopefully, we do it for the sake of the something, or the someone, we love. Also, there is always the possibility that we are shaping our lives in a manner counter to the gift given, and, more seriously, counter to the person we really are. Letting go is what mystics refer to as purification.
Strangely, we want to hold on to things that were never meant to be a part of our world. This “holding on” can prevent us from discovering, and seeing, what is really meant for us, things that, if accepted, will make us very happy. The other side of this, of course, is to accept with serenity what is meant for us, and to give thanks. In the face of this, it behooves us to pay attention to what keeps coming back, even though what appears may be in a different form. This returning could be from God.
I like to think that the Spirit, like a good shepherd, guards and holds with tenderness what is ours, always telling us which way to go. What kindness on the part of God!
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
April
2003
Henri Nouwen tells the story of a rabbi who asked his students how they could tell when the dawn had come. One student responded by saying, “When you can see the sheep on the hill.” Another suggested that one can tell that the dawn has come when a person is able to distinguish between a fig tree and a grapevine. “No,” said the wise one. “It is dawn when you can look into the face of human beings and you have enough light within you to recognize them as your sisters and brothers.”
Recasting the story to fit the season, one could ask the question: “When can you tell that Easter is happening inside of you?” While there are probably many answers, one possible answer could be: “We can tell that Easter has happened inside of us when we begin to see life differently.”
Some years ago, a friend had just returned from a thirty-day retreat given in Canada. People said to him: “So you were on a thirty-day retreat. You don’t look any different to me.” To this my friend responded, “ But YOU look different to me.”
There is another question:” Where does the light within come from, and how can we help it come to be?”
Early on, I learned that each new liturgical feast is not just a commemoration from the past. Something new and different actually happens. Thus, we can ask ourselves: “What will it be this year?”
Maybe, with Mary and the other women, and later with Peter and John, we should hurry off to the garden in search of the Risen Lord. And, if an angel tells us that the Risen One has gone on to Galilee, we are to go there, too. It is the expectant heart that invites the light.
*Henri Nouwen, Seeds of Hope , (New York: Bantam Books, 1989), p.204.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.