Bread for the Journey

Calm to the waves. Calm to the wind. Jesus whispers, “Peace, be still.” Balm to our hearts. Fears at an end. In stillness, hear his voice. ~ Mary Louise Bringle

Today in Vacation Bible School, the children made sensory gel mats for children in a local care center. They are simply clear zipper bags filled with gel and fun small objects like Pom Pom balls, buttons in fun shapes, foam letters, and glitter. I tried them out, and they are quite mesmerizing! I can understand how helpful they are in bringing a sense of calm to children. When I gaze at a body of water, I feel a sense of calm, and in that vast place of peace, I sit with God.

Dear Lord, today I thought of the words of Vincent Van Gogh: “It is true there is an ebb and flow, but the sea remains the sea.” You are the sea. Although I experience many ups and downs in my emotions and often feel great shifts and changes in my inner life, you remain the same. Your sameness is not the sameness of a rock, but the sameness of a faithful lover. Out of your love I came to life; by your love I am sustained; and to your love I am called back. There are days of sadness and days of joy; there are feelings of guilt and feelings of gratitude; there are moments of failure and moments of success; but all of them are embraced by your unwavering love. My only real temptation is to doubt in your love, to think of myself as beyond the reach of your love, to remove myself from the healing radiance of your love. To do these things is to move into the darkness of despair. O Lord, sea of love and goodness, let me not fear too much the storms and winds of my daily life, and let me know that there is ebb and flow but that the sea remains the sea. Amen. ~ Henri Nouwen

I am thankful for our Christian Educator and the creativity she brings to children of all ages. This was day two of Vacation Bible School, and our story was about Moses and the burning bush. As we all gathered before dispersing to various age groups, the story was acted out by the children. Never have I seen a burning bush like this before. It cannot be adequately described, but it involved one child in golden sparkly shorts, eight “flaming” arms, and lots of imagination. This familiar Bible story was brought to life in a way that I and those present are likely not to forget.

As I listen to people share stories, I love to hear them speak about their passion. I can tell when they speak of their spark; their eyes glow. Our son, who just finished an internship writing articles for a Swedish publication, was asked to “find the spark in the story.” As he shares news with us of his time abroad and writing about topics that inspire him, we can feel his passion and excitement. When our daughter conducts a choir or is moved by a piece of music that inspires her to write about it, her passion is evident. When God called Moses via the burning bush, Moses hesitated because he didn’t think he was capable of doing what God asked him to do. But, Moses turned toward God and said, “Yes!” and he went on to do great things.

When God calls my name, “Anne, Anne….” if I don’t turn toward that voice, I miss an opportunity to grow in faith and be Christ’s hands in the world. When I answer and say, “Here I am,” I may discover a spark I hadn’t known was possible. I practice saying “yes” even when I fear failure or the challenge. I say “yes” if I feel a “yes” in my heart, trusting and knowing God will be with me.

“You git what you git, and you don’t throw a fit”…words chanted by a six year old after receiving his food at a restaurant. I overheard this child while returning from the monastery a few days ago, reminding me of my daily readings. As an oblate, I read portions of The Rule of St. Benedict each day. This guide, primarily written for monks and rooted in scripture, has proven to be relevant to people of all classes of society for fifteen hundred years. The Rule contains principles for working together and living together, and a sense of humor is speckled throughout. When Benedict says, “There must be no word or sign of grumbling,” it reminds me of my own family life growing up, and the occasional, sometimes frequent, arguing with my siblings. How hard it would be not to grumble!

There is an ancient monastic tale that speaks of living the Benedictine Rule. Once upon a time, the Elder said to the businessperson: “As the fish perishes on dry land, so you perish when you get entangled in the world. The fish must return to the water and you must return to the Spirit.” And the businessperson was aghast. “Are you saying that I must give up my business and go into the monastery?” the person asked. And the Elder said, “Definitely not. I am telling you to hold on to your business and go into your heart.”

Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns; I am thankful that thorns have roses. ~ Alphonse Karr

After staying at the monastery, I visited Saint Benedict’s Brew Works. When I first heard of beer described as liquid bread, I thought deeply about the bread I bake. I even thought, “Could it be possible that Jesus’ miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 involved liquid bread?” When bread is created or a substance is brewed, the ingredients mingle and ruminate together, and over a period of time, transformation occurs. We may hear and speak God’s Word, but unless we are willing to change, we only hear and see. When we ruminate on God’s Word and live God’s Word, we open ourselves to the miracle of transformation.

“The Eucharist is an encounter of the heart, knowing Presence through our available presence. In the Eucharist, we move beyond mere words or rational thought and go to that place where we don’t talk about the Mystery; we begin to chew on it.

We must move our knowing to the bodily, cellular, participative, and unitive level. Then we keep eating and drinking the Mystery until one day it dawns on us, in an undefended moment, ‘My God, I really am what I eat!’ Henceforth we can trust and allow what has been true since the first moment of our existence: We are the very Body of Christ. We have dignity and power flowing through us in our naked existence—and everybody else does too, even though most of us do not know it. This is enough to guide and empower our entire faith journey. If Christians did not already have Eucharist as our central ritual, we would have to create something very similar.

You choose to break your life and death wide open. You let your life be broken, used up, and you don’t spend your life protecting yourself. In handing over the small self you discover your True Self in God. ‘Unless the single grain of wheat dies, it remains just a grain of wheat’ (John 12:24). The crushed grain and grapes become the broken bread and the intoxicating wine. There is no other way for the transformation to happen.

