When God Speaks

 The religion of the ancient Hebrews (and thus of the Hebrew Bible) was based upon the belief that God can and does speak to man. ...  The belief that God speaks to man is fundamental; we cannot accept some of the Hebrew beliefs as valid for modern man and abandon the basis upon which they are proposed, for this leaves them precisely baseless, unfounded (The Two-Edged Sword, McKenzie).

As moderns, we tend to be sceptical about God speaking to us.  We may not doubt that he speaks to the great saints ("Francis, rebuild My Church!" for example), but most of us are extremely doubtful that He can or will speak to us.  And yet, Jesus is very emphatic at the Last Supper about the role of the Holy Spirit in our lives: But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you (Jn. 14).

    When he, the Spirit of Truth, comes, he will guide you into all truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come. He will bring glory to me by taking from what is mine and making it known to you (Jn. 16).

Many of us have had the experience of "hearing" an inner voice directing us, and yet we have shut it down, thinking that we were speaking to ourselves, out of our own minds and desires.  How do we know when we are talking to ourselves or when the Holy Spirit is directing us? While most of the time the whisperings of the Holy Spirit are subtle, there are times when He is very direct.  Let me give you a recent example:

My sister is retired but still drives a school bus on a regular basis to pick up extra cash.  Once or twice a year, she and her husband will travel to the coast and spend 2 or 3 nights in a casino, where they both enjoy playing poker with her school bus money. (It's the only money they use for that purpose.)  If one or both of them win a poker game or two, they will add that money to the casino fund and save it for the next trip.  

On one of the bus trips -- a field trip where the drivers had to wait for the children to return -- another bus driver, a woman also, was telling my sister that one of her checks had bounced at the bank, and now she was faced with not only paying that bill, but also interest and added fees from the bank.  She did not know what she was going to do. My sister immediately told the woman to follow her home after they finished their route that day, and she would give her 500 dollars to take to the bank and cover her costs.  She took the cash from her casino fund.  

The other woman was extremely grateful and promised to repay her 50 dollars every two weeks, with each paycheck.  After a couple of payments, however, the woman moved and her bus route was changed, so that the two no longer met on a regular basis.  Eventually, my sister began to think to herself, "She's never going to pay me back; I'll never see that money again!"  And of course, once we begin to gnaw on a mental bone like that, it continues to haunt us.  But then one day, in the midst of her grousing about the money, a strong voice spoke in and to her:  "It was never your money to begin with; let it go!"  And that voice brought such peace that my sister was able to release all of her negative thoughts and worries about the money.  She realized how much of that money she had actually won, as well as earned. She indeed was able to "let it go." 

Now how do we know God was speaking in this case?  As John McKenzie points out in his book, there is always a sense of the "Other" in these cases.  When we are consumed by fear, worry, and anxiety, and there is "voice" that cuts across the direction of our own thoughts, bringing peace and even love, it's a pretty clear indication that we cannot be talking to ourselves.  And once we have experienced the Voice of the Holy Spirit speaking to us, we begin to believe and to be a little more sensitive and less doubtful that God does want to be part of our lives.

The Best Easter Ever!

As we entered the Easter Triduum (Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Saturday/Sunday) this year, there was an extra measure of prayer and intensity for most of us.  An American airman had been shot down in the mountainous region of Iran during the Iranian War.  The pilot of the plane had been rescued by American forces, but the second in command had not yet been found  ---- and the world was holding its breath.

It was a question of who would locate the American first.  Iran had placed a bounty on his head, and it seemed that every Iranian citizen in the area was out to claim the reward, hunting him down with sticks, guns, and whatever weapons they had at hand.  Ameica, meanwhile, was trying to locate him with all the tools at their disposal-- encoded signals, helicopters, etc.  One search plane had already been shot down by the Iranians, but that pilot had also been rescued.  

