Benedictine Sisters of FL

Holy Name Monastery
Founded 1889

Homily

Patches of Dirt or Fertile Soil

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First Reading  Wisdom 12:13,16-19                    Second Reading  Romans 8:26-27

Gospel (short form)  Matthew 13:24-30

Jesus’ parables aren’t meant to test our human intelligence.  They are moments of grace to ply open our heart’s willingness to surrender to, and be enveloped in, the always surprising generosity of God.

Here on our property, when we look out the window and behold the life cycle of the hay field or blueberry patch, we see first-hand in nature what Jesus is talking about.  He extends the lesson applying it to the human heart.  He reminds us here that there are folks whose hearts are like cement.  It does not matter how much or how often seed is poured on these souls.  Fertilize it, water it – nothing will cause those seeds to take root and sprout.  Listen to church and TV sermons 24/7, they remain unfazed.

Do you remember times you were like this …  not always … but a time or two when you just didn’t want to hear what God might have to say?

In contrast to the hardened-soil person, the shallow-soil person is hyper-responsive to God’s word—but only for a wee tiny time.  Like during a revival or summer retreat.  Don’t be one of these temporary ‘all in’ folks gobbling up every word and reading every book suggested by the retreat director.  But, sometimes the seed eventually sinks in and bursts through the pavement.  And right away, birds or insects snatch the new growth and it never comes to fruition.  It can’t survive the heat of the give and take of daily community life.

When were you like this?  Maybe in the novitiate … or the time in high school when the class made the senior retreat?  God was SO real to you … but God’s voice grew more faint as the days went by?

Then, there is a third type of soil – a thorny type – so tightly entangled with “thorns” that their thorns have become their identity.  Jesus calls these thorns “the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches.” Matthew says these people are caught up in anxiety and get choked on the lure of the riches of the world that tug and yank at their minds and hearts until the seed suffocates, rendering them spiritually barren.

When was this the case in your life?  Times when you were just too distracted to cultivate God’s word …  when several days went by without a space for Lectio or healthy self-care – when “thorny” remarks and obstinate behavior was your default mode?  That’s when God planted a general sense of dissatisfaction in the garden of your soul.

Oh, but how gratifying it must be to Jesus when He finds “good soil people” – when we share the time God has given us to meditate on the Word, let it penetrate and bear fruit – then we hold fast to the word making it our own.  Thus we grow more Christ-like over time by absorbing and practicing the precepts of Benedict.  Over the years, as the seeds continue to take root and blossom, the fruits and gifts of the Spirit flourish.  As one author describes Benedictine life: they fall down, and they get up … and fall down and they get up … as they ascend the ladder of humility.

We come not only to know, but to believe deep in our hearts that God can change hard, shallow, compromised patches of dirt into fertile garden soil.  As we read in Ezekiel: “And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you.  And I will remove the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”

Many of us have, or have had, gardens.  And all of us–whether we’re gardeners with a green thumb, or thumbs with only a tinge of green, or only a “wishful” thumb – or a thumb that only knows how to operate a TV remote or a computer mouse — all of us know the principle of planting: when we put a seed in the ground, we expect a plant to appear …  some may even think it will sprout with a flower already on it J . We also know that not all seeds will produce full-grown plants. They just don’t, for a variety of reason.

We don’t have to ever have plowed fields for forty cents a day in order to know the different landscapes of which Jesus speaks. We know the beaten path of our own lives.   We’ve stumbled through the rocky patches of life.  We have been scratched and cut by the thorns of life.  But we have planted our roots deep in the sacred soil of life that feeds and grows us to become a harvest – whether it’s a thirty, sixty or a hundredfold – who’s counting?! – it’s all a harvest!  Given the right conditions apple seeds do become apples.  Mango seeds become mangoes.  God’s seeds become what we allow them to become.

Paraphrasing the words from Deuteronomy, we ask: “let the soil of my heart hear the words of Your mouth.  May Your instruction soak in like the rain and Your word permeate like the dew; like a gentle rain upon the grass and like a shower upon the crops.”

