Romance

I recently heard a speaker quote Oswald Chambers: 

“Get into the habit of saying, ‘Speak, Lord,’ and life will become a romance.”

I was struck by the idea, and I tried to put it into practice.  Changing a diaper, sitting in traffic, watching the news, working – I said, “Speak, Lord.”  It was a simple thing to do, a simple way to invite God in, to allow him to speak to me when otherwise I would have just been listening to myself.  I became more aware of his presence.

But what did Oswald Chambers mean by “romance”? 

When we love someone – especially if we are in love with them – we want to be with them.  We want to share everything with them.  This is a natural and relatable human experience.  As it turns out, we are with God all the time, but we rarely call out to him.  We rarely seek the God who is hiding in plain sight in our world, in our day, in each moment.  We are with the one we love, but we don’t realize it.  We aren’t listening for the quiet voice of the beloved.

Jesus described this pervasive divine presence in his own way:  “The Kingdom of God is among you” (Lk. 17:21).  Indeed, the presence, the reign, the kingdom of God grows, like a mustard seed, from something very small into a wonderful, shady bush where birds can land and rest (Lk. 13:18-19).  It grows this way in our lives, too – as we become more aware of how close he is, how much he loves us, how much there is to share.  The harsh world outside can feel more like a shady bush if we are living in it with the one we love. 

Sounds romantic, doesn’t it?  Speak, Lord!  

Transfigure Me, Lord

In preparation for an upcoming talk on aging as a time of spiritual grace, I’ve been thinking a lot about the changes we undergo as we age.  I wrote this litany for the program, and I wanted to share it here. 

Whether we are growing old or just growing older, the transitions and challenges we face can be painful.  But as in all kinds of change, in nature and in life, through pain and transition, we can become something new.  In our surrenders, we find the new life we have longed for. 

Like Christ on the mountain, we are transfigured as we age.  We are changed from within and without.  Outwardly we age; inwardly we can be illuminated.  Like the Transfigured Christ, we can shine like the sun!

So pray with me:  “Transfigure me, Lord!”  Click on the file below to view or print the litany.

Transfigure Me, Lord:  An Aging Prayer.pdf

Upcoming Event: The Spiritual Adventure of Our Later Years

I'm excited about an upcoming event I will be doing with Ruth Mulhern, R.N., a retired hospice nurse who is full of life, wit and wisdom.  Ruth and I will be presenting together on various aspects of aging.  Ruth will be giving some "nuts and bolts," then I will be talking about the spiritual potential we have as we age.  We want to present a positive but realistic vision of how the aging process, though challenging, can bring us closer to God and teach us the beautiful art of surrender.

The morning will include prayer, presentations, time for quiet reflection, and a bit of discussion.

Below you will find the details of the event as well as registration information.  Feel free to contact me with any questions.  I would love to see you there!

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Morning of Reflection:  "The Spiritual Adventure of Our Later Years"

Have you ever thought of your later years as the greatest spiritual time in your life?  While aging naturally presents us with challenges, there are ways to open our minds and hearts to new possibilities.  Join us for an Evening of Reflection as we consider the graces available to us in our later years.  We will also reflect on our “spiritual legacies” – the spiritual blessings we want to leave behind for future generations. 

Caritas Christi Retreat Center, Hamden, CT

Thurs., Oct. 8, 2015, 10 a.m.-12 p.m.

To register, call Sr. Jeanne Marie at the Caritas Christi Center:  203-281-2569.

I'm writing for CATECHIST magazine!

Beginning with the current September issue, you will find my reflections on the Sunday Gospels in CATECHIST magazine in a monthly feature called:  “Sunday throughout the Week:  Lessons for the Sunday Gospels.”  I’m excited to be a part of CATECHIST magazine and its mission to support catechists with spiritual enrichment, classroom advice, useful materials, and creative ideas. 

CATECHIST has been around for a long time – I used to read all the old copies that Sr. Blanche left in her office when I was a D.R.E.!  Even the issues that were 10 years old (or older, God bless her!) were helpful to me.

