To become what I believe: March Madness Edition

It's been a little difficult to take my eyes off March Madness and, subsequently, to get anything done. The games are just *great*...in both the men's and women's tournament. Right now we are finding out if both the men's and women's teams from University of Miami will make the Final Four! (The men already won as of writing this post. The women are down at halftime.)

There have been so many nail-biters, so many comebacks. It's just been fun to watch, though anxious at times!

It reminds me of a piece I wrote for A Nun's Life during Lent in 2021. A Nun's Life is a website that helps Sisters connect and share their experiences of religious life with the broader community.

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To become what I believe

Do I grasp the Paschal Mystery? Of course not. Do I believe in it? You bet I do.

Our community heard a presentation a few weeks ago on grief and how we can use contemplative practices as part of the healing process. It was an incredibly moving presentation, especially considering how much grief we have had to bear this past year. To be reminded how normal it is to feel as heavy as we do right now was reassuring.

The speaker told us that she used to watch a lot of sports, and it was an emotional experience. She would get tense and anxious and easily excitable because of her vested interest in whichever team was her favorite to win. “It stole my peace,” she said. If the opposing team wasn’t playing fairly, her blood pressure might rise. If the game was turning into a nail-biter, and it was only the third quarter, you might find her yelling at the television or putting her body and her emotions into the experience.

As she began her contemplative practice, she realized she had to stop watching sports, or at least watching the games or matches in real-time, as we normally do. Instead, she began to record the games, looked up the score the next day, and then decided if she would watch. If her team won, she would watch. If not, well…you know how that goes if you have a favorite team.

Because she knew the outcome beforehand, she was able to watch the game with a greater sense of peace. Even if it didn’t seem as though her team would pull through, she was assured that at the end of the game, they would be the victors. There was no need for anxiety, for tension, for getting too caught up in something as insignificant-in-the-long-run as a sporting match.

Our presenter was a great storyteller, and hearing this alone resonated with me; I am a big sports fan myself. But far greater than any allegiance to any sports team, I have chosen to ally my life with the life of Christ. Our presenter arrived at the true end of her story. “We are Christians. We know the outcome of this game. We believe that the Paschal Mystery is our story, too.”

Why do I get so easily wrapped up in the small stuff of life? Why do I let one insignificant annoyance ruin my day? Why do I feel this desire to control so much that is out of my hands? Why do I allow so many little things to steal my peace?

I believe that our Lenten journey and the days of the Triduum end in “Alleluia.” Not just for Jesus, but for me, too. Can I hold closely to that belief when it feels like the score isn’t in my favor? Can I let go of the tensions and the anxieties of the day, reciting to myself the words of our dear mystic sister, Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well”? Am I striving to become what I believe?

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Soon we will know which college teams will be singing the biggest "Alleluias," and not long after that, we will sing our own as Christians. May these remaining days of Lent be rich with trust in the Paschal process in our own lives and in our collective story.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

My friend joked the other day that she always knows which flowers are in bloom by reading my blog! Here's the first crocus I found this year...at the Neighborhood Art House...a perfect place to spot it!

We helped put in the last pour of the Paschal candle the other night.

And we celebrated St. Patrick's Day last week...always a Lenten highlight...because Rose puts in 100% to make it extra festive!

In deep (and snowy) nights

Those 76ers are FUN to watch right now. Last night they came back from being down 21 to win by 1 in the final seconds, riding on the coattails of superstar Joel Embiid. But, in reality, based on the highlights, it seems to have been an incredible team effort. Oh, if only to live somewhere where the game was broadcast!

Basketball (college and professional) has been keeping me awake later than usual lately.

Speaking of nighttime... while they're always applicable, I think of these lines from Rilke as a particularly Lenten verse. They come from his book, The Book of Hours (II, 34), which is chock-full of beautiful, holy imagery.

In deep nights I dig for you like treasure.

For all I have seen
that clutters the surface of my world
is poor and paltry substitute
for the beauty of you
that has not yet happened.

Isn't that what we're doing during these forty days, digging deeply in the darkness to continue seeking God in our lives, anticipating the beauty of Resurrection? And goodness, don't I all too often complicate the process? Dragging along too much equipment, forgetting how simple and beautiful the search itself can be. Oh well, keep digging, Val.

The treasure surrounds us, everywhere.

The stained-glass from the other side...a less-frequently captured photo.

On a previous post, I showed the daffodils popping through a dead leaf,

and here they are, taller than yesterday's snow.

One morning last week I noticed the forsythia looked like they were starting to bud,

and now they have some snowy companionship.

Scholastica with her snow cap on.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Training Ground for Resurrection

I came across the same concept twice in one week in two different books I have been reading. So, I figured I better pay attention.

The concept is negative capability.

Coined by the poet John Keats, negative capability happens when one is "capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason."

Another description I read says, "The idea [of negative capability] ... centers on suspending judgment about something in order to learn more about it."

Sigh. Feels impossible! Yet necessary!

And, doesn't it sound like a good Lenten practice as we prepare for Resurrection?

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Poetry is often one of the best routes for me into the world of negative capability.

While I was going for my walk today, I listened to what might have been my favorite episode of Ezra Klein's podcast yet...with the poet Jane Hirshfield. (And if it does come in second place, it would only be to the episode featuring another poet, Ada Limón.)

I won't try to paraphrase or summarize the episode with Jane Hirshfield; it was too good, too comprehensive for that.

These poets do such an excellent job in their conversations, aided by Ezra's wonderful interviewing skills, to articulate the ways that poetry lifts us from ourselves and takes us into a fuller, more illuminated vision of the world.

Another way to practice Resurrection.

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I often want to find some meaningful or evocative photo to post here, so I was looking through my camera roll this morning for any with potential. I found this one that I love.

And this one, too...

But, while I was out walking and listening to Jane and Ezra, trying to find something else noteworthy enough for a photo on this blog, everything felt so mundane, so human, and even a bit melancholic.

Gray skies on a nondescript road...

A pile of random wood and other refuse...

Decomposing milkweed pods fallen to the ground...

Pretty earthy, indeed. But, humanity is where Resurrection happens. And these milkweed pods are empty...their seeds are out in the windy world somewhere, landing in time to plant themselves on earth again, ready to resurrect and nourish the metamorphosing monarchs sometime, somewhere down the road.

Let us walk in the holy presence.