~Reflection by Roberta Bailey, OSB, Prioress
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Today’s Reflection

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First Reading: ZECHARIAH 9: 9-10
Second Reading: ROMANS 8: 9
Gospel: MATTHEW 11: 25-30

This Gospel is the same as that proclaimed on the Feast of the Sacred Heart.  Jesus offers rest to those “who labor and are burdened.”  Here’s the deal: if you will accept His “easy yoke” your burden will be light.  You did notice that Jesus says “Take my yoke upon you.”  It is a voluntary acceptance.  By declaring that his “yoke is easy” Jesus means that whatever God offers us is custom-made to fit exactly our individual needs and our abilities.  You know the story of the individual who asked God for a different cross.  So, Jesus took her to the storehouse of crosses where Sister examined every cross more than once.  When she finally chose one Jesus said, “My dear, that is the very cross I already gave you.”  Our cross will not fit on anyone else’s shoulders or heart.  It is mine alone and if I refuse it, the burden will stay abandoned with Jesus.

The second part of Jesus’ claim is: “My burden is light.”  Jesus does not mean that the burden is effortless to carry.  It does not mean we are foot-loose and fancy-free.  To be a disciple means to come under the discipline of a master.  It means voluntarily putting a yoke on one’s shoulders, and walking in a direction set by the master.  It just happens to be the direction that the master knows will lead to green pasture, refreshment, peace and true joy.  Jerome Kodell describes happiness as a gift from people and events outside ourselves.  Joy is a gift of the Spirit and is generated from within when we walk heart to heart with our God.  When oxen trudge ahead, they don’t necessarily see the pasture at the end of the trail.  All they see is a long, dusty road but that does not stop them.  Remember the beasts that toted our 3-story convent up the incline from San Antonio.  They plodded onward; the overseer knew the destination, but the animals did not.  The yoke, the burden that we take up in love is received from the hands of our loving God, placed on us in love and is meant to be carried in love for love makes even the heaviest burden light.  We only need to quiet down for a few moments in the green pasture of prayer and adoration to attune our heart once again to the voice of the Master.

Light burden – easy yoke!  You may reply that it sure doesn’t feel that way most of the time.  This could be for one of two reasons.  One: the yoke seems heavy because we are not allowing the Lord to help us carry the weight – remember Jesus let Simon help him with his cross.  Or it may seem heavy because we are not keeping God’s pace.  We could be dragging our heels or racing ahead.  Either way, we are chafing and straining.  A yoke is fashioned for a pair — for a team working together.  So we are not yoked alone to pull the plow solo but we are yoked together with Christ to work with Him using His strength.  Benedict challenges us in chapter 72 to lovingly carry each other’s burdens: “anticipate one another; patiently endure one another’s burdens, practice the most fervent love, tender charity chastely.”

The yoke chaffs when either member of the team tries to get ahead or lags on the job. – like when community members tug and pull against the group, when common practices are carelessly disregarded.  When conflicts are resolved, the yoke once again rests easy – the team, community members, walk side by side with the same aim in view – each lovingly regulating her step to keep pace with her sister.

A second reason the yoke may feel burdensome and cause weariness is that the yoke we are carrying is simply not the Lord’s yoke but one of our own choosing or one we have usurped from another.  There are many sources of tiredness, weariness, and fatigue.  Physical fatigue may be the most benign.  There is the fatigue that comes from stress, fatigue that comes from worry, fatigue that comes not only from worrying about the future, but also worrying about the past and fatigue that comes from trying to be perfect, to be something we are not.  Life’s greatest burden is not having too much to do, nor having too much to care about because some of the happiest folk are the busiest and those who care the most.  Rather, the greatest burden we have is our constant engagement with the trivial and the unimportant, with the temporary and the passing and with what is ultimately uncontrollable and unpredictable.

