The Truth

The lector read the lines of 1 Peter 5:5:

"And all of you, clothe yourselves with humility in your dealings with one another, for: 'God opposes the proud but bestows favor on the humble.'”

She walked away from the ambo and said under her breath, "Yeah, you got that right."

Yes, the God opposes the proud and favors the humble. Now, more than ever, we need these lines as our truth.

This little moment happened at Sunday morning prayer during a recent formation weekend. We spent the weekend reflecting on the topic of liturgy and the Benedictine life.

Liturgy, the center around which our lives orbit as Benedictines, takes many forms, but I have spent much time recently in gratitude for the Liturgy of the Hours. Not just because of moments like this that make you smile with hope, but because each day I watch the same women walk into chapel to be faithful to the life they have professed to live. It would be impossible to live conversatio, stability, or obedience without the grounding of the Liturgy of the Hours and the daily recitation of the Psalms that it affords us.

Last week also marked the one-year anniversary of my first vows, my first jubilee, if you will. Someone asked me an important question, "Has living these vows for a year changed you at all?" That's the real, most important question as I continue discerning this life. Are these the vows to which I want to commit myself, and are these the women with whom I want to live out that commitment? Does it make a difference? Am I a more loving person because of my commitment? Is this way of life that I have chosen part of my Truth?

And aren't these the questions we all must be asking ourselves all the time, no matter our path?

Let us walk in the holy presence.

the freedom to receive life with arms wide open

Send Us Forth

Last Wednesday we took our signs and went out to protest Donald Trump and his policies during his visit to Erie. It was a powerful experience, and once I saw the lyrics to our closing hymn at Liturgy this past Sunday (Send Us Forth—Bob Hurd), our choice made even more sense.

We gather as holy church, proclaiming your holy word,
Challenged anew by your gospel. Empower us daily
To work for your glory, with all who hope in your promise.

Send us forth; may we be your compassion
And mercy to each person oppressed by injustice and need.
May our lives be a blessing and light to the nations,
A sign of the reign of God.

Our flesh, your dwelling place; our touch, your healing grace;
Our struggles, the work of your spirit. So may we be builders
Of the new creation, so may we be faithful disciples.

Let us vote on November 6th, and...

Let us walk in the holy presence.

The Praying Mantis

Every morning I wake, dress in the dark, go downstairs.
I look out of every window.
I go out and stand on the lawn.
In the east, the slightest light begins
     flinging itself upward
and my heart beats (never an exception) with excitement.
(My gratitude to you, dear heart!)

Though it will all vanish utterly, and surely in
     a little while,
I know what is wonderful—
I know what to hoard in my heart more than the value
     of pearls and seeds.
There was the day you first spoke my name.
There was a white house at the edge of the harbor.
There was the swan, and the hummingbird.
There was music, and paper, and the tirelessly pursued work.
There were a thousand and again a thousand unforgettable days.

And still I’m looking at everything—
in the wide morning and the strike of noon
I’m humming, and clapping my hands

and I can’t stop 
not for any reason

not even for the easiest thought.

And, anyway, what is thought
but elaborating, and organizing?
What is thought
but doubting, and crying out?


(In the dark, in the distance,
I can just see the heron
dimpling then calming her long wings.)


As reliable as anything you will ever know,
time moves its dim, heavy thumb over the shoreline
making its changes, its whimsical variations.
Yes, yes, the body never gets away from the world,
its endless granular shuffle and exchange—

everything is one, sooner or later—
the red fox and the bullrush,
the industrious ant and the sleepy bear,
the green crab and the minnow,
the pink boat and the dog in the pink boat,

Shelley’s body and the gleaming sand.

When the praying mantis opens its wings
     it becomes a green flower.
When the egg breaks
     it becomes a bird.
When the river is finished, its avenues of light
fold and drop and fall into
and become the sea.
(Mary Oliver)

I have spent some time this week reflecting on the praying mantis that decided to find some stability on my window for at least an hour the other evening. (Still there after an hour, I went to sleep.)

I searched Mary Oliver online to find a poem that mentioned a praying mantis, confident that she would have written about such a creature. From her book, The Leaf and the Cloud, Mary conveys the message, yet again, of interconnectedness, conversion, and gratitude; all is one, all is transforming, all is worthy of praise.

So, I did a quick search to read about the symbolism of the praying mantis, also confident that this lingering insect had a message for me.

"The praying mantis takes its time in all that it does. It takes care to pay diligent attention to its surroundings, and moving through life at its own pace. It demonstrates the ultimate power of stillness. It serves as a reminder for humans to slow down in our chaotic, fast-paced lives.

