Vocation & Call

We are the Leftover Fragments

Steve · June 23, 2025 · Leave a Comment

They all ate and were satisfied. And when the leftover fragments were picked up, they filled twelve wicker baskets. Luke 9:17

At mass yesterday for the Feast of Corpus Christi, we listened to the well-known and oft-told story from Luke’s gospel of the feeding of 5,000 hungry people who had gathered near the town of Bethsaida to hear Jesus preach. I’ve heard the story many times, of course, and I’m guessing you know it well, too.

And that’s the challenge. Sometimes when we know a Gospel story well we inadvertently tune it out. After all, we know it by heart. Yadda yadda yadda. What’s there to learn? So I was sitting with the choir yesterday, half-listening to the Gospel, when God kind-of grabbed me by the lapels and said, “pay attention, you dolt!”

They all ate and were satisfied.

And I thought, here I am, feeling pretty satisfied with myself – making time for mass in the middle of a busy Sunday, singing with the choir, doing that thing I do. Sharing in the body and blood of Christ on this feast day. Satisfied. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s good to be get filled up on Sundays, right?

Not THAT part, God nudged. Listen now:

And when the leftover fragments were picked up, they filled twelve wicker baskets.

Hold on, I thought. When the leftover fragments from the feast were picked up, there was, somehow, more than what they started with? Even after everyone had eaten? I mean, I knew that but…whoah. There’s something else going on here.

And somewhere deep I knew this “something else” to be true and important. It’s the same every Sunday. We come in hungry. We listen to Jesus. We share in the meal we don’t deserve, and we leave satisfied. But we also leave bigger and “more” than what we were when we came in. We are like the fragments of the meal, collected to be used again. Collected to be used to feed others.

We’re the leftovers from the feast. We are the fragments of the body of Christ. We’re not called to just be satisfied. We’re called to be more.

So what do you need me to do today, Lord?

Does Faith Leave Us Open to Change?

Steve · June 10, 2025 · 2 Comments

Last week, Sue and I were up early on our last full day in the San Diego area, prowling the relatively empty streets of the historic Gaslamp District for a breakfast place. We ducked into 6^th & G Breakfast Company, conveniently located a few blocks from our hotel on the corner of, well, 6^th and G Streets.

As we sat down, I found myself facing some of the restaurant’s evocative graffiti-like art, including the art shown above with the words, Amor Fati. My Latin is not what it should be so, of course, I Googled it. According to that veritable font of all wisdom, Wikipedia, Amor Fati is, “a Latin phrase that may be translated as “love of fate. It is used to describe an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in one’s life, including suffering and loss as a good or, at the very least, necessary.”

As I pondered the phrase and its meaning, my mind kept going to another piece of “art,” a little plaque that hangs on our screened porch back in St. Louis. It says, simply, “It is what it is.” That little saying, we believe, is an act of faith and a way of God-centered living. It’s a willingness to accept change as it comes and welcome the little daily surprises that arise as being, as Wikipedia described Amor Fati, “good or, at the very least, necessary.” Within the framework of Ignatian spirituality where I spend a good chunk of time as a spiritual director, writer and administrator, the phrase is a reminder that we can, indeed, “find God in all things.” Not just in the good and the beautiful and the obviously divine and holy. In ALL things. Faith requires us to be open to change and to find God in all those shifting moments.

All of this reminded me of another piece of street art that we saw earlier in the week just north of San Diego in the historic beach town of Carlsbad. The 18-foot-tall mural, shown above, is called “Catnap,” and was created by a local artist named Michael Summers. It features two large black and white tigers beneath rain-like drips of vibrant color. One is sheltered by an umbrella, while the other sleeps peacefully, allowing the colorful rain to change it into something new. A third tiger, a small cub, hasn’t made up its mind yet. And that’s exactly the theme of the mural, we were told by a local walking tour guide. Are we willing to allow ourselves to be changed?

Summers, I read in an online article, said the idea for his mural was inspired by a quote from the American Protestant theologian Reinhold Neibuhr, who once wrote: “Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you may become.”

While faith might sometimes be described as an unwavering belief in some things that never change — like the idea of a creative and omniscient God — faith also calls us to constantly re-examine our lives and see where change might be both good and necessary. Faith demands that we allow ourselves to be changed by, with, and for God and for those around us. Faith challenges us to see and move beyond the prejudices, hatreds and “isms” that were and still sometimes are baked into lives of those who would call themselves religious. Christianity has historically been a pretty good hiding place, after all, for bigots, racists, and supremacists of all kinds. We are called to change that, even as we change ourselves.

Jim Manney, in his book of daily Ignatian reflections, What Matters Most and Why, echoes these ideas through the lens of Ignatian spirituality. He writes:

One of the hallmarks of an Ignatian approach is flexibility. Plans need to be adjusted if circumstances call for it. New situations need to be studied and understood….This attitude is both liberating and worrisome. It’s liberating because it gives room for creativity and makes it more likely that a suitable solution will be found. It’s worrisome because there’s more room to make mistakes…. But if you believe that God can be found in all things, you don’t have much choice. God is lurking in the new, unexpected situation. To find him, you need to be ready to change your mind and alter your plans.

