Christian

Today’s Word: Migratory

Steve · October 12, 2013 · 2 Comments

riverlands — Just passing through. Riverlands Bird Sanctuary, West Alton, Mo. SJG photo.

One of the things I like best about autumn and winter in the Midwest is watching the migratory birds that pass through on their way to Mexico and Central and South America. Here in St. Louis, near the confluence of the Mississippi, Missouri and Illinois rivers, clouds of birds fill the sky on any given day, moving, weaving and blending together like vast schools of fish. Even as scientists and naturalists study and better understand these migratory patterns and flyways, what they really can’t fully comprehend is this: What exactly pulls these birds to fly these long routes, which remain virtually the same over years and generations of birds? What is it within them that pulls them like a magnet to their winter homes and then back to their summer habitats? It’s a mystery, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

And what is it that over and over pulls us toward this thing — this power, this presence — that we call God? No matter how much we love this life and the world around us, this pull is a gentle yet powerful reminder that we are more than what makes us human. We are migratory, souls passing through our bodies on our way to somewhere else. Like birds flying the long trip for the first time, we cannot even imagine what it is we are traveling toward, but we continue to fly, drawn by a force we can only sense as being there, as being love. It’s a mystery, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

Ask yourself in silence: In these moments of silence, can I sense the pull of God? Am I willing to lean into this pull and follow?

Today’s Word: Consider

Steve · October 8, 2013 · 1 Comment

lily — Consider the lilies of the field. SJG photo.

In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus encourages us to “consider the lilies of the field” as a model for our lives. They don’t worry much about their lives, and neither should we, we are told. But let’s consider these lilies a little more. Consider these things: The lily does not choose where it stands in the field, or which weeds and thorns grow up around it. It cannot control the weather or how much sunlight it receives. In short, it cannot change the things it cannot change, like what kind of lily it is or what color. What it can do is stand and endure. It can “bloom where it is planted” and become the lily it was meant to become. It cannot become a tulip or an oak tree. The lily is beautiful on its own, as are we all in the sight of God.

In a recent Ignatian prayer exercise, I was asked to consider these lilies and, in doing so, to consider “how much of me is mine and how much is God’s.” It’s not an easy question, for some things seem to come from neither God nor me. Unless I abuse or don’t take care of my body, I don’t really “choose” health or illness, and neither does God choose for us illness or violence against us. Nevertheless, the choices we make, the will of God, and the things that just “happen” to us as humans in an imperfect world intermingle to become what we think of as our “lives.”

What we are called to do in the midst of all this imperfection is the punch line of this particular parable: “Seek God first and the rest will fall into place.” Like the lily, we cannot change where and how we were raised or how well we were nurtured. To a great extent we cannot control our health, although we are certainly called to care for ourselves and respect our bodies and what we put into them or do with them. Our greatest desire – wherever we are in life – should be responding to the will of the gardener and master planter, the sower of the seed.

Ask yourself in silence: What are the things I most worry about? Do I worry about things I cannot change? How often do I seek God first?

Today’s Word: Table

Steve · October 5, 2013 · 2 Comments

family — Family around the table. SJG photo

In the resurrection story of the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24) two of Jesus’ followers are walking on the road to Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, talking and worrying about all that had just happened. The resurrected Jesus joins them and asks them what the hubbub is all about. And they don’t recognize him. “Have you been living in a cave?” they ask him. “You haven’t heard about the teacher Jesus and how he was killed and now — and NOW — they say his body is gone.” Jesus reminds them of their teacher’s promise that he would rise again. And still they don’t recognize him.

It’s not until later, when he stops with them to share a meal, that their eyes are opened and they recognize him. When he breaks the bread, when he shares the table. Then they say, “I thought something odd was going on…were not our hearts burning within us as he walked and talked to us on the road?” This is the blessing of the table. Whether the table is the altar we gather around to celebrate the Eucharist with fellow believers or the dining table around which we gather to eat, drink and laugh with family and friends, the act of gathering around a common table can be a sacred, life-giving experience, a time of recollection and remembrance of all the graces in our lives. It is a time to enjoy the bounty of the earth, all the while recalling the numerous ways that God has insinuated himself into our lives without our even noticing.

Ask yourself in silence: When was the last time you felt your heart burning within you because you recognized the presence of God or Jesus in your life? How could your time with family and friends around the table be transformed into something more sacred?

Today’s Word: Unbelief

Steve · October 2, 2013 · 2 Comments

Foxtail weed at the end of summer. SJG photo

In response to Jesus’ statement, “Everything is possible to one who has faith,” the father of a possessed child in Mark 9 cries out: “I do believe, help my unbelief!” And with those words, perhaps not a more honest statement of faith has ever been spoken.

As a spiritual director, I have met with individuals who tell me that they are not sure they believe in God or that they have doubts in the divinity of Christ. Fair enough. In fact, a little disbelief or doubt on occasion might be just what we need to draw ourselves closer to God and see again with new eyes and fresh senses all that God has to offer. The opposite of doubt is not necessarily faith. The opposite of doubt may be a numb, mindless walk through life where we don’t stop to think about much of anything one way or another. That’s a sadder life that offers little chance to see the grace in the world around us. At least doubt says, “I’m not sure,” and perhaps opens the door to belief, especially if we’re willing to pray: “I’m not sure I believe in you but…if you’re there…help me out a little.” That’s faith, perhaps the size of a mustard seed, and it’s all we need. For that little nugget of faith helps us overcome our doubts, helps us to not be too overwhelmed by our disbelief. Faith is a gift, a chance to glimpse the sacred in an all-too-faulty human world. Faith allows us to embrace what we don’t understand, knowing that this “sacred ambiguity” nevertheless draws us closer to the mystery of God. What we need is just enough faith to ask for more.

Ask yourself in silence: Can I find belief in my disbelief? Do I have enough faith to ask for a little more?

Today’s Word: Known

Steve · September 28, 2013 · Leave a Comment

I realize I repeat myself on this particular notion perhaps a bit too often, but it lies at the very heart of my spirituality and I just can’t help it: God knows us by name. If not for this belief that we are known and loved — personally as well as communally as church — I’m not sure I could muster the energy to get out of bed and go to church, or read scripture or pray or care about the world around me. I realize plenty of non-believers care about the world and those around them, of course. But I can only speak for myself. Somewhere in the back of my mind there’s this voice that says, “You are mine,” and that’s what gets me out of bed, physically and metaphorically. It’s what gets me through both ordinary and extraordinarily rough days.

In John’s gospel (10:1-21) we hear the story of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, where Jesus is both the gate that keeps the enemy at bay and the shepherd who knows each and every one of his sheep and cares deeply if even one of them goes missing. Perhaps more crucially for us, we recognize the voice of the shepherd and will follow it wherever it goes. He says, “come here, sheep,” and we follow. Blindly follow? Not really. We know very little — simple, silly sheep that we are — but we do know what’s good for us most of the time. We follow the voice that says, “You are mine,” because it provides all we need. Our vision of God may — and probably should — change over time, but that voice that called us remains the same. And faith, Paul tells us in Romans 10:17, comes through hearing.

Ask yourself in silence: When did you first hear a call to believe, to hear Christ’s voice in your life? Are their other voices that drown out the gentle call of the shepherd?