tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34192540589893965152024-02-07T09:15:27.875-05:00Walking In The Holy PresenceValerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comBlogger428125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-74702506711141698852023-11-16T09:32:00.001-05:002023-11-16T09:32:14.161-05:00Pax in Terra: A Meditation from Pema Chödrön"<i>One of the astronauts who went to the moon later described his experience looking back at Earth from that perspective. Earth looked so small, he said. Just a single sphere hanging in space. It made him very sad to realize that we have divided the world arbitrarily into countries that we're fiercely attached to, with borders we keep waging wars to protect. What we do just doesn't make sense, he realized. We have just this one Earth with one people to take care of it, and the way we're going about it is crazy.<br /><br />Chief Seattle had the same insight more than a hundred years ago:</i><br /><blockquote>'We are all children of the Great Spirit. We all belong to Mother Earth. Our planet is in great trouble, and if we keep carrying old grudges and do not work together, we will all die.<i>'"</i></blockquote><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg223MjjpnOvB0u1mCEJfBm3i4Pojet-pQV77zxmlWkdQDDZYAxsZt0pCTz29M_mjowItGjqfGuQWqG173Qy9YMnX9GjzkpcZt9c_UuGtUrMEdv5mocc41cu4TdMhK9eCGOs6Sn5RwPBYrxFBY69n-bzQ1C3j6YtvxTu-9L1eUs6ftmiMg18cruX-k6HC4l" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="2400" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg223MjjpnOvB0u1mCEJfBm3i4Pojet-pQV77zxmlWkdQDDZYAxsZt0pCTz29M_mjowItGjqfGuQWqG173Qy9YMnX9GjzkpcZt9c_UuGtUrMEdv5mocc41cu4TdMhK9eCGOs6Sn5RwPBYrxFBY69n-bzQ1C3j6YtvxTu-9L1eUs6ftmiMg18cruX-k6HC4l=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-37896771698751762682023-09-13T18:53:00.000-04:002023-09-13T18:53:08.993-04:00The Many Shapes of Grief or, a Little Bit of Everything<a href="https://walkingintheholypresence.blogspot.com/2023/08/tending-growth.html" target="_blank">After my last post</a>, one of my sisters stopped me by the community room and told me about a podcast from Anderson Cooper. In <a href="https://www.cnn.com/audio/podcasts/all-there-is-with-anderson-cooper">the eight-episode series called<i> </i></a><a href="https://www.cnn.com/audio/podcasts/all-there-is-with-anderson-cooper"><i>All There Is</i></a>, Anderson explores grief from his own experience of the deaths of his father, brother, and mother. Each episode is unique and exquisite. And while they were a challenging listen in parts, I'd give the series an A! I was quite grateful for the recommendation.<br /><br />I enjoyed each episode, but <a href="https://www.cnn.com/audio/podcasts/all-there-is-with-anderson-cooper/episodes/ae2f9ebb-1bc6-4d47-b0f0-af17008dcd0c" target="_blank">the one featuring Stephen Colbert</a> was a highlight for me...taking me back to my high school and college days when I had a one-sided love affair with him each night on <i>The Colbert Report</i>. He told the story of his father and two closest-in-age brothers who died in a plane crash when he was only 10. Stephen said, <i>"My experience of grief has made me long for beauty."</i><div><br /></div><div>How couldn't I think of dear Mary Miller? Someone for whom beauty was an essential, a non-negotiable of life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have been spending a few days down the shore enjoying some time away; beauty abounds. Just the first evening we were sitting bayside with this incredible view of the myriad, varied clouds while the sun poured through them. Lo and behold, we turned around to find a rainbow over the ocean! Mary's presence was damn-near tangible while experiencing the beauty of creation in such a full way.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_Uo6mHDh3Qc56qupK_w12c3tubEDNNnNj0xGmJW5zevmLdNtxUNbY3H3qCT4R4XZTsz1PqK2t_6xPHhb1u_7RsVZ6yYX7QSpb2IngS3gHTwrKeALs0CdKS2Sz8HozZxNRJeoLjBgq_QIxoefcZY0gNVcvR63QvDch-JVgAuVXFKnCzse9IPMkvCzRz-LS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1496" data-original-width="2232" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_Uo6mHDh3Qc56qupK_w12c3tubEDNNnNj0xGmJW5zevmLdNtxUNbY3H3qCT4R4XZTsz1PqK2t_6xPHhb1u_7RsVZ6yYX7QSpb2IngS3gHTwrKeALs0CdKS2Sz8HozZxNRJeoLjBgq_QIxoefcZY0gNVcvR63QvDch-JVgAuVXFKnCzse9IPMkvCzRz-LS=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBYRl1pmF64bS0KIXYRCXUDCqYTMkba5pfJCJVjxkIXXR93Pyxr_nEMwr5ck8y-NCxgEJvfD--beNrIvtkxZEjukobA792FjFqWTKze46snjAumA-bnmFdVjofSggGI6zdsRdCXGPLNoMzcy0JA-AbbWXF2zCicIVsw1MH_RFo-PlRa1hiDWnYdior554M" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1714" data-original-width="2394" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBYRl1pmF64bS0KIXYRCXUDCqYTMkba5pfJCJVjxkIXXR93Pyxr_nEMwr5ck8y-NCxgEJvfD--beNrIvtkxZEjukobA792FjFqWTKze46snjAumA-bnmFdVjofSggGI6zdsRdCXGPLNoMzcy0JA-AbbWXF2zCicIVsw1MH_RFo-PlRa1hiDWnYdior554M=w400-h286" width="400" /></a></div><br />This mixture of sun and clouds led to a day of pure sunshine and warmth yesterday. We went to the north end of the island at low tide, marveling at such a perfect blue.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRuhgYQnLZ9Q-b0S8BLQ7m7Stj9HIjz5fg4AEG6knCIkg8ipVb323Ww7bwOX_J0jfsNfl9twsG5lpZ4_zt2jLpxWn4DrkLgIQOMKuqmzmoVLZg3GVcr9TukZxqi9s1qaq166nVAc1rny9T9JDONx-njcqCdl3g5nQsvyPyFPrTOoqxtrbal137MGnlqBj7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1640" data-original-width="1342" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRuhgYQnLZ9Q-b0S8BLQ7m7Stj9HIjz5fg4AEG6knCIkg8ipVb323Ww7bwOX_J0jfsNfl9twsG5lpZ4_zt2jLpxWn4DrkLgIQOMKuqmzmoVLZg3GVcr9TukZxqi9s1qaq166nVAc1rny9T9JDONx-njcqCdl3g5nQsvyPyFPrTOoqxtrbal137MGnlqBj7=w327-h400" width="327" /></a></div><br /></div><div>And then, overnight last night, the storms from Hurricane Lee passed through. I could hear the thunder and lightning through my ear plugs! We went over to the ocean to see the waves in the morning.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyyAxzIi0syQwN9i0okRCEpEtRMtuxQDL2ECHqk4NZPL8YVKHwBWEEI2v4EYegzK7Bv5177jK5kEyz0-QYFySHhGzd5iD8YypgaHJrB28uSWJp1j5vo_2LZYtM2d2y_mPipsRuUAEpDaQHu0El2IO0kODFo7rGJzD0sUVPOM2nCIqWWedCssMf3aqvSdOg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="1118" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyyAxzIi0syQwN9i0okRCEpEtRMtuxQDL2ECHqk4NZPL8YVKHwBWEEI2v4EYegzK7Bv5177jK5kEyz0-QYFySHhGzd5iD8YypgaHJrB28uSWJp1j5vo_2LZYtM2d2y_mPipsRuUAEpDaQHu0El2IO0kODFo7rGJzD0sUVPOM2nCIqWWedCssMf3aqvSdOg=w302-h400" width="302" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9DZXFTGZDx3l0V_xkZEqwduGapOmow9E1Oenhx1id4uNNzCW5jKKQ0FaTJIpZVVE39wlBBKQTnjHi8kbe3IThUz1ORGxYoI8iIPy_Sc5popzUVnlu84CYd2GF0SXossx5j6oTe67EsGXiyyfEhLtOLHmsByc3-XdYt_janmNVXIjaYzbgzQyxkEPTzEni" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1346" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9DZXFTGZDx3l0V_xkZEqwduGapOmow9E1Oenhx1id4uNNzCW5jKKQ0FaTJIpZVVE39wlBBKQTnjHi8kbe3IThUz1ORGxYoI8iIPy_Sc5popzUVnlu84CYd2GF0SXossx5j6oTe67EsGXiyyfEhLtOLHmsByc3-XdYt_janmNVXIjaYzbgzQyxkEPTzEni=w315-h400" width="315" /></a></div><br />So, the weather here resonates with how I'm feeling most days: a little bit of everything.</div><div><br /></div><div>But so much of the "little bit of everything" comes from the grief from Mary's death. A quick Google search for the definition of grief was half-predictable, half-enlightening...</div>"deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death"<div><br /></div><div>I didn't necessarily expect that second part... <i>caused by someone's death</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's grief, sadness, and anxiety these days, but they're also balanced by such joy and gratitude. It's right in-line with part of Stephen Colbert's main theme in the podcast: gratitude and grief can go together. Indeed, it's nearly impossible for me to feel grief about Mary without feeling some gratitude to balance it out. Gratitude for all I learned from her, for the gift of Emmaus she gave me by offering me a position there, for all the beautiful people of Erie who I've met because of her and the ministry, for simply having had Mary's life in mine for a brief time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which, of course, reminds me of one of my favorite Disney/Pixar films, <i>Inside Out</i>. Until preteen Riley can learn to experience multiple emotions at once she struggles to work through the increasingly challenging moments of life. We must be grateful for all the moments that force us to hold multiple emotions at once. And these beginning days of my new role at Emmaus are certainly that.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, here are a few pieces of music offering me more than one feeling at once.</div><div><br /></div><div>I stumbled upon this violinist, Anne Akiko Meyers, via <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bRq66Rtwms0" target="_blank">her Tiny Desk Concert</a>. But it's her version of one of my favorites, <i>Gabriel's Oboe</i>, that totally did me in.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/A3tXnDIFSTI" width="320" youtube-src-id="A3tXnDIFSTI"></iframe></div><br /><div>Then, there's Allison Russell's new album. This song is called <i>Requiem</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gXbgyu9traw" width="320" youtube-src-id="gXbgyu9traw"></iframe></div><br /><div>And my always-favorite band, First Aid Kit...when we went to their concert earlier this year, they blew us away with a cover of Fleetwood Mac. Here they are playing <i>Songbird</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pxmtbI19zPo" width="320" youtube-src-id="pxmtbI19zPo"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>May our grief always be an avenue to experience so much more of life and to learn so much more about ourselves and to discern so much more about what we truly value.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-72574322953110578082023-08-07T13:49:00.008-04:002023-08-07T14:33:05.386-04:00Tending the GrowthThis past week we had our annual community days—a combination of learning, leisure, and legislation, or LLL as some of us say. It's always a good time to reconnect as a whole group since our lives and ministries take us to many places and in many directions, but for this week, we are together, and that's the best part.<div><br /></div><div>Of course, another nice part is going out for a meal as a community. I was sitting next to a sister of mine who asked, "What are you reading these days?" I had to be honest. "I haven't been able to read, or write for that matter, <a href="https://eriebenedictines.org/community/obituaries/in-memoriam-sister-mary-miller-osb.html" target="_blank">since Mary died</a>." I was expecting some sort of different response, but she said—so simply and equally honestly—"Yes, it'll come."</div><div><br /></div><div>It was a reassuring answer from someone who has much more life experience than I do. And given that she is known as one of the most well-read sisters of our community, it made the comment even more impactful. On a similar note, I remember a dear mentor of mine telling me that there was a period in her life where the only prayer she could pray was the psalms.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not just that I haven't written here; I haven’t really written anywhere since our dear Mary Miller got sick in April. I haven't read anything besides what I have to read for work, and while I make attempts to open books, a few sentences in, and I put them down, unable to engage with the text.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's very weird and even disconcerting at times. I have been a faithful journaler since college, and I love to converse about my latest read with others. But I am trusting that this particular lull is just one of the ebbs and flows that comes with the realities and events of life. In fact, I was able to get more than just a few phrases written down in my journal this past week.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, from where have my reflections been coming these days? On Saturday night after our closing meal at LLL, I headed out into the little patch of land I tend at the monastery. I hadn't weeded since June—being in and out of the house as much as I was—so needless to say, it was a bit overrun. On the other hand, the sunflowers were almost four feet tall!</div><div><br /></div><div>As I began working away inch-by-inch, trying to get to the roots, I thought about myself these past months. Even if I don't have the written proof of what's been going on, I am sure that, like the garden, I have grown quite a bit from all that has happened. Perhaps now's the time to do a little weeding of myself, too. What am I doing these days that isn't necessarily serving me so well? What areas of my life need a bit more cultivation and attention?</div><div><br /></div><div>A second "needless to say" is that much of my growth comes through my ministry at Emmaus. Taking on the director role in the wake of Mary's death has presented plenty of challenges, and a lot of exhaustion and thought-filled nights. Feeling her presence alongside helps, but it also makes me sad. The good, good people she brought together to create the Emmaus community: staff, volunteers, donors, and the rest are a huge support and comfort as well.<br /><br />Emmaus isn't about Mary, and Mary would have been the first person to tell you that; Mary just happened to model what Emmaus is about unlike anyone else. Her abilities to become present to the other, to give generously and selflessly, to companion both friend and stranger along the way, to nourish body and soul...those were her gifts. And she brought out those abilities in us all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mary loved the garden, too. I remember exchanging texts with her on Easter Monday after we had both spent time with the soil. She knew what was essential—beauty, delight, a concern for others—and she knew what to let go, too—pettiness, small talk, unkind words. The garden of her life was well-tended.</div><div><br /></div><div>May we all continue to cultivate what is beautiful in the world and in our hearts.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnHHmgZKCq94-JXmyqdDh73P8sTdXVHvpn-FaX9qa7Bd5cyGbrwkbw-MEQvRfgSwqvhaq3Hi_voEQepO62HLkrNWhSL28lipsNytKLFNKtQgQN3xqf0crXyjMfYlddKtAcBfzV7gv1gt2GmHkVFDeh_7_q2ApnnTPN_PhP9bMeWqiHxnlPDNVN-vBjpUN/s328/marykitchen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="296" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnHHmgZKCq94-JXmyqdDh73P8sTdXVHvpn-FaX9qa7Bd5cyGbrwkbw-MEQvRfgSwqvhaq3Hi_voEQepO62HLkrNWhSL28lipsNytKLFNKtQgQN3xqf0crXyjMfYlddKtAcBfzV7gv1gt2GmHkVFDeh_7_q2ApnnTPN_PhP9bMeWqiHxnlPDNVN-vBjpUN/s320/marykitchen.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mary, at the soup kitchen, with flowers...a lovely combination!</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVADT9WkcbbuJwYkEbhDYgrOtd6-VpK781y-gw-xo6k5TfvQjZolQ-3_6gqwoMmfVACL75yhSuNBSxMNhMGFkiBNQpyRjzqNITD3fmEIrGgijC43cEmf5-pGN7LzXhnHcFDbk5Xk6UgOMFVwjFzKV7ARQ6G10xQ7um23v5i3IBFqD0_NVYA_ix6D8babcf/s4032/70284274416__BBEE0F64-16F6-4A17-BF97-9B8062513746.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVADT9WkcbbuJwYkEbhDYgrOtd6-VpK781y-gw-xo6k5TfvQjZolQ-3_6gqwoMmfVACL75yhSuNBSxMNhMGFkiBNQpyRjzqNITD3fmEIrGgijC43cEmf5-pGN7LzXhnHcFDbk5Xk6UgOMFVwjFzKV7ARQ6G10xQ7um23v5i3IBFqD0_NVYA_ix6D8babcf/s320/70284274416__BBEE0F64-16F6-4A17-BF97-9B8062513746.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The patch of soil I tend, seen here on Easter Monday...looks a little different now!</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOIxapzbT3TIvEItbHf8Ul_D6hW4lr_E-kwo4XmbH1LgZaoJE22DTGTfOFZx3NmlhbHzYo_CWezhJw66Y21bjsQErDROe6v-_5i6bwxB5lt7KAwzbxVyNQdsV88oGYOWR1u9MJ3Et3Xgtv3I5vcXKsg29PeigC-Sp8yxaWSqyqnPpYmG6dZd-QTE6xwRx/s4032/IMG_1474.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOIxapzbT3TIvEItbHf8Ul_D6hW4lr_E-kwo4XmbH1LgZaoJE22DTGTfOFZx3NmlhbHzYo_CWezhJw66Y21bjsQErDROe6v-_5i6bwxB5lt7KAwzbxVyNQdsV88oGYOWR1u9MJ3Et3Xgtv3I5vcXKsg29PeigC-Sp8yxaWSqyqnPpYmG6dZd-QTE6xwRx/s320/IMG_1474.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>A patch of flowers at a monastery in Nebraska, where we traveled for a Benedictine conference in July.</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2LpPndCziaw8n_NbZLuY99R5HtzsGgEIrC1BQXWHAgDP-cHf5SraDSgLlDBUIoFsjt5HZ8cbhn1oV9XWCb0H113pFgwX7NN28tD2jh-yWg-FoNjb7LaG0sLmTnfcmKzcemTgj4poob3QXMuQU28rFVfPdnuEuNf4ZQi57QyUD04k7gxDhI2lCSZbrPFUb/s4032/IMG_1477.