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Called to be “Poor in Spirit”

Steve · January 31, 2021 · 5 Comments

Artwork above courtesy of the artist, Steve Tadrick.

It’s the first of the beatitudes. It comes easily to mind and rolls effortlessly off our tongues: “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” But what exactly does it mean?

Jesuit priest and author James Martin writes: “If you ask a practicing Christian if he should be charitable, he will say yes. If you ask if he should be “poor in spirit,” he might say, “huh?”

“Blessed are the poor in Spirit” is more than just the first beatitude. It’s the one on which all the others are built and can be likened to childhood, according to renowned theologian Gustavo Guttierez, OP.

“It is a stance of trust and dependence on God as source of life,” Guttierez writes in his book, In the Company of the Poor. “We can all be spiritual children when we place our lives in the hands of God. The requirements of discipleship are stated fundamentally in the first and most critical blessing: being poor in spirit. The other blessings are variations and shades of the first. Disciples are those who make the promise of the kingdom their own, placing their lives in God’s hands.”

So being poor in spirit is not a meditation or a prayer — it’s a stance of our dependence on God and should lie at the very heart of everything we do. It is a reminder that:

God is God and we are creatures: created to praise, love and serve God.
We should have a radical dependence on God for everything.
We are called to be aware and grateful for our gifts and talents, offering them back to the Giver.
We must be willing to let go of these gifts in order to serve others.
We must empty ourselves so that God can fill us.

Jesus is the model for this kind of living. Jesus lived in material poverty, not as an end in itself but as a call to us to deepen our commitment to the poor, to live simply and in freedom with respect to the things we own and have, such as our possessions, talents, reputation and influence.

This “spiritual poverty” is an invitation to freedom — an interior freedom of the mind and heart that allows us to overcome ourselves and our disordered affections when it comes to making the daily decisions (large and small) that come to define us. It is the freedom to know ourselves as we are made by God, complete with both our gifts and limitations. Freedom and poverty of spirit allows us to be honest with ourselves because we are, above all, children of God.

Poverty of spirit is an awareness that we are “coming from God, going to God, and being with God.” (John J. English, SJ)

We begin to live lives “poor in spirit” when we put God — and not ourselves —at the center of our lives. We become more aware of that divine presence, more aware of God’s call and our response. We become more aware of what keeps us from responding and what creates chaos in our souls, leading to poor choices that give into our fears, prejudices, greed, self-interest, need to control, perfectionism, jealousies, resentments and self-doubt.

Without poverty of spirit and spiritual freedom, we become excessively attached to the things that — while they might be good in themselves when ordered and directed to the love of God — become disordered when they push God out of the center. Without poverty of spirit:

We resist admitting our reliance on God.
We are tempted to try and make it on our own.
We are more likely to despair when we fail.

Living “poor in spirit” is a life-giving goal and stance to take, a turn toward living with humility and in the love and grace of God.

“Poverty of spirit is not just one virtue among many,” wrote Johannes Baptist Metz, a 20^th century German Catholic theologian. “It is the hidden component of every transcending act, the ground of every theological virtue.”

It’s where we are called to stand.

Ask yourself in silence or while watching the music video below:

What are the things keeping you from living in spiritual freedom and poverty of spirit right now?
Of what do you need to be emptied?

Leadership: Standing Still and Stepping Out

Steve · August 9, 2020 · 12 Comments

(First in a series of posts about being the kind of servant-leaders the world needs.)

Generally speaking, Sue and I enjoy sleeping through a good thunderstorm, but last night Mother Nature put on a display of thunder, lightning, driving wind and incessant downpour that made us jump out of bed a few times just to make sure the world hadn’t come to an end and our house wasn’t floating away.

Luckily, the morning brought some cool and calm, and we spent a good chunk of the morning on the back porch watching the gold and house finches, chickadees and hummingbirds visit our feeders out in their storm-soaked world. They seem no worse for the wear. The squirrels go on as ever, and that’s a story for another time. Someday soon, I intend to write an insightful essay about how to love the pesky “squirrels” in our lives. But as they just recently destroyed another birdfeeder, that time is not yet.