Discovering Fire (Again): The Innovation of Love

Steve · May 14, 2025 · Leave a Comment

Although I took the bare minimum of science and math courses in both high school and college, I am in these elder days a bit of a science geek. And by that I don’t mean that I understand the underpinnings and the “math” of science as much as I relish and pore over each new issue of National Geographic and Smithsonian magazines as they arrive each month and watch longingly for new episodes of Nature and Nova on PBS. So I’m a spectator scientist, at best.

I am particularly drawn to the storytelling of scientific innovation — to the documentaries, essays, articles and podcasts that give us insight to those brilliant scientists and thinkers who are addressing the very real problems faced by the world today. Last month’s National Geographic featured profiles of 33 “visionary changemakers who are striving to make the world a better place” in a diverse range of areas such as climate change, wilderness preservation, economic opportunity, and mental health, among others. At a time when it’s easy to turn away from such troubling horizons, editor Nathan Lump writes that these 33 individuals (for the 33 men who founded the National Geographic Society in 1988) are “decidedly not looking away.”

The past century has been a long and broad season of innovation, to be sure. Just consider that the Wright Brothers first got a few feet off the surface of Earth in 1903 and, just 66 short years later, we landed on the surface of the moon. Consider, too, the advances of medicine, technology, energy and architecture. Heck, consider that I’m sitting here on my back porch typing on a laptop computer, checking a few facts (like the date of the Wright Brothers first flight) in an instant on my cell phone. In college, I thought I was dealing with pretty advanced technology with my Smith-Corona portable electric typewriter and a bottle of Wite-Out®.

So we’ve made some great global strides, to be sure. We have found new ways to care for our Earth and those people and creatures that live on it. And yet, it seems we have failed (and keep failing) when it comes to the most elemental thing that God asks of us: To love one another as God loves us. We, as a society, so often fail to love in ways that would put human lives and dignity before wealth, corporate gains and political strength. We measure success in all the easy but wrong ways.

These early morning thoughts bring to mind the wisdom of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a 20^th-century French Jesuit, Catholic priest, scientist, theologian, and teacher. In his 1934 essay, “The Evolution of Chastity,” he wrote: “The day will come when, after harnessing the ether, the winds, the tides, and gravitation, we shall harness for God the energies of love. And, on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.”

We’ve done so much in such a short period of time. And, no doubt, some of the world’s greatest innovations were done out of love for the Earth and humanity. But imagine — just imagine — what might be accomplished if everything we did began with the kind of power, influence and great innovation akin to the love that God has for us. The change that kind of power would bring to the world would tower over the elemental innovations like rockets, the wheel and even, as Teilhard writes, fire.

For in the end, it will be on our ability to love and not turn away from those in need that we will be judged, both by God and by those who will circle our coffins and graves trying to speak a few words of remembrance. For it’s not what we accomplish and earn that matters. It’s not the financial or social legacy we leave behind that will endure. It’s how much and how well we loved.

I’ll give the final word today to St. Oscar Romero, the Archbishop of San Salvador who was martyred while celebrating mass in 1980: “In the evening of life, you will be judged on love.”

Stepping Out of the Boat and Into a Bolder Lent

Steve · February 20, 2025 · 2 Comments

Last week, I was reading and praying with the story of Jesus walking on the surface of the Sea of Galilee, as found in Matthew’s gospel (Matthew 14:22-33). It’s a well-known, frequently illustrated story, and one that I have been reading and trying to imagine since I was a child. The rough, roiling waves and the darkness of the fourth watch of the night (somewhere between 3 and 6 a.m.) all came alive for me as I imagined myself sitting scared in the boat (likely seasick, too). I could see (finally!) Jesus walking across the waves towards us and then stretching out his hand and inviting Peter (and me) to come walk beside him. It’s dramatic stuff.

It’s a story that illustrates the power and divinity of Christ, of course. It follows another extraordinary story of the feeding of five thousand people with just five loaves of bread and two fish. Lest we begin to think this Jesus is just another wise rabbi or perhaps some kind of prophet, we are given stories to remind us (once again) that Jesus is both fully human and fully divine. They are stories that call us into action ourselves, reminding us that lives of faith are not for the faint-hearted and lukewarm.

As 21^st-century, scientifically literate readers, we are faced with decisions to believe (or not believe) in what we know to be impossible. Water cannot just become wine. A few pieces of food cannot feed a multitude of hungry people. We are heavier than water and will sink if we step out of the boat.

And yet we find ourselves being beckoned to boldness of thought and action when we accept the call and mantle of Christ. The call to discipleship is the call to see more than meets the eye and strive for more than seems possible.