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2LpPndCziaw8n_NbZLuY99R5HtzsGgEIrC1BQXWHAgDP-cHf5SraDSgLlDBUIoFsjt5HZ8cbhn1oV9XWCb0H113pFgwX7NN28tD2jh-yWg-FoNjb7LaG0sLmTnfcmKzcemTgj4poob3QXMuQU28rFVfPdnuEuNf4ZQi57QyUD04k7gxDhI2lCSZbrPFUb/s320/IMG_1477.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Part of same patch...I believe these are called lisianthus, and I loved them!</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9w5dhZ-TVP_Kcj4jJa-EQ4BH_IfdkK2ZZuLLkkmZo1EbdJTbqQnVlFiHy9jmPLHDX8-MxTBrT7d2eISoIQofxokT5Lj4gfei5Hmk2rpn0o4egE9VR92lzUTo0G14btoZXxv53iAXSD9oKF5JSaMZfoSNX_WDKCNbMf6tIsfyrH9yy-Y_PEEQSW2pvSK3/s4032/IMG_1567.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9w5dhZ-TVP_Kcj4jJa-EQ4BH_IfdkK2ZZuLLkkmZo1EbdJTbqQnVlFiHy9jmPLHDX8-MxTBrT7d2eISoIQofxokT5Lj4gfei5Hmk2rpn0o4egE9VR92lzUTo0G14btoZXxv53iAXSD9oKF5JSaMZfoSNX_WDKCNbMf6tIsfyrH9yy-Y_PEEQSW2pvSK3/s320/IMG_1567.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The first passion flower opened at the soup kitchen this year.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mary's favorite...a beautiful, yet poignant bloom.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>(And a little PSA: If you are able, consider supporting Emmaus Ministries during Erie Gives tomorrow, August 8th. <a href="https://www.eriegives.org/organizations/emmaus-ministries-erie-pa" target="_blank">Follow the link here.</a>)</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-60074750141207780322023-06-03T19:49:00.007-04:002023-06-03T20:15:34.229-04:00Journeys Ended, Journeys Begun: On Mary Miller and Ted Lasso<div>To begin: I **promise** I won't reveal any <i>Ted Lasso</i> spoilers. (But I do write about a scene without giving anything away.)</div><div><br /></div><div>The wonderful show ended this week, and I really loved it. I loved <i>Ted Lasso</i> because it was such a treat to have a feel-good show with depth, with well-written characters, and with heart when there are so many shows out there that I can't watch too close to bedtime because I won't be able to fall asleep after.</div><div><br /></div><div>One scene in the finale hit me hard.</div><div><br /></div><div>During a meeting of the "Diamond Dogs," the coaches and friends are in the locker room before a soccer match, and Roy seeks advice. (The "Dogs" meet when someone in the group needs a bit of counsel.) Roy, a character who has gone through considerable change throughout the three seasons, asks if change is possible, if we can become a better version of ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>One character chimes in that change doesn't really happen, but "we learn to accept who we've always been." Others disagree; they say that people can change both for the worse or the better.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then, another character offers an opinion: "Change isn't about trying to be perfect. Perfection sucks; perfect is boring."</div><div><br /></div><div>This leads to some light joking about the way things can be perfect, while humans can't. (A thing like <i>The Shawshank Redemption</i>, for instance, is obviously perfect.) They all agree, and Higgins sums it up: "Human beings are never going to be perfect, Roy. The best thing we can do is to keep asking for help and accepting it when we can. And if you keep on doing that, you'll always be moving toward better."</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>When I started working at Emmaus Ministries in 2019, Sister Mary told me that working in the ministry would help me with my own striving for perfection. "You're going to lose that, Val. There is no perfection at Emmaus. Not when you work with the poor." I can only imagine what her commentary to me would have been about those lines in the show.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's now four years since Mary and I began having conversations about coming to work at Emmaus. I didn't begin there until December 2019, but I had shadowed her at the soup kitchen and met with her multiple times before I "signed on the dotted line."</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>I found out not long before Sister Mary died that she both watched and loved <i>Ted Lasso</i>, too. I don't know how the show came up, but I was sitting across from her at her desk having one of our "morning chats", and we got to talking about it. This would have been in April. After that conversation, she watched only one new episode before she died. She texted me after watching it, wondering if I liked it or not. (For the record, I did—it was the episode set in Amsterdam.)<br /><br /> I'm very aware that I haven't written here since <a href="https://eriebenedictines.org/story/memoriam-sister-mary-miller-osb" target="_blank">the unexpected death of our dear Sister Mary Miller</a> on May 14. I haven't really written anywhere...because it's really hard to write about this loss.<br /><br />Working with and for Mary Miller has been one of the greatest gifts of my life. It's hard to write about how much it means to watch her walk into the office each day where you work together, have her greet you with her sweet smile, and wish you a "Good morning, honey."<br /><br />That was the gift of Mary, among myriad others—her presence. Just yesterday I was listening to someone talk about Mary while looking at a picture of her and say, "That's the face she always had when she was listening to you. I can still see her looking at me—like I was the only person in the world." She had that power, Mary did, the power that allowed her to look at you and make you feel completely unique and special—the holy power to look at you and see you the way God sees you. Beloved and beautiful.<br /><br />To be able to work in her presence—to have her offer her presence to me and to watch her offer it to others, especially the poor—I repeat, it feels nearly impossible to articulate the gift.</div><div><br />+++</div><div><br /></div><div>She and I would return to that <i>perfectionism</i> word often, as she continued to remind me that I didn't need to do anything else, to work any harder, to get anything "more right" to be perfect. I was beloved and beautiful just the way I was. Mary would text me quotes that she read about perfectionism; she would stop me when I got too caught up in trying to make something perfect, and she would often go back to the line, "Emmaus is going to help rid you of that nasty perfectionism."</div><div><br /></div><div>And it has. You give up control when you work with the poor, when you work at a soup kitchen, when you work with kids, when you garden. You give up any chance at having things pan out just the way you envisioned them unfolding. It's the blessing and the challenge of human messiness, of journeying together. And Mary was a model for that journey. She delighted in others; she accepted and had compassion for their messiness. And the same way she felt about me—that I was just fine just the way I was—she felt that way about everyone. She welcomed everyone just as they were... unless, of course, you weren't sensitive to the suffering of the poor...then she might try to teach you a bit.</div><div><br />+++<br /><br />We sometimes sing a song at prayer called <i>Journeys Ended, Journeys Begun</i>. I feel like I am in that space more profoundly than usual —in my life, in this moment. When Mary and I began talking about me taking on the role of Director of Emmaus, I'm not sure how real it felt. She had done it for 42 years; the name Sister Mary was synonymous with Emmaus. But, after 42 years, it was time. She would step back; I would step in. We would have regular conversations about the transition, though we never really worked out too many details; I think I began to trust that it would work itself out as it should.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>But, sometimes it's hard to trust the reality of her death. The word "perfect" hasn't entered my mind in weeks. But, I look at the words to the song <i>Journeys Ended, Journeys Begun</i> written by the monks at Weston Priory.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Refrain:
Journeys ended, journeys begun:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to go where we have never been,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to be beyond our past,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>moments of lifting up, transcending death,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>rising in transparent light</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to the fullness of God’s presence.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>1. Do not let your hearts be troubled:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>trust in God and trust in me,
you shall not be alone.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>To prepare a place for you
I go but shall return</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>so that you may be with me</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in the mystery of rising to new life.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>2. Loving one another in truth,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>choosing clear the many deaths
of going beyond self,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>living in the spirit
of one who gave his life</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>so that we might come to know</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>how profound the gift of God in Jesus Christ. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>3. There can be no greater love than this:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to give our lives for others:
our joy will be complete.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I have told you all this
so that you may find peace</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in the sharing of your life
and know the depth</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>of love to which we’re called.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>And they do feel pretty perfectly-fitting of this moment and of Mary Miller's life. One journey has ended; another is beginning, for both of us. I am humbled to carry on the ministry she cultivated and that centered her for 42 years. And, like Higgins said, I am grateful that there are so many wonderful people who love Emmaus and who are willing to help when I ask. I am grateful that I am learning to accept the help and to not feel like I have to or that I can do it all on my own. I am grateful that Mary taught me these lessons.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Furthermore, I am so grateful that my life intersected with Mary Miller's; I am so grateful for warm, easy shows when the days are sad and hard; I am so grateful that Mary was right because Emmaus is, indeed, helping me let go of perfectionism; I am so grateful for the journey.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPt3at6_lhRVFsOfcRuY0wPC3RQdwZ0P6qMxpLvwa00DB5hhbnDH7xeTic-bzU22yp99nA7aIvAYdhqVu3GbZTSMr_t4MXaRUJzdAP0CvLGFVCA-XJxR-Ip5qVAf7zuZBdgcighzCGbiDxXROHsX8GkmiuE9IhMRPXBPYyktkAplxdoRvj9wk9CCVjfA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2219" data-original-width="2953" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPt3at6_lhRVFsOfcRuY0wPC3RQdwZ0P6qMxpLvwa00DB5hhbnDH7xeTic-bzU22yp99nA7aIvAYdhqVu3GbZTSMr_t4MXaRUJzdAP0CvLGFVCA-XJxR-Ip5qVAf7zuZBdgcighzCGbiDxXROHsX8GkmiuE9IhMRPXBPYyktkAplxdoRvj9wk9CCVjfA=w400-h301" width="400" /></a></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-33875714401197160102023-04-30T07:45:00.004-04:002023-04-30T07:49:34.733-04:00On Monastic StabilityMonastics take three vows when they make profession: conversion of life, obedience, and stability.<br /><br />When I began to learn about each in greater depth, I had an instinct that stability would be the most challenging for me. The vow of stability means we commit ourselves to a particular monastery and community. Or, another way to say it, from Pema Chödrön:<br /><br /><i>It's best to stick to one thing and let it put you through your changes.</i><br /><br />That's hard for anyone, and it's really hard for perfectionistic/idealistic Val.<br /><div><br /></div><div>In August it will be eight years since I entered the community. And I have thought about running away at least 800 times. Or, as Joan Chittister writes:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>When a monastic makes a vow of stability it is a vow designed to still the wandering heart.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Because it's that 801<span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span> moment of grace that gets me every time. And these past few weeks, I have been having a grace-filled experience of stability. I alluded to it in <a href="http://walkingintheholypresence.blogspot.com/2023/04/a-magic-house-alleluia.html" target="_blank">my last post</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Watching spring arrive in the natural world would be a source of joy for me anywhere I planted myself. But now that I have been at the Mount for eight springs, I am starting to notice things. I can tell that the little green leaves popping up will soon be fully blooming irises. I know that the forsythia became its beautiful yellow a little earlier last year than this year. And then, there's this tulip.</div><div><br /></div><div>When you walk into our old convent where I work, there's a row of green along a fence. In the spring it's daffodils; come summer it will be mint. And right after the daffodils begin to bloom, there's this red tulip. When I saw it a week ago, I realized that it stops me in my tracks each year.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj78LVHGUvXUf9aQaTk_l-WBRMVCwLGZOSpUK9XuM94qOYQCQNQKKguQ5tN5PKpipMFA-JE5dSC_E28MX7hi1WOHiQMvwtIpy20HUSfh0HTbs_WiPPp44OzwMaJnbQ-zrx-qLsTMcO6SHoZKgGTJ9M42HPu7Q-xhpaLJQjmy0uJEF6CDWPWEREkccW8Xw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj78LVHGUvXUf9aQaTk_l-WBRMVCwLGZOSpUK9XuM94qOYQCQNQKKguQ5tN5PKpipMFA-JE5dSC_E28MX7hi1WOHiQMvwtIpy20HUSfh0HTbs_WiPPp44OzwMaJnbQ-zrx-qLsTMcO6SHoZKgGTJ9M42HPu7Q-xhpaLJQjmy0uJEF6CDWPWEREkccW8Xw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br />I love this tulip; I think it's just gorgeous. And if I weren't here each spring, I wouldn't have the opportunity to see it, to let it delight me. That's the gift of stability.</div><div><br /></div><div>The 801<span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span> grace always comes. Alleluia!</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-4496494153775887872023-04-15T07:48:00.002-04:002023-04-15T07:51:42.521-04:00A Magic House: Alleluia!Last year at Christmastime, my friend brought her kids over to see our decorated home. Her five-year-old son, upon walking through our motion-automated chapel doors, proclaimed, "Your house is a magic house!" They also couldn't get over how many Christmas trees we had.<div><br />Of course the adults got a good laugh.<div><br /></div><div>But, in a way, our monastic life here is a bit of magic. Guided by Benedict's Rule, women who were once strangers come together and live a Christian life rooted in community and prayer. I do believe it is a bit of magical witness in our society today, or as Benedict puts it: "Your way of acting should be different from the world's way; the love of Christ must come before all else."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Christmas, Holy Week, and Easter are peak-magic for Christians. They remind us that even in our darkness and waiting, in our grief, our sorrow, and confusion, there will be "Glorias" and "Alleluias" resounding somewhere, somehow.</div><br />I've never learned a magic trick, other than trying to practice living this life in the daily. But this time of year—the Easter season, our springtime here in the Northern Hemisphere—makes it feel worth the effort, makes the attempt feel possible.<div><br /></div><div>The changes in the earth each day are wonderful evidence, too, so right in your face as they are. When I turned into our driveway last night after dinner at the soup kitchen, the willow tree stunned me. It's complicated branch system and leaves beginning to do their thing...amazing. Magic.