As always, there seems to be a lesson to be learned from the two great works of “scripture” in our lives — nature and the written word of God. Today, both are speaking to me of resilience and of the necessity of finding pieces and places of quiet and solitude in order to be effective leaders — at home, at work, in our churches and other organizations.

Today’s readings (for the 19th Sunday in Ordinary Time, for those of you who follow the liturgical cycle) give us two stories that resonate with the storm that was thrown at us last night. With last night’s tempest still lingering in the air and in my memory, we get stories from both the Old and New Testaments about finding God in the storm. The lessons are clear, especially for leaders who frequently find themselves trying to navigate themselves and others through the most recent cloudburst. (I almost wrote “unexpected cloudburst” but that would be poor leadership indeed, huh? For the storms, however far apart, will always return.)

In the first reading (1 Kings 19:9-13), we are reminded that sometimes being a leader requires us to channel our inner Elijah, standing at the mouth of a cave (at the front of our organizations?) amid strong winds, crushing rocks and consuming fire and still having the faith and the wherewithal to seek the quiet whisper of God’s voice that says, “Here I am, never mind the storm.” If we’re going to lead others effectively through rough times, we need to put ourselves in the right place to hear that voice. That “place” is a regular return to prayer — to quiet, to solitude, to “silence,” even when the world and those in it seem intent on screaming in our general direction.

In today’s gospel reading from Matthew 14, we read the well-known story of Jesus walking on the water to comfort his friends, stranded as they are in a storm-rocked boat in the Sea of Galilee. Jesus, compassionate leader and teacher that he is, leaves his needed place of quiet and solitude and prayer (see above!) and sets out to help his friends, walking on the waves to prove his point and get their attention. For the floundering, fearful, faltering followers (and future leaders) in the boat (that’s us, too) the lesson is obvious: When we’re getting hit hardest, when we are most confused about what to do, we need to look beyond our abilities to navigate a storm by ourselves. We need to watch for Jesus walking and working in the most unlikely of places — perhaps where we seem least likely to find him even though we ought to know better by now. Like Peter, we need just enough faith to step out of the boat and into the storm instead of cowering in the bow and waiting for it all to pass.

We seek God in quiet. We are nourished and calmed by that presence. But we also must be prepared to wade into the depths and find a hand waiting for us. Alone, it can all seem too much to bear. With that hand in ours, it’s still not a walk in the park on a sunny day. Storms always return. But that hand is enough. We never lead alone.

Prayer Time: Waiting for My Return

Steve · July 2, 2020 · 10 Comments

Father’s Day 2020 on the Meramec River in the northern Ozarks.

Today I awoke to a cool and refreshing morning that I know will sizzle and steam away as St. Louis-in-July heat and humidity takes hold of the rest of the day. On the back porch I watched the goldfinches visit their feeder and waited for the doe and two fawns to take their daily stroll through the property behind me.

I need this time in the morning, a time to slow and quiet down, a chance to regather my thoughts and point myself in the direction of Creator and creation. I slipped on my headphones and listened to my friend and musical collaborator Phil Cooper’s beautiful solo piano piece aptly called “Prayer Time,” composed back in 2005. I listened again and again, and the images that appeared were ones of flowing water — refreshing, cleansing, new and as ever-present and ever-changing in our lives as the great unchanging changer we call God. These lines came to me:

You are a stream running through me
flowing forth from deep within
seeping in like some ancient spring
hidden in the grass by the corner of the field.

Even in dry seasons you remain
a trickle of nourishment and hope in my dryness
never fully gone, only lost in the tall grass for a spell
still ever present and watching, waiting for my return.

The images and emotions of this running water kept coming, so I spent the rest of the morning creating the video below for Phil’s music. You need and deserve these three minutes.

Grace and peace to you. Grab some silence and solitude for yourself. God will show up.