Those of us who remember previous wars remembered the brutality of nations like Iran who captured American soldiers.  We recalled the televised beheadings, the parading of broken and tortured men before cameras while citizens cheered.  As the mother of a helicopter pilot who has been through survival training, I was especially focused on the parents of this young airman.  I could almost experience their anguish and fear for his safety.  I could imagine in my flesh and bones what their prayers for his safety must have been like.

Every service I attended -- Holy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil --- I felt as if I were praying with the whole world for this man's rescue by American forces.  During the night, I would wake up praying for him and for his parents.  And I knew I was not alone in my prayers.  

Then, Easter Morning, I arose at 4 am, wondering if there was any news.  Fortunately, my husband, who had also been praying at night, was already awake with the exultant announcement:  The airman is safe; he has been found !    Immediately, I thought of the Father's cry in the Parable of the Prodigal Son:  We must rejoice; the son who was lost has been found!    I could imagine the joy and relief and thanksgiving of the parents as I sort of collapsed with joy myself.  

Alleluia!  Alleluia!  He is risen from the dead!  Ring the bells; announce the Good News!  We have all been saved from death and sorrow!  Alleluia!  The timing of the loss and resurrection brought a whole new and real dimension to Easter this year!  

On Visions and Meanings

 Thinking this morning of Julian of Norwich, a 14th century nun who thought she was dying when she had a series of visions for 12 hours, in which Jesus revealed to her secrets of heaven and of His own heart.  Indeed, she did not die, but spent the next 40 years reflecting on and writing about what she had seen and heard in her visions.  

One of the most remarkable secrets God revealed to her was what she called "the hospitality of God."  She reflected on the sweet kindness of God, Who welcomes the worst of us into his heart and home.  As a parent who is most tender and solicitous with the child who is sick, weak, or disabled in some way, she saw God as most welcoming of the sinner.  Indeed, Jesus said that the angels in heaven rejoiced more over a sinner who repents than over the 99 who have no need of repentence.  And in the story of the woman caught in adultery, we see Jesus turning away the "righteous" ones who want to condemn the sinner --- we see the Face of God!

After my experience with the baptism of the Holy Spirit in 1977, I began to have a series of visions also --  unlike Julian of Norwich, I had only 3 or 4 of them over a period of a few years.  But now, almost 50 years later, I realize that those few visions have guided me all the rest of my life.  I have never thought about revealing those visions to any but a very small number of people in my life, but thinking about Julian today and the impact of her visions on me, I'm thinking about writing them down.  I don't know that they will mean anything to anyone else, but I have found that the gifts of God are never given for us alone.  The graces we have been given are always meant to be shared.

In the first -- and longest -- vision I had, I saw myself in a cloud looking down at the top of a mountain.  I could see the top of the mountain, and I could see multiple paths leading to the top.  There were people on all of the paths; some of them had wandered off their path and were lost in the trees, not even knowing they were lost.  As I watched them, I asked Jesus, "Can I help them?"  "NO," he said; "on their journey, they come to know their Guide, and you are not the Guide."  I was completely satisfied with that answer, for some reason, knowing that He would take care of the ones I was worried about.  

Suddenly, though, I realized that I myself was at the base of an invisible mountain in the cloud, one that I could not see at all.  And He spoke again:   You will not know whether you are going up or down, backwards or forwards; you will know only the One Who guides you.  And once again, I was completely satisfied and content with His words.  I knew that I did not have to worry about where I was going, if only He was taking care of me.

Then I saw in front of me what looked like a library table with four small drawers.  I opened the first drawer and saw what appeared to be bookmarks, and for some reason, I understood those to be the Ten Commandments.  The next drawer also held small bookmarks, and these seemed to be the Beatitudes.  The contents of the third drawer were (occasionally) the secrets of men's hearts.  The fourth drawer, however, would open only a couple of inches, much like a kitchen drawer stuck half-way by some tool blocking the pathway.  I could see it held a scroll, which I squeezed my hand in far enough to draw out.  As I unrolled the scroll, it seemed to be blank; intuitively, I knew there was something written on it, but I could not see it!  As I watched, the scroll continued to unroll itself upwards, even to heaven.

