An Annunciation Delayed

From time to time, poetry makes its way up onto the blog.  This is a poem that I wrote in mid-April around the official celebration of the Feast of Annunciation, which was delayed because March 25th fell during Holy Week this year.  The poem speaks to a lot more than the Annunciation- it is rooted in my own journey and call, the connection to the Holy Spirit deep within each one of us and the way in which we come to know the One who loves us so dearly in the midst of all else in our lives.

Where were you, Mary, when you heard that voice?
When Gabriel, in all God's glory, stood before you?
I always imagined it in the dark of night
in stillness
undisturbed yet utterly chaotic
No one else to feel it or to hear it.
A disruption by the Divine
A moment so dear, so deep
with no one
with the division of millenia
Yet, I can feel it myself.

Like buds bursting
The fuchsia flame of magnolia
across my soul.
The Spirit come to roost.

But perhaps, you weren't in the dark
dear Mary.
Maybe it was as you opened your eyes
on a new day
or it was in the middle of dashing from place to place
An interruption unplanned.
Some thing just as easily pushed aside by innocent bystanders.

Did it stop you in your tracks that day?
Or did it take until mid-April to sink in
and then you awoke one morning
to the not so sudden realization
An annunciation delayed.

And when it crossed your mind
each and every time
it stirred something deep within
even after the promised baby boy
was outside of you.

Like a match dragged across emery,
igniting time and space.
There was love.
From toe tips to split ends.
Wherever you were, that space was inside you.

Where were you when it happened?
Unplanned.
Non-negotiable.
Digging out its own space,
Taking up residence,
Returning home.
So that you might never be lost or late
but simply delayed in grace.

Upward Calling

The following is a reflection that I offered on the reading for this Sunday at a Congregational Assembly (see:big meeting of my nuns). While many of you who read this aren't Sisters of St. Joseph, I believe there is something for each one of us in the message of the reflection- our calling is to discover who we are and to live out of that discovery. That's what "being your vocation" is all about.  I was graced to be able to offer these words to my sister, I hope that you will be graced by the Spirit that dwells within them.

At the beginning of February, a letter came for me in the mail at a convent I don't live at.  It was addressed to Colleen Gibson, Novice, care of Mother Superior, St. Joseph’s Novitiate and had a return address of Albuquerque, New Mexico.

I don’t know anyone in Albuquerque and I didn’t know anyone who would send me mail via Mother Superior, so you can imagine my intrigue as I opened it.  It began- “Miss Gibson, Never having written to someone in the Novitiate Program, I am at a loss for what might be the proper salutation, so I will leave it as is.”  The writer, Bill* had read something that I had written and seeing in the by-line that I was a novice with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Philadelphia had felt the need to write to me.

Bill’s story is older than I am… older than many of us in this room. It begins in 1936. That is when Bill became a Homey, as he affectionately refers to himself; that is to say, that that is when, at age 7, he entered St. John’s Orphanage and came under the care of our sisters. Bill explained that the sisters became substitutes for his deceased mother, they were the ones who cared for him and his siblings, the ones who worked in the laundry and struck up a relationship with the young boy and they were the ones who walked up and down the dormitory after 60 boys had knelt on their pillows to say night prayers, going from bed to bed to kiss each child ‘goodnight’. He would go on to join the Air Force and raise a family of eight, but he never forgot our sisters.

As he brought his letter to a close, Bill left me with these words: “I cannot know how you chose to enter your present path, but I wish you to know that you are associated with those who taught me what Faith is all about… a group that this Homey includes in his Daily Morning Offering.”

It might seem strange to talk about Bill’s story in connection with today’s readings. After all, Isaiah tells us not to remember the things of the past, not to dwell on the things of long ago, for God is doing something new.  And Paul in his letter to the Philippians speaks of “forgetting what lies behind” so that we might strain “forward to what lies ahead” in pursuit of “the prize of God’s upward calling.”  Add to that the woman caught in adultery and Bill’s story seems irrelevant (I guess that’s why you shouldn’t ask the novice to give the reflection at Assembly.)

But really, Bill’s story- our story- has everything to do with these things. In order to move forward, we need to look back. Look back. Observe. Learn. NOT dwell, reminisce, or recreate. Stories like Bill’s make us feel good, they show us that what we’ve done has made and continues to make a difference. More so though, through the Love that our sisters embodied and the Faith they lived out, Bill’s story speaks to who we are.  That’s the question that we need to be asking: Who are we as Sisters of Saint Joseph of Philadelphia?

Everything that we do flows out of the answer to that question.  We can talk about ministry and Cape May and a whole score of other things but if our conversation (and ultimately the lives we are living) aren’t grounded in the tangible understanding of who we are… not who we say we are or the words we use to describe ourselves, but the radical hope, faith, and love lived out authentically in intentional poverty, obedience, and chastity in Love with our God and our neighbors- if we don’t have a handle on that, then we have missed the point.

That is the upward calling Paul is talking about. It is the call we said ‘yes’ to; the call that surrenders all to Christ. It comes from an unshakable encounter with the Divine, an encounter that reduces all else to rubbish in its midst. Our ‘yes’ makes us realize that God will take everything if we are free enough to give it. It is a call that hurts. And yet, it is this call that we embrace.  We come to it with a willingness to lose everything- all that we know and all that we love- so that we might be united to the One whom we would be lost without.

This is the One who looks with love upon us, even in times of pain; The One who nourishes us so we might live lives of praise; The One who sees our past, but does not condemn…does not cast stones, choosing rather to send us forth with the opportunity for new life.

We are being given that opportunity right now. We are being called to perceive the movement of the Spirit.   We need to focus on what matters, not how much money we make, what we have been, how we do things, or what makes us comfortable; we need to listen to one another and to the Spirit in our midst as we ask:

Who are we and who is Jesus calling us to be?

Are we living our lives with authenticity?

Are we challenging each other on a personal level to do so?

Are we actively working to foster our membership in every generation? 

Does the way we live pose a challenge and an invitation to women to share in our way of life?

 And ultimately, what are we willing to lose and what would we be lost without?

These are the questions that accompany us as we move forward.  As we prepare to celebrate Eucharist around this table, we pause, we know that the One who sustains us joins with us on this journey, and we acclaim ::sung::

You are all we have,

 You give us what we need,

Our lives are in your hands, Oh Lord

Our lives are in your hands.

Have Faith, Be Healed.

In addition to writing here on the blog, I also put my pen to real paper from time to time.  You can check out some of the publications that I've written for on the right hand side of this page, but today is a special day.  Today, my reflection "Have Faith, Be Healed." from Give Us This Day (usually subscription-only)  was re-published on Pray Tell, a wonderful blog of worship, wit, & wisdom. I'm a fan.  So, go there and check it out!

Journey of Love

Last night marked the official four months mark in my life as a Sister of Saint Joseph. Four months is significant because it marks the end of my first portion of canonical time, operating under the standards and guidelines of canon law, and with that end comes a transition into a time of ministerial experience for my novitiate (until I re-enter canonical time in August).

To celebrate I spent the day with my brother and my almost-16-month-old nephew here in Philadelphia.  The day couldn't have been better. In the midst of what have been turbulent and intense days, I spent the majority of Saturday on my kitchen floor, watching as my nephew pulled