creation

Today’s Word: Night

Steve · September 12, 2013 · 2 Comments

Last night I spent the night as the only person in the Ignatius House Jesuit Retreat Center outside of Atlanta. I arrived in the evening so I would be ready to present a retreat today to a group of (what turned out to be) inspiring, incredibly open and courageous cancer patients, along with their supportive family and friends and some dedicated and equally inspiring caregivers and pastoral care workers. More on that tomorrow. But last night I found myself all alone in the big ole rambling place. “Sounds creepy,” said Sue and our daughter Jenny on the phone. But it was just the kind of silence and darkness that I needed. Night — especially a dark and quiet night out in the country — often gives focus to my prayer and pulls my thoughts to God more intensely because the dark and the silence block out the noise and light of the world. So I was not feeling creepy but, rather, deeply.

I wandered the halls a little. I sat in the small chapel for an hour and a half reading, praying and working on the next day’s talks. I sat out on a balcony and watched a spider spin a web. Midnight was approaching and I could have stayed up much later; would have if not for the knowledge that I had to get up early to begin my day. I reluctantly turned in, but not before offering a prayer to the Creator of the night — the artist of darkness and the composer of exquisite silence.

A Night Prayer

Under the veil of dark
I turn to you, Lord
To illuminate the night
To lighten my mind
To enlighten my soul
To recall my day
To find your movements
To begin to begin again
To anticipate tomorrow
To live in hope.

Ask yourself in silence: Do you find God in the darkness and quiet of the night? Do you take the time to review your day in the evening and prepare for the next day?

Today’s Word: Rain

Steve · September 8, 2013 · 2 Comments

Today’s word is rain because, well, it’s raining. I’m up early this morning after a late night out with my band, and I’m sitting in my favorite chair next to an open door. The early morning breeze is cool and a gentle rain has been falling for the past hour or so. Off in the distance thunder rumbles. This rain, hitting off the deck outside the door and splashing noiselessly into the thirsty earth, today speaks to me of prayer and the presence of God.

St. Ignatius once described our interaction with the Spirit as “lightly and gently, like a drop of water that enters into a sponge.” Think of the gentleness of that; it’s barely noticeable until we are filled. Without the Spirit, we are an empty shell of being, dry and useless, just taking up space. But when we open ourselves to the Spirit, when we set ourselves out in the rain, so to speak, we can be filled, inundated, inebriated even by the gentle yet powerful presence of God. Then we become more that we could ever become on our own, filled with joy and purpose and ready to serve others.

Ask yourself in silence: Do I make time to “set myself out in the rain?” Am I willing to empty myself of my own desires in order to be filled by the Spirit of God?

Today’s Word: Sustained

Steve · September 4, 2013 · 1 Comment

The egret goes down to the shore everyday and waits for the fish to come in. Its beady eyes pierce the sand and the foam and — quick as lightning — it plucks a minnow from the froth. Moving away from the waves so as to lessen the chance of escape should the prey be dropped, the bird manipulates and maneuvers the tiny fish in its beak until it finally tips its head back and swallows it whole. Then the egret goes back and does it all again. And again and again, answering some inner egret call, taught by a preceding generation of like-minded egrets. It does what egrets do and thus is sustained.

We, too, seek a shore that sustains. We search for an edge, a cusp that connects our world to the sustaining sea. Day after day we hunt and peck, hoping our efforts are not in vain, transfixed on an idea that there must be something meaty swimming in the froth of our lives, something that will get us through our days, our months and years. What we grasp there we must also judge. Is it what we need? Is it real and healthy or a piece of plastic that can harm? Both good and bad float in the foam. We need quick, discerning vision and even quicker movements that allow us to reach out and grab what the sustainer offers — something fresh, alive, whole and holy. Just what we need and nothing less or more.

Ask yourself in silence: What sustains me? What gets me out of bed and pulls me through my day?

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: 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?