I understood the vision immediately:  From childhood, it had been given to me to know the Commandments, the Beatitudes, and even sometimes the secrets of other's hearts.  What I could not know and did not know, was what was written on my own heart!  I understood the words, "If you allow Me to reveal to you what is written on your own heart, it will lead you to heaven!"

And then I saw the first (and as it turned out to be, the only) three words I would ever see:  Purity of Heart, Humility, and Truth.

Now, almost 50 years after that experience, I realize that these words were not "virtues" that had been given to me from the beginning, but they were instead guideposts that would lead me to heaven.  They were paths that I would need to learn to walk on the way, and from which I would occasionally, if not often, depart.  But they would inevitably draw me back to the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

I am, and always have been, profoundly grateful for this vision.  As a visual learner, I have always needed to "see" rather than "hear" things in order to retain them in memory.  I tend to forget what I hear -- sometimes after 10 minutes!  But I always remember the things I see.  And here's the point:  God, as the Master Teacher,  honors and accommodates His Voice, His teachings, to our strengths rather than to our weakness.  In his hospitality, according to Julian, He bends low that He might raise us up!

A Moment of Joy

Our local Walmart is undergoing re-organization, making for a somewhat frustrating shopping experience.  Recently, I approached the Garden center for some potting soil, only to find out that the entrance was closed.  Despite having parked close to the garden entrance to make it easier to haul and load the potting soil into my car, I now needed to walk around to the main entrance.  

When I reached the Garden center, I found that it was closed, but that I could pay for the potting soil at a main register and then pick up the package outside the store.  The chashier of course knew nothing about potting soil sizes, so ended up just showing me pictures on her phone.  Since I didn't want the smallest size, I picked another one:  "That's fine," I said, and headed outside to pick up the soil, only to discover that I had picked the industrial sized package, one way heavier than I was capable of lifting into the basket.  Of course, there was no way back into the garden center, nor was there anyone working outside to help me.

As I usually do, I turned to my guardian angel for help:  "Show me how to get this thing in the basket," I asked, and immediately saw the solution -- pull the bag off the top of the pile onto the ground, let it stand on end while I rolled the cart up and slid the bag onto the lower shelf.  Done!

When I got to my car, there was another issue -- how to get the darn thing into the car.  It was really beyond my ability to lift it even a few feet off the bottom of the basket.  Again, I turned to my guardian angel:  "Send me someone to help me!" I prayed, as I had parked the car on the outer fringe of the lot, where few people were passing by.  Immediately, a man in a wheel chair rolled up to my car.  "Do you need any help?" he asked.   "Well," I said, "I asked my guardian angel to send me someone to help me, and he sent you!"   "God works in mysterious ways," he said with a grin. 

When I looked at his face, I suddenly had the thought that maybe this encounter was as much for him as for me.  He looked a little "on the edge," so to speak.  He may have been homeless, I'm not sure, but I noticed there was nothing in his basket if he had just come from the store.  Anyway, he put one foot on the ground, lifted one corner of the potting soil, and told me to grab the other end.  Between the two of us, we managed to wrestle the bag into the car, and both of us kind of collapsed laughing at the effort. 

It was a moment of shared joy for both of us.  I think he felt good about helping me, and somehow I felt good about needing his help.  What I originally thought might have been a joke on the part of my angel turned out to be a special moment in my day --- as I'm sure it was in his!

On Checklists and Relationship

 Last night in OCIA, we had a discussion on Lenten practices.  As I listened, I got to thinking about checklists and relationships.  It's not really a question of "either/or," since both are important to maintaining our lives.  We tend to love checklists because of the sense of accomplishment, the feeling of doing something to create order and progress in an otherwise chaotic existence.  I have a friend who makes me laugh (with her, not at her) about her obsession with checklists:  Make the coffee: check.  Drink the coffee: check.  

The feeling of accomplishment is important to us, especially for a new mother whose life has been completely upturned by unpredictable care of an infant.  We are mostly desperate to regulate our lives with a sense of being in control and successful.  Even in the area of relationships, checklists are critical.  The partner who fails the tasks of daily organization -- checking the gas gauge in the car, washing the clothes, seeing to the meals, etc.----soon sabotages the relationship altogether.  We can't live in chaos without imposing frustration on our life partners.