You then chew on this mystery for all the rest of your days! Divine truth is known by participation with and practice of, not by more thinking or discussing or even believing. You eventually have to ‘eat’ the truth more than ever understand it.” ~Richard Rohr

I don’t know you, I don’t really know you, until I have spent time and shared stories with you. What I see first is the surface, like the bark of a tree with so much hidden beauty in its depths; beauty created by worm holes, cracks and stains. By allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, sharing our stories and uncovering our uniqueness, our true self can be revealed.

The art exhibit I viewed at the monastery includes beautiful wood creations by Keith Armstrong. In his artist’s statement, Keith says, “Wood speaks to him (the artist), telling him what it wants. Often the artist’s plan must be set aside so that the wood’s desires can be revealed. Cracks, worm holes, bark, stains, bacterial decay and water all play a part in making a piece come alive. Although the cells have long since stopped being active, the wood of a tree has life. As nature works on the wood, it metamorphoses. The artist’s plan must respond to what is discovered after layer by layer the wood’s true nature is revealed.”

My phone’s alarm seems to be in a different time zone than my phone’s clock (same device, how does that happen?) so it woke me at 3:45 a.m. today for 5:30 Vigils and Lauds. At that hour I don’t usually rejoice in much, but from my window I watched the night sky gradually glow as the sun crept closer toward the horizon. I also listened to the rhythmic peal of the tower bells praising God at 5:15 a.m. For those things I do rejoice.

I napped a bit after breakfast and lectio divina, then had a nice long conversation with the new oblate director before noon prayer. The afternoon was spent walking around outside observing flora and fauna. I explored a new nature trail where surprise lilies had popped up all around me, some right on the path. I sat by a pond frequented by dragonflies and watched as a turtle shyly peeked at me from the water. I visited the grave of Fr. Columba Kelly, OSB, a highly respected and renowned musician, composer and leader of chant, who died last month. I meandered through the garden, full of fountains, fish, flowers and adornments; the monastery cat wandered over for some attention. Stepping out of the heat, I viewed the current art exhibit in the library and visited the Chapter Room where the monks gather to conduct business. Its ceiling and walls are beautifully painted and the windows artfully designed by Belgian monk Dom Gregory de Wit, OSB. Then it was time for Vespers, dinner with one of my organist friends, Compline, viewing the sunset, and evening prayer. Such a full day with so many moments to rejoice in God’s world!

This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. – Psalm 118:24

Today I asked myself, “What are you preparing for?” We can’t prepare for the unexpected. What if I’m not sure where I am being led? That’s when I turn to prayer…frequently. On the way to the monastery, my thoughts were all over the place. The three hour drive became a long and much needed preparation for this personal retreat.

At the end of each day here at Saint Meinrad, the final Liturgy of the Hours (my favorite one) is Compline. Together, brothers and sisters in Christ kneel in silence, reflecting on the day. In the quiet stillness of the large church, the trickle of the baptismal font is a gentle reminder of God’s presence. The moment that brought the most life to me today was spending time in the kitchen with a friend who is no longer living; preparing her delicious recipe for strawberry bread. I hadn’t planned to bake before heading out the door, but I hated to waste strawberries that wouldn’t be good when I returned. I even had enough left to make a smoothie. So as I prepared and smelled the aroma of all things strawberry, I reflected on her life. This faithful, dedicated woman loved the church with all her heart, mind and strength. And as friends share the joy of baking her strawberry bread, we remember her love as she lives on in our hearts. What am I preparing for? Love.

I will be staying at a monastery for the next several days to spend more focused time with God and refuel a bit. During this time I will continue to write as part of my evening prayer, but I will not engage in social media or respond to emails and texts. When I first visited Saint Meinrad Archabbey, I “unplugged” for the week, which I believed was vital to giving God my full attention. Sure, it can be boring at times, but that’s not bad. When I feel that way, and allow myself to unveil my vulnerability a little, this is when the light of Christ is able to shine through and enter my life more deeply. But I have to allow that to happen. It can be difficult at times to just sit with God. Sometimes it feels as if not much is happening, yet these times of “nothingness” are so important to spiritual growth. I have come to long for these opportunities to get away and not be tempted to bake, do laundry, or weed because I know that God is cultivating a much more important garden in my soul.

Our daughter is having a difficult time finding an apartment within important parameters like cost, distance to work and school, and transportation options. Life becomes more complicated the older we get. When she was a child, I took road trips with her. We had such fun traveling across the country to visit grandparents on the East coast. One such visit, over dinner, we were having a conversation on a topic I do not recall. What I do remember is a charming misunderstanding. Grandpa exclaimed, “Ah well, C’est la vie”. To which our daughter responded, “Lovey.” I will never forget the laughter, and our daughter’s quizzical look wondering what was so funny. She’s heard this story retold many times over the years, and I hope that by hearing it again we might share a bit of laughter. Like life, throughout her apartment search, there will be bumps along the way and more road trips in search of another place to live. Remembering back to times of innocence in our lives, we realize how we’ve grown in many ways. And at some point, we laugh at fond memories and realize that, although big deals at the time, those become smaller and smaller as we grow. Such is life.

We all have wounds, external or internal, in need of healing. As I continue to heal, spending time outside has been life-giving balm. Even when indoors, if I close my eyes and imagine being surrounded by nature, this can be comforting. When I allow myself to slow down and listen, I interact with, and become more in tune with, the environment. Isn’t that prayer?

“One thing a lot of museum staff work very hard on is to get visitors to slow down. There have been studies about how people go from one piece to the next quickly, and we wonder how we can get people to slow down and take things in more meaningfully. But when people are surrounded by fresh air, trees and nature, there’s a natural response we have that’s different from an urban environment. We slow down and breathe deeply and have a meaningful interaction with artwork in that setting.” ~Lauren Ross, new executive director of Laumeier Sculpture Park