As we draw close to the Holy Season that will close our year, let’s welcome each final day as an extraordinary gift, grateful for the faith, hope, and love that sustain our lives.
Music: “Your Love” from “Once Upon A Time in the West” ” – by Ennio Morricone – performed by Hauser
For Your Reflection:
What feelings or reactions do I have after reading this reflection?
Do my feelings or reactions remind me of any passage or event in scripture, especially in the life of Christ?
What actions might I take today because of my response to these readings?
In grade school, we had a course called “Picture Study”. Every Friday afternoon, Sister distributed small blue McLaughlin Notebooks. In them, we found the treasures of the great art galleries – paintings by Monet, Van Gogh, and Rembrandt. One of my favorites was a picture by Millet called “The Angelus”. In it, peasant farmers pause to pray as they gather their small harvest at the close of day. All the colors of late fall had dripped from the artist’s brush to capture feelings of peace, completion and hope.
I have a dear friend who doesn’t like fall. She is a complete and beautiful “summer” spirit! For her, autumn brings a sense of “closing down”. The freedom of summer evaporates; the heavy sharpness of winter looms. Some of us might feel that way as the sunlit hours shrink. But, for the reflective heart, there are deep blessings in Autumn’s ebbing.
Indeed, fall dances to a different tune from summer. The carefree skip of July becomes the thoughtful stroll of late October. It is a time for gathering, for counting the harvest, for putting up the fuel to sustain us through the winter. It is a time no longer to take things for granted. It is a time to pause and prepare. We begin to consider what the waning year has given us, and what it has taken.
As a child, I lived in a very old home originally built to house the 19th century immigrant factory workers of North Philadelphia. The kitchen, added by my grandfather’s own hands, was unheated. In the 1940s, my dad installed a pot-belly stove to warm this preferred gathering spot for our family.
Dad always left for work before the rest of us woke up. Beginning in the late fall, he would light a fire in that little stove every morning. By the time the rest of us assembled for breakfast, a freshly-perked pot of coffee awaited us atop the stove as a greeting from dad. I associated my father with that comfort and that delicious scent. Although we wouldn’t see him until late at night, his kindness accompanied us in the cozy, inviting kitchen every morning.
As deep October approaches, the earth steeps itself like fragrant tea in its own magnificent colors, but the chill suggests the coming change. Seeing this, I remember Dad and realize, such is the work of autumn:
to express beauty in the subtle colors of our kindness
to build the warm fires we know our loved ones will need
to brew the fresh tonic that wakes others to life and warms them against its sometime chill
It is a time now to glean summer’s final fruits and to wrap ourselves in their bounty; to listen, in the snug quiet of our spirits, to the voice of Love in our lives. What does Love ask of us as winter approaches? For each of us, the answers will be different. In the gathering October stillness, to what does the Divine Spirit invite me?
Music: Autumn “Allegro-Adagio Molto” (The Four Seasons) – Antonio Vivaldi
For Your Reflection:
What feelings or reactions do I have after reading this reflection?
Do my feelings or reactions remind me of any passage or event in scripture, especially in the life of Christ?
What actions might I take today because of my response to these readings?
Hold hands with your life. Look it in the eyes. There, in the stillness, God is revealing the miracle of knowing who you are.
But life can be hectic, can’t it? You might not have time to just “hold hands”, right?
Don’t you sometimes feel like Indiana Jones, running ahead of that huge boulder, trying to keep all your responsibilities from overwhelming you? Or maybe you feel as if your life has run so far ahead of you that you’re racing to catch up to it, watching it turn into a dot on the far horizon.
Life wasn’t intended to be like either of these images. Our lives are meant to be savored and lived in a deep awareness of our “present”. NOW is the only time we have. The people we are with, the challenges and joys we experience in this moment – this is our life. So many of us, running from the boulder or chasing the dot, let the beauty of our lives evade us.
When I see people holding hands, I am reminded to be still and to appreciate my life in the present. It’s beautiful to see a couple walking hand in hand, breaking a new pattern in the fresh snow. They might be young, just beginning an unimaginable journey. Or they might be elderly, having walked beside each other through miles of love and sacrifice, joy and sorrow.
I love to see a parent holding hands with their child. The child may be small, reaching up for security, protection and comfort. Or the parent may be old, reaching over for the same things. What a blessing to be beside someone whose touch can sustain your life!
Prayer is a kind of holding hands – God reaching for us, and we for God. I tried to capture the experience in a poem I wrote many years ago:
Poem: A Long Faith – Renee Yann, RSM
This is the way of love, perhaps near the late summer, when the fruit is full and the air is still and warm, when the passion of lovers no longer rests against the easy trigger of adolescent spring, but lumbers in the drowsy silence where the bees hum— where it is enough to reach across the grass and touch each other’s hand.