But life is not all about the checklists either.  Sooner or later, routine alone also sabotages the relationship.  Jesus mentions those who say to Him, 'but we prophesied in your name and drove out demons and performed miracles in your name!"  But Jesus' answer is, "But I never knew you!"  Many of us think the whole point of being Christian is to be "good."  But clearly, God has something else in mind --- relationship.  He seems to be drawn especially to those whose checklists have dwindled into insignificance.

When it comes to Lenten practices, our checklists are important--- it's kind of a spiritual housecleaning: getting rid of the spiritual clutter, the distractions, the things that have crept into our lives to make us slouch spiritually.  Springtime is a time for clearing the winter debris and for planting new habits that refresh us.  (Not sure about giving up chocolate, but it's probably a good starting place, I guess.)  Personal discipline is not something most of us ever consider.  

But ultimately, the goal is our relationship with God.  Someone said last night: I don't sit down and pray every day, but I talk to God all day long.  Surely, Brother Lawrence teaches all of us about practicing the Presence of God as a path to relationship--- no worries there.   I talk to my husband, now that we are both retired, all day long too.  But I find that the 'Sit down conversations" (even if we are standing up) are the ones that nourish the relationship the most --- as opposed to "What do you want for dinner?" conversations.  It's the conversations that reveal to me what he's thinking on a deeper level that I enjoy: when he tells me about something he just read and how it touched him, for example.  It's the time we spend in the afternoon doing a puzzle together that enrich us, rather than the morning checklists.  

So, no, God is not keeping a list of our lenten practices, although they are undoubtedly good for us as human creatures.  But I think He is waiting to hear what's in our hearts and minds so He can tell us what's on His mind too!  A little time dedicated to sitting down with Him every day goes a long way! 

The Starting Point

Last week, we started a Lenten series on prayer in the parish, opening with the question: What is the greatest difficulty in prayer?  One of our discussion partners suggested that the answer is "finding a starting place."  Somehow, that answer resonated with me, and I wanted to think about it more, so I wrote it down.  What is our "starting place" in prayer?

The next morning, I came to my regular prayer time with that question.  For years, I've been using a daily prayer guide based on the readings and feast of the daily Mass.  I really don't have to think too much about my starting place as I grab a cup of tea, settle in and begin to read what is right in front of me.  Usually, there is something in the Blessed Among Us article, in the readings of the day, or in the reflection that gives me a jumping off place for my own prayer and reflection.  And that satisfies me.  But on this day, I wondered if my "prayer" was really connecting with God, or if I was just completing a routine that I had started years ago.  

I think it is a good routine for most of us, and I do think it "clears space for God" to meet us, as Bishop Barron says in his book on prayer:  God is like a helicopter pilot, hovering over our lives, waiting for us to clear a landing place for Him.  But like all routines, our prayer life probably needs to be refreshed at times to keep it fresh and meaningful.

It's funny how when you ask a question, and begin to think about the answer, usually, somehow, a new door in the universe begins to open.  And open it did!  First, a video found its way to my phone: 

Grok AI analyzes every prayer in the Bible.  What an eye-opener!  The video is about 45 minutes long, but worth every minute.  What AI discovered is that there is indeed a pattern to every prayer in the Bible, from beginning to end, from Old Testament to New Testament.  Eureka!  And guess what!  There is actually a starting place for every prayer in Scripture!  Who knew?  And the starting place is not reading someone else's prayers or reflections, wonderful as they may be!  

The Starting Place for prayer in the Bible is Acknowledgement of Who God Is, His character, His power, His relationship with his people, His faithfulness, His greatness, etc.  Even the short "Our Father" prayer given by Jesus begins with acknowledging the relationship:  Who is God to you?  (Father).  See Psalm 111 for a good example from the Old Testament.