With lent approaching in less than two weeks (Ash Wednesday is March 5), I’m beginning to think about what it means to live more boldly. Lent seems a good time to begin to explore this possibility more fully, to dip my toes into the water of a life in Christ that will challenge and transform me even further.

I usually head into Lent with the best of intentions but not always the best and most challenging plans. So sometimes my meagre efforts fail a few weeks in, a little like Peter slipping beneath the waves when the water gets tough. In the midst of all of this contemplation, I am reminded that Lent is a time of both “fasting and feasting,” as the American motivational writer William Arthur Ward wrote in his now-famous prayer:

Lenten Litany of Fasting and Feasting

Fast from judging others; feast on the Christ within them.
Fast from emphasis on differences; feast on the unity of life.
Fast from thoughts of illness; feast on the healing power of God.
Fast from words that pollute; feast on phrases that purify.
Fast from discontent; feast on gratitude.
Fast from anger; feast on patience.
Fast from pessimism; feast on optimism.
Fast from complaining; feast on appreciation.
Fast from negatives; feast on affirmatives.
Fast from unrelenting pressures; feast on unceasing prayer.
Fast from hostility; feast on non-resistance.
Fast from bitterness; feast on forgiveness.
Fast from self concern; feast on compassion for others.
Fast from personal anxiety; feast on eternal truth.
Fast from discouragement; feast on hope.
Fast from lethargy; feast on enthusiasm.
Fast from suspicion; feast on truth.
Fast from thoughts that weaken; feast on promises that inspire.
Fast from shadows of sorrow; feast on the sunlight of sincerity.
Fast from idle gossip; feast on purposeful silence.
Fast from problems that overwhelm; feast on prayer that undergirds.
Fast from instant gratifications; feast on self denial.
Fast from worry; feast on divine order.
Trust in God.
And finally, fast from sin; feast on the abundance of God’s mercy.

Let’s begin here: Lord, give us the courage to step out of the boat, to go beyond the minimal trappings of lent “sacrifices” and find opportunities to be more for you and bolder in our walks of faith.

Bonus Track: Here’s a song I wrote many years ago with my friend Jim Russell and performed with my band, Nathanael’s Creed. It’s called “Step Out of the Boat.”

Remembering Elders and Mentors

Steve · July 31, 2021 · 1 Comment

Tomorrow I leave to give a weeklong retreat to retired Marianist brothers and priests in a care facility in Dayton, Ohio, my first retreat since the pandemic began. This community of men, who will be joined at the retreat by some younger Marianists who live in the area, have been hit hard in the past 18 months, losing more than 20 members due to COVID-19 and other health issues. I have a deep feeling that I will learn more from them than they will from me.

One of my talks will be about remembering and honoring those elders and mentors who have helped shape our lives – those who mentored us when we were young, who guided us on our path by their words and their deeds, by their successes and their failures. Sometimes we sought them out or maybe had them given to us. Sometimes they just appeared, as that old saying from Tao Te Ching says: “When the student is ready the teacher will appear.” And the second part of that famous quote is equally telling: “When the student is truly ready…the teacher will disappear.” For very often our mentors are only with us for a little while.

In Parker Palmer’s book, “On the Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity and getting Old,” he wrote this about his mentors: “My mentors saw more in me than I saw myself. They evoked that “more” in many ways — challenging me, cheering for me, helping me understand that failure is part of the deal. Then my mentors opened doors for me, or at least pointed me toward them.

When I was willing to walk through those doors, I found purpose and meaning. My mentors changed my life.”

Mentoring and being mentored is not a one-way street, as anyone who has been on either the giving or receiving end of it will tell you. Rather, it is a “gift exchange, where we get as much as we give,” Palmer says. This mutual sharing evokes the potential in each other. The theologian, professor, feminist activist, and civil rights leader Nelle Morton called this, “hearing one another into speech.” I often think of this as a spiritual director and as a person who receives spiritual direction…so very often I don’t really know what I’m thinking or maybe even what I am feeling or believing until I say it out loud to another person.

Mentoring gives us a chance to welcome each other into a relationship that honors our vulnerability and our need for each other.
Mentoring allows us to learn from each other’s creative failures, from their “falling down and getting back up.”

As Palmer describes, “mentors and apprentices are partners in an ancient human dance, and one of teaching and mentoring’s great rewards is the daily chance it gives us to get back the dance floor. It is the dance of the spiraling generations, in which the old empower the young with their experience and the young empower the old with new life, reweaving the fabric of the human community as they touch and turn.”

So we have these people plopped down in our lives somehow. Saints and sinners who fall down and get up and live to tell us about it and show us the way. They are gifts that never leave us, even if we go for years without thinking of the giver.

So today, ask yourself in this silence:

Who have been my mentors and guides?
Who believed in me when I was young?
Who changed me?
Whose words and life struck me somewhere deep and set me on this road?
Have I thanked them and thanked God for them?