Today's Word

Today’s Word: Astonished

Steve · September 3, 2013 · 4 Comments

sunset2 — Sunset lesson on Captiva. SJG photo (As always, click on photo for a larger view...)

A few nights ago, watching the sunset on Captiva Island in southwest Florida, I witnessed a young mother teaching her son a most important lesson. As the sun was near setting, she drew the three- or four-year-old close and helped him be still long enough to see what was going on. While he is too young to understand that the sun is not actually sinking into the ocean, the beauty and awe of the moment was not lost on him. The lesson was not in vain because he couldn’t understand the science. He stood perfectly still next to her and didn’t move until the sun was gone. Her effort was worthwhile and may be remembered for many years to come. If nothing else, this young man may grow up to remember that his mother loved sunsets and first showed them to him.

But more importantly, he may grow up to be a man who knows that it’s important and okay to slow down, to stand still and to watch the sun slide into the ocean. It’s appropriate to gasp in exhileration when the world explodes in beauty before you. It’s right and just to fall on your knees and acknowledge that the Creator of everything likes to show off a little every night and paint the sky for our enjoyment. He may grow to be a man who was taught by his mother to look outside himself to find the real meaning in life. He may learn to see God in the beauty of a Florida sunset.

May we all remember what it’s like to be amazed by something we don’t fully understand. May we all pray the words of the New England poet Mary Oliver:

Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.

Ask yourself in silence: When was I last astonished?

Today’s Word: Seed

Steve · September 2, 2013 · Leave a Comment

harvest — Ferguson Farmer's Market, St. Louis. SJG photo.

My father used to grow vegetables from seed. Beginning in the dead of winter, he would plant seeds (some purchased from the Burpee catalog, some gathered from last year’s harvest) in small containers in our basement, lit and warmed from above by fluorescent lights. By spring, the plants were big enough to be replanted in our backyard garden. This was my first lesson in patience and growth. If we want to see the fruit (and vegetables) of our lives, we have to plant the seeds and wait. Or we have to care for the seeds that someone else has planted.

In his book, A Search for Solitude, Thomas Merton wrote: “Every moment and every event of man’s life on earth plants something in his soul. For just as the wind carries thousands of invisible and visible winged seeds, so the stream of time brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest imperceptibly in the minds and wills of men. Most of these unnumbered seeds perish and are lost, because men are not prepared to receive them…”

God plants these “spiritual seeds” in our lives every day. They are the seeds that may grow into an abundant harvest — a cornucopia of increased prayer, spiritual wisdom, service to others and other fruits of the spirit. These seeds land on us each day, looking for fertile soil that has been prepared by our participation in prayer, worship, scripture and sacraments. Our part in all of this is one of awareness and perception. For being aware that the people and opportunities that enter our lives very well may be gifts and seeds from God, we are better prepared to respond and nurture these seeds into fruitfulness.

Ask yourself in silence: What seeds have settled into my life today? What seemingly insignificant and barely visible moments and people may be calling me to increased faith and prayer? What happened to me today?

Today’s Word: Crucified

Steve · August 31, 2013 · 1 Comment

The cross and the crucified Christ have become so ubiquitous in the lives of modern day Christians that we can sometimes forget what we are looking at and what it means for us. The image of Christ crucified passed down to us from European art and liturgical traditions generally shows a muscular, strong, triumphant Christ, even if he is shown in misery. And, of course, he usually looks distinctly European. Go figure. While visiting some of the mission churches in California and Texas, I have seen a different Christ emerge. And while some of the differences can be attributed to the nature of folk art vs. classical art, the result is nevertheless a bit more disturbing. The images pull no punches. This is pain. This is Christ as lamb of God, taking away the sins of the world. This is Christ as man and animal, as a beast of burden.

In Shusaku Endo’s novel, “The Samurai,” the Japanese-Christian author describes the crucified Christ as, “that ugly, emaciated figure with arms and legs nailed to a cross and his head hanging limply down.” So why are we drawn to this pathetic figure, this failure? Endo writes: “Somewhere in the heart of men there’s a yearning for someone who will be with you throughout your life, someone who will never betray you, never leave you — even if that someone is a sick, mangy dog. That man became just such a miserable dog for the sake on mankind.”

cross2 — Crucifix at San Antonio de Pala Asistencia mission, California. SJG photo.

This is the stuff we don’t much like thinking about and words we rarely if ever use. This is powerful, disturbing imagery, but it rings true somewhere deep down. This God-with-us, this Jesus, became a slave, a mangy dog. It was why he came. Yet he becomes the triumphant slave — the victor, the overcomer — not for himself, but for us. Without the crucifixion and subsequent resurrection, all of our prayers and worship are empty and in vain. Without this ghastly death, there is no hope of new life.

Ask yourself in silence: Is this my Christ? Am I willing and able to pray to Christ crucified? Where does he fit in my life?

Today’s Word: Barefootin’

Steve · August 30, 2013 · Leave a Comment

feet — Barefootin' on Captiva. SJG photo

One of the things I like best about beach vacations is the ability to spend huge swaths of my day barefooted. When I allow myself to think about retirement and the possibility of months at a time without shoes, a big grin spreads across my face and I must look goofy to anyone around me. Oh, well, a big part of paradise for me is no shoes. I think it has something to do with having a more direct connection with the earth. My feet on soft grass or, better yet, with sand between my toes, the waves gently washing over my feet as I walk along the beach. It’s the connection, unencumbered by leather and rubber soles.

It’s an attitude of linking and bonding that has something to teach us about our approach to God, I think. For when we try to approach God encumbered with the stuff of life, the going can be a little tough. It can be hard to find God with our iPhone attached to our ear or the stock market ticker running through our heads. God help us all if the much-ballyhooed computer screen eyeglasses ever become popular. When that happens, some people will never unplug themselves again. And that’s exactly what we need to do. We need to take time to unplug from the stimuli of our lives, to take off our shoes and approach God as if the very ground we walk upon is holy.

Gifts from the sea. SJG photo.

Ask yourself in silence: What are the “shoes” in my life that keep me from making a direct and full connection with God?

Today’s Word: Grandeur

Steve · August 28, 2013 · 7 Comments

Sue and I arrived in Fort Myers Beach in southwest Florida this evening for a week away celebrating our 33rd anniversary. We spent our honeymoon just a few hours north of here in 1980 and have been back to the area many times over the years. Our plane was a little late landing, and by the time we rented the car and drove to the beach, the sun was about to set. We rushed into the lobby of the small hotel on Estero Blvd., checked in, and — before we even went to our room — ran to the beach.

We turned the corner at the edge of the building and this is the sunset we encountered, the sky aflame with yellows, reds, oranges, and spotted with dark, ominous clouds. The world can take your breath away at times, as God knows well. So he keeps surprising us, even though we’ve perhaps sat and witnessed hundreds or thousands of sunrises and sunsets in our lives. When you think about it, there’s no reason for all this beauty, really, other than to amaze us, to make us a little weak in the knees and a little more aware of God’s grandeur and majesty. My mind went immediately to Gerard Manley Hopkins’ great poem:

Like shining from shook foil. Ft. Myers Beach, 2013. SJG photo

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed.

And later in the poem…

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs –
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Ask yourself in silence: When was the last time I was made weak in the knees by God’s grandeur?

* * *

I wrote about this same poem a few years back. I was first introduced to it back in college and it comes to mind whenever I find myself face to face with a sunset…