In the Welcoming Prayer, this attitude of surrender is carried into daily life and helps us catch the false-self programs before they sink their teeth into us. It does not operate out of our head, but rather invites us to be in touch with the feelings in our bodies as our starting point.
Contemplate This explores the deepening dimensions of silence and contemplation.
As President Donald Trump begins to roll out in rapid fire the many executive orders seeking to overturn decisions not only of the Obama Administration but programs and policies that have been in place for decades, I find myself seeking to understand the larger picture.
Celebrating the mystery of the Incarnation awakens in me profound hope. It recalls that Divine Presence is with us and in us. That our world is good and holy. It speaks to me that we have within us the capacity to open our arms wide to embrace our entire Earth community as our sisters and brothers and that we are all in this evolutionary journey together.
In the wake of the elections, I feel the need to be grounded ever more deeply in contemplation so I can move forward in new ways into the space that holds the tensions, contradictions and challenges that are before us as families, as congregations, as a nation, as Christians, as Earth community.
Early last month I was giving a day presentation to religious congregations in San Rafael, California. The day focused on the power of contemplation as a transformative process, the transformation of consciousness and communal contemplation. The day ended with a section on exercising contemplative power. During the final discussion the question arose as to whether we could do something collectively to exercise contemplative power during this election.
There is something unsettling about liminality's blurry boundaries and unclear surroundings yet, as I continue to learn, it is unreal to expect complete certainly, clarity, and confidence. As much as l long to look out to a vast horizon where land and sky are clearly marked off, each to their own separate territory, there's also an unreachable "more" that stretches out beyond my grasp.
I wrote recently about needing to tell a new story, a new narrative — one of communion and not separation. Yet as I listen to the news I feel as though I don't want to be in communion with some people. I want to be separate from them. I want to scream how can you do that? How can you believe that?
There are rare moments when one experiences a fullness of time. A time and place where the previous years' hopes and desires emerge as an intensified whole deeper and more grounded than one could have hoped. That was my experience of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious' (LCWR) Assembly this year.
As I write this it is one of those perfect Michigan summer mornings — temperature in high 70s, low humidity, sun shining and the flowers fully blooming in all their rich colors. One of the sisters with whom I live is our gardener, and she has created a most splendid banquet of myriad flowers whose colors were profuse this morning. I so needed this "chapel" within which to pray.
Because of my ministries I have never lived near relatives or my grade school friends as their children grew up. Recently my cousin moved to Lansing, Michigan, not too far from Detroit. One of her many grandchildren was making his first Holy Communion, and I was invited to attend. I accepted, and as I drove on this beautiful Saturday morning I found myself filling up with tears.