With the Faith of a Child (with video)

Steve · June 11, 2020 · 2 Comments

Jason Parker Deffenbaugh. He smiles when I sing to him, and that can be the best part of my day.

Earlier this week, I was holding my youngest grandson, Jason. He was born prematurely back in January and weighed in at less than four pounds. Five months later, he is up over eleven pounds and doing well. As I held him, I thought about what it means to have the kind of “childlike faith” that Jesus asks of us. What does it really mean?

I don’t think it means unquestioning or naïve faith, first of all, nor does it mean blind faith that leaves no room for reason and a developed mind that questions. The faith of a child, I think, is about living in abundance and potential. It’s about trusting that we will be provided for and that from that abundance comes the belief that all things are possible through Christ.

Children believe they can accomplish anything they set their minds to because they haven’t yet been given a false sense of their own limitations. That will come soon enough. But while they are children, their “enough” is being held and fed, comforted and protected, playing and sharing and quickly forgiving, even when they don’t understand the world and all it holds.

And isn’t that the kind of faith Jesus wants us to have?

Today, I offer a new song and video created just this week with my songwriting partner and friend John Caravelli. Between us, we have eleven granddaughters, and this is a song for them, their joy, their resilience, their faith.

Kindness must follow faith

Steve · May 16, 2020 · 4 Comments

This originally appeared as a “Faith Perspectives” column in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch on May 15, 2020.

During a safe and appropriately socially distanced online gathering recently, singer-songwriter Carrie Newcomer had this to say about what is required during this time of fear, confusion and isolation: “Kindness is love’s country cousin. It shows up and does the dishes without asking. Kindness —not grand gestures — will save the world. Love is big and hard to get our arms around. Kindness is human sized and changes everything.”

I paused for several weeks before considering how I might write about all that is going on (and not going on) in the world right now. After all, what could I say about the Corona virus and its effects on society that hasn’t been said in a hundred different ways by a thousand different writers? After a few days of such pondering, I landed on the need for the kind of kindness that is “human sized and changes everything.”

“Being kind” is, on one hand, obvious and simple. We teach it to both our toddlers and our dogs. But it is, on the other hand, perhaps the very best we have to offer right now, and it seems to be showing up in abundance. People are finding creative and appropriate ways to reach out in kindness and care for each other, even though they are — and must be — isolated from each other. Social media, for all its shortcomings, is at least giving us access to these moments of light right now. We are seeing nearly constant examples of those who are doing what they can to make the world a little brighter and connected in a time of uncertainty and distance.

Musicians are posting free “concerts” from their living rooms and kitchens. Publications are giving free access to content. People are supporting local restaurants and other businesses while maintaining that safe and critical distance. Churches and ministers are offering worship services, counseling and spiritual direction virtually, and the flock is lining up to use them.

And, of course, there are those who continue to provide direct services to those in need because they continue to respond to their chosen vocations, even knowing that it puts them and their families at risk. First responders and medical professionals head up that list, but those who stock our grocery stores, take away our trash, keep us informed and repair our infrastructure also deserve our gratitude. The next time we are tempted to complain about what’s not on the shelves, let’s look around and see everything that is. And let’s remember to leave enough for the next person in line.

For Christians, “being kind” is an imperative response to the gift of love we say we have received through Jesus. If we really believe that the greatest commandment is to love God with all of our hearts, souls and minds and to love our neighbors as much as (or more than) we love ourselves, then we must be prepared to do the very best and most kind things we can do right now. For most of us, that means staying inside and using the technology we have to stay in touch, to deliver comfort, to be creative and shed a little light on a world that has grown a little darker.

For those who must leave home and family to serve the rest of us, know that our gratitude and prayers go with you into the dark recesses of the human pain and suffering you must encounter and touch. We could use a few grand gestures of love and change right now, but let’s not give up on the small kindnesses that will continue to save the world.

So stay where you need to be. Wash your hands. Follow the rules. Feel our prayers, and be held in the palm of God’s hand.