The folks at CATECHIST have given me permission to publish one of my Gospel reflections per month on my blog.  This coming Sunday is Catechetical Sunday.  Many of you are catechists, so I wanted to share this Sunday’s reflection, with permission from CATECHIST magazine.

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September 20, Catechetical Sunday

Read:  Mark 9:30-37

Reflect: Although this week’s Gospel reading is simply a continuation of Mark’s narrative, it seems it was hand-picked for Catechetical Sunday! The lectionary has provided a lovely meditation for catechists on this special day.

As Mark’s Gospel narrative moves forward, Jesus continues to teach his disciples that suffering awaits him in Jerusalem. Mark plainly states that his disciples do not understand. In fact, their disregard for Jesus’ message is so profound that rather than taking his words to heart, they begin to argue with one another about which one of them is the greatest.

But it is this self-centered and woefully human argument that prompts a great teaching moment from Jesus—and a moment that catechists should treasure. In order to teach the disciples about true greatness, Jesus places a child in their midst. He embraces the child. And then he says something unbelievable: to receive this child—to love him, teach him, embrace him—is to love Jesus himself, and in loving Jesus, to love the Father.

This message is for you on this Catechetical Sunday. You are not a catechist for the glory or the greatness. You never expected that. You are a catechist for the sake of the little ones. When you receive them, you already know that you receive the Lord. In this story, the child represents all of those who are often overlooked or who seem unimportant in the eyes of the world. To serve such a one is true greatness. As a catechist, you already get it: “If anyone wishes to be first, he shall be . . . the servant of all.”

Ask Yourself:  How does my role as a catechist help me understand true greatness? Do I see Christ in the children I serve?

Ask Your Students:  Did you know that Jesus taught adults they could love God by loving children? Does this make sense to you? Why or why not?

Pray:  Lord Jesus, in my work as a catechist, I receive you as I receive the children in my life.

Reprinted with permission from CATECHIST magazine.  For subscription information visit, catechist.com. 

The Death of Our Loved Ones Makes Our Deaths Easier

When I was in 6th grade, on a beautiful day in September, my best friend’s mother died of cancer.  It was September 8, the feast day of the Birth of Mary.  My friend’s mother was a faithful Catholic, and her name was Mary.  I wanted to believe there was some connection.  I wanted to believe that death had meaning and purpose.  I wanted to believe that God had not abandoned this family.

This was my first real experience with death.  Watching my friend process and accept her mother’s death was an education.  I saw the pain in her family, but there was an undercurrent of hope that made it all just bearable.  Perhaps some measure of her mother’s own faith remained in the hearts of each member of the family, and they wisely clung to it.

Hope in God does not stop death – it did not stop the death of Jesus – but it provides a fuller perspective on living and dying.  It is the horizon that prevents us from becoming totally disoriented in an uncertain world.  It is the invitation to believe that the end of a temporal life is but the beginning of an eternal one.

When my grandmother died some years later, I clung to that same Christian hope.  I imagined her reuniting with all of her friends and family members who had passed on before her.  And I imagined our own reunion in the future.  I realized then that when my time came, my own death would be easier because I knew someone was waiting for me on the other side – a family member, someone close to me.  I realized that even in death our loved ones serve us.  Their death makes our own death easier.  They have gone before us to share in the triumph of Christ and the power of his resurrection.  With Christ, they say to us, “I go to prepare a place for you…so that where I am, there you may be also” (Jn. 14:3).

In the parish of my youth, tucked away in a side office, there was a cross on the wall.  On the cross was a placid but triumphant Christ the King.  Arms outstretched on what an old prayer called his “instrument of torture,” his face, his raiment, his body seemed to say, “Take that, death!  Look at me!  I am healthy and robust!  On this cross, I wear a crown!  For everlasting!”  It was an image of Christian hope, that orienting horizon.  

The pain of death is part of life, and we share it with those we love.  But our hope is in what comes next, in what we will share with them when our own time comes.  Our hope is in the triumph of Christ, the God who raised him from the dead, and the place he has prepared for all of us to be together. 

If it were not so, Jesus said, I would have told you (Jn. 14:2).