</div><div><br /></div><div>A patch of crocuses springing up in the neighborhood, bursting in vibrant purple. Abracadabra, and there they are! Same with the hydrangeas in the inner courtyard. I leave for work, and the bush is merely branches; I come home and there's that perfect spring green popping through the ground. This morning it was the tiniest tulip tree that got me.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>May it be a blessed Easter season for you, one that attunes you to the magic of life, of creation. Alleluia!<br /><div><br />Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S. Here's a shout-out to my sister Linda who wrote <a href="https://www.globalsistersreport.org/columns/sisters-communities-can-spur-new-economic-perspective" target="_blank">a piece for Global Sisters Report</a>, also about the power of possibility and living differently as women religious.<br /></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAhcnU4HTmSyXbqaaWl5_uo7ec-uYVs3impYvPWRpKrvZuXbaLPiBtTUcNv_VumQ50QgHzw8SbfQD34OO8MrNepS31-MADsOEv9KTfalDwiuFOfjNU7ALTZscX4fS-k5M-GAcjBNuJx4-rLw0E67o7OoyoQjm662TosoxtLkBtvB9ojuO5YrUleLRKQ/s4032/IMG_0652.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAhcnU4HTmSyXbqaaWl5_uo7ec-uYVs3impYvPWRpKrvZuXbaLPiBtTUcNv_VumQ50QgHzw8SbfQD34OO8MrNepS31-MADsOEv9KTfalDwiuFOfjNU7ALTZscX4fS-k5M-GAcjBNuJx4-rLw0E67o7OoyoQjm662TosoxtLkBtvB9ojuO5YrUleLRKQ/w300-h400/IMG_0652.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>One of my favorite things about the Triduum...the vigil candles leading us into chapel</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6N-9aBu4Fz-B7-CMKutlSmpzmjoYKS9xPSRWnEK3MzRNCWiDJb0IgGSggSRXPER-uYCLyn3pIHgohQtiJKj1I-Q_QDO_c9tuLMlRFY9ExueZqmTpSkuDgNDph6OHGslqfgcFTMmVtW9m3U-4kMDa6ICt9ypxiSU1VOs8fnUlEu0WbxNitxMPv1ENeJQ/s4032/IMG_0597.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6N-9aBu4Fz-B7-CMKutlSmpzmjoYKS9xPSRWnEK3MzRNCWiDJb0IgGSggSRXPER-uYCLyn3pIHgohQtiJKj1I-Q_QDO_c9tuLMlRFY9ExueZqmTpSkuDgNDph6OHGslqfgcFTMmVtW9m3U-4kMDa6ICt9ypxiSU1VOs8fnUlEu0WbxNitxMPv1ENeJQ/w400-h300/IMG_0597.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Crocuses in our neighborhood</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06iGQlYfnnPmvb2WU4MAALJmjJ1BPfl5PkVs4XET4HWSMP6P-1nGvZ_Mt7pC_T_lzxT-XYoJ1yX_hiSzxvUR1fMtRml7yrnavJsi7RxkdgEnfKH0iX1G4nhmtDBcr8LbxIu_JVQ4QtRtz6_Kcg_qZk85fXq9H8SegX2tVxOS4sUOYwe3V3yfSMqgGBA/s4032/IMG_0631.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06iGQlYfnnPmvb2WU4MAALJmjJ1BPfl5PkVs4XET4HWSMP6P-1nGvZ_Mt7pC_T_lzxT-XYoJ1yX_hiSzxvUR1fMtRml7yrnavJsi7RxkdgEnfKH0iX1G4nhmtDBcr8LbxIu_JVQ4QtRtz6_Kcg_qZk85fXq9H8SegX2tVxOS4sUOYwe3V3yfSMqgGBA/s320/IMG_0631.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZz80rH6XTY9v2sWtrl3SLsxEpYwQCUPwZYNJMOze0Bz1FRxC3cbVX1fWCD_9zosRkef82QbRfnwwnS62l1E-uGvDpaTHK_87E_3EtCrDxz2Ix96ZkLYcRUW6dlrvEgTrShooHjcEtER4ag0wpXh9TQF05LG1ibkm-KDVdpsksFaOtjBpox0Rjcoc4w/s4032/IMG_0684.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZz80rH6XTY9v2sWtrl3SLsxEpYwQCUPwZYNJMOze0Bz1FRxC3cbVX1fWCD_9zosRkef82QbRfnwwnS62l1E-uGvDpaTHK_87E_3EtCrDxz2Ix96ZkLYcRUW6dlrvEgTrShooHjcEtER4ag0wpXh9TQF05LG1ibkm-KDVdpsksFaOtjBpox0Rjcoc4w/s320/IMG_0684.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKJgeDi6SsFbfN0FSEj2RCq1qePSv_Fp_B7nn4n5RzjlFr6N0JHwjNYYaLzANCfrjuBcpdUY07snGzVSIkFvPxFGvyWsvtzWHT9fCwg6qIkFESHlMgVL509OS_c2T7xB3aCENlJiNys81zGN3vUhCGsSdNQ1N2Xlrm8Z6P7h9ocyMlnJPzfWnZVusZQ/s4032/IMG_0686.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQKJgeDi6SsFbfN0FSEj2RCq1qePSv_Fp_B7nn4n5RzjlFr6N0JHwjNYYaLzANCfrjuBcpdUY07snGzVSIkFvPxFGvyWsvtzWHT9fCwg6qIkFESHlMgVL509OS_c2T7xB3aCENlJiNys81zGN3vUhCGsSdNQ1N2Xlrm8Z6P7h9ocyMlnJPzfWnZVusZQ/s320/IMG_0686.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The root system of our irises at Benetwood, a tulip tree, and those hydrangeas</i></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidA90BMcE9dr9uoPaT0hr3VBQe6GCrCtbEtyvD3iJWQqMTCW0WmTVPgZkK8wYVGKWwwl-Uxc3RookFAs1EWB9qDlN9PqQ4lJRTRGTgINZftvNhYXmJt_-iM-33ClbjY9eX0QX-QC0p4rf5ZqrbNKxAKH66LEr3lC55peUmza_qacCXo2jhKkfCjpHTGA/s2760/IMG_0627.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2629" data-original-width="2760" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidA90BMcE9dr9uoPaT0hr3VBQe6GCrCtbEtyvD3iJWQqMTCW0WmTVPgZkK8wYVGKWwwl-Uxc3RookFAs1EWB9qDlN9PqQ4lJRTRGTgINZftvNhYXmJt_-iM-33ClbjY9eX0QX-QC0p4rf5ZqrbNKxAKH66LEr3lC55peUmza_qacCXo2jhKkfCjpHTGA/s320/IMG_0627.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mary was so happy to revive this daffodil blossom that had fallen off its stem.</i></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-18167285855979983782023-03-26T20:03:00.002-04:002023-03-26T20:05:25.154-04:00To 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.)<div><br /></div><div>There have been so many nail-biters, so many comebacks. It's just been fun to watch, though anxious at times!</div><div><br /></div>It reminds me of <a href="https://anunslife.org/blogs/nun-talk/To-become-what-I-believe" target="_blank">a piece I wrote for <i>A Nun's Life</i></a> during Lent in 2021. <i>A Nun's Life</i> is a website that helps Sisters connect and share their experiences of religious life with the broader community.<div>___________________ <br /><br /><i><b>To become what I believe</b><br /><br />Do I grasp the Paschal Mystery? Of course not. Do I believe in it? You bet I do.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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?</i><div>___________________ </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQx_IK73BtTQq2Z2P5hRc9f5HZ0j1u07V4E3iugqr7_AfA4YPfJKrwOdkQu9yWEKn5HJLlJSrkANv5-p5qxjnWd_DBBoRUrblvwTEomuV70Xq2LSdHV514HxYbHNNOfzWiRF_eFQh0Wk0vKxCiEI0SthFuSq9-YUJtDS1LTO8-A1wMCQoD1sOi4E85MA/s4032/IMG_0545%202.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQx_IK73BtTQq2Z2P5hRc9f5HZ0j1u07V4E3iugqr7_AfA4YPfJKrwOdkQu9yWEKn5HJLlJSrkANv5-p5qxjnWd_DBBoRUrblvwTEomuV70Xq2LSdHV514HxYbHNNOfzWiRF_eFQh0Wk0vKxCiEI0SthFuSq9-YUJtDS1LTO8-A1wMCQoD1sOi4E85MA/w400-h300/IMG_0545%202.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">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!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-XuxNwjiPbRetIfpEltDbLW3dWIA-88NbGzN8IOdoQVpjRrVVzDD8argcxevw1APOhpc6yqrpe3p5T8CrwP8wIw1yh0mJmfBTE67dAZ2UVTlOm8ImAJgq959lZhnOfR6fE1O1Imq8D3ulSjIQVcO6YRVZ15TchLMrfvZ-YCaSDNsDgANaYKpM8SDLow/s4032/IMG_0578.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-XuxNwjiPbRetIfpEltDbLW3dWIA-88NbGzN8IOdoQVpjRrVVzDD8argcxevw1APOhpc6yqrpe3p5T8CrwP8wIw1yh0mJmfBTE67dAZ2UVTlOm8ImAJgq959lZhnOfR6fE1O1Imq8D3ulSjIQVcO6YRVZ15TchLMrfvZ-YCaSDNsDgANaYKpM8SDLow/w300-h400/IMG_0578.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">We helped put in the last pour of the Paschal candle the other night.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocB_mRWy82KNymZrIpHf6wSEnrW4bT0akoT9VEfm3jamEYwn5OpugOEtiH7f7hgmSAwwQYnP5VVUtlXSLVlaA3emrQRQV8v4zNR8XDEwiav4mmkVGjpkOR4Jel94SllGleF91vkYMfxbkDZqqmgMpxckQHkt7kFCZTfENY8AIGlRG3WeUyLSXdGLvRg/s4032/IMG_0537.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocB_mRWy82KNymZrIpHf6wSEnrW4bT0akoT9VEfm3jamEYwn5OpugOEtiH7f7hgmSAwwQYnP5VVUtlXSLVlaA3emrQRQV8v4zNR8XDEwiav4mmkVGjpkOR4Jel94SllGleF91vkYMfxbkDZqqmgMpxckQHkt7kFCZTfENY8AIGlRG3WeUyLSXdGLvRg/w400-h300/IMG_0537.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">And we celebrated St. Patrick's Day last week...always a Lenten highlight...because Rose puts in 100% to make it extra festive!</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-1403261288810564672023-03-11T13:41:00.007-05:002023-03-11T13:48:17.247-05:00In deep (and snowy) nights<div>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!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gnPJJkpiTq0" width="320" youtube-src-id="gnPJJkpiTq0"></iframe></div><br /><div>Basketball (college and professional) has been keeping me awake later than usual lately.</div><div><br /></div><div>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, <i>The Book of Hours</i> (II, 34), which is chock-full of beautiful, holy imagery.</div><div><div><br /><i>In deep nights I dig for you like treasure.<br /></i><div><i>For all I have seen<br />that clutters the surface of my world<br />is poor and paltry substitute<br />for the beauty of you<br />that has not yet happened.</i></div><div><i><br /></i>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.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>The treasure surrounds us, everywhere.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0qXFWA0tM9UBZq4A5xTeQm5xcA3wrRr8E2UHG49ZsEqxLJmNcxH8MWe405uvfQr2mc6iA4sddVLuioNmhz6GCsDJqqoBdHWaMcpS9wbHeNw31sRovMYhHasS3f0whxvqPJRnaHqBoaGLGM8EiNHBrxg8Ukd-qAcLxNPlgiK-8b0GX5vAFKAAAvTV6tA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0qXFWA0tM9UBZq4A5xTeQm5xcA3wrRr8E2UHG49ZsEqxLJmNcxH8MWe405uvfQr2mc6iA4sddVLuioNmhz6GCsDJqqoBdHWaMcpS9wbHeNw31sRovMYhHasS3f0whxvqPJRnaHqBoaGLGM8EiNHBrxg8Ukd-qAcLxNPlgiK-8b0GX5vAFKAAAvTV6tA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The stained-glass from the other side...a less-frequently captured photo.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpeVHT0_134QUFV0nAFOq8gLbt9C9xp3biN9Xe-YgdBYPpR6r9pkJuM6_FUbDy4PUnbzELJJ7tMNfGSWakMELEnN2JaO5oAX5LOZusW2HvFWTIuOcmFueDy6runasaZyPjZbZSpEuaO1eCqTC3sUO0201L3wg5uqJATjkX723xGzkw_SYVYfHzzm-WfA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpeVHT0_134QUFV0nAFOq8gLbt9C9xp3biN9Xe-YgdBYPpR6r9pkJuM6_FUbDy4PUnbzELJJ7tMNfGSWakMELEnN2JaO5oAX5LOZusW2HvFWTIuOcmFueDy6runasaZyPjZbZSpEuaO1eCqTC3sUO0201L3wg5uqJATjkX723xGzkw_SYVYfHzzm-WfA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">On a previous post, I showed the daffodils popping through a dead leaf,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and here they are, taller than yesterday's snow.</div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizcHJun-o-SWlG8kR234xSc1bddrfgxOSswcHBNymimlm3Zuw4VV3Daje-aOkOBC6bVYiVxWGqvRZSgza1joexGApuktCFAu1qJScfEjD9sHnHexTMJYMdGbXRH-KA5rzIAXOIHpHqob3Y2NWLpbNz4lwA5GvhWTaaImWLpFHG4DQGJ6bDQcbeNfAcWA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizcHJun-o-SWlG8kR234xSc1bddrfgxOSswcHBNymimlm3Zuw4VV3Daje-aOkOBC6bVYiVxWGqvRZSgza1joexGApuktCFAu1qJScfEjD9sHnHexTMJYMdGbXRH-KA5rzIAXOIHpHqob3Y2NWLpbNz4lwA5GvhWTaaImWLpFHG4DQGJ6bDQcbeNfAcWA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">One morning last week I noticed the forsythia looked like they were starting to bud,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and now they have some snowy companionship.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJJk7XT9i2IuTHU9ZMBpire8W9P3IfB9-9Z6wjd7I9EyqWKCf3urS4lDxXClXmHKtlk0ypeQLt9eOhVhsd9fFW6WUpWpd75bKTXIWfEzAj6hygwekLmorfxL3VImIpv6H1Fk4DIYFMaECbw_S1BF70eLN-qE3nzbBQeW-eCdBa-jptSORJitpmC2SV8w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJJk7XT9i2IuTHU9ZMBpire8W9P3IfB9-9Z6wjd7I9EyqWKCf3urS4lDxXClXmHKtlk0ypeQLt9eOhVhsd9fFW6WUpWpd75bKTXIWfEzAj6hygwekLmorfxL3VImIpv6H1Fk4DIYFMaECbw_S1BF70eLN-qE3nzbBQeW-eCdBa-jptSORJitpmC2SV8w=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Scholastica with her snow cap on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-6778463425439425652023-03-05T16:18:00.007-05:002023-03-05T16:43:50.554-05:00Training Ground for Resurrection<div>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.<br /><br />The concept is <i>negative capability</i>.<br /><br /><a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/negative-capability" target="_blank">Coined by the poet John Keats</a>, negative capability happens when one is "capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason."</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://theconversation.com/john-keats-concept-of-negative-capability-or-sitting-in-uncertainty-is-needed-now-more-than-ever-153617" target="_blank">Another description</a> I read says, "The idea [of negative capability] ... centers on suspending judgment about something in order to learn more about it."<br /><br />Sigh. Feels impossible! Yet necessary!<br /><br />And, doesn't it sound like a good Lenten practice as we prepare for Resurrection?</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Poetry is often one of the best routes for me into the world of negative capability.</div><div><br /></div><div>While I was going for my walk today, I listened to what might have been <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-art-of-noticing-and-appreciating-our-dizzying-world/id1548604447?i=1000602612435" target="_blank">my favorite episode of Ezra Klein's podcast</a> yet...with the poet Jane Hirshfield. (And if it does come in second place, it would only be to <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/a-conversation-with-ada-lim%C3%B3n-in-six-poems/id1548604447?i=1000563478515" target="_blank">the episode featuring another poet, Ada Limón</a>.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I won't try to paraphrase or summarize the episode with Jane Hirshfield; it was too good, too comprehensive for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another way to practice Resurrection.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65BQWQEBZNSDN7AxW-CaZ5hDN4mCA5Y2_pmtpMJO47i7Y91aHX7bdm_P8PT-LKSMY523CFdsBSqedRa-iMIEso2eghWC2aMMzeMj_q6IzhBB5sT-O0ed9vv1oZMgMGAB_mqHQ0DFp1Sbz23MlSMw1gr_6_3jIhwBpIYqvauvJWrKye4SPRzs5BQvE4w/s4032/IMG_6092.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65BQWQEBZNSDN7AxW-CaZ5hDN4mCA5Y2_pmtpMJO47i7Y91aHX7bdm_P8PT-LKSMY523CFdsBSqedRa-iMIEso2eghWC2aMMzeMj_q6IzhBB5sT-O0ed9vv1oZMgMGAB_mqHQ0DFp1Sbz23MlSMw1gr_6_3jIhwBpIYqvauvJWrKye4SPRzs5BQvE4w/w300-h400/IMG_6092.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And this one, too...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUAZOqsDuzXGujkHnzUu71bzI972KbqWdYGsNBcjcKsaRc051sn0E4OW41qJyyOJv9TgK299tuFqQj5HCca3RXqqTa0WY4EevAKHUg5NYGIN2XOZhZ1PVFFWH73Q25DhV6jurRtl6oSa96UtfVHkBYCU0AGBjOxptCAj_z5A4zGgkJlxJbBR_bX_pPGA/s4032/IMG_1176.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUAZOqsDuzXGujkHnzUu71bzI972KbqWdYGsNBcjcKsaRc051sn0E4OW41qJyyOJv9TgK299tuFqQj5HCca3RXqqTa0WY4EevAKHUg5NYGIN2XOZhZ1PVFFWH73Q25DhV6jurRtl6oSa96UtfVHkBYCU0AGBjOxptCAj_z5A4zGgkJlxJbBR_bX_pPGA/w300-h400/IMG_1176.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;">Gray skies on a nondescript road...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlbTMf4V1LdDUcyN-4ffAwelmgerRSXRV5sd7nRt_9h_RfZ3Hx8gjKbaB9iIysPp-VE4wthz9t9X_rJLVGRRs1t2xujBtU3sHzUnKjrCpzoSh3e9K-B7DuRq4UWzi_prSZ0Z5n9Ay7NCFhAKcjDj5PkL07QWlI_YbcGCN_3x5sgnwAuKkBs4blN7LZA/s4032/IMG_0479.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlbTMf4V1LdDUcyN-4ffAwelmgerRSXRV5sd7nRt_9h_RfZ3Hx8gjKbaB9iIysPp-VE4wthz9t9X_rJLVGRRs1t2xujBtU3sHzUnKjrCpzoSh3e9K-B7DuRq4UWzi_prSZ0Z5n9Ay7NCFhAKcjDj5PkL07QWlI_YbcGCN_3x5sgnwAuKkBs4blN7LZA/w400-h300/IMG_0479.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;">A pile of random wood and other refuse...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVwOtQZzN7eaWdbPZZ243DsbdyCgnNHPpCbDHKrrW8b6m7rqxXyr6tNCJbjq9Id-m-R9m5SYC32pzZ3iiEjSjuR5kzFVbgAyGScg-2fyXl7Up9brhB4Zebqhnz2qwYiyX6je2ASwHqQwFeOO-IR9yR_BFelv0xVi9JmlEYRfBZL4JFRl0m-gbxlaTU6g/s4032/IMG_0481.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVwOtQZzN7eaWdbPZZ243DsbdyCgnNHPpCbDHKrrW8b6m7rqxXyr6tNCJbjq9Id-m-R9m5SYC32pzZ3iiEjSjuR5kzFVbgAyGScg-2fyXl7Up9brhB4Zebqhnz2qwYiyX6je2ASwHqQwFeOO-IR9yR_BFelv0xVi9JmlEYRfBZL4JFRl0m-gbxlaTU6g/w400-h300/IMG_0481.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;">Decomposing milkweed pods fallen to the ground...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-eKwDe_LDUUyQPcvRPkjVL_oQYdQkxHs8D-H-hmsUXojaavRUHu-q7qjOGIDFNnP09CCWawlyRup8zwaIuY7S1Q7Tw1Wp87sNxv0ZN6RhmnYfp-G4oz7DpX5MxfB-2RBFYq-3QiRE3sv3jHrH-dTdBHVlkXNtL1dHjFk4sRDY1PafVb_-oHCHL7QXQ/s4032/IMG_0482.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-eKwDe_LDUUyQPcvRPkjVL_oQYdQkxHs8D-H-hmsUXojaavRUHu-q7qjOGIDFNnP09CCWawlyRup8zwaIuY7S1Q7Tw1Wp87sNxv0ZN6RhmnYfp-G4oz7DpX5MxfB-2RBFYq-3QiRE3sv3jHrH-dTdBHVlkXNtL1dHjFk4sRDY1PafVb_-oHCHL7QXQ/w300-h400/IMG_0482.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let us walk in the holy presence.</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-58485452985281420302023-02-20T17:02:00.000-05:002023-02-20T17:02:46.596-05:00I (We) Have No Idea This past week I had a Zoom meeting with three other Benedictine women for a group called "55 & Under." 55 & Under is a gathering of women across Benedictine federations in the United States. We are currently participating in a more intense three-year process as we look toward the future, as is the case for most women in religious life.