So hold hands with someone you love today, human or divine. Slow each other down to a deep appreciation of the gift of life in this present moment.
Music: Holding Hands – Creative Commons Instrumental Music
For Your Reflection
What feelings or reactions do I have after reading this reflection?
Do my feelings or reactions remind me of any passage or event in scripture, especially in the life of Christ?
What actions might I take today because of my response to these readings?
I had been away – busy and incommunicado for several days. The message was the last one on my answering machine when I got home. It lay curled like a wounded kitten at the end of a long line of incidentals.
Mag had died at 101 years of age – the long faithful friend of my grandmother, my mother, and me.
My Grandmother
The manner of Mag’s faithfulness to each of our generations had been different: a companion to Grandmom, a guide and confidant to Mom, a distant but vigilant observer and encourager of my life in my mother’s stead after Mom had died.
When I called back to acknowledge the message, there was only one meaningful way to announce myself: “This is Eleanor’s daughter.” Just that said everything – it paid tribute to both Mag’s and my mother’s lives. It recognized the duty I owed in both their names. Mag’s daughter said, “We don’t expect you to come… we just wanted you to know.” My mother’s voice spoke in the silence of my heart – “Of course, you will go.”
Eleanor, my Mother
So I traveled to the place where I grew up. There will never be any place that you know more intimately than your childhood neighborhood. You ran through its alleyways and knew its secret hiding places. You explored every inch of its terrain and, to this day, can remember its textures, smells, dangers, and promises. That day, I drove into its heart, remembering.
As I approached the neighborhood, I saw that its edge had frayed like a tattered fabric. The industrial and commercial corridor that had hemmed the old neighborhood had disappeared. Abandoned lots had replaced the thriving factories and immigrant-run shops of my youth. The bustling avenues where I had once threaded my shiny Schwinn bike now echoed like empty canyons under my tires. Loss rose up in my throat like a bitter aftertaste.
But as I neared the church, the fabric began to re-weave. People still lived in the houses and gathered on the brick pavements. I saw neighbors walking to church, as my family had when I was young. I was to learn that the deep human links that had embraced our parish family remained unbroken.
It had been nearly fifty years since I last worshipped in St. Michael’s, but the church of my childhood was perfectly intact. Not only had it been physically restored to the perfection of its 200-year-old origin, but the descendants of many original families remained or had returned for the funeral. During the wake, we reconnected, weaving names and histories into a warm swaddling of belonging.
During preparation for the solemn funeral service, many people came to visit me in the silence of my heart: my parents who had taught me to pray, the sisters and priests who had nurtured my call to religious life, my neighbors and friends whose lives had found graceful regeneration each Sunday in this sanctuary. This place had been the heart of our “village”. It was where we learned and acknowledged that we live life together, not alone – and that the myriad pieces which make up who we are belong in some way to every person who has ever touched us. Every one of us attending Mag’s funeral was paying honor to that reality.
It takes a lifetime to fully learn the office of honor. As a teenager, I was uncomfortable accompanying my mother on her many dutiful journeys: not wanting to visit my old maiden aunts in their very Victorian home, to take a pot of soup to a house in mourning, not knowing what to say at a neighbor’s wake. I remember my mother’s words on such occasions: “We show up. It’s what we do – because it’s all that we can do. It’s an honor to be with someone at these moments of their lives.”
I am old enough now to cherish that role of honor guard. I have learned its beauty and character from the many – including Mag — who have kept vigil beside me and my family in the challenges and blessings of life. I went to Mag’s funeral privileged to exercise that role in my mother’s name – to assume the duty of our family to “show up”.
To stand within duty is to be like a surfer poised inside the huge curl of a powerful wave. It is to ride on an energy that does not belong to you – to open yourself to it with gratitude, awe, and trust. It is to know – in an indescribable way – the profound power of God that holds all life together beyond time and beyond burden.
At Mag’s funeral, I was – once again – proud to be Eleanor’s daughter. I know that she and Mag smiled as I rejoiced in that pride. On this Mother’s Day, I remember that day as a very intentional gift to me, and I treasure it beyond telling.
Mom and I when Pope John Paul II visited for the Eucharistic Congress
Music: Thank You
For Your Reflection
What feelings or reactions do I have after reading this reflection?
Do my feelings or reactions remind me of any passage or event in scripture, especially in the life of Christ?
What actions might I take today because of my response to these readings?