The issue in life is not whether we shall be burdened, but with what we shall be burdened.  The question is not “Shall we be yoked?” but “To what and with whom shall we be yoked?”  What we need, according to this wonderful gospel paradox, is a different yoke: the yoke of Christ.  Jesus is interested in lifting off our backs the burdens that drain us and suck the life out of us, so that we are freed to accept the burden he has prepared just for us – the yoke that is guaranteed to give us new life, new energy, new joy.  We are called, not only to find inner peace, refreshment and rest for ourselves, but also to live the kind of life through which others, too, may find God’s peace.  The solution is easy – as a popular saying goes: “Let go, let God.”

~Reflection by Sister Roberta Bailey, OSB, Prioress

 

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A Story from the Buddhist Religion

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First Reading  2 Kings 4:8-11,14-16a   Second Reading  Romans 6:3-4,8-11
Gospel Matthew 10:37-42

From the riches of the Buddhist religion we have this story:

A young widower, who loved his five-year-old son very much, was away on business, and bandits came, burned down his whole village, and took his son away. When the man returned, he saw the ruins and panicked. He took the charred corpse of an infant to be his own child, and he began to pull his hair and beat his chest, crying uncontrollably. He organized a cremation ceremony, collected the ashes, and put them in a very beautiful velvet pouch.  Working, sleeping, or eating, he always carried the bag of ashes with him. One day his real son escaped from the robbers and found his way home. He arrived at his father’s new cottage at midnight, and knocked at the door. You can imagine, at that time, the young father was still carrying the bag of ashes and crying. He asked, “Who is there?” And the child answered, “It’s me, Papa. Open the door, it’s your son.”

In his agitated state of mind the father thought that some mischievous boy was making fun of him, and he shouted at the child to go away, and continued to cry. The boy knocked again and again, but the father refused to let him in. Some time passed, and finally the child left. From that time on, father and son never saw one another.

You see, the Buddha said, “Sometimes you take something to be the truth. If you cling to it so much, when the truth comes in person and knocks on your door, you will not open it.”

Jesus said, “Those who welcome you also welcome me, and those who welcome me welcome the One who sent me.” But what does it mean to welcome Jesus. Perhaps we carry with us a velvet bag of ashes. Valuable yes, but they are the ashes of a childish love for Jesus. Those carefully held notions about who Jesus is will fail us if we cling so tightly that our knowledge and love cannot mature in age and grace.  Remember what St. Paul says: “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I matured, I put away childish things.

In order to welcome Jesus, we just might have to lay aside our bag of ashes in order to move beyond our carefully held notions about who Jesus is.   Our storyteller today (Matthew) has Jesus giving his disciples some instructions about how they are to represent him.  He doesn’t baptize them first. He doesn’t have them memorize a creed. He doesn’t give them a vet’s manual so they can identify sheep from goats. He certainly doesn’t ask them about their age, culture, social circles, and gender preferences or why he should hire them. He doesn’t even give them the assurance of salvation.  In fact he tells them it’s not about them at all. He suggests they have to have a right attitude.  As important as family is, they need to understand that what Jesus represents is more important.  What he represents is even more important than life itself.  He tells them their task is to represent him and in doing so they represent the ONE who sent Him.

The whispered questions begin:  “Huh?  What do you mean? How do we that?  Do we wear special clothes?  Do we need a clerical collar?  Should we keep the Torah always within reach so we can quote it chapter and verse?”  Can’t you see Jesus shaking his head with a bemused smile?  “No, just welcome people into your lives. Welcome everyone, but especially welcome those no one else does. Don’t look so shocked.  Even if all you do is give them is a cup of water, you will find that most gratifying.”  “Is that all??!” they ask.

“That’s it.  Be hospitable and everything else will follow.”  Why did Jesus make hospitality the basis for his ministry?  Perhaps, because it is essential to building relationships.  It is the first step to overcoming fear, finding understanding, and giving respect.  Ultimately it is the foundation of bringing about a peaceful world. It is the source of harmony.