<div><br /></div><div>We gathered in Beech Grove, Indiana last year and will head to Norfolk, Nebraska for more conversation later this year. In the meantime, we are meeting in small groups to talk and reflect. One of the members in my group offered the opening prayer, using the famous lines from Thomas Merton.<br /><br /><i>My Lord God,<br />I have no idea where I am going.<br />I do not see the road ahead of me.<br />I cannot know for certain where it will end.<br />nor do I really know myself,<br />and the fact that I think I am following your will<br />does not mean that I am actually doing so.<br />But I believe that the desire to please you<br />does in fact please you.<br />And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.<br />I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.<br /><br />And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,<br /><br />though I may know nothing about it.<br />Therefore will I trust you always though<br />I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.<br /><br />I will not fear, for you are ever with me,<br />and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>What was great about the prayer was pretty immediate. As soon as she said the lines, "I have no idea where I am going," we all started smiling and laughing to ourselves. </div><div><br /></div><div>None of us have any idea where we're going...and at least we're figuring it out together!</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MS3Wr0nL5_bzUagc2VQsV50krum4GGEQIn1aYIjc-AzvZgA0c1ad0BfM4xD1AhdX2_DOOgd9KF38xuVeC-kmf5U5kH2W3nSrXuBMmqtS223NgjM6iNR-p5l9WT8oyzYs7f4fCeMBVCYXOC7MWXzCOqpHHsbZPdLa1bhDkKc5hnR2Ghkb_5WFXM_a1g/s4032/IMG_0282.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MS3Wr0nL5_bzUagc2VQsV50krum4GGEQIn1aYIjc-AzvZgA0c1ad0BfM4xD1AhdX2_DOOgd9KF38xuVeC-kmf5U5kH2W3nSrXuBMmqtS223NgjM6iNR-p5l9WT8oyzYs7f4fCeMBVCYXOC7MWXzCOqpHHsbZPdLa1bhDkKc5hnR2Ghkb_5WFXM_a1g/w400-h300/IMG_0282.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-1198533722766512432023-02-12T15:04:00.004-05:002023-02-12T15:06:45.267-05:00Is this not a miracle?<div>I remember heading to a hermitage in our monastery woods to make retreat before I became a novice. In the hermitage was a copy of Mary Lou's book of poetry, <i>The Blue Heron and Thirty-Seven Other Miracles</i>. I read the poems in succession before the day ended. Each tells the story of a miracle Lou experienced in her life. Here is one.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"What</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>is</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>most</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>precious</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>life?"</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I asked.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Music,"</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>she answered,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"and loving</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>someone.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It doesn't</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>really matter</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>if you</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>are loved</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in return.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Just</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to love</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>another person</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>—at least once</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in your lifetime—</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>is reason</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>enough</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to have walked</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>the earth."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;">Is this not a miracle?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>____________________</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div>The sun was shining the other day, and we needed some fresh air at work. While I waited for J to come downstairs for a walk, I looked at the patch of soil that lines the walkway into the office. The daffodils were pushing themselves through a dead leaf. Resurrection. Miracle.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMXiztydm4HeLLm1U93jq9jBDAczVmMgb1iu2KzKuoJLkD64mWi7hWF4XQor7PgkTb1NaFpKRSKKc1ZUDmx9eXu94ptRfzHYYLEsmH77_8q9kriz-XssFdAacUhQqBhYrsjEBLFD9IQjPIxqOIqH-sSF3Go7PfCqUXHjUHE6ffjlAiXtI86_SZyu36g/s4032/IMG_0380.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMXiztydm4HeLLm1U93jq9jBDAczVmMgb1iu2KzKuoJLkD64mWi7hWF4XQor7PgkTb1NaFpKRSKKc1ZUDmx9eXu94ptRfzHYYLEsmH77_8q9kriz-XssFdAacUhQqBhYrsjEBLFD9IQjPIxqOIqH-sSF3Go7PfCqUXHjUHE6ffjlAiXtI86_SZyu36g/w400-h300/IMG_0380.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Mom is in town this weekend. She works at a garden center, so I took her to Potratz to see the greenhouse. The prayer plant...the pitcher plant...are these not miracles?</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0Ion2t0EPxr07bkumRHYW6nMToPvawQcqTidolQe_koBOZ3vuXCYluBFWXj64fg2j9k6Nv4DSH65gGGzSStJCS72uRQdtgv9Jjlf5Gm0ZW2XRUD6iLp-KnO5rQZ199CidqIQwu5mTxf8XQbmuH5NJfhPWuzgUQaZjxqbDzd5H2OfiCBzQGfm6Wc9Ng/s4032/IMG_0393.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0Ion2t0EPxr07bkumRHYW6nMToPvawQcqTidolQe_koBOZ3vuXCYluBFWXj64fg2j9k6Nv4DSH65gGGzSStJCS72uRQdtgv9Jjlf5Gm0ZW2XRUD6iLp-KnO5rQZ199CidqIQwu5mTxf8XQbmuH5NJfhPWuzgUQaZjxqbDzd5H2OfiCBzQGfm6Wc9Ng/w300-h400/IMG_0393.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwD5AhPrRnyE2HHh7XNDcuaN5eOgA4iuKJN0CuINjnxA0JJzpDq9VLujHrLFaZaCKdBD8Rzy9jCzpWsN13RVEykrOeOKI25X29UGFK_hCGBvNNq1n1Ej77Vw8vXYm043cye7rDFeXZX8uqQIOcpL18jSDdvZBfh4ZgKM2LX-qyEsKoGAPum3hyZYuOwQ/s4032/IMG_0394.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwD5AhPrRnyE2HHh7XNDcuaN5eOgA4iuKJN0CuINjnxA0JJzpDq9VLujHrLFaZaCKdBD8Rzy9jCzpWsN13RVEykrOeOKI25X29UGFK_hCGBvNNq1n1Ej77Vw8vXYm043cye7rDFeXZX8uqQIOcpL18jSDdvZBfh4ZgKM2LX-qyEsKoGAPum3hyZYuOwQ/w300-h400/IMG_0394.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We even spotted a blue heron while walking along the creek after Liturgy today. And when the meringue and the lemon filling seal themselves and don't separate? Maybe the best miracle!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJdR27yI02-ULJNuAljs_8T4XvAaCdc-aoqDE59Wc_tcQ8_xB0ITZcXf73z3t0234hAoqQIHmcf8GJ8rE_zINtDnau4hzLigqOEvTHUY3uZ2jznbXwS5mtwi1W2F8BhfH7YW5NgMkxMm3_P4IUwdk9-sClPAJNh44DRnQSdZtWTvXF6VoToZUrxEkpg/s3753/IMG_0408.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2180" data-original-width="3753" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJdR27yI02-ULJNuAljs_8T4XvAaCdc-aoqDE59Wc_tcQ8_xB0ITZcXf73z3t0234hAoqQIHmcf8GJ8rE_zINtDnau4hzLigqOEvTHUY3uZ2jznbXwS5mtwi1W2F8BhfH7YW5NgMkxMm3_P4IUwdk9-sClPAJNh44DRnQSdZtWTvXF6VoToZUrxEkpg/w400-h233/IMG_0408.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And here is a word-play miracle for a "quirky" person such as myself. When I played Wordle yesterday morning, I had five yellows right before my five greens! I had never experienced that before, and I simply delighted. What fun!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0Y-J977gCh4XCXXp_T4q79x7nbC3TiZSWPtJmAJJihIlopeJE727JuO0os6_DRh5wZzUuoNjI6PBsOeARJrX74uNl_jrfg4zVmWq6HJWUYx1QJ6fm4UfWbI7HzseSzxzsk7_b_ZZbPWpKnD9PKidu19kFf65XDn4gdz7MB0Pf16ISiptq5FyiCjtig/s2170/IMG_0389.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2170" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0Y-J977gCh4XCXXp_T4q79x7nbC3TiZSWPtJmAJJihIlopeJE727JuO0os6_DRh5wZzUuoNjI6PBsOeARJrX74uNl_jrfg4zVmWq6HJWUYx1QJ6fm4UfWbI7HzseSzxzsk7_b_ZZbPWpKnD9PKidu19kFf65XDn4gdz7MB0Pf16ISiptq5FyiCjtig/s320/IMG_0389.jpeg" width="173" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But, the real miracle I want this weekend? The Eagles to win the Super Bowl tonight! Fly, Eagles, Fly!</div><div><br /></div><div>We are surrounded by miracles, indeed. As we sang this morning, "Open my eyes, God."</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-83132221712398958722023-02-06T14:56:00.001-05:002023-02-06T20:57:45.145-05:00Women Talking Last week at dinner we were talking about our favorite films of all time. As a woman of a certain age, I have no choice but to include <i>Titanic</i> on the list, but there are others with perhaps some higher cinematic standards, too, that I included like <i>The Shawshank Redemption</i>.<div><br /></div><div>Little did I know that I would add another film to the list a few days later.</div><div><br /></div><div>J and I went to see <i>Women Talking,</i> the Oscar-nominated film by Sarah Polley. In the story (based on a novel, based on a true events), a group of women who belong to a Mennonite religious colony must discern whether they will stay or leave after the men continually abuse them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, the subject matter isn't easy, but the movie was so well made, so well acted, so thought-provoking that it had us captivated from start to finish. It started at 7:45pm, and I didn't even fall asleep! A true compliment!</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, it's hard not to think about the Rule of Benedict where, in Chapter 3, Benedict asks the prioress or abbot to call the community for counsel. The movie was basically an ongoing dialogue of discernment. There was listening, there was arguing, there was spirit moving, there was intergenerational insight.</div><div><br /></div><div>I cannot recommend it enough, though I admit, it might be not for everyone.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd also recommend the burrata at Cloud 9! Women talking over food!</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2NCyf8FUlTaaQrYgT6zhcN-Or8Bk064ZOJhq_d264skN2yuCHMIdUavYbOF9Bgn1lxq6dznbgE5nP1I1DC5_1aCLEe1FolY-FHgfgVSNz3wYZIhcpknwsnGOa3vplUJlEDOD53Hc99dxn0seUefnBJ8ZOiof_fXKGFCNnyTfBMMo7lqRLZY7q41tZog" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2NCyf8FUlTaaQrYgT6zhcN-Or8Bk064ZOJhq_d264skN2yuCHMIdUavYbOF9Bgn1lxq6dznbgE5nP1I1DC5_1aCLEe1FolY-FHgfgVSNz3wYZIhcpknwsnGOa3vplUJlEDOD53Hc99dxn0seUefnBJ8ZOiof_fXKGFCNnyTfBMMo7lqRLZY7q41tZog=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCqGcu_wlO9CSobYf0yVAhot1gluinkLKZ2iJeI044z7gnQeAy1kF_BCgBgnfNr_G96jS_AV_wWRI-ZWrT5LMrZHcO1AB9x_zj0swugjKNvEQfmRmlei6dVPxyHsElmovQ83xmYrkTordHIKarISvvZ6EC2VjDlyjzJjyMj72wWUWG71P8-MSKVfPWpQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="857" data-original-width="1524" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCqGcu_wlO9CSobYf0yVAhot1gluinkLKZ2iJeI044z7gnQeAy1kF_BCgBgnfNr_G96jS_AV_wWRI-ZWrT5LMrZHcO1AB9x_zj0swugjKNvEQfmRmlei6dVPxyHsElmovQ83xmYrkTordHIKarISvvZ6EC2VjDlyjzJjyMj72wWUWG71P8-MSKVfPWpQ" width="320" /></a></div></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-10000389633165136772023-01-20T18:42:00.002-05:002023-01-20T18:43:28.465-05:00On Monastic Prayer, continued + 1,000 Hours You know those alarm clocks that allow you to "wake up" to the sounds of nature. I had one as a kid, and I remember choosing the "Babbling Brook" setting.<div><br /></div><div>Well, this morning we had our very own all-natural alarm clock as water began dripping from the roof into chapel during morning praise! It certainly woke us up!</div><div><br /></div><div>What was even better were the lines from Psalm 32 we chanted, punctuated by the drip, drip, drip:</div><div><i>So let the faithful pray to you</i></div><div><i>in their time of need.</i></div><div><i>Even flood waters will never reach them.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, all is one! (And ironic!)</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of nature, I am just about done with a new book by religion historian Karen Armstrong, <i>Sacred Nature: Restoring Our Ancient Bond with the Natural World</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>She reminds us what so many others have reminded us: we humans are the ground we walk on. Let us be a bit more reverent; let us recognize our place in the cosmos. (See: Benedictine humility)</div><div><br /></div><div>Here are two of my favorite quotes from the book.</div><div><br /><i>Human beings have the freedom to make a voluntary act of </i>islam<i> (the "surrender" of ego) and to consciously shape their lives so that they reflect the source of being.<br /><br />We can practice a simple exercise that will remind us of the kenosis [self-emptying] that is central to a fulfilled human life. This is not a prayer. It is simply a short, sharp reminder of the essential frailty of our humanity that enables us to see ourselves realistically and, hopefully, improve. Every day, first thing in the morning and at night, for just a few moments we should consider three things: how little we know; how frequently we fail in kindness to other beings; and how limited are our desires and yearnings, which so often begin and end in our self.</i><br /><br />+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of nature (again), J suggested that we take on a challenge: spend 1,000 hours outside over the course of the year. Doing simple math, i.e. 1,000/365, we have to spend an average of just under 2.75 hours outside each day to achieve this goal. We are banking on summer days and maybe a camping trip (or two) to help us along. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am still not so sure it will really be achievable for me, but it's certainly something worth striving for. Plus, the comprehensive spreadsheet I made to log our hours is delightful for my organized and goal-oriented self!</div><div><br /></div><div>Here are some photos I have captured over the first 2% of the journey! (980 hours to go!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUd4dYC6AwWb8Cu3oPbymK2V-bwINMLfj5PsaQC4ZGR9VvyaNZ_5gG8kXY7EFZcIVnP_dOuRz7AnYBhxe4gbj5VxjNQpiu64NaQkNIqKukeZ0_R_IrYlAmubpjOpagrfly8jdwLcI4v1Mfq9_n8fUNyWxkeTcwGyaU65dAtTz-tE-h0ppRnIVK74PWPg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUd4dYC6AwWb8Cu3oPbymK2V-bwINMLfj5PsaQC4ZGR9VvyaNZ_5gG8kXY7EFZcIVnP_dOuRz7AnYBhxe4gbj5VxjNQpiu64NaQkNIqKukeZ0_R_IrYlAmubpjOpagrfly8jdwLcI4v1Mfq9_n8fUNyWxkeTcwGyaU65dAtTz-tE-h0ppRnIVK74PWPg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I love the contrast of the fog and these trees.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2lDQIRodqmg90bGIELE0Jc3LzsOV1njSF4OZ6N_vOEsBT0ws-nTsuVz9GIlIMLtaLTa9A9v1s79d-uiMtTQwMhCbl2xKXzVK93a2cQRDQwXRPDlD3OgZ0Uqq4INMXV0CdFYPCxYL0WGFLK1Y1Oje78kPug_3hB0zsoQUQHJ1L6ruYb-U1d9U8nBC_EQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2lDQIRodqmg90bGIELE0Jc3LzsOV1njSF4OZ6N_vOEsBT0ws-nTsuVz9GIlIMLtaLTa9A9v1s79d-uiMtTQwMhCbl2xKXzVK93a2cQRDQwXRPDlD3OgZ0Uqq4INMXV0CdFYPCxYL0WGFLK1Y1Oje78kPug_3hB0zsoQUQHJ1L6ruYb-U1d9U8nBC_EQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And I love when the horizon is indistinguishable.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiES9QLjArrPoHYUvRd6GS7mdoDpJ9CClexCyd8AsHQciVP2RO-qJGnHIVlN48kbSdNVKG2pseXQZUTpuA-rxxx0n5dZ1-ob4lnU6gwa1oJkZQYswOwD_3eihfttYsOoxBVDmrkqc2HoM4JQnRAXlGp1cOXOfU8QlCv33x16G1ON4jaIhf-HTytmz8J2A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiES9QLjArrPoHYUvRd6GS7mdoDpJ9CClexCyd8AsHQciVP2RO-qJGnHIVlN48kbSdNVKG2pseXQZUTpuA-rxxx0n5dZ1-ob4lnU6gwa1oJkZQYswOwD_3eihfttYsOoxBVDmrkqc2HoM4JQnRAXlGp1cOXOfU8QlCv33x16G1ON4jaIhf-HTytmz8J2A=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Overall, it hasn't been too snowy of a winter here.</div></div></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-44552748645297235082023-01-08T19:03:00.008-05:002023-01-08T19:24:35.622-05:00Old Monk + The GingkoSo many of us have memories of Old Monk, communal and individual, professional and personal, and all those memories somewhere in-between. <div><br /></div><div>The one I want to share here happened in October 2020, when we expected that she might only have a few months left after her cancer had metastasized. </div><div><br /></div><div>Old Monk decided the time had come to clean out her writing studio where she led numerous writing workshops, facilitated book and poetry discussions, and spent hours writing in solitude, too. She asked me to help her with the task.