Once I began to see to pattern, I realized why it took so many years of developing a relationship with the Jewish people before God sent the Messiah:  They had to know God before they could recognize Him in Jesus.  As in any relationship, to "know" God means that we have to spend time with Him -- in prayer, in nature, in reflection, in pondering our lives before Him.  Scripture says, Walk before me and be perfect (complete).   Enoch walked "with" God; Deborah "sat" with God; Abraham "stood" with God.  Our conversation with other people depends entirely on the experiences we have had with them. Little or no experience equals superficial and meaningless conversation, or "prayer."

Who is God to you?  Where has He been in your life?  If we answer those questions, and if our 'starting place' in prayer is to acknowledge Who He has been for us, I think we might at last begin to pray!

Soaking Up the Son

 I walked into adoration utterly depleted, shaking and almost unable to function.  I had just been to Walgreens to pick up a prescription and found myself disoriented and confused.  When I went to pay for my purchases, I fumbled around trying to extract my credit card and Walgreen's card.  "Take your time, Lady," said the clerk; "I get paid by the hour."  Embarrassed, I wanted to explain that I had just been through a traumatic and physically exhausting week.  No one ever tells you that at 83, it takes longer to recover from unusual stress and physical exertion; your body and mind go into something akin to post traumatic stress syndrome.

My daughter had had emergency surgery with complications in New Orleans.  (Ordinarily these days, I find that just driving into New Orleans through the "wild west" of 18 wheelers and pickup trucks in New Orleans East puts a great deal of stress on me.)  After two days of vomiting, she had been dehydrated but after tests, they decided she needed emergency surgery and as as result, refused to give her any liquid, even in an iv.  Unfortunately, the "emergency" surgery was delayed, delayed, and delayed once again as the surgeon was swamped with emergencies.  No one could tell us when my daughter's surgery would actually take place. For 24 hours, the report was "momenarily," so no liquids.  The more dehydrated she became, the more uncomfortable she was.  From about 6 pm through 8pm, she was on watch for immanent surgery --- and more and more thirsty after two days of vomiting.  In the ER observation room with her, I too was suffering knowing what she was going through.  After awhile, I began to identify with Mary watching Jesus on the cross -- although the comparison may be profane and inappropriate.  

Finally, they agreed to put my daughter in a regular room for the night so she could rest, and give her a re-hydration iv, plus jello until 11 pm, with surgery re-scheduled for the next day.  At 7 am, she was still thirsty as they wheeled her into surgery -- and then there were complications.  

During her 3 day hospital stay, I found myself back and forth between her house, where I had left the water running to prevent broken pipes; the parking garage, where I had to park distances away from the entrance; and an unusally long walking distance between the garage and the West Tower, the furtherest distance in the hospital.  With lung cancer, I found it difficult to walk carrying all the baggage one needs to spend time in the hospital.  After a week, I was physically and mentally exhausted.   By the time I returned to Mississippi after my daughter's recovery, I found it almost impossible to recover my strength and stamina.  

The next day, I debated whether I could actually get to my scheduled adoration hour.  My visit to Walgreens had not gone well at all, but I figured I needed time with Jesus more than anything else. As I sat before the Blessed Sacrament, I found that I was not able even to say the rosary, I was so mentally blank.  "How should I pray?" I asked. "I'm so tired."  

God rarely speaks to me, but this time He did:  not exactly words, but more clear impressions -- which I translated to words in my mind: 

Imagine yourself stretched out on a sandy beach, soaking up the sun.

Immediately, I understood my task;  Relax and soak up the Son.  With that image in mind, I almost fell asleep -- but not quite, as gradually phrases from Scripture began to float through my spirit and mind: 

God is our refuge and our strength, an ever-present help in distress.

God is close to the broken-hearted, and those bowed down in spirit He saves.

When the enemy comes in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord will put him to flight.

By the time I left the chapel after an hour, I could feel strength coming back into my legs as well as into my body, mind, and soul.  I've always said that adoration is like a divine radiation treatment; from now on, I'll think of it as "Soaking up the Son."