Jesus lived to change the world and change it, he did – one person at a time.  To this day Christ lives in. with and through us to change the world one person at a time. Each act of kindness, each word of welcome, each act of hospitality binds us together in love and moves the universe that much closer to peace. Not the fragile peace that the world gives; but the peace of God, that transcends selfishness, greed, hostility, prejudice, hatred and even war. Peace, which can begin with something as simple as a glass of water, a welcome, an act of hospitality.  If you doubt this, I challenge you to think of a time when you were shown unexpected hospitality that at least improved your day and may even have changed your life.

Hospitality it turns out is at the heart of our faith.  A Christian, a Benedictine, is simply someone who is hospitable.  The truth is, whoever gives a cup of cold water to one of the world’s poor ones, also welcomes Christ, and those who welcome Christ welcome the One who sent Christ.  So it shall be among us who promise to “commit ourselves and our resources to respond with the compassion of Christ to the physical, spiritual, social and emotional hungers of the people of God.”

~ Reflection by Sister Roberta Bailey, OSB, Prioress
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God at our Calling

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First Reading  Jeremiah 20:10-13    Second Reading  Romans 5:12-15
Gospel Matthew 10:26-33

In this Gospel passage, we rejoin Jesus during the first year of His public ministry.  Jesus directs the disciples to keep their focus on God.  He reminds them that those who can harm the body do not have ultimate power; God does.  Persecution and suffering may not be avoided or prevented but Jesus’ reassures us that God is always and forever at our call to care for us and protect us.

Jesus uses a simple, mind-opening analogy to illustrate his point.  His listeners knew that the cheapest life in the market was a small bird of the field, perhaps a sparrow.  Yet, God’s providential care knows even when this smallest of birds dies.  He is using here a rabbinic argument technique which compares a light matter to a heavy one. His idea here is to overcome fear and encourage the disciples, and us, to trust God.

From the moment we are born, we know fear – we squall at the change in our environment.  The startle reflex is tested in a baby’s first pediatrician’s visit.  Separation anxiety develops by 6 months and may raise its ugly head later in life feelings of abandonment.  Over time we may grow to fear even those who are closest to us.

Jesus recognizes that fear may cause failure on our part.  Jesus’ disciples, and we, courageously leave the security of home and family to follow a dream. As faithful followers of our “summons” to His call, may inevitably put us on a collision course with the allurements of the world. Jesus is starkly realistic about the threats we will face, at the same time he builds the case for why we should not let fear win out or hinder our ministry.

We see in the Gospels, how on the one hand, the disciples are granted remarkable powers to heal the sick, exorcise demons, cleanse lepers, even to raise the dead. But at the same time, Jesus denies the disciples money, extra clothes, or a staff to aid in climbing the ups and downs of life or to protect themselves from wolves.  He even denies them a pair of sandals to shield their feet from rocks and stones, or if they travel the fields in Florida, sandspurs.  They are to undertake their mission in complete vulnerability and dependence on God with an awareness that they go as “sheep in the midst of wolves.”

We know their stories: they faced arrests and beatings, hatred and persecution and opposition even from family members.

With great care and compassion Jesus names aloud the suffering to be endured and its causes.  This is the first step in freeing them from the tenacious grip of fear.  Benedict knew this, didn’t he?  Remember what he says about receiving newcomers (chapter 58).  Do not grant newcomers an easy entry … test the spirits, let them keep persistently knocking at the door four or five days … they should be clearly told the things of everyday living in community; all the hardships and difficulties that will lead to God … she, the newcomer, must be aware of what the Rule requires so that she may know what she is entering.”

It is clear in Jesus’ conversation with his disciples that the most important element in the sharing of the warnings and the loving reassurance lies in the integral relationship between the disciples and Jesus.  And, between Benedict and the novice .. and it should be evident between our community and the Seeker.

Just as Jesus modeled the way for his disciple, we make a commitment to the newcomer, and to each other, to model Benedictine living.   An example: A young boy, out for a walk with his father on a cold winter day, was scared to cross a frozen pond … afraid of falling through the ice. But then his Father offered to lead the way.  Now the boy didn’t hesitate to go across the ice. The ice hadn’t become less frightening, but he was able to follow his father, trusting his father wouldn’t lead him to harm. He followed his father without fear across the ice.   Jesus leads us; we lead each other; and we each help lead our Seekers.