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, on a Monday afternoon we took some boxes to the classroom-turned-artist studio at St. Mary's School. There, there were so many books of poetry, books on teaching poetry, books on writing, so many books. But, among the books were so many ideas. On one piece of paper scattered among many, as though it were nothing, I found in her scratchy scribble, "COLLEGE FOR POOR." Then, there was a list underneath:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Philosophy</i></div><div><i>Art History</i></div><div><i>Logic</i></div><div><i>Rhetoric</i></div><div><i>Poetry</i></div><div><i>American History</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>30 students</i></div><div><i>2 nights a week/90 minutes</i></div><div><br /></div><div>The paper was caught between others, as though it were nothing, but it was illustrative of Old Monk's life: big ideas. Yet, it was just another idea among many of hers that would add something beautiful and just to the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>That was Old Monk's life, adding beauty and justice to the world as a sign of God's love for us all. And doing it in a uniquely creative and prophetic way.</div><div><br /></div><div>At one point, after we had boxed up the things she wanted to keep, Old Monk went to sit down. She said to me, "Come, sit down. Let's let our souls catch up to us."</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://eriebenedictines.org/story/memoriam-sister-mary-lou-kownacki-osb" target="_blank">Mary Lou did so much in her prodigious lifetime</a>; I was fortunate enough that my life crossed her own, even if only at the very end. And even though she did so much: advancing movements and holy ideas, creating communities and ministries, writing books and poems and pamphlets and reflections, she still found a way to let her "soul catch up to her" each day with a disciplined morning routine of prayer and reflection. And all she did was done with such fidelity to and integrity for life. Her life reminds me of the quote about Saint Scholastica, Benedict's twin sister: <i>She could do more because she loved more.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>In that same afternoon, she put on a hat that had been sitting on a shelf in her studio. It said "Art—Break the Rules." She loved art, and she loved breaking the rules. I asked her for some bit of wisdom; I don't even remember the exact question, but she replied, wearing this ridiculous-but-perfectly-suited-to-her-personality hat and that characteristic grin.</div><div><br /></div><div>"You gotta keep choosing life."</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhA5iKyW3BtbiL5KbBFALJRDT6vGwpcZniOdEWws0K3I-HxJkqxtnTnYbOUk8Lt9J0jyO_QIgTL_tGH9OWKTWKG_Ezb10tYRirarG0N7QxpfVP5POp68e4uvifGVZgfy7tU5ke9T15czMdC1PK7gexfdD2d1jDLWSSl47G4t7xoAgLVlM0zlBwtouQLQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhA5iKyW3BtbiL5KbBFALJRDT6vGwpcZniOdEWws0K3I-HxJkqxtnTnYbOUk8Lt9J0jyO_QIgTL_tGH9OWKTWKG_Ezb10tYRirarG0N7QxpfVP5POp68e4uvifGVZgfy7tU5ke9T15czMdC1PK7gexfdD2d1jDLWSSl47G4t7xoAgLVlM0zlBwtouQLQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, Mary Lou did keep choosing life. She fought death all the way to the end; she fought death for two years more than her terminal prognosis. She fought death in so many ways throughout her 81 years here on earth. She committed herself to giving life to community, to the poor, to the nonviolent moment, to the gospel message, to furthering the cause of women (especially in the Church), to art, to feast and family, to all these parts of life that she cherished.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Old Monk loved ginkgo trees, too. I saw this one during a walk on a fall afternoon in the city she loved so much.</div><div><br /></div>On the <a href="https://smithsonianeducation.org/educators/professional_development/conference/2009/climate_change/ginkgo.html" target="_blank">Smithsonian Education website</a>, it reads:<br /><i>In Japanese decorative art, the ginkgo’s distinctive fan-shaped leaf has carried symbolism along with its singular beauty: the ginkgo has been a symbol of longevity (the tree can live for a thousand years) and of a more profound endurance (four ginkgos survived the blast at Hiroshima and are still growing today).</i><br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEib6nALGp-qR2WEttXu-yqlqJGoJwAFwrKv720FKLinZuIrguDTmweBzR56PSZ2JwOHgOUN00nR5HV_HuaBp8HgMfApkpGWHfycH8L9aq4nt149MsUdKBBYZ_jVO8jCKg7GYeaMuLdE5a24mKqGoY0rAz2bpybIi6iS7kDH_toZ6HEOBO6J17dHCzVGlg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEib6nALGp-qR2WEttXu-yqlqJGoJwAFwrKv720FKLinZuIrguDTmweBzR56PSZ2JwOHgOUN00nR5HV_HuaBp8HgMfApkpGWHfycH8L9aq4nt149MsUdKBBYZ_jVO8jCKg7GYeaMuLdE5a24mKqGoY0rAz2bpybIi6iS7kDH_toZ6HEOBO6J17dHCzVGlg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div></div><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>a more profound endurance</div><div>and a more profound way of living</div><div>she could do more because she loved more</div><div>that was mary lou kownacki.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-43807578465397812032023-01-01T11:05:00.002-05:002023-01-01T16:45:15.682-05:00New Year, Same Liminality My mentor and I are reading Pema Chödrön's new book, <i>How We Live is How We Die</i>. The contents are as challenging and scary to take in as the title suggests! The title reminds me of a line that one of our sisters sometimes quotes to me from another sister, "As you are in the novitiate, so you'll be in the infirmary."<div><br /></div><div>It's hard to not think about death these days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another dear and greatly influential mentor of mine passed away last week. Dr. Robak's wisdom helped to set in motion a lot of necessary discernment and change in my life during my senior year of undergrad. I can't imagine I'd be where I am today without his presence.</div><div><br /></div><div>And Old Monk also continues her transition back to stardust.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rafiki is another wise mentor at a time like this: "It's the circle of life."</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9gJbxx5eqFJE38YYm17MXVizyWmA8G0R_7V79w2iJxbo9osINX7lwc3KiDQts7HYlKKoZDKrfoj02IDy7IjdK8NJG-l90qpc4W5Ep3NIUxiBydWNex5vpFkx3s7xIdLabivlmwkpKOGv5S0mvv1Fclof6PGiD6R09p1NPkM04WsvrwVecu6QrCHqJQQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9gJbxx5eqFJE38YYm17MXVizyWmA8G0R_7V79w2iJxbo9osINX7lwc3KiDQts7HYlKKoZDKrfoj02IDy7IjdK8NJG-l90qpc4W5Ep3NIUxiBydWNex5vpFkx3s7xIdLabivlmwkpKOGv5S0mvv1Fclof6PGiD6R09p1NPkM04WsvrwVecu6QrCHqJQQ=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>We have only read the first three chapters from Pema, but the focus is impermanence. She writes, "Contemplating continual change is a poignant experience."</div><div><br /></div><div>It feels especially poignant right now.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, the reality of living in a constant liminal space does open us up to connection and compassion.</div><div><br /></div><div>During this time Pema offers comfort:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>These feelings [of sadness or anxiety that come from reflecting on the passage of time and reality of impermanence] aren't a sign of something being wrong. We don't have to push them away. We don't have to label them as negative or reject them in any way. Instead, we can develop openheartedness to our painful emotions around impermanence. We can learn to sit with these feelings, to become curious about them, to see what vulnerability has to offer. In that very fear, in that very melancholy, is our compassionate heart, our immeasurable wisdom, our connection to all other living beings on this planet, each of whom are going through their own bardos [in-between states]. When we stay present with our transitory experience and all that its fleetingness evokes, we get in touch with our braver self, our deepest nature.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>May this new year be one of deep connection and deep compassion for and with all creation as we change and grow together.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgc15lhi1-Jlslsuk6T9JNpTVVSgO7MbI4PAPNgF-jJAnCmr0ePVUepqtYuyYMqsncDjM44lSiYql4Sjta7VZaiN3s_m7bwgmL6kg35RggNdmRVowAkfdlMdfb_6LuO354kGGsmVzM_eMkJv4PeCnh5HRF-2LoJKkbyzS9CQ7MAZfC0uvHxFv8V6xdPKQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgc15lhi1-Jlslsuk6T9JNpTVVSgO7MbI4PAPNgF-jJAnCmr0ePVUepqtYuyYMqsncDjM44lSiYql4Sjta7VZaiN3s_m7bwgmL6kg35RggNdmRVowAkfdlMdfb_6LuO354kGGsmVzM_eMkJv4PeCnh5HRF-2LoJKkbyzS9CQ7MAZfC0uvHxFv8V6xdPKQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqN1NkhTYcG8zbbGh0cvyRPaE2F0TuZBpeUMQIbs_g5diYEcYJtc2bFukMlYIIyP4Fot6yjPhZ3kjiEOn8zGX59PtIM95BNOG-kaXYOL1JArYR_DBTx_mGR7Npx7GRFeQK5RD-DV50kX8CXZWbpjIfIr7jdMItBrQiO4dlr0hT_DeRxt9yGbRQDW6nGw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="769" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqN1NkhTYcG8zbbGh0cvyRPaE2F0TuZBpeUMQIbs_g5diYEcYJtc2bFukMlYIIyP4Fot6yjPhZ3kjiEOn8zGX59PtIM95BNOG-kaXYOL1JArYR_DBTx_mGR7Npx7GRFeQK5RD-DV50kX8CXZWbpjIfIr7jdMItBrQiO4dlr0hT_DeRxt9yGbRQDW6nGw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjX-G-gkFu92k-Dv04D6lXBj9bd8ZlmS0Et-1KWSv4mebc5-dS7rclmZC1b3jmVt8NYvMQxEXI_6Wr_lgZVD8J83VvGvoM8ULu5jMOg-tcLsymSR5_ZAflfTT4I1O23u46h27IXi9lmZGjyedtXU04hhIoZnPl83qcQCg9G3ZRW8YP1yDoeGijKjGyt7g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjX-G-gkFu92k-Dv04D6lXBj9bd8ZlmS0Et-1KWSv4mebc5-dS7rclmZC1b3jmVt8NYvMQxEXI_6Wr_lgZVD8J83VvGvoM8ULu5jMOg-tcLsymSR5_ZAflfTT4I1O23u46h27IXi9lmZGjyedtXU04hhIoZnPl83qcQCg9G3ZRW8YP1yDoeGijKjGyt7g=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div></div>A Christmas-Day walk to the lake offered us these scenes. 60-degree weather last week changed that landscape quite a bit though!</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-82503189380608711652022-12-23T18:39:00.004-05:002022-12-23T18:44:58.233-05:00A fuller meaning of ChristmasA handful of our brave staff and volunteers ventured out to the soup kitchen for our Christmas dinner this afternoon amidst some pretty hazardous driving and weather conditions. While the snowfall isn't too deep here yet, the wind and the chill are dangerous. I am grateful to those organizing and running our city's shelter, especially during these days.<div><br /></div><div>I am always amazed by the faithfulness of the Emmaus community, but I shouldn't be; they always show up. Whether it was the height of the pandemic when so much about our safety and wellbeing was uncertain, to a rather serious and extended Christmas storm today, so many are selfless when it comes to living the gospel in the daily.</div><div><br /></div><div>I recently stumbled upon this reflection from Old Monk in her book, <i>A Monk in the Inner City</i>. The reflection is titled "Yuletide Carols," and it captures so wonderfully why we wait in hope for the coming of our incarnated Savior.</div><div>______________________</div><div><br /></div><i>The Advent season is especially meaningful this year. The snows are heavy and deep and comforting. It is easy to pray with Isaiah,</i><br /><br />Though your sins be red as crimson,<br />I will make them white as wool.<br /><br /><i>And there is such silence. City noises, encased in yards of white swaddling, are muffled. Cars, concrete sidewalks, and other hard objects lie buried under the soft snow.</i><br /><br /><i>We are forced to slow down—walk carefully so we don’t slip; drive cautiously so we don’t skid. We can spend more time indoors reading, listening to music, and praying. We prepare. For soon, “when the earth is in peaceful silence, and the night is in the midst of its course, your almighty Word, O Lord, will leap down from heaven.”</i><br /><br /><i>It’s easy to get sucked into thinking that this is what Christmas is all about.</i><br /><br /><i>Thank God for the soup kitchen. Is there a lonelier place on earth as Christmas nears? The guys start drinking in the middle of the month so that by Christmas week they can’t even hear the words “I’ll be home for Christmas” blaring on the radio. It’s their only defense. We try to make it less sad. But even handing out brightly wrapped socks and scarves and lotions, or having a party and singing Christmas carols and drinking hot chocolate doesn’t ease the heartbreak.</i><br /><br /><i>I’m grateful for both experiences—quiet confident joy at the coming of the Savior, tempered by the harsh reality of human suffering. Together, they capture a fuller meaning of Christmas.</i><div>______________________</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you, Old Monk. And Christmas blessings to you all! May you be incarnated love each day.</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZltH710hxW6rFRJRorZdcglD2oba4n8jcF2tAPQeJ77VYUGUPI2pAbCx9nY6CsShtRAlSMGJjTHE1bu-7L-U7P_KNuiTkg-OOhk4B-UFYH1iHAJaDFFFyldKUqeIwa2wkiy4v7sGiIP2LvJXr_vX7_QR_oyczvgzCynowH7eILpe-ufW6lv7xEnlhHg/s4032/IMG_0057.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZltH710hxW6rFRJRorZdcglD2oba4n8jcF2tAPQeJ77VYUGUPI2pAbCx9nY6CsShtRAlSMGJjTHE1bu-7L-U7P_KNuiTkg-OOhk4B-UFYH1iHAJaDFFFyldKUqeIwa2wkiy4v7sGiIP2LvJXr_vX7_QR_oyczvgzCynowH7eILpe-ufW6lv7xEnlhHg/w300-h400/IMG_0057.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mary graces our Emmaus office, also waiting hopefully.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBsWqK75yG0qtpCUgoqroAqRc4CIpanxxLlyelhWgMQP8ycHI8ROt6ToJePCtisgn6WsoyV_sb1GL_j6BeMFKESQaMt-53TWZNqkYnqtMy__e7OQUNqimcVi00SaeSDHp8903ev3EKbM6kAE3YtCREVywZbPpQu0f2T1ETiY6qbJZ9skUUeA4QPic1fA/s4032/IMG_0081.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBsWqK75yG0qtpCUgoqroAqRc4CIpanxxLlyelhWgMQP8ycHI8ROt6ToJePCtisgn6WsoyV_sb1GL_j6BeMFKESQaMt-53TWZNqkYnqtMy__e7OQUNqimcVi00SaeSDHp8903ev3EKbM6kAE3YtCREVywZbPpQu0f2T1ETiY6qbJZ9skUUeA4QPic1fA/s320/IMG_0081.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The tree graces chapel, and the photo doesn't do it justice.<br />It's from our woods, and it's totally magnificent.</div></div>The liminality of Advent and Christmas on display.<br /></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-25164977273943251612022-12-19T14:59:00.001-05:002022-12-19T14:59:35.183-05:00Pizzelles: A Perfectionist's Perspective Everyone gets on my case about being a perfectionist. And while it causes undue anxiety and tension in my life, there are times when it's helpful. And there are also times when others come out to play the game with me!<div><br /></div><div>Pizzelle night is one of those moments.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbjLaZjr2bKC6ZyRRRSkg93acih4K1ecR8tIvE0ctmAUZJTKZQwxxfsLfjV-NkmmS4r-yw5KwrEh7epjKSUuNo-e4554rwEM3eiPFeCgm0K9SeOuO_UjB-f15x80buxe3MWgemt23BDcIPP5m2FcuTrmgCaPUcUWIBGwnAdkxRKQd_tzHJR4GGl45IMg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbjLaZjr2bKC6ZyRRRSkg93acih4K1ecR8tIvE0ctmAUZJTKZQwxxfsLfjV-NkmmS4r-yw5KwrEh7epjKSUuNo-e4554rwEM3eiPFeCgm0K9SeOuO_UjB-f15x80buxe3MWgemt23BDcIPP5m2FcuTrmgCaPUcUWIBGwnAdkxRKQd_tzHJR4GGl45IMg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div>A yearly tradition at the monastery, everyone looks to make the *perfect* circle with the pizzelle irons, getting just the right amount of batter at just the right location for just the right amount of time. And when they do, they want everyone to know. And we all rejoice in those satisfying shapes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Marilyn, responsible, for the operation, gives us all pointers before we start, elevating the hope that the perfect circle is within our reach!</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLFje5BCOFeXT0UJ2xNDZ3bOFcZ_60l_1CbDNezgh0VEDF7XrisYfSsitnRRUeIFm227PdvKxWggGu7rycKlqIxu0SygtszfEYSje-ozrWCr2szcE_JwOyxoYJ2Y9u3EGI66jo5fxUgD-1XHLIqfeeLnryTso4kVwFeTJ67VfRvcXfk80L_z6I6HSBrA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="769" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLFje5BCOFeXT0UJ2xNDZ3bOFcZ_60l_1CbDNezgh0VEDF7XrisYfSsitnRRUeIFm227PdvKxWggGu7rycKlqIxu0SygtszfEYSje-ozrWCr2szcE_JwOyxoYJ2Y9u3EGI66jo5fxUgD-1XHLIqfeeLnryTso4kVwFeTJ67VfRvcXfk80L_z6I6HSBrA=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>You can see many of my attempts above...Maybe not perfect, but they certainly offered an opportunity to appreciate diversity!</div><div><br />Many joined in on the fun!