Generosity is not measured by what we have or how much we give but by the amount of love enshrined in what we give.

While working in a women's ministry, I had a life-changing encounter on what it means to give without expecting anything in return. I have not forgotten my encounter with Angela who was a member of our Small Christian Community (SCC). Angela was a middle-aged widow, who lived in what the UN defined as abject poverty. She seemed happy with her life even though she struggled to get a meal for her four children.

                                                            AMECEA image for SCC 

                             http://communications.amecea.org/index.php/2020/04/03/amecea

The visit was intended to check on Angela’s whereabouts. She made a fancy meal for me.  At the end of the meal, it was time for Angela to bid me goodbye. Angela sent her older son (17 years) for something I did not know. It was a roaster and some eggs for me. I tried to make her understand that she needed the eggs more than I did, but she remained excited that she had something to offer her visitor. In her own words, she said “there is always plenty for everyone. We don’t run out for being generous. If we don’t give, we don’t create room to receive.” Partly, this was a cultural practice that required visitors to be given a good send-off. Perhaps one of the qualities which speak of the nature of God in contemporary life.

As I enter into this lent period, I reflect on generosity in line with my encounter with Angela. Generosity is an inward act of love that does not depend on what we own but, on the love, we carry with us as we give. As such, generosity should not be a seasonal thing (lived in Lenten season) but throughout our life. Saint Paul reminds in 1 Cor 13:2 “if I have a faith that can move mountains, but does not have love, I am nothing.” This generosity is not limited to material possession, but as far as the prayers we offer for others, the quality time we offer to those who lack anyone to listen to them. As far as the sacrifices we do out of love for our mother nature. Precisely, there is no single way to be generous. However, there is one best way to get it done: when it is done out of love.

May this Lenten season be a moment to contemplate in which areas we are being called to be generous and share the gift of ourselves with others.

“A light, silent sound.”

The other night, Annie and I were taking our turn starting up the cars to help prevent the batteries from dying in the cold temps we’re having.  As we were doing this, a light, fluffy snow was falling from the sky.  Walking down our sidewalk, towards the gate which leads out to where our cars are parked, I paused for a moment to take in the peaceful calm that comes over everything when this type of snow happens.  The problem I didn’t see coming as I paused was I now live in Chicago where cars and people are constantly around.  As a result, this awaited stillness didn’t come.  I was disappointed in city life and thankful to been able to experience the stillness that comes with fresh snow when I was growing up in Wisconsin and when I found myself back in Wisconsin, after 3 years in Phoenix, as a candidate last year.  

After a recent snowfall (not the big one!) here in Chicago

Walking to the library the next day, thinking about this moment reminded me of the Gospel for the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time.  In this, we read:

“Rising very early before dawn, he left 

and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed.

Simon and those who were with him pursued him

and on finding him said, ‘Everyone is looking for you (Mk 1: 35-37).’” [1]

It seems all Jesus wanted was a moment to step aside and take in God’s beauty and recharge as He prayed-something I was looking for as I paused to take in the calm of the falling snow. As often happens in the Gospel of Mark, the action quickly continues as Jesus is “pursued” as He is trying to get away to pray. Sure, it wasn’t the noise of city life, but I wonder if it cut short the amount of time Jesus had intended to spend in prayer.

A heart to heart moment with my godson on a home visit 

during my candidate year.

Isn’t this exactly how prayer often is though? You get settled, ready to take a break from to-do lists and life stressors in order to be with God. Then, a flood of distractions fill the mind as you try to focus on scripture, spiritual ready, journaling, or simple silence in God’s presence. If you’ve never experienced this in prayer, please let me know what your trick is! :D The key during these times, I suppose, is being able to sift through the noise and pay attention to why those things are coming up. Are they truly distractions? Or, are they things God is inviting you to pay attention to and talk to God about during your time together? This year, this is a skill I’ve been fortunate enough to get to intentionally work on during communal prayer because our morning prayer starts with 20 minutes of contemplative prayer. These moments of silence provide an excellent time to check in and see how I’m doing, what God might be inviting me to focus on in a particular way that day, and simply be with my Beloved (how fortunate are we to have the Blessed Sacrament reserved in our chapel!?). Some mornings are easier than others, but in the times when the distractions are stronger than normal I try to remember what Elijah has taught me about learning to pay attention to the deeper levels of my interior life in order to properly listen to the ways God is calling me to rest in God’s love, peace, and mercy.