As we sing in the Suscipe: “Upon me, O Lord, as you have promised, and I shall live, and do not disappoint me in my hope.”

~Reflection by Sister Roberta Bailey, OSB, Prioress

 

 

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We are Commissioned…

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First Reading  Acts of the Apostles 1:1-11  Second Reading  Ephesians 1:17-23
Gospel Matthew 28:16-20

When someone commands you to do something, it is all on you.  You will either succeed or fail, but no matter how it turns out, it’s on you.  Even the consideration of whether you have the capacity to do it doesn’t necessarily factor into the equation.  You have been commanded, and now you must obey, sink or swim.

But being commissioned to do something, that’s different.  When you are commissioned you are not merely commanded but also equipped, empowered, and given the necessary authority to accomplish your duty.  Police officers and leaders in the military, for instance, are given many commands over the course of their careers, but before those commands come, they are commissioned into their offices – that is, invested with the necessary authority and support to accomplish their mission.

In life, maybe we’re most aware of this happening in religious life in community – we are often asked to do something that seems impossible.  It may be presented as if it is intended to be a request but it comes across as a command, certainly not a commission since it does not include a package of skills to complete the task.   Benedict in his Rule describes how the monk should respond when asked to perform what for them may seem an impossible task.  He apparently decided to include these directives after some time of living with the various characters who joined the ranks of community.  Chapter 68 is in the portion of the Rule thought to be a collection of after-thoughts.   It’s like “oh, and by the way, after what I said about obedience in Chapter 5, it could happen that: “A Sister may be assigned a burdensome task or something she cannot do. If so, she should, with complete gentleness and obedience, accept the order given her.   Should she see, however, that the weight of the burden is altogether too much for her strength, then she should choose the appropriate moment and explain patiently to the superior the reasons why she cannot perform the task.  This she ought to do without pride, obstinacy or refusal.  If after the explanation the superior is still determined to hold to her original order, then the junior must recognize that this is best for her. Trusting in God’s help, she must in love obey.”

We sing about the scene in today’s Gospel in the one of our hymns: “Lord, you gave the great commission … with the spirit’s gifts empowering us, for the work of ministry.”  The disciples, and we, are being entrusted and enabled to continue Jesus’ own work – to share the news of God’s love in word and deed.  And, not only that, but to invite those who receive it to be co-workers in bringing the kingdom to fruition. .

To be effective it takes willing teachers as well as willing pupils.  More than that, it takes disciples as well as students – pupils may be just there, students are open to learning – absorbing and putting into practice.  Everything we do in life initially begins with being directly or indirectly taught.  Children raised in environments where there is inadequate attention, care and interaction, suffer failure to thrive and many die at a young age.  We come into this world ready and willing to learn.  God gave us the power of reasoning that we might learn.  God sent us into this world to learn his will for our lives so that we might influence others to recognize God’s glory.  Remember the 2nd question in the Baltimore catechism?  “Why did God make you?  God made me to know, love and serve Him in this world and to be happy with him forever in the next.”

We are commissioned both as individuals and as a community.  Thus, we are accountable as individuals and as community.  Benedict places much of the burden of responsibility on the prioress.  However notice the role of mutual obedience in our lives … each one to each other.

If we are com-missioned then we have a mission.  But, it’s easy to lose sight of our mission.  We can get excited about proposed projects, ministerial opportunities, and personal pursuits.   New projects may have appeal but if they do not reflect our mission as Benedictine Sisters of FL, they are not for us.  Or, we need to discern and then endorse a new statement of mission.

This little story – maybe true – illustrates the principle of accountability – “inspect what you expect.”

The story goes: a young soldier was deployed for a minimum of a year.  When he left, his fiancé gave him a harmonica. Strange gift – but she said, “I want you to learn to play this: it will help to keep your mind off the war and the girls.”