</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBvuTsO3-PxH1vTvJ_nOS9k9bL0Hp5k0EbTJP2CAkitRJcIclMCCu__rdfu7hBzO92aQ0JsxH5afNzjl6B5-AyaDdg_3OdQMp8ADy-ZG8gSAfKo3xhbg3DgAQDJcUY4oqpZtmRKuOIPq_-HZlnLwRfeWjTakc6sWi5NnfzXHGT2W0_GGHC_fdPPshxgw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBvuTsO3-PxH1vTvJ_nOS9k9bL0Hp5k0EbTJP2CAkitRJcIclMCCu__rdfu7hBzO92aQ0JsxH5afNzjl6B5-AyaDdg_3OdQMp8ADy-ZG8gSAfKo3xhbg3DgAQDJcUY4oqpZtmRKuOIPq_-HZlnLwRfeWjTakc6sWi5NnfzXHGT2W0_GGHC_fdPPshxgw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhi3SXWB27yrtpBomz1GM2sIsAAxKA6L3vgcomDkAGh8LaqvEp_SwXJx9L5r63E0RwfPw7ZanJEsIOQjP1j-MGdflWtOKe6EV8s0aWjNv5keepABuIE6xX_dQVQTSVZyEDOAGHqvAbb8HWh98b5E1ifvXcqNpHLFTOWpSdkkJ6tdTCZl69HvqJsmwI1MA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhi3SXWB27yrtpBomz1GM2sIsAAxKA6L3vgcomDkAGh8LaqvEp_SwXJx9L5r63E0RwfPw7ZanJEsIOQjP1j-MGdflWtOKe6EV8s0aWjNv5keepABuIE6xX_dQVQTSVZyEDOAGHqvAbb8HWh98b5E1ifvXcqNpHLFTOWpSdkkJ6tdTCZl69HvqJsmwI1MA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoaJVizdZuMullIQeso8Z0Bzpj_vdWBCSOuN_l9yAkE0X2MgWb5H45Bo2B5DOiU-W195WluAI9NBLbVwAgjofteh5uR-3yI67LOYoO2m0U9SAVmGDeMa7EFUoZXeCe6-J1LN5LpYSRXPFCOwJSnvRQ-ST5pW5v6D6JsHMND8q95mPjJHo-9Y8qecZqyw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoaJVizdZuMullIQeso8Z0Bzpj_vdWBCSOuN_l9yAkE0X2MgWb5H45Bo2B5DOiU-W195WluAI9NBLbVwAgjofteh5uR-3yI67LOYoO2m0U9SAVmGDeMa7EFUoZXeCe6-J1LN5LpYSRXPFCOwJSnvRQ-ST5pW5v6D6JsHMND8q95mPjJHo-9Y8qecZqyw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Here was my best attempt of the evening!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1lLB0rVAnGN0vLhDpH1f1qeshhdbLZ_6HaumhXUo1U3i3R12mPDcuje9RMXefSQNk3hzYQRE4W1sGrYoMCG3djgwLM32xv6NQ874EO0b9hB0YgeLbTwQLFM6OJ60eQliXzFm6JAcwd3qsbN10aBijaK1emsTP6xf2yOEfgTAbDnnr7hZlxoAJJrLTdA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="769" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1lLB0rVAnGN0vLhDpH1f1qeshhdbLZ_6HaumhXUo1U3i3R12mPDcuje9RMXefSQNk3hzYQRE4W1sGrYoMCG3djgwLM32xv6NQ874EO0b9hB0YgeLbTwQLFM6OJ60eQliXzFm6JAcwd3qsbN10aBijaK1emsTP6xf2yOEfgTAbDnnr7hZlxoAJJrLTdA=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But, of course, when they aren't perfect, we have to cut off the extra ends...and eat them, too! Maybe imperfections aren't so bad!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The anise and vanilla cookies are all boxed and ready to savor on Christmas Eve after Liturgy... Anticipation!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiiOg01Ke_KhipLhQTqlwrnIPPCNfz3V7hyB8Jt4-a3DIM6m215MSUUJDqY411udq1urOn2Jn4LZuuaEIx2HTe8FrX9oMWCpPDjhsiae5T57yevS5FTFtnVnEBwIZYXhE9kcdW2ZZg4ahWZUVmoUhhyfkC2ySuDCiFkw0gQIF7rXi8O8IqLJTe5pIE_Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="769" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiiOg01Ke_KhipLhQTqlwrnIPPCNfz3V7hyB8Jt4-a3DIM6m215MSUUJDqY411udq1urOn2Jn4LZuuaEIx2HTe8FrX9oMWCpPDjhsiae5T57yevS5FTFtnVnEBwIZYXhE9kcdW2ZZg4ahWZUVmoUhhyfkC2ySuDCiFkw0gQIF7rXi8O8IqLJTe5pIE_Q=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Let us walk in the holy presence.</div></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-73764857049904560332022-12-10T20:26:00.002-05:002022-12-10T20:29:06.240-05:00To Be of Use: More on Advent<div>One of my favorite scenes at the monastery these days can be spotted in our courtyard. Each Advent one of our sisters decorates with lights. It used to be just the magnolia tree, but now it has extended to the bushes on the west side of the courtyard. And this year, another extension! Look at Mary herself!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEiurCMDRM5G53voY6ITg-sGqFEgIvK4eWYJc0pBB7RsIi3b07rp8-0Q9ibH1nHrzg5T33044_WhL-291dnNzetJHctMN8BgEYCA29_2pMIX9vOcEnpm21BJC1X1mrjAjoObB3lUfe7UOlu0sVBLK_PyyVuyHw4w8gIhtnMZIx2i_qPhEzK4HwmReNsw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEiurCMDRM5G53voY6ITg-sGqFEgIvK4eWYJc0pBB7RsIi3b07rp8-0Q9ibH1nHrzg5T33044_WhL-291dnNzetJHctMN8BgEYCA29_2pMIX9vOcEnpm21BJC1X1mrjAjoObB3lUfe7UOlu0sVBLK_PyyVuyHw4w8gIhtnMZIx2i_qPhEzK4HwmReNsw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br />Salve Regina!</div><div><br /></div><div>It makes me think of a Marge Piercy poem I love.</div><div><br /></div><i><b>To be of use</b><br /></i><div><i>Marge Piercy</i></div><div><i><br />The people I love the best<br />jump into work head first<br />without dallying in the shallows<br />and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.<br />They seem to become natives of that element,<br />the black sleek heads of seals<br />bouncing like half-submerged balls.<br /><br />I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,<br />who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,<br />who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,<br />who do what has to be done, again and again.<br /><br />I want to be with people who submerge<br />in the task, who go into the fields to harvest<br />and work in a row and pass the bags along,<br />who are not parlor generals and field deserters<br />but move in a common rhythm<br />when the food must come in or the fire be put out.<br /><br />The work of the world is common as mud.<br />Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.<br />But the thing worth doing well done<br />has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.<br />Greek amphoras for wine or oil,<br />Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums<br />but you know they were made to be used.<br />The pitcher cries for water to carry<br />and a person for work that is real.</i><div class="o-grid" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 22px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="o-grid-col o-grid-col_10of12" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; width: 638.367px;"></div></div></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Mary wants to be of use, too.</div><div><br /></div><div>We know Mary isn't the passive young mother in the way history has portrayed her. No, she was fully submerged in the task of being the Mother of God, and she is a model for us today. She, too, is an incarnation of God's love in our world—teaching us mercy, compassion, resiliency, and courage. No wonder God opted for incarnation; we, too, are here to be put to use.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>My friend shared with me a most beautiful rendition of the first lines of Isaiah 54 from the group Sweet Honey in the Rock—<i>Sing Oh Barren One</i>. It's worth the 12 minutes, I promise!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/mtq6LhRIf-U" width="320" youtube-src-id="mtq6LhRIf-U"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>I just finished a book called <i>lighter</i> by yung pueblo. The cover has the appearance a self-help book, which can be off-putting to me, but I found it to be one of the most profound books that I've read about doing inner work, i.e. making it an appropriate and beautiful Advent read.</div><div><br /></div><div>In between his prose, yung pueblo (It's a pseudonym meaning "young people" and signifying that "humanity is entering an era of remarkable growth and healing, when many will expand their self-awareness and release old burdens.") intersperses some short, thought-provoking poetry.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's that inner work, or as monastics would call it—<i>conversatio</i>—that allows us to more fully express the truth of incarnation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's an example of these poems, one which I think is also fitting for this liturgical season:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>we allow ourselves to love because it's worth the risk</i></div><div><i>even though there is the chance of loss or hurt</i></div><div><i>we take the leap again and again</i></div><div><i>because love is one of the best parts of being alive</i></div><div><i>we don't do it because it's easy</i></div><div><i>we do it because connection makes everything brighter</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Let us keep taking the risks of love—even when it doesn't feel useful, even when we feel barren.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-48095527047290391582022-12-03T18:38:00.002-05:002022-12-03T18:40:55.703-05:00Advent: A Different PerspectiveOn the first day that we heard Isaiah proclaimed at morning prayer our sister read with such conviction those dreamy, yet possible passages of hope, light, and promise. <div><div><br /></div></div>It must be Advent! And how good that is...<div><br /><div>... because Advent offers us an opportunity to hope and dream of what it might look like if we took more seriously the reality of incarnation, the truth that we are embodied love.<br /><br />It's a perspective we could really use these days. (Isn't that the kind of stuff we say each Advent?!)<br /><br />I love this poem by Jan Richardson because it gives us a different perspective on the Annunciation. Of course we ponder for ourselves how insurmountable it might have felt for Mary to say "Yes" and hope we might muster up the courage to give a real, heartfelt one ourselves at least once in our lives.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, how must it have felt to bear the news to Mary, to have to be the one to tell her about God's big ask? No wonder it took an angel!</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you love the poem, too.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg47M24QTb1RWM9SZFYlGBSNy_CO_RXQ7hfn2keoLYE8BZ87qkjFHQXejRiKjULp5shXebVmJn12JUHFicHp60oQWx3ATds8ryDGzgipjnudUPRF8RWTvipyj5JMaApRpyELEmXIhjVM2AlADLgT-vpMMLnm_sC4JD4KYqBRAQsM3qEJcGCGDxpw2OLxg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg47M24QTb1RWM9SZFYlGBSNy_CO_RXQ7hfn2keoLYE8BZ87qkjFHQXejRiKjULp5shXebVmJn12JUHFicHp60oQWx3ATds8ryDGzgipjnudUPRF8RWTvipyj5JMaApRpyELEmXIhjVM2AlADLgT-vpMMLnm_sC4JD4KYqBRAQsM3qEJcGCGDxpw2OLxg=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgH6xaMVeWd-SZWV9zV8ePEnksUEuH0XvTw_SsVe-6txMH_PTpJMIgXaj1aTJtXfV8d4y8XpFiTui6u0VbcuYN-y0ieg1jsglVBmD773l9-fSHxRl7khAX2vFFobHlHiGggXZuTq95leIfzE4hDb2EFVQT7aqV3s_biz_3VU9_i5-v-3PO8F0SFcprj9g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgH6xaMVeWd-SZWV9zV8ePEnksUEuH0XvTw_SsVe-6txMH_PTpJMIgXaj1aTJtXfV8d4y8XpFiTui6u0VbcuYN-y0ieg1jsglVBmD773l9-fSHxRl7khAX2vFFobHlHiGggXZuTq95leIfzE4hDb2EFVQT7aqV3s_biz_3VU9_i5-v-3PO8F0SFcprj9g=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjGUGXLx12oajZiss8vnTUP62sEnzv-D6P1bBDeeQJXMAo7ZoL5IG81yrMLUGLXNPbaG4CgldmD0snJcnz3LfJRjzn4GJprxlrju1lyZ52SYgGBerJhTSaVmp-Nx4CcJxy9n7O9zhuPxEbj27B6aHcj5ys-O5dVa5N6JOmAb48I6Jnfmvzq-5LOqk-6YA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjGUGXLx12oajZiss8vnTUP62sEnzv-D6P1bBDeeQJXMAo7ZoL5IG81yrMLUGLXNPbaG4CgldmD0snJcnz3LfJRjzn4GJprxlrju1lyZ52SYgGBerJhTSaVmp-Nx4CcJxy9n7O9zhuPxEbj27B6aHcj5ys-O5dVa5N6JOmAb48I6Jnfmvzq-5LOqk-6YA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Gabriel’s Annunciation</i></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Jan Richardson</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For a moment</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I hesitated</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>on the threshold.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For the space</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>of a breath</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I paused,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>unwilling to disturb</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>her last ordinary moment,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>knowing that the next step</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>would cleave her life:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>that this day</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>would slice her story</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in two,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>dividing all the days before</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>from all the ones</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to come.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The artists would later</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>depict the scene:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mary dazzled</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>by the archangel,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>her head bowed</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in humble assent,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>awed by the messenger</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>who condescended</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to leave paradise</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to bestow such an honor</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>upon a woman, and mortal.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Yet I tell you</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>it was I who was dazzled,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I who found myself agape</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>when I came upon her—</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>reading, at the loom, in the kitchen,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I cannot now recall;</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>only that the woman before me—</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>blessed and full of grace</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>long before I called her so—</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>shimmered with how completely</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>she inhabited herself,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>inhabited the space around her,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>inhabited the moment</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>that hung between us.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I wanted to save her</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>from what I had been sent</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to say.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Yet when the time came,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>when I had stammered</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>the invitation</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(history would not record</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>the sweat on my brow,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>the pounding of my heart;</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>would not note</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>that I said</i></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Do not be afraid</i></div></i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to myself as much as</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to her)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>it was she</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>who saved me—</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>her first deliverance—</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>her Let it be</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>not just declaration</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>to the Divine</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>but a word of solace,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>of soothing,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>of benediction</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>for the angel</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in the doorway</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>who would hesitate</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>one last time—</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>just for the space</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>of a breath</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>torn from his chest—</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>before wrenching himself away</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>from her radiant consent,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>her beautiful and</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>awful yes.