To become what I believe: March Madness Edition

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

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

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

___________________   

To become what I believe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let us walk in the holy presence.

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

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

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

In deep (and snowy) nights

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

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

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

In deep nights I dig for you like treasure.

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

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

The treasure surrounds us, everywhere.

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

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

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

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

and now they have some snowy companionship.

Scholastica with her snow cap on.

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Training Ground for Resurrection

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

The concept is negative capability.

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

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

Sigh. Feels impossible! Yet necessary!

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

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

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

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

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

Another way to practice Resurrection.

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

And this one, too...

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

Gray skies on a nondescript road...

A pile of random wood and other refuse...

Decomposing milkweed pods fallen to the ground...

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

Let us walk in the holy presence.

I (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.

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.

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,

though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

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. 

None of us have any idea where we're going...and at least we're figuring it out together!

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Is this not a miracle?

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, The Blue Heron and Thirty-Seven Other Miracles. 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.

"What

is

most

precious

in

life?"

I asked.

"Music,"

she answered,

"and loving

someone.

It doesn't

really matter

if you

are loved

in return.

Just

to love

another person

—at least once

in your lifetime—

is reason

enough

to have walked

the earth."

Is this not a miracle?

____________________

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.

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?

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!

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!

But, the real miracle I want this weekend? The Eagles to win the Super Bowl tonight! Fly, Eagles, Fly!

We are surrounded by miracles, indeed. As we sang this morning, "Open my eyes, God."

Let us walk in the holy presence.

Women 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 Titanic on the list, but there are others with perhaps some higher cinematic standards, too, that I included like The Shawshank Redemption.

Little did I know that I would add another film to the list a few days later.

J and I went to see Women Talking, 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. 

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!

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.

I cannot recommend it enough, though I admit, it might be not for everyone.

I'd also recommend the burrata at Cloud 9! Women talking over food!

Let us walk in the holy presence.

On 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.

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!

What was even better were the lines from Psalm 32 we chanted, punctuated by the drip, drip, drip:

So let the faithful pray to you

in their time of need.

Even flood waters will never reach them.

Oh, all is one! (And ironic!)

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Speaking of nature, I am just about done with a new book by religion historian Karen Armstrong, Sacred Nature: Restoring Our Ancient Bond with the Natural World. 

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)

Here are two of my favorite quotes from the book.

Human beings have the freedom to make a voluntary act of islam (the "surrender" of ego) and to consciously shape their lives so that they reflect the source of being.

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.

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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. 

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!

Here are some photos I have captured over the first 2% of the journey! (980 hours to go!)

Let us walk in the holy presence.

I love the contrast of the fog and these trees.

And I love when the horizon is indistinguishable.

Overall, it hasn't been too snowy of a winter here.