He wrote to her often and told her that he was faithfully practicing his harmonica every evening.

After a year she met him at the airport, he grabbed her to kiss her and she pushed back and said, “Wait before you kiss me, I want to hear you play the harmonica.”

She was no fool.  She knew that the man’s love would be reflected in what he did. If he’d done what he’d promised – she’d know it by his actions.

So, too, does God know by our actions how sincere, how faithful we are to our God-given personal mission, and our community commitments.

~Reflection by Sister Roberta Bailey, OSB, Prioress

 

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“I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you”

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First Reading  Acts of the Apostles 8:5-8,14-17    Second Reading  1 Peter 3:15-18
Gospel John 14:15-21

Today’s Gospel is a continuation of the selection read last weekend.  The Gospel selections all this week have built on the same theme: faith in Jesus’ word, impending separation with a promise of an abiding presence.  You’ll recall that Jesus is speaking to his disciples at their last supper together … and given the length of his discourse, it must have been a LONG, many-course supper. He reassures them that even though he will leave them, he will not abandon them. He contrasts his impending departure with the permanence of the gift of the Holy Spirit:  “On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you.”

When a lifetime friend moves far away we can reassure one another that we’ll stay in touch but we also probably agree: “It’s just not going to be the same.” This may have been the feeling of the disciples.  Jesus is saying his goodbye. He is preparing those closest to him, whom he loves and who love him, for his departure. Not just a farewell before going on a short trip, when they will see one another again in a few weeks or months, but a more permanent farewell. He is preparing them for the shock of his violent death and the collapse of their plans for the future. Everything is about to change for them. “It’s just not going to be the same.”

Unbeknown to them at the supper where Jesus is speaking, a few days after his crucifixion Jesus would rise from the dead and they would see him again, at least for a short time. Then, after that, it will be all different: they would see him no longer. They wouldn’t have him physically there with them when they needed to ask for advice as problems arose; or feel his comforting and healing touch when they hurt, or when someone they loved was sick; or hear his voice, speaking words of forgiveness when they needed to be freed from guilt.

Jesus was sensitive to the sense of loss they were about to endure. He was telling them quite clearly, “It’s just not going to be the same.”  He knew they couldn’t make it on their own.   Their human courage, like ours, just wouldn’t be enough – they’d need continued support to spread Jesus’ message after he was gone.

So, Jesus makes a FANTASTIC, and unbelievable promise:  He is going to the Father and he will send the Holy Spirit to guide them as they face new challenges.  There’ll be new issues and suffering for what they believe but they will become aware of Jesus’ abiding presence even though they cannot physically see, hear, or touch him.

We may be 2000 years away from those disciples around the table with Jesus that night; but we too have experienced loss and need. We have said many goodbyes to family and community members.  We’ve experienced big changes in our lives (even if we did not know life before Vatican II)   There have been times when we’ve needed to be strong ourselves and for others: times of grave illness, worry over a troubled or addicted loved one, sorrow over a broken relationship or an uncertain future..

Those are the times when we’ve known:  “It’s just not going to be the same.” And it wasn’t.  God sends us curved balls when we least expect it.  But, like a skilled ball player we can still hit a home run.  God gives us the strength to stay faithful; the wisdom to maneuver life’s many twists and turns.

Our duty, our challenge, then, is to believe, to trust that we have the Spirit with us – in Word, the Eucharist, in each other – to believe Jesus has kept his promise to give us the gift of the Spirit – an abiding, permanent dwelling with each of us – Or, as Jesus said, the “Advocate” – a word that means counselor, consoler and mediator – the divine energy that binds us together with one another, and all to God.

A wise person shared this truism: in life we’re either entering difficulty, going through it, or coming out of it.   There are points along the journey when the way forward is unclear – when all we know for certain is: “it’s not going to be the same.”

This prayer written by Thomas Merton, speaks to me when all I do know is: “it’s not going to be the same.”

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

(Thomas Merton, Thoughts on Solitude, 1956)

~Reflection by Sister Roberta Bailey, OSB, Prioress

 

 

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