Look at the Flowers

“Look at the beautiful flowers, Mommy.”

As we walked along to the park yesterday, my son’s voice halted the cacophony in my head temporarily, and I stopped to look at his beautiful flowers. They were, to my eye, neither beautiful nor necessarily flowers – just stems with some wilting former flowers. But these observations perfectly reflected us at that moment. My son: hopeful, seeing wonderment and interest in absolutely everything. Me: feeling overwhelmed, irrelevant and introspective – not seeing the present moment nor the hope right in front of me.

Many years ago, I wrote a piece based around the reflection of Cardinal Avery Dulles to “look at the flowers in the field” when trying to work through my own struggles with faith. The point in that piece was about the remarkable creation inherent in the simplest of things and God’s care for the smallest of things (and hence care for us), but also reminded me poignantly today with my son’s observation about living in the moment and the often–quoted reminder from Matthew 6:34, “Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil.” At the moment, I waste so much time worrying about what will happen tomorrow in so many aspects of my life, and how to get there, that I find it hard to notice the beauty and peace of right now. Sometimes that beauty, and definitely peace, only last a few minutes – chasing after a very active toddler while trying to set up a home after an international move and figuring out what to do with my life workwise is a stressful stew. But the moments of peace today that I want to hold onto and reflect on are important and can get me through the harder ones. Today I’m thankful for a small boy who tells me I am beautiful, when I least feel like it; for a husband trying to help me even though he is running on empty himself; for my son hugging me in bed after a sleepless night for both of us and bouncing with energy to greet the day; and for a helpful sitter giving me the time I need to breathe and re-energize, so I can bring the best of myself to all three of us.

As I try to remind myself today and every day to shut out the noise and be present in the moment, I ask God’s help with the refrain from today’s Psalm (Ps 85:2-4, 5-6, 7-8) “Lord, show us your mercy and love.” 

So Much Noise

The world witnessed a horrifying tragedy this weekend. Early Saturday morning, a gunman opened fire at a movie theater filled with parents, children, boyfriends and girlfriends, friends—average people excited for the premiere of the latest Batman flick. He killed 12 people, and dozens more were injured. He also booby-trapped his apartment, apparently with the goal of murdering anyone who went there to investigate.

What little we know of the gunman and the crime have been the stuff of 24-hour news coverage all weekend. Facebook, twitter, and a host of social media have been forums for grief, anger, psychoanalysis, parental condemnation, political posturing, demands for policy reform, and endless questioning. Opinions vastly differ, but as one, we are outraged.

I joined those voices, and I certainly joined the throngs of angry, grief-stricken citizens wanting to know why and how such a thing could have happened, demanding that changes take place that will prevent such a thing from ever happening again.

So many voices and so much noise: it is deafening. I dearly hope that some kind of positive change will come out of this disaster. But as the posts and tweets keep flying, and as the news coverage remains stuck on this topic (with so little new information), for the moment I am through with it. I can no longer engage with it; it’s not helping me understand what took place. So as I have throughout my life, I do turn to prayer—I pray for the victims, the survivors, for the law enforcement officials charged with unfolding this unfathomable mess, and for all those affected (directly and less so). I also pray for the murderer, who must surely be the most lost of souls, and for his family. But I also look to scripture and its age-old wisdom. What can it offer me? From today’s readings:

Mi 6:1-4, 6-8

Hear what the LORD says:
Arise, present your plea before the mountains,
and let the hills hear your voice!
Hear, O mountains, the plea of the LORD,
pay attention, O foundations of the earth!

Not surprisingly, the inclination to give voice to concerns and grief isn’t new—it’s just the medium that has changed. Instead of the mountaintop, we have the internet.

Micah is as full of questions as we are:

With what shall I come before the LORD,
and bow before God most high?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
with calves a year old?
Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with myriad streams of oil?
Shall I give my first-born for my crime,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?

Thousands of years later, these offerings seem as futile as our own questions and arguments about how senseless violent crimes against humanity could be prevented.

God has given an answer, Micah says:

You have been told, O man, what is good,
and what the LORD requires of you:
Only to do the right and to love goodness,
and to walk humbly with your God.

Many of us might read that and think it doesn’t offer much in this situation. We are, more or less, living as we should be living, and we’re not the ones who perpetrated this crime. Our good actions couldn’t do anything to prevent the murderer’s descent into whatever mania or disease caused this tragedy—we’re not his parents or friends, and we weren’t there to see this coming. How could my righteousness have changed the course of events?

I’m not proposing any simple answer here. There is none, in my opinion. My first step toward my own righteousness concerning this story is to recognize that there are no simple answers and that, for the moment, the world doesn’t need another angry voice rising in condemnation. There is a time for that. Right now, for me, with as little information as I have about any of it, this is not that time.

Right now, I think the world needs more humble listeners. The world needs people to bring peace and to hold back from sowing division.

I’m not claiming there is not right or wrong concerning this vicious crime. I’m not claiming that there’s nothing to be done, nor am I condemning those who are demanding answers and insisting upon change. But in the absence of so much information and in the presence of so much noise, I want to make my voice a more humble, peaceful one, and my mind one that seeks understanding and healing in the face of so much anger.

Feast or Famine

Today's readings speak of famine imposed upon those who do injustice to the weak, and they remind us that God's word is spiritual food, as essential as bread or water.

I've been in my own self-imposed spiritual famine. As always, I struggle with the discipline of making time for prayer, reflection, and worship. But on a more fundamental level, I struggle with my identity as a Catholic. My adamant dissent from so many of the words and actions of the institutional Church leaves me wondering if I just don't belong anymore—and the response I hear (both directly and implicitly) from many of its members when I voice those doubts is clear: No, I don't belong. Go elsewhere.

I'm in a spiritual no man's land. So far, I can't bring myself to completely abandon the Catholic faith, which feels like such an essential part of my identity. I'm not pursuing other spiritual avenues, but I'm also not practicing the rituals and faith traditions that have enriched my life. So I've left myself pretty empty, spiritually, without a clear idea of where to go.

Among other spiritual pursuits, I've neglected this blog, which has been a tremendous source of strength for me. It's been an exercise that allows me to go directly to the word of God, to encounter God more personally, without external distractions. And this, I need to remember, provides the foundation of my faith.

Tonight, when I did turn back to the readings of the day, the reminder that God's word is life was sort of a "Well, duh" moment for me. By neglecting my daily encounter with God's words, I've been hurting only myself.

I'm still not sure what to do, as far as worship is concerned. But tonight I'm reminded that thinking about the life of Jesus and the words that inspired and sustained his ministry of justice and peace fills me up and brings me life. This is where I begin—it's like the healthy breakfast that will get me through the first part of a big journey. Where it leads, I don't yet know. But I'll get nowhere if I don't start. Again.