Suggested Scripture: Proverbs 31 (Adaptation)
Who can find a valiant woman? She is worth far more than rubies. Her family has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings them good, not harm, all the days of her life. She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her neighbors and portions for the very poor. She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard. She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks. She sees that her work is fruitful, and her lamp does not go out at night. In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers. She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy. When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet. She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She watches over the affairs of her beloveds and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her neighbors arise and call her blessed; her family also praises her: “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a generous woman is to be praised. Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the heavenly gate.
We are in the midst of the great Jewish and Christian holy days of Passover and Holy Week.
During the Passover Seder meal, a beautiful prayer of gratitude is offered. It is called the “Dayenu” which means “It would have been enough”. The prayer recounts fifteen different gifts that God has given the Jewish people. After naming each gift, this phrase is repeated, “It would have been enough…” To read the full Jewish prayer, click here: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/dayenu-it-would-have-been-enough/
The prayer is a celebration of the abundance of God toward us and toward all creation. For each of us, our personal translation might be something like this:
Not just the sun and moon, which would have been enough, – but also stars, planets, comets, quasars …
Not just a robin, which would have been enough, – but also a blue jay, hummingbird, parrot, stork, flamingo …
Not just my breath, which would have been enough, – but also my ability to move, to think, to love, to choose, to bless …
Not just my parents, which would have been enough, — but also my siblings, my spouse, my children, my grandchildren, my friends,,,
Not just my humanity, which would have been enough, – but also the rich humanity of every race, ethnicity, color, culture and personality ….
As Jews and Christians, we will spend time this week remembering our lifelong passage through grace to freedom. But whatever our faith context, all of us can recognize God’s power in sustaining our lives through challenge and fear to bring us to light and life.
Try today to count the gifts of the Creator’s abundance in your life. It will be impossible because they are infinite. Still, after each precious memory and name, we can breathe the blessing of the Dayenu: “It would have been enough.”
Music: Dayenu – Pagoda Online Learning
For Your Reflection
What feelings or reactions do I have after reading this reflection?
Do my feelings or reactions remind me of any passage or event in scripture, especially in the life of Christ?
What actions might I take today because of my response to these readings?
A Sister of Mercy, visiting from Honduras, was scheduled to dine out with my friend. One spoke only Spanish; the other only English. Thus, the dinner party was widened to include another American friend who had spent many years in Peru and spoke both languages.
Language can both bind and divide us. So often, people speak to each other in the same language but share no true level of understanding. I think of the venomous rhetoric that has poisoned our political culture and am saddened to see the beautiful gift of language used in such hateful ways.
But at other times, even without a shared spoken language, we can communicate with clarity and respect.
I remember a chance meeting a friend and I – two unilingual North Americans– had with one of our Peruvian sisters. We connected at an airport, each preparing to return to our widely-distant homes. She spoke very little English, and I– only the stilted, useless phrases of a high school curriculum. Still, with a few gaps and miscommunications, we enjoyed lunch in one other’s company. By combining signs, gestures, guesses, and silence, we grew comfortable in each other’s hospitality and care.
There are so many languages beyond the spoken word. The language of kindness, respect, compassion, mutuality– these are the elements of the multilingual world we all should yearn to master. No one is so distant from us that they do not understand a smile, an extended hand, or the offer to share a meal. And in that offer, we may just learn that we are “multi-lingual” after all.
Poetry: Silent Language – Thomas Burbidge (1860-1892)
Speak it no more—no more with words profane What only for the language of the eye Is fit—what only can be told thereby! The heart has tones which words cannot contain, And feelings which to speak is to restrain. Like scent with scent commixed invisibly, Or rays of neighbour planets in the sky Inter-confused; or, as in some deep strain Of music, heavenly passion is combined With thought, and tone with tone in harmony, Thus be the meeting of our hearts, dear love! The pure communion of mind with mind, Above poor symbols of this earth,—above All that can baulk or cramp,—can change or die.
Music: Love in Any Language – Sandy Patty
For Your Reflection
What feelings or reactions do I have after reading this reflection?
Do my feelings or reactions remind me of any passage or event in scripture, especially in the life of Christ?
What actions might I take today because of my response to these readings?
As we may think about love this Valentine’s Day, I offer one of my poems on a different aspect of love.
Rusalka, Op. 114: “Song to the Moon” · Antonín Dvořák
One bitter day in February I sat inside a sunlit room, made warm love to You in prayer, and she passed outside my window, the unhoused woman, dressed uncarefully against the wind, steadied on a cane, though she was young.
She seemed searching for a comfort, unavailable and undefined. The wound of that impossibility fell over her the way it falls on every tender thing that cries but is not gathered to a caring breast. Suddenly she was a single anguished seed of You, fallen into all created things.