Wisdom emerges when we are still and quiet, sensing and feeling rather than thinking critically. It comes with experience, age, and being, rather than traditional schooling. It cannot be obtained through arrogance.

In fact, the Chinese honor the praying mantis for its elegant, mindful, and contemplative movements. By reminding ourselves to have patience with ourselves in our own movement, we, like the mantis, can grow in our wisdom. They remind us to have patience in acquiring the things we want and to remain balanced throughout the duration of the wait.

The praying mantis will become your animal totem once you have learned to take your time and live your life at a silent and reflective pace. You should make all choices with a sincere commitment to careful thought and contemplation.

By being mindful of this, you will enable yourself to know exactly where you are going and when you will get there. Calmness and serenity are crucial to living like the praying mantis."

It turns out the praying mantis clearly had a message for this perfectionist, hell-bent on completing to-do lists, proving her efficiency, and trying to do a bit of everything. Serenity, in fact, is the virtue of an Enneagram 1, a goal for the persistent perfectionist. Which means it is time to sit with the experience I had through both these sets of words, Mary and the symbolism of the mantis.

Which animal has called to you lately?

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Into The Forest

Taking a break from technological connectedness this past weekend, we enjoyed a different type of connectedness heading off to the Allegheny Forest for a weekend of camping. Specifically we were at the Minister Creek campground, and with a site right next to the water, we couldn’t have asked for more. The sound of the flowing creek accompanying us in each moment gave me a sense of comfort that I only find with water.

I had been craving solitude of a different sort, but this was a totally worthy substitute. The weekend surrounded by dear friends, a fire, songs, trees, and simplicity afforded me a necessary respite from the usual busyness. And because nature is my favorite teacher of humility, I gained that sense of peace that one encounters through creation. I think I captured it in this semi-accidental photo.

Of course, we had the “dailiness of life” there, too. Dishes, shananigans, etc.

The weekend also provided the answer, yet again, to that question we never stop asking...

What’s it all about? Well, here it is.

Joy, relationship, Love, and that in all things God be glorified.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Running Into Morning

In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

—“Song For Autumn,” Mary Oliver

And just like that, autumn came. Yesterday we had to come in from playing outside because the temperature was too hot. Today, I wore a flannel.

It makes running much more pleasant. I went for an early morning run today, my favorite time to head out on the open road. Last weekend I did the same, but we were at Villa Maria, the home of the Sisters of the Humility of Mary for another intercommunity formation weekend. As I turned around from a run down a long country road to head back, I noticed the sun coming up (another reason I love early runs).

Here is a bit of time lapse that I was able to capture in between breaths and steps.

Benedict tells us in his Rule to “run with the inexpressible delight of love.” This isn’t too difficult to accomplish literally with a view such as the one I experienced at Villa Maria. Today we celebrated five of our own sisters who have been running with this inexpressible delight for fifty years—their Golden Jubilees. They have embraced the call of this season that we begin today—letting go, allowing transformation, and embracing change. It’s the only way to live the monastic life faithfully and joyfully. I am grateful for the witness their lives are for me. In her remarks, our prioress reminded us of the primacy of relationship that roots this life as well—respect the elders; love the juniors. While this led to a little laughter with the sister next to me, recognizing the age gap that separates us, there is such truth and necessity in this statement. We cannot live this life well if we do not learn from each other.

So, thank you—Marla, Susan, Sue, Dorothy, and Janet. Thank you for your love, for your sharing life with me, and for your fidelity to Benedict’s Rule to which you have committed yourself for the past fifty years.

Let us walk in the holy presence. 

Cover Songs and Cover-ups

What a treat! Last weekend we took a road trip to New Jersey. I went to celebrate the wedding of a dear, dear, dear friend who I met on the first day of college. My Erie friends joined. Who could pass up an opportunity to dive into the ocean in late summer? Especially when it’s your first time ever for one of them. So, we put on our cover-ups, got some sandwiches from Wawa, and headed out on the NJ turnpike. Below you see a true Jersey native, body packed with all things beach, getting ready for a day embracing sand.

Jumping waves for a few hours exhausted us, but we sang our gratitude to Mother Ocean.

One highlight of the road trip were two extended sing-a-long sessions. We cranked up an eclectic YouTube playlist and sang our hearts out. Here are three wonderful songs we belted, sung by someone other than the original musicians.

A Case of You — Passenger

Romeo and Juliet — Indigo Girls

America — First Aid Kit

This weekend, we are off to Villa Maria for a formation weekend with Nancy Sylvester, IHM. Until next time...

Let us walk in the holy presence.

To be of use, by Marge Piercy (aka An Ode to Labor Day)

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

Let us walk in the holy presence.