change

Celebrating Change, Bit by Bit

I took a walk in the sunny cold air this morning, just once around the block before lunch, and chatted with landscapers piling dark, smelly mulch around the gardens of an old, ranch double. We smiled. One man predicted warm weather ahead. “Suddenly, spring is here!” he said. And so it seemed.

But just when I had hope of swapping winter parkas for my favorite lightweight fleece, a fierce storm brought lighting and thunder, pelting rain and hail, plummeting temperatures, and tree-felling tornados.

This is Ohio after all.

I know “you should never say ‘never’,” but I’ll chance it. Change is never smooth. No. It comes with starts and stops, pains and joys, and not necessarily in that order. It demands letting go of the old before we can embrace the new. And it’s never once and done.

The plants I thought were dead after the first freeze have been growing and changing in one way or another, unobserved, through the Midwest’s persistent winter until they seem to pop up overnight. Like the crocuses that painted my neighbor’s lawn with purple one morning. Of course, they’d long been working toward that moment; I’ve just not been alert to the process. Change is rarely predictable. And with growing things, it’s seldom sudden.

How many miniscule shifts had protective leaf scales made before I finally noticed them relaxing, inviting buds to soak up sun and stretch their sweet bodies into warmer air? Uncountable.

So, as far as spring goes, I try to wait patiently, trusting that the forces of change are at work in the background. Eventually, enough atoms will have shifted, insects nibbled, and water and temperature flowed up and down and around, that even with my limited abilities to observe, I can see that something’s afoot.

I cultivate the habit of looking and listening closely. I slow down on my walks, spend more time gazing out my windows, and get comfortable with quiet so nature’s sounds have a place to sing.

Is this why Mary Oliver started every day standing in the doorway, notebook in hand, welcoming morning, noticing? She knew that to see the flow of glory she had to be there every moment, open, senses alert, ready to be amazed.

Can I do the same so when skunk cabbage appears in marshy places or forsythia bushes bloom or maple leaves unfurl after their flowery tassels have festooned the trees and then fallen to the sidewalk, or more birdsong fills the air – so when these things happen, I am at the door to welcome them as surprising yet awaited guests who arrive in their own time.

It’s not just the “out there” physical, observable matter that changes under cover. Movement within the human spirit is ongoing and often unnoticed. My spiritual eye is frequently clouded and unable to see. I don’t stay still long enough for it to focus. I don’t sit quietly long enough for my inner ear to hear sacred whispers.

When a shroud of darkness seems to suddenly lift from my soul, there is likely nothing sudden about it. Like plants in winter, Holy Presence that dwells within has been busy opening me bit by bit to its love and warmth that have been there all along. So I believe.

When I experience a moment of grace or encounter, am I finally noticing the ongoing transformation happening from the inside out? I wonder, do human beings need an accumulation of “holy” before they see it?

Like Mary Oliver, I can stand at the door of my house and my soul and be still. Quiet. Patient. Attentive. Trusting that, seen or not, the miracle of transformation is happening, inside and out. And it is amazing.

Photos: Mary van Balen

Wisdom of the Good Pope John XXIII

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Friday, October 11, is the 57^th anniversary of the opening session of Vatican II. It is also the fifth time the Catholic church celebrates the feast of Saint John XXIII.

Almost 12 when the Council began on October 11, 1962 and a student in a Catholic school, I knew something important was happening. This was partly because the teachers talked about it: the first council called in nearly 100 years. The pope said it was time to “Throw open the windows of the church and let the fresh air of the Spirit blow through.” No one knew what it would look like, but we knew change was coming.

But, more than the talk and the tangible changes, it was the man himself who stirred my heart and imagination from the start. The rotund Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli, whose parents were peasant farmers, greeted the world with a smile when he emerged on the balcony and said his name was John. He looked happy, and approachable, like a grandpa. A little girl when he was elected, I liked him. I liked to see pictures of the pope who laughed and seemed so full of life.

Much is written, and rightly so, about the accomplishments of his short papacy and profound effects of the council he called. His ability to see good in the contemporary world moved the Catholic church beyond its deep distrust of modernity. His humility, hope, positive view of the human person, and the recognition of the universal call to holiness speak to me as I ponder his life today.

Here are a few quotes that I’d like to share.

“Prayer is the raising of the mind to God. We must always remember this. The actual words matter less.” There are times when we can be still, recite favorite prayers, pray with our communities at Mass, other liturgical celebrations, or simply around the table. But there are also times when we can’t. When our work or families or situations demand our attention. When we are emotionally worn out or just trying to survive. But we can for a moment, “raise our minds to God.” No words needed.

In his spiritual diary, Journal of a Soul, St. John XXIII wrote: “I am not St. Aloysius, nor must I seek holiness in his particular way, but according to the requirements of my own nature, my own character and the different conditions of my life.… If St. Aloysius had been as I am, he would have become holy in a different way.”

And there are as many ways to become holy as there are people. Vatican II reflected this wisdom in affirming the universal call to holiness. We each have a spark of the Divine dwelling within. God has placed the Spirit in our hearts and depends on us to give it away in the work of transforming the world, in Christ’s work of bringing the kingdom. We won’t be St. Aloysius or John the XXIII or any other saint you can name. But like them, we can be faithful to the unique expression of Divinity that we are made to be.

“Now more than ever, certainly more than in past centuries, our intention is to serve people as such and not only Catholics; to defend above all and everywhere the rights of the human person and not only those of the Catholic Church; it is not the Gospel that changes; it is we who begin to understand it better….The moment has arrived when we must recognize the signs of the times, seize the opportunity, and look far abroad.”

These words are as true now as they were when spoken from his deathbed on June 3, 1963. We are called to defend the rights of all human beings, people of any faith or none; people everywhere, including on our southern border and in places of poverty, war, violence, and natural disasters. And we are always beginning to understand the Gospel better. It’s part of the evolution of spirituality.

As we remember Pope John XXIII and the Council he convened, let us heed his call to recognize the signs of the times, seize the opportunity, and find hope and courage to look far abroad.