Prayer

Living with Expectation, Gratitude and Availability

Steve · January 1, 2017 · 14 Comments

“We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Somehow, it’s January 1 once again. We have made yet another trip around the sun. I’m not one for making public declarations of my resolutions (although I do need to step up my walking and watch my portions once again…) but today I return to a question that might lead to a good resolution for all of us to consider on this first day of a New Year: How do we begin each day?

The older I get, my biological clock seems to be replacing the digital one beside my bed. On most days I awake a few minutes before the mechanical one goes off. So waking up is not a problem. Especially when you consider the alternative! I used to joke that I rarely saw the sunrise (“You mean to tell me that there are TWO six o’clocks?”) but now on most days I’m up before the day is. The question is, HOW do we wake up?

The Creative Spirit: “I’m busy…”

Steve · October 15, 2016 · 3 Comments

“The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.” – Galileo Galilei

I was up before dawn today and sitting on the screen porch as the world went from dark to light once again. It does this every day, or so I’m told, although I’m not always there to watch it. Or perhaps I’m up and about but not present enough to notice. This morning, I had scripture across my knee, a pen in my hand and a journal nearby, my favorite posture and attitude for taking in the world around me — silent words, quiet thoughts and the prayer of solitude.

I just finished one of the busiest few weeks of my professional life, orchestrating the logistics and planning behind the second presidential debate of this electoral season, a massive event at my university that attracted thousands of journalists of every ilk and angle and an estimated television viewership of some 60 million. I’m both exhausted and invigorated, honored to have been a part of it all (despite the content and tenor of the candidates, which I have no desire to get into here…) and glad that it’s in my rearview window.

Living Extraordinary Lives Begins with Gratitude

Steve · May 1, 2016 · 15 Comments

It’s an ordinary time on an ordinary day,
It’s the simple things we do that take our breath away.
And the more we pay attention to every day that fills our eyes
The more we live extraordinary lives.

– “Extraordinary Lives,” by Steve Givens and Phil Cooper

sunrise — Day's Beginning: Surprise me. SJG photo.

Gratitude, it seems to me, is the starting point for our lives of prayer, creativity and living well among others. But gratitude is easy to say and harder to live by because it’s hard work. Saying “thank you” to God and to others around us is the simplest thing to do and, yet, we so often forget to do it. Or don’t make time to do it. Or don’t make it a part of our daily experience.

Today I offer a short reflection, a brief, two-pronged approach to a life of gratitude, followed by a new song called “Extraordinary Lives,” composed with my friend and co-creator Phil Cooper. [The song will be on the forthcoming CD by the Mo Bottom Project, scheduled for release this summer. If you’d like to reserve a copy shoot me an email!]

The Seven Last Words: Spirit

Steve · March 26, 2016 · Leave a Comment

During the hours when Jesus hung on the cross leading up to his death, he uttered seven “words” (actually short sentences, as recorded across the four gospels), and these words continue to be meaningful and insightful to us today if we’re willing to spend some time in quiet with them. For they are not only remembrances of that day and of Jesus’ suffering and death, but also serve as reminders of how we are to live in our own moments of suffering. As we enter Holy Week, I offer seven short reflections on these words and ask you to consider what they might mean to you, today.

Jesus 7 — Into your hands I commend my spirit. SJG photo

Seven: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Luke 23: 44-46

It is the middle of the afternoon and darkness has descended over Jerusalem and its environs. This is no passing storm. Even the universe is rebelling, it seems, against the injustice of what is happening on Golgotha. The sun has been eclipsed, covered over by a lesser light, as seemingly has the life of Jesus the Christ. The veil of the temple — separating the Holy of Holies from the people — has been torn down the middle. There is no longer this hidden distance between God and humans. Jesus summons one last burst of energy and cries out, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” With those words, he breathes his last. Will this be the end of him and his idea of a new kind of kingdom where love reigns?

For those who believe, we know this is not the end of the story but rather the beginning of something new. It is a communion between God and the rest of us, born out of this painful death and Jesus’ surrender and giving up of his Spirit. For as Jesus gives his last breath he gives the promise of a new breath and new Holy Spirit that will continue to live in us — as Church, as individuals, as citizens of the world who must come to know that we need each other. (How are we doing with that?)

It is, indeed, his Spirit that matters. “Spirit,” from the same Greek word — pneuma — that gives us “breath,” Jesus is leaving us more than a memory. He is giving us an indwelling of God in our lives. Never again will we be alone, if we are prepared to watch and listen for the Spirit’s gentle movement. For like the gentle Jesus, this Holy Spirit is more like a whisper than a roar. More like an expired breath than a shout for attention. More like love than anything we can imagine.

Ask yourself in silence: How can I better still myself to experience the spirit of God breathed on the world?

Happy Easter to all!

The Seven Last Words: Finished

Steve · March 25, 2016 · 1 Comment

Six: “It is finished.” John 19:30

Jesus sips the sour wine and — in this last purely human act — knows that his end has come. But notice his words. Not “I am finished” but “it is finished.” This tragic scene before us, filled with passion and drama, is about much more than a man dying. This is beyond a sad tale of a failed prophet and teacher. This is the end of something bigger. This is the culmination of the Father’s plan for the salvation of the world.

From the manger in Bethlehem to the cross on Calvary, the Incarnate Word of God visited earth and lived among us so that God might draw us all to himself. That experiment in divine interaction was coming to a close, and none of us would ever be the same. Bowing his head, Jesus handed over his spirit.

The overall scene is brutal, violent and bloody, but the end reflects the gentleness of a God who only wants us to embrace and say yes to him. As he has done throughout his ministry and passion, Jesus does not lash out. He does not hate. He does not promise retribution to those who persecuted and killed him. He does not scream. He bows his head and “hands over” his spirit. No one has taken his life from him, for he has freely given it.

Here, in these simple and surely whispered words, is the model of living and dying that he has left us. Even as Jesus pours out his life for us, we are called to a life of surrender to God, to the creator and author of life who knows us better than we know ourselves. I am reminded as I write this of a prayer called the Suscipe from the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, that prayer of abandonment and detachment from the things of this world in exchange for something much greater — the presence and grace of God:

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.
You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.
Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.

Perhaps the best and most authentic response to the grace offered to us on the cross is giving away our own lives to others and to God. We are called to be servants. We are asked to be more for others than for ourselves. We are invited to love in the face of fear, confusion and hatred.

Ask yourself in silence: What in my life needs to change so I can pray, “Take, Lord, receive…all is yours now?”

Tomorrow: Commend