</i></div></div></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-33601137635056328032022-11-23T13:14:00.002-05:002022-11-23T13:14:33.298-05:00Renounce and Enjoy (and Give Thanks)During her reflections at my final profession, our prioress quoted Gandhi's secret to life. (Get ready...it's not fun...)<br /><br /><i>Renounce and enjoy.</i><div><br /></div><div>Isn't that brutal? Let go of it all, and experience joy. <a href="https://bible.usccb.org/bible/mark/10?17" target="_blank">The gospel was about the young person who wanted to know the secret to inheriting eternal life</a>. Renounce and enjoy... Really? Is there no other way?</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I got a fresh, and even more challenging, take on renunciation while reading Pema Chödrön's, <i>The Wisdom of No Escape</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"Renunciation does not have to be regarded as negative. I was taught that it has to do with letting go of holding back. What one is renouncing is closing down and shutting off from life. You could say that renunciation is the same thing as opening to the teachings of the present moment.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"It's probably good to think of the ground of renunciation as being our good old selves, our basic decency and sense of humor. [...] It's as if everyone who has ever been born has the same birthright, which is enormous potential of warm heart and clear mind. The ground of renunciation is realizing that we already have exactly what we need, that what we have already is good. Every moment of time has enormous energy in it, and we could connect with that."</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Renunciation is not just about giving up my possessions; it's about giving up anything that takes me out of the present moment. For me, that usually has something to do with giving up my ego and my anxieties and embracing my conceited, worried self just as it is. It means, after the awareness comes, trying to move away from the conceit and anxiety without beating myself up, but rather laughing at myself for falling into the traps of the ego, yet again, for the hundredth (thousandth?!) time that day. Renunciation is about giving up anything that takes me away from being who I am, where I am—so that I can be open, honest, and light-hearted about who I am, where I am.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I'd rather renounce my extra winter coat.</div><div><br /></div><div>(But it doesn't hurt to do that, too.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I think, or at least hope, we've all had some taste of it—letting go of our agendas, letting go of our desire to live somewhere other than reality, letting go of our idea of the right way to do something, letting go of wanting to be something other than who we are—and tasting the joy that comes from just being. It's the call of meditation, as Pema would remind us. Let go. Breathe. Be. Renounce. Enjoy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, it's harder than giving away our coats, but there is indeed so much joy waiting for us there.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the start of the chapter on renunciation from Pema, she writes that when people enter the Buddhist faith, they receive a title. People aren't too happy when they receive the title "Renunciation." No wonder.</div><div><br /></div><div>We, too, in our community receive a title at profession. My title is "Of Mary, Joyful Bearer of the Word."</div><div><br /></div><div>It's hard to joyfully bear much of anything when I am caught up in myself. No wonder I needed a reminder to "renounce" if I was going to "enjoy." </div><div><br /></div>I am so, so grateful to all those who journey on the path of renunciation with me. I am grateful to community, friends, family, guests of Emmaus, our volunteers, and so many more who come into my life with a reminder that the work of renunciation is worth it for the joy it bears in our lives.<br /><br /><div><div>Joyful Thanksgiving to you all!</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzN8YPreSXoEV9sT5LP7oFg378mxDF1FTcPA2RY59vWDPACQ65lPlHOJL7em_4AIQPi7_rW_BKCFRx9fTioYEODK0oH_fITcx_GAEy0hfWq_aJ3VHokZSy-WQjjZaG5kB0flmb-44eMcbAEs17NnqWTQ8PO3ONMBQtXWZCHsQ9UcRsaaUAfIQ1dNjq-Q/s4032/IMG_1176.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzN8YPreSXoEV9sT5LP7oFg378mxDF1FTcPA2RY59vWDPACQ65lPlHOJL7em_4AIQPi7_rW_BKCFRx9fTioYEODK0oH_fITcx_GAEy0hfWq_aJ3VHokZSy-WQjjZaG5kB0flmb-44eMcbAEs17NnqWTQ8PO3ONMBQtXWZCHsQ9UcRsaaUAfIQ1dNjq-Q/s320/IMG_1176.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRJWcOwJ_f0_gEGSKOwWzP0Ei4tkEg-_9eOzQv3bDLDMvM9SG8KJpMctHhDL4-_zf78zonsd1nVKgyp_4KN3c_mHVWWkx_qNcCih6B_EyP1O8e9LXtr3h7XN-OLD6vkXJ0MvZaMyrsf6tGd8wh9uTQ8sLrWMBNmbFwN_P4yvVmL36xlVNt28I8be0ig/s4032/IMG_1187.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRJWcOwJ_f0_gEGSKOwWzP0Ei4tkEg-_9eOzQv3bDLDMvM9SG8KJpMctHhDL4-_zf78zonsd1nVKgyp_4KN3c_mHVWWkx_qNcCih6B_EyP1O8e9LXtr3h7XN-OLD6vkXJ0MvZaMyrsf6tGd8wh9uTQ8sLrWMBNmbFwN_P4yvVmL36xlVNt28I8be0ig/s320/IMG_1187.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNi7ij6Y75mXxZCgy8SLd360MRRhdQ1nYd620F3EWYMLzxs7p2hphvLzwfwN5uvvFL-GX24Hz94cc6SJ5ilfxC89XJQkQEb1MTfaQoK2v-auhFqrZymTdFc05usluEdv6RQrPhyxCEiLH88jhGJXSRXb1t_mk5x99srvxp0RuYVqSR0Yj8lkYuFG3Otw/s4032/IMG_1191.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNi7ij6Y75mXxZCgy8SLd360MRRhdQ1nYd620F3EWYMLzxs7p2hphvLzwfwN5uvvFL-GX24Hz94cc6SJ5ilfxC89XJQkQEb1MTfaQoK2v-auhFqrZymTdFc05usluEdv6RQrPhyxCEiLH88jhGJXSRXb1t_mk5x99srvxp0RuYVqSR0Yj8lkYuFG3Otw/s320/IMG_1191.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></div></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-14336607311015207062022-11-12T18:31:00.001-05:002022-11-12T18:32:12.608-05:00War No MoreI always struggle to decide if I should watch movies about war.<br /><br />This choice is made even more difficult when my favorite trusty website, <a href="https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/all_quiet_on_the_western_front_2022" target="_blank">Rotten Tomatoes</a>, shows a good rating for a film or show on the topic. (As my friends know, I trust the site's averages [sample size dependent] wholeheartedly.)<div><br /></div><div>So, when I saw that the new film version of <i>All Quiet on the Western Front</i> had a 92% with 99 reviews, I had to do some discernment.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did end up watching it. The opening scenes were mostly piles of dead, bloody bodies, and people stacking piles of dead, bloody bodies. That made me cry.</div><div><br /></div><div>And now I am writing this blog in response.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>When I was teaching, I kept this classic poster somewhere in each of my classrooms.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfuI6JNgdAclRaSQ1VCIwYW4S8pcz4z4eu7JzS3RlPujC9nlTlHvkMMvrbtavi3p5fshBmpTUdNKoob2rbjozAOUao4bzjaZmvReg_dv_zm7WAiYhLW_gEUJD4pdoXZTqeK6arHl_fcEeL-a1gY2jNr9SQfj-Q9HDsZf1EGljiNTjE83ywYnxztotWPg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfuI6JNgdAclRaSQ1VCIwYW4S8pcz4z4eu7JzS3RlPujC9nlTlHvkMMvrbtavi3p5fshBmpTUdNKoob2rbjozAOUao4bzjaZmvReg_dv_zm7WAiYhLW_gEUJD4pdoXZTqeK6arHl_fcEeL-a1gY2jNr9SQfj-Q9HDsZf1EGljiNTjE83ywYnxztotWPg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br />Here's a poem I love... <i>Bees </i>by Alden Solovy <br /><br /><i>The bees<br />Do not stop<br />Collecting pollen<br />When humans<br />Murder each other<br />With guns.<br />The bees think:<br />How strange,<br />How low<br />On the evolutionary scale<br />Must those humans be,<br />That they haven’t yet<br />Figured out<br />How to make honey<br />Or peace.</i><br />___________<br /><br />When will those <a href="https://www.eriebenedictines.org/story/wildflower-pollinator-garden-growing-monastery" target="_blank">wildflowers in our backyard</a> begin blooming?<br /><br />+++</div><div><br /></div><div>I taught in a Quaker school for a year, and we weren't even to put war into the curriculum. It's debatable on a lot of levels, but it's what we did. We also had a tribute assembly at that school when Pete Seeger died.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0ijtdJcenFM" width="320" youtube-src-id="0ijtdJcenFM"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Josh Ritter, one of my favorite artists, sings some of the best contemporary anti-war music I've found.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-HDA1kek8tI" width="320" youtube-src-id="-HDA1kek8tI"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Old Monk has a quote on the wall of her office...</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask: 'Mother, what was war?'"</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Gets me every time.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>May we walk into the Advent season with the Peace of Christ in our hearts and in our voices.</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-78677071707201238992022-11-06T14:14:00.000-05:002022-11-06T14:14:09.488-05:00Another World<i>These are reflections I shared at Liturgy this morning, based on today's Lectionary.<br /><br />II Maccabees 7:1-2, 9-14<br />Luke 20:27-38</i><br />_____________________________<br /><br />You know, if I had chosen readings to reflect on, I wouldn’t have chosen these.<br /><br />I might have chosen Mary and Martha, or the Prodigal Son, or, any number of other biblical stories.<br /><br />BUT…<br /><br />That’s what you get for saying “Yes” without looking at the readings first!<br /><br />And, isn’t that how life is anyway? We wake up in the morning; we say “Yes” to a new day, and then… the experiences that present themselves are rarely the ones we’d choose for ourselves, or the ones we’d imagine having.<br /><br />So often the life that comes our way is challenging, mysterious, unexpected.<br /><br />But it’s our life, and we’ve chosen to say “Yes,” so we have to do something with it.<br /><br />So we do our best to dive in, to grapple with it, to live.<br /><br />And once we dive in and grapple with these readings, there’s much to glean about our attitudes, our choices, and our way of moving through the world.<br /><br />“There is another world, but it is in this one.”<br /><br />I read this quote in a book recommended to me about the possibility of creating utopias here and now.<br /><br />In the story from the Maccabees, there is another world for rulers who scourge those who live by their convictions, and we experience it in the pained, yet strong mother and her faith-filled sons.<br /><br />In Luke’s Gospel, there is another world for those so concerned about distinctions and black and white answers that they cannot fully live, and we experience it in burning bushes and resurrections.<br /><br />But inhabiting that latter world involves a choice. And it’s a hard choice. Because we are anxious, because we want clarity and not complexity, because we aren’t willing to let go of our grasp on the way things “should be,” because the work, both inner and outer, required to live in that other world demands too much of us, and asks us to change in a way that feels too far a stretch for us.<br /><br />Yet, still, we hear the call to that world each morning. And we have to choose daily, and even in each moment, which world we not only inhabit, but also create.<br /><br />We know from our own experiences, and now from these Scripture stories, that it is our experience of the Divine that takes us into that other world; it is our experience with the suffering and those on the margins that takes us into that other world; it is our experience of hardships and the inherent messiness of being alive that open us up to that other world. Does the Divine scourge? Does the Divine want black and white?<br /><br />We know another world is possible. We have experienced it—the one of the mother and her sons, the world where what we eat does not matter as much as making sure those around us are not starving while we ourselves feast. We can create it right now.<br /><br />We know another world is possible. We have experienced it—the one where our belief in life eternal unites us, the world where our true marriage is to the oneness that connects us all. We can create it right now.<br /><br />But, to live in that world, we also have to choose a different narrator. The narrator cannot be those in power; it cannot be the capitalist economy; it cannot be the oppressor. We have to hear another perspective.<br /><br />Come to the soup kitchen and listen to any hungry guest. Go to the shoreline and watch the water rise inch by inch. Take a walk through the poverty of any town or city. Unite yourself with the pain of the world.<br /><br />Let your world be turned upside down by this new perspective. Welcome it with an open and compassionate heart and a robust humility. Welcome it with a desire for change, a desire to create a new world.<br /><br />Because there is another world, but it is in this one.<br /><br />It’s why we come to this chapel, to be together and to strengthen our communal resolve to choose to live in and create that other world, here and now—the one we know is so available to us when we hear another perspective.<br /><br />That’s the outer world—our relationships with each other and with the earth itself. And how about my inner world? What about my relationship with myself?<br /><br />What happens when I choose to narrate my own story rather than let someone else do it? What other world emerges? The woman and her sons do not allow the ruler to narrate their story. Jesus does not allow the Sadducees to narrate his. And it’s not only that I narrate my own story, but it’s the attitude with which I narrate it. Do I narrate my story through the world of my jealousies, my grudges, my desire for control and easy answers? Or, do I narrate my life through my experience of the Divine? Is my story one of abundance, of gratitude, of concern for others?<br /><br />The former is so much easier than the latter, so much more comfortable, so much more seemingly secure. But, we know the former world is passing away. As we move closer and closer to Advent, the choice becomes more and more clear and more and more necessary. Christ is coming. Let go of the world you knew. Say to yourself, “I am the light of the world. I am the light of the world. I am the light of the world.” Believe it. Become it.<br /><br />The possibility of this Christ-centered world comes in each moment, and there is a deep call from God to choose it.<br /><br />And its name is simple. It’s love.<div><br /><div>_____________________________</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnf5NB_1VsqAvPaciaSG5S6If1tFMJSaM1suXDBNV7NszIe1NgVaxis5OUllIiZX3uHQrFDE9DZxvqpJiuav-jaF6P5QDwJFCVGU5bH7yUlK0GS0LMd-U8AJnZGCvX9m0aBOhTIlfriuVXmDQt7NhCYSh1glRxEHN0vQ9om-W95uH3iEj4MU0Q8Cmnvw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnf5NB_1VsqAvPaciaSG5S6If1tFMJSaM1suXDBNV7NszIe1NgVaxis5OUllIiZX3uHQrFDE9DZxvqpJiuav-jaF6P5QDwJFCVGU5bH7yUlK0GS0LMd-U8AJnZGCvX9m0aBOhTIlfriuVXmDQt7NhCYSh1glRxEHN0vQ9om-W95uH3iEj4MU0Q8Cmnvw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">a new day begins at the monastery</span></i></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-79437839602563590632022-10-28T09:31:00.005-04:002022-10-28T09:41:17.151-04:00On CommunityThis weekend is our annual community weekend. The formal one. Our sister Joan Chittister will be speaking on the Synod and synodality to the community, which includes many of our oblates who will join us beginning today. Some, coming from a greater distance, have already started trickling in, making for a nice, fuller choir at prayer this morning.<div><br />Last weekend was a different sort of "community weekend" as another 100 trees were planted across the street on our property at Glinodo. Many helping hands joined to plant the trees, mulch around them, and protect them from hungry deer with cages. Even our Sister Lucia, 89-years-old and still-going-strong (!!!), came out to help on a rather glorious fall day. The trees were planted as part of the Re-Leaf project from LEAF (Lake Erie Arboretum at Frontier), with a goal to plant one tree for each citizen in the county over the course of a few years. They serve a double purpose, though. The trees will grow where the goats (<a href="https://www.eriebenedictines.org/blogs/goats-2022" target="_blank">who were here in the summer</a>) gobbled up invasive species. This helps to prevent as much re-growth of the multiflora roses and other varieties that had taken over by the creek. Native berry trees made up the majority of one hundred planted.