“Then the LORD said: Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD;* the LORD will pass by. There was a strong and violent wind rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the LORD—but the LORD was not in the wind; after the wind, an earthquake—but the LORD was not in the earthquake; after the earthquake, fire—but the LORD was not in the fire; after the fire, a light silent sound (1 Kgs 19:11-12).” [2]

Or, as Fr. James Martin, SJ words it in an article Lorraine conveniently sent us as I was working on this blog: “For many people God is often manifested in a feeling of calm. As this happens for you, you can start to recognize what God “feels” like in prayer. St. Ignatius started to see that this was the way God worked in him." [3] In this moment, underneath the noises of life, what “light, silent sound,” what “calm,” is God speaking to you?

Beauty after the first snowfall I experienced at

our motherhouse during my candidate year.

[1]: https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/020721.cfm

[2]: https://bible.usccb.org/bible/1kings/19

[3]:https://www.americamagazine.org/faith/2021/01/21/james-martin-book-excerpt-prayer-god-239756?fbclid=IwAR3BQ5w2-sWCi8Ajs12WVP4h8WpEVZf7qLd1D6clu-nZYTv_Q5tR0jsPi7o

Told the Story of My Life

I look to the Samaritan woman at the well as a model for effective preaching. After her life-changing conversation with Jesus, the woman becomes a witness who invites others from her village to “come and see” Jesus for themselves (John 4: 26, 29). As Dominicans, we want our preaching likewise to draw people into an authentic encounter with Jesus.

 

I just reread this story closely for my CTU course on the Gospel of John alongside the commentary Life Abounding by Brendan Byrne, SJ. Byrne notes that the woman’s words, literally “Come and see a man who has told me all I have ever done,” can be translated “ ome and see a man who has told me the story of my life.” This rendering captures the depth of her experience of Jesus. Byrne writes, “Jesus has taken the broken fragments of her life and shown that they can be part of a wider pattern of meaning… Running beneath all the disjointed and unsatisfactory aspects of her life has been a story of divine grace” (87). Jesus tells the story of her life as a meaningful narrative set within the wider context of salvation history.

 

This week I spent time asking Jesus to weave the fragments of my life into a meaningful story of divine grace (Byrne 90). Prompted by Elyse Marie Ramirez, OP, I created a collage of my spiritual journey to share with my fellow novices. Here it is:

 

To begin, I recalled my high school self. At that time in my life, I wasn’t involved in any religious education program or youth group. I didn’t think being Catholic had much bearing on what I would decide to do with my life. Faith seemed to me a matter of personal morality and family identity. I had a budding passion for social justice and an intuitive sense that all people belong to one human family. I was committed to searching for common ground among peoples of different cultures and backgrounds. It didn’t occur to me that God had anything to do with this.

 

In college I discovered Catholic social teaching, and it changed my life. Now I had a theological language to articulate principles that I knew in my heart to be true: the dignity of human persons made in the likeness of God, the right to life, the option for the poor and vulnerable, and solidarity with all creation. I learned about Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker movement, which inspired a commitment to nonviolence. Now I wanted to follow Jesus’ way of peace. I came to understand that peace must be built, by both loving one’s neighbor and working for justice so that all might enjoy equal freedom. 

 

Belonging to the church took on new meaning for me. My faith was no longer simply a private affair. Living out my faith as an adult meant that, by virtue of my baptism, I was responsible for realizing the mission of the universal church. The Spirit has commissioned the church to bring the light of God’s love and life to the world. This vision of the church as the People of God transformed my ideas about what to do with my life. Now I felt that I could most effectively serve the common good through ministry in the church.

 

However, I had not yet figured out how to sustain this youthful passion for ministry. I still needed to put down spiritual roots and grow into a personal relationship with God. This happened during graduate school when I discovered the Christian mystical tradition and contemplative prayer. Medieval visionaries like Julian of Norwich and other spiritual writers guided my journey into the depths within. I made several pilgrimages to Taizé, the ecumenical monastic community in France, which nurtured a love for silence and a longing for intimacy with God. This thirst for communion with Holy Mystery led me to religious life. I feel that becoming a woman religious integrates my passion for justice and my desire for contemplative living.

 

What a gift to look back and perceive God’s abiding presence in my life. I’ve ended up in a place—the Collaborative Dominican Novitiate—I never could have imagined in high school. Yet in retrospect I can see that God has accompanied me through every twist and turn along the way, gently calling me on to more abundant life. I’m grateful for this sacred time during the canonical year to discern how God’s grace is giving shape and meaning to my journey. I only hope that telling my story will invite others to “come and see."