Re-entering prayer, I wear the thought of her like old earth wears fresh rain. I’ve misconstrued You, Holy One, to whom I open my heart like a yearning field, Holy One, already ripe within her barest, leanest yearning.
Music: Teach Me to Love- Steve Green (Good song, but sorry for the non-inclusive language)
For Your Reflection
What feelings or reactions do I have after reading this reflection?
Do my feelings or reactions remind me of any passage or event in scripture, especially in the life of Christ?
What actions might I take today because of my response to these readings?
How sweet to my taste is your promise! In the way of your decrees I rejoice, as much as in all riches. Yes, your decrees are my delight; they are my counselors. The law of your mouth is to me more precious than thousands of gold and silver pieces. How sweet to my palate are your promises, sweeter than honey to my mouth! Your decrees are my inheritance forever; the joy of my heart they are. I gasp with open mouth in my yearning for your commands. from Psalm 119
Today, I choose to pray with our Responsorial Psalm 119, a beautiful love song to God. The psalm lists everything for which we might love God.
Picture a beloved asking you, “What do you love about me? Can you make a list?” Picture God doing the same thing. Psalm 119 is one person’s list of how they love the sweetness of God. What would your list look like?
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy: We take time in prayer to share “love talk” with God. How does the Divine Sweetness touch us, change us? How do we return that sweetness to God by our touch upon God’s Creation?
Poetry: Song Silence By Madeleva Wolff, CSC
Yes, I shall take this quiet house and keep it With kindled hearth and candle-lighted board, In singing silence garnish it and sweep it For Christ, my Lord.
My heart is filled with little songs to sing Him— I dream them into words with careful art— But this I think a better gift to bring Him, Nearer his heart.
The foxes have their holes, the wise, the clever; The birds have each a safe and secret nest; But He, my lover, walks the world with never A place to rest.
I found Him once upon a straw bed lying; (Once on His mother’s heart He laid His head) He had a bramble pillow for His dying, A stone when dead.
I think to leave off singing for this reason, Taking instead my Lord God’s house to keep, Where He may find a home in every season To wake, to sleep.
Do you not think that in this holy sweetness Of silence shared with God a whole life long Both he and I shall find divine completeness Of perfect song?
Music: Cor Dulce – Heitor Villa-Lobos (1887-1959), sung by Benedictines of Mary
Sweet heart, most loving heart; our love wounded, our love languishing; be merciful to me.
Heart of Jesus, sweeter than honey; heart purer than the sun; Holy word of God, fullness of God’s wealth.
Thy haven for a shipwrecked world; secure portion for the faithful, defender and refuge of our minds; rest for our faithful hearts.
But now, Lady, I ask you, not as though I were writing a new commandment but the one we have had from the beginning: let us love one another. For this is love, that we walk according to his commandments; this is the commandment, as you heard from the beginning, in which you should walk. 2 John 4:5-6
The Motherhouse chapel is impressive, more like a cathedral than a chapel. I remember being led into it for the first time when, at 18 years old, I came for my initial interview. It took my breath away. You can imagine the intensity of my prayer as I knelt for the first time at the altar rail, realizing that my young, inscrutable choices were about to change my life irrevocably.
I looked up to the Gospel command emblazoned above the apse thinking, “That’s what this is all about. Let me begin.”
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy: Perhaps, remembering a long-ago choice in your life, you will see how it has unfolded in love over the years. This is a good day to pray those memories and blessings with God.
Poetry: Slowly – Macrina Wiederkehr
Life unfolds a petal at a time slowly
The beauty of the process is crippled when I try to hurry growth. Life has its inner rhythm which must be respected. It cannot be rushed or hurried.
Like daylight stepping out of darkness, like morning creeping out of night, life unfolds slowly a petal at a time like a flower opening to the sun, slowly.
God’s call unfolds a Word at a time slowly.
A disciple is not made in a hurry. Slowly I become like the One to whom I am listening.
Life unfolds a petal at a time like you and I becoming followers of Jesus, discipled into a new way of living deeply and slowly.
Be patient with life’s unfolding petals. If you hurry the bud it withers. If you hurry life it limps. Each unfolding is a teaching a movement of grace filled with silent pauses breathtaking beauty tears and heartaches.
The Lord said: “Woe to you Pharisees! You pay tithes of mint and of rue and of every garden herb, but you pay no attention to judgment and to love for God. Luke 11:42
Jesus got fed up with those who lived a loveless law. The Pharisees were meticulous in their outward observation of the Law of Moses, but they failed its core test to love their neighbor as themselves as written in Leviticus.
Thought:
The only love of God that has any substance is the love of God enacted as love of neighbor.
Walter Brueggemann
Music: Love God, Love Your Neighbor – Dale Sechrest
Lavish Mercy 