Tags
blessing, children, different, extraordinary, Jesuit, joy, simplicity, spiritual opening, spontaneity, St. Aloysius Gonzaga, summer, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, wonder
My thoughts this morning are of children – simple thoughts really, for a number of reasons. We have finally (some would say swiftly) arrived at the calendar designation of the beginning of summer and I have been aware that this is the last week of school for the youth of New York State. Freed for the summer from the constraints of study, some are likely jubilant while others quickly become bored. I suggest prayer for young people in general that this season will afford them some new, safe adventures and good friends to companion them.
Today is the feast of St. Aloysius Gonzaga who lived in the 16th century and died at the age of 23. An extraordinarily spiritual youth, he had a “spiritual opening” at the age of 7 years and was teaching catechism by the age of eleven! After a 4 year struggle with his father who was determined that his son join the military, Aloysius entered the Jesuit order. Soon after, in caring for those brothers sickened by plague, he contracted the disease and died. As I read about his early life, I thought of the children I have known as “different” or extraordinary – often the intellectually brilliant ones – who are not well accepted by their peers. Conformity is a much safer path to walk, especially in our younger years. I pray for those children and teens who wish for a simpler life but know a different calling, that they may accept themselves and others and come to celebrate their uniqueness as God’s gift.
Finally, I see pictures of the beautifully alive faces of the youngest members of my own extended family and pray for children everywhere that they may be granted loving parents or guardians like those I know their parents, my younger cousins, to be. May we learn from the young the lessons of spontaneity and wonder, of simplicity and joy and may they be a blessing to us in this season.
Not having any inspiration this morning – nor even cogent thoughts for that matter, I have been searching the words of Macrina Wiederkehr for an expression that would mirror how I’m feeling. Since I am unable to recognize myself in anything I read, I choose simply to offer her prayer that begins: There are mornings when I simply sit in silence trying to remember some of the things that rise in me. Her list is challenging but maybe if I focus on even one of the elements, it will jump-start my motivation for the day. May this day be a blessing for each of us and all of us together as we rise to the call of the Spirit.
Still basking in the glow of last weekend’s beautiful golden jubilee celebration that I experienced with so many kind words and gestures, I was immediately interested in Alan Cohen’s daily reflection for this date because the title was actually “Golden Moments.” After a personal anecdote, he continued with what is surely a worthy way to look at life. (I especially like his concluding sentence.) See if you agree.
Psalm 128 is the one that says “your children are like olive plants around your table.” I understood this line much more deeply after a visit to Italy some years ago when I saw olive trees for the first time. I found them a lovely element in the landscape, a gentle presence both light and strong.
The theme of everything I have read so far this morning is simply the word POWER. The gospel for today speaks of God’s power manifest in the baptism of Jesus in two ways that I can see. God speaking when Jesus emerges from the water is impressive: “This is my beloved Son; listen to him!” I am struck by both the soft expression of paternal pride and the booming imperative of what follows that sounds like it carries great consequence. (This is, of course, only my personal take on that moment.) Prior to God’s role at the event, however, Jesus shows a different side of power: the humility that is the necessary companion to any recognition or manifestation of personal power. John doesn’t feel worthy of baptizing Jesus, but Jesus knows the necessity of affirming John’s call and ministry as well acting out his own place in the human family.
There are days when, if I stop to think about it, the capacities of the internet for understanding what I’m looking for are quite astounding. I had little hope of finding the answer to the rightful name of my “prayer plant” when I went searching this morning, but there it was, almost immediately – the name with a picture so I would know it was the one I was looking for: Maranta leuconeura. There was even a short video to illustrate the miraculous nature and reason why this plant got its “nickname.” Every night while I’m sleeping my friend, Maranta, is deep in prayer. All her leaves are raised to a vertical position, just as some of us raise our arms to heaven in worship, singing. In the morning, if I rise before dawn, I catch her in her concluding prayer and am reminded that it is now my turn to lift my mind and heart to God during the day as she lowers her arms. (A caution: The video never captures the fullness of her stretch as I do.)
Last evening I had a graced conversation with four other women. Our sharing began a couple of years ago in a book study that was scheduled to last five or six weeks. At the end of that time, it was clear that no one wanted to terminate the conversation so we decided to meet once a month and delegated the facilitator of the book group to find texts – either a short passage for one gathering or a book that would serve us for several meetings. Last night only five of us gathered for the conclusion of our consideration of a very meaningful book called 
The message that I sent yesterday from Teilhard de Chardin continues with an idea that I find particularly apt for our country today. He says the following:
We often hear that meanings are “lost in translation.” This morning I was gratified to read two modern translations of Psalm 113, in addition to the traditional one from the 