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzrlOJy0ImRXuCg3zQ98cvG3bCku5JZ74WHEiJ14HNoyi39meCbgSyGCfeE1dCax4GGiUWi8t174HocE0Do2L_2-jeLyaW_Da1IX3R7Uby3dAwM11XOty-SfZh0aSM12ZDwMMKzIhNDwY-SLZJ-YHEc6j-WWPQdpDzu9p28hUPLlPTxirzJvqCJytjAQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzrlOJy0ImRXuCg3zQ98cvG3bCku5JZ74WHEiJ14HNoyi39meCbgSyGCfeE1dCax4GGiUWi8t174HocE0Do2L_2-jeLyaW_Da1IX3R7Uby3dAwM11XOty-SfZh0aSM12ZDwMMKzIhNDwY-SLZJ-YHEc6j-WWPQdpDzu9p28hUPLlPTxirzJvqCJytjAQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Planting along the creek</i></div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQFWV6P7J4yTznrUeV8WVjqygOhrsDOCFh2t4YLfDY1W7WnvUzgCUWNpq3z0NBToj1I3U9RnMhrEDg5CQTEyzF11ddLTXQXom135uX0b6TfNSXTjCEOfuf1bWvxSSS19GpSkFoRFbuK6Me_MODjxsl2mkOAMIC9N5BGRGm6GjH7WkkRLOCexxMdZGuNg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQFWV6P7J4yTznrUeV8WVjqygOhrsDOCFh2t4YLfDY1W7WnvUzgCUWNpq3z0NBToj1I3U9RnMhrEDg5CQTEyzF11ddLTXQXom135uX0b6TfNSXTjCEOfuf1bWvxSSS19GpSkFoRFbuK6Me_MODjxsl2mkOAMIC9N5BGRGm6GjH7WkkRLOCexxMdZGuNg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Thanks, Lucia!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjY-usLF_OS6SyqHy-7aZUfJr0Od2Qh1Vg1XqqXz6BsveH8ZY0UU70hRMkKwpom74KvXbuktsyPTAypLadXXCKOUPBygn-Z_i6EHRmyIEcqOxiSE0SsabA6BTKdFAih39Bkb0yiHa8qM5UhxWl1J9uJBf4NPDMm3CXcjnOLO0R0SjpofyObJxT5AjlajA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjY-usLF_OS6SyqHy-7aZUfJr0Od2Qh1Vg1XqqXz6BsveH8ZY0UU70hRMkKwpom74KvXbuktsyPTAypLadXXCKOUPBygn-Z_i6EHRmyIEcqOxiSE0SsabA6BTKdFAih39Bkb0yiHa8qM5UhxWl1J9uJBf4NPDMm3CXcjnOLO0R0SjpofyObJxT5AjlajA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Jackie looking like she belongs on a holy card!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIceR0mndT8LwPGIAfHAO1h2YZ1BV1alC0fz28T3e9At_sTnXYUiDjQuODgV29NLXeEQrcqaWAMT-G-nhlkRz-zGANVlsBw4fDXS_FHsLVws2i5-AUIAHAtisReWUDjt7aDQIIit968IV4IoPnC0o18nqhEK1fxMle2M44R-B14GqeqUdXXJoni2aPNQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIceR0mndT8LwPGIAfHAO1h2YZ1BV1alC0fz28T3e9At_sTnXYUiDjQuODgV29NLXeEQrcqaWAMT-G-nhlkRz-zGANVlsBw4fDXS_FHsLVws2i5-AUIAHAtisReWUDjt7aDQIIit968IV4IoPnC0o18nqhEK1fxMle2M44R-B14GqeqUdXXJoni2aPNQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Jackie liked that I was wearing an appropriate shirt; it reads, "Cultivate community"</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Certainly these trees and their roots will strengthen each other as they add more beauty to our property.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Thursday before Saturday, eighth graders from St. Luke's parish school came to Emmaus Grove to clear the garden for the winter, providing a great help to our master gardeners who volunteer their time to plant and harvest over 2,000 pounds of fresh produce each season for guests at our food pantry.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsCjg12fJHTureWhaaQ0XzxUtLazW59YaclHb9ndxhWw6i4CkL8QbOkG-pTfZWKdhNKLrn1FkRQUE-y84HFlE49nNuRhQT6ddFh_0xvlbZDK2bpptK7Hc553-eMcw1tBxSY2zryxYwdE45457Aa7JUYS5qFJry4ZrpuMdYOXVLAKjQgmVURV_W0-8JJg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsCjg12fJHTureWhaaQ0XzxUtLazW59YaclHb9ndxhWw6i4CkL8QbOkG-pTfZWKdhNKLrn1FkRQUE-y84HFlE49nNuRhQT6ddFh_0xvlbZDK2bpptK7Hc553-eMcw1tBxSY2zryxYwdE45457Aa7JUYS5qFJry4ZrpuMdYOXVLAKjQgmVURV_W0-8JJg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br />We know that caring for the earth is a communal effort, so it's wonderful to watch so many people coming out to help with these good projects.</div><div><br /></div>And fall is definitely here, so the work must get done sooner rather than later! It’s hard for me to let go of the warmth and fullness of late summer. You know those days when you might need a sweatshirt but can still get away with shorts if you really want to? As I scraped my car this morning for the first time, I knew summer had really ended.<div><br /></div><div>Fall is here.<div>But, goodness, isn't it beautiful?</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhit19tP7g8I3CXdyxntKHDu2ys0tNyWJw1i6hKoOWsiYOW-fNu0o132rodF77zHWhHu-LDa9Vq0sI77X6v83hGkYv8onYo5AzflXh_tDdiY8_qZDuub2U1DubhoMt0Er2-NDDqsS9zaVzP6wwysP9MBrvIfAmqFto8yyJtOGNQVPvaYaIRvq-FuTS_wg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhit19tP7g8I3CXdyxntKHDu2ys0tNyWJw1i6hKoOWsiYOW-fNu0o132rodF77zHWhHu-LDa9Vq0sI77X6v83hGkYv8onYo5AzflXh_tDdiY8_qZDuub2U1DubhoMt0Er2-NDDqsS9zaVzP6wwysP9MBrvIfAmqFto8yyJtOGNQVPvaYaIRvq-FuTS_wg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Natural proof that blue and orange belong together!</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgooL9xKa66DmNpod4YYuhsKDlH4F3TN5HAoOa5wwI1MoJYR7Eqs6fi4rFapFfr4EIEz44iN1YXbLQOgBB88RT-KeJA7Ri_4KKnLEvztal-ocuGEUYzypzQgoeVwS2jGDOIg-Yk2RZVVTJU4pOfFvGrgnN29Byj2PZYVrDos35R8qTG56ARLuGJ14EEmA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgooL9xKa66DmNpod4YYuhsKDlH4F3TN5HAoOa5wwI1MoJYR7Eqs6fi4rFapFfr4EIEz44iN1YXbLQOgBB88RT-KeJA7Ri_4KKnLEvztal-ocuGEUYzypzQgoeVwS2jGDOIg-Yk2RZVVTJU4pOfFvGrgnN29Byj2PZYVrDos35R8qTG56ARLuGJ14EEmA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcWNWB08TlM8HIuReSfpT04eqCgUTVEbwmhOon4FcdsIRWPby12YOqMs-urhPJcruO0nzn8KV1zTyKHjuHeGbCxfK2syDhDiSOl4a0WR15phpyBliZdOp5TNTUnMhVn-hikuTLevs149c4iM8DlBEgJea0K0CvY8P42J4sp_LhJ2AJac76sVoZNJithg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcWNWB08TlM8HIuReSfpT04eqCgUTVEbwmhOon4FcdsIRWPby12YOqMs-urhPJcruO0nzn8KV1zTyKHjuHeGbCxfK2syDhDiSOl4a0WR15phpyBliZdOp5TNTUnMhVn-hikuTLevs149c4iM8DlBEgJea0K0CvY8P42J4sp_LhJ2AJac76sVoZNJithg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>One of Jackie's goddaughters snapped this photo...I am obsessed with the shadows.</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvy-eO-apRNpPoBUqxASFh-F294YUaijrjUR6F9NXvXal4_eknM_MZ8ztybAc-u_oPA-8U_8LGYomq8oFTwkh68ro6XkVutnT_vxQqD-VuWHhDVztMGXMmC6B3VCjyypI-XyJebTSz17z5O9RHvU7nlGYvp9W1uP5ie4n2r7AXkuWe10ntbm-Vl_FRXQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="886" data-original-width="886" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvy-eO-apRNpPoBUqxASFh-F294YUaijrjUR6F9NXvXal4_eknM_MZ8ztybAc-u_oPA-8U_8LGYomq8oFTwkh68ro6XkVutnT_vxQqD-VuWHhDVztMGXMmC6B3VCjyypI-XyJebTSz17z5O9RHvU7nlGYvp9W1uP5ie4n2r7AXkuWe10ntbm-Vl_FRXQ=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mom snapped this one and sent it to me! She said it never stormed though...</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMBW_4hq2zC2HK6QmIJl3v9t4rerysZDZ_OHSFEwRoxhwNTvRwND-m6hHEWAW4KhGal1o3GFjG1bK8WfM2n2aV2CRy4qURpwj0RM0fnquSFqFDmbo_jez-8hPgYDSlko1bG8LS352o5-kCVvw6mRFpHA1JhFYRquNyD-ahj6rF7i6wLSqC3R1cAZlIGQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMBW_4hq2zC2HK6QmIJl3v9t4rerysZDZ_OHSFEwRoxhwNTvRwND-m6hHEWAW4KhGal1o3GFjG1bK8WfM2n2aV2CRy4qURpwj0RM0fnquSFqFDmbo_jez-8hPgYDSlko1bG8LS352o5-kCVvw6mRFpHA1JhFYRquNyD-ahj6rF7i6wLSqC3R1cAZlIGQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I love the vibrant, richly colored hydrangeas next to the bare black-eyed susans... t</i><i>alk about diversity in community!</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_MKOmMgLGf52gRZYeslEUmIucmLn-71b1Za4EqgtPniDHdTSkQOH_6kIrxlFDbuhUN9GoMCTGw9MIbLqBYsk1xabD1HHc0rVFtf2cdQVxWLaAMrb3VBsdTBB7XBB8nAgvNtsamb1xEeAoLhpoQDjq_x9zyubm3vP39H7xO7ElfOPJgWIQw26zvDTBNQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh_MKOmMgLGf52gRZYeslEUmIucmLn-71b1Za4EqgtPniDHdTSkQOH_6kIrxlFDbuhUN9GoMCTGw9MIbLqBYsk1xabD1HHc0rVFtf2cdQVxWLaAMrb3VBsdTBB7XBB8nAgvNtsamb1xEeAoLhpoQDjq_x9zyubm3vP39H7xO7ElfOPJgWIQw26zvDTBNQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I thought our "library tree" couldn't get any more beautiful than it does during its spring blossoming, </i><i>but this red hue might be close!</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy2srYeJBpSvhxKUOtgFDATB_RyIo_VzT2iJVYBXlNpa7OYUBamGmX39gzEMw9yiLvGTvIDXYGM8BdDjpivLnA-WFNxH8bNCX686-H4rjhq1imFNpVm4FMrnr-2XORip2LswV8h19LKjeWTC8D9S7cMiieGhqau1NsXe0ACPsf3GQPAY0u5zI8v8RJGw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy2srYeJBpSvhxKUOtgFDATB_RyIo_VzT2iJVYBXlNpa7OYUBamGmX39gzEMw9yiLvGTvIDXYGM8BdDjpivLnA-WFNxH8bNCX686-H4rjhq1imFNpVm4FMrnr-2XORip2LswV8h19LKjeWTC8D9S7cMiieGhqau1NsXe0ACPsf3GQPAY0u5zI8v8RJGw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br />The letting go and trusting that the fall season calls us to are much more bearable when we are surrounded by community...by each other and by the beauty of nature.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-41466455135362212792022-10-22T06:55:00.008-04:002022-10-22T07:03:20.668-04:00On BeautyI recently listened to <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-subtle-art-of-appreciating-difficult-beauty/id1548604447?i=1000578511802" target="_blank">a great Ezra Klein podcast featuring Chloé Cooper Jones</a>, the author of the memoir <span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Easy-Beauty/Chloe-Cooper-Jones/9781982151997" target="_blank">Easy Beauty</a></span>. I haven't read the book yet, but it's next on my "to-read" pile after another memoir I just picked up, <i><a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/705626/solito-by-javier-zamora/" target="_blank">Solito</a></i>. (Yes, the memoir is my favorite literary genre!)<div><br /></div><div>A lot of moments stood out to me in the interview, and, of course, I listened to it a few weeks ago, so I don't remember much. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I do remember one point she made.</div><div><br /></div><div>She said we sometimes feel weird when we don't experience beauty and awe in places and spaces where it's more-or-less expected, but instead, experience them in some inconspicuous moment. For instance, you might have just visited the Louvre, seen the Mona Lisa for the first time, but it's outside the museum, watching a pigeon pecking at food crumbs that moves you to tears.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also copied down this quote from Chloé during the interview:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Beauty gives us an opportunity to step outside the palace of self-regard.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, if that isn't humbling! It was made even more humbling because I listened while taking a walk in downtown Erie, in and around our ministries and up to State Street (the street that divides the city into east and west). I saw a family—mother, father, and son—whose children I taught at daycare. And I wondered, why were they walking all the way up 10th Street during the school day. And I saw a couple who eats at the soup kitchen across the street from me, and we waved at each other while cars passed by. And I saw a pile of belongings from another man who comes to eat with us from time-to-time, all his belongings in the nook of a doorway on 11th. He wasn't there, but his things were; I knew it was his stuff because I've seen him there, spending away the hours—in that nook. The thing that killed me was the green top of a fresh pineapple, just the top, now wilted and brown. And his dirty stuffed tiger.</div><div><br /></div><div>Chloé also said, of the experience of experiencing beauty:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>I am broken out of the prison of myself</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>We know it well. Stare at a full moon in the clear sky. Watch children playing in a fountain. Take in a field of delicate, bright wildflowers. Find the top of a pineapple of a homeless person you know on the street. See how your ego melts away.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>How good and how pleasant it is</i></div><div><i>when all people dwell in unity. </i>(Psalm 133)</div><div><br /></div><div>And, of course, I'd add...how beautiful.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOo1YHsHCMY2Fq5EypT_AvhEby8SpcYk_ZE8J62-N6Kgqf5MO7NxguR2N7JqP37XQZODaIhrCPH_2mKEPGxeQvKDJTj2SDEPrMI3UcuXuVRMswBP5UgJV-CQhmWWHTtZ8gtr2KN6Ata_WJtOY9dPyCttg-xbRdjTQhI1a1EpCDGzs9sbQFPPtkmjp2FA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOo1YHsHCMY2Fq5EypT_AvhEby8SpcYk_ZE8J62-N6Kgqf5MO7NxguR2N7JqP37XQZODaIhrCPH_2mKEPGxeQvKDJTj2SDEPrMI3UcuXuVRMswBP5UgJV-CQhmWWHTtZ8gtr2KN6Ata_WJtOY9dPyCttg-xbRdjTQhI1a1EpCDGzs9sbQFPPtkmjp2FA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3419254058989396515.post-36171356196813572662022-10-17T12:32:00.007-04:002022-10-17T13:37:20.527-04:00On Monastic PrayerSeven years into my monastic journey, and, at this point, I am not quite sure if I could be sustained without communal morning prayer.<div><br /></div><div>Sure, there is the familiar recitation of psalms, the comfort of the Benedictus, the necessary reminder in the Prayer of Jesus to forgive and to let God do God's thing for the day, but...</div><div><br /></div><div>There is also what happens to human beings at 6:30am!</div><div><br /></div><div>It's great!</div><div><br /></div><div>As a sister remarked to me once, "Chapel is a circus."</div><div><br /></div><div>Just this morning, one verse too early, a sister began to stand up for the Doxology. With monastic reflexes and groggy brains, up went the other two sisters sharing the row with her! They all looked at one another and laughed while they sat back down for a couple more lines, until getting up once more to praise the Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, this smile-worthy story reveals a bit more of what's happening underneath in the monastery.</div><div><br /></div><div>As cenobitic Benedictines, that is, monastics who live a communal life, we vow ourselves to one another. We vow to go to God together. Sure, we have to work on ourselves, but we are also accountable to each other. We aren't going to God alone, and we can't go too much faster than another sister, or we'll have to stop and let her catch-up. Vice versa, too, of course.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes not just our brains, but our lives get a bit groggy, too. We aren't attentive, don't listen deeply enough, fall down a bit. And that's when the beauty of going to God together appears. We have others surrounding us who, too, have committed themselves to seeking God. We can reflexively join with them on our own journey. They get up to praise God, so we get up to praise God.</div><div><br /></div><div>For monastics the chapel holds so much of the symbolism and ritual of that communal journey. And, of course chapel is a circus...we're human!</div><div><br /></div><div>+++</div><div><br />It always amazes me when our sisters who we know are in dementia pray with us as if nothing is wrong, their brains still fully there. They follow along with the psalter, utter a liturgical response, or sing a hymn they've sung most their lives. How can someone not be able to name any sister they've lived with most their life, but still sing the Salve Regina perfectly, in Latin no less!? A moment like this happened last night; it happens most nights. I witnessed it not only from one sister, but from another, who is in an even more significant stage of cognitive decline. We sang, and she tapped her feet while covered in a fleece blanket, itself covered in virtuous words such as "peace," "trust," and "faith."<br /><br />These sisters lose their ability to do so much, but in chapel we see the fruits of a lifetime of prayer. It is who they've become.<br /><br />We live this life faithfully, lovingly, and enduringly so that as we change, as we age, as we decline, as we evolve, all that's left is praise.<br /><br />Let us walk in the holy presence.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqI7n89XB7Z0Y_4CRZn_B5cr61Bi2C558tGXsBnVETo3xr_Ns9jYaaqpT_0rzIP4SfuV2uq6m_Lo3A2FX9NyQlA7Q6YPoF-aTbQG1li4veEC53S0sLDksBnbpEtv3puOxc68GMjofte0rNlbsIMrJMPf-zR0w3PrnRkNA9wuVE21H9q3eoj1RfPws_RA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="1086" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqI7n89XB7Z0Y_4CRZn_B5cr61Bi2C558tGXsBnVETo3xr_Ns9jYaaqpT_0rzIP4SfuV2uq6m_Lo3A2FX9NyQlA7Q6YPoF-aTbQG1li4veEC53S0sLDksBnbpEtv3puOxc68GMjofte0rNlbsIMrJMPf-zR0w3PrnRkNA9wuVE21H9q3eoj1RfPws_RA=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div></div>Valerie Luckeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12329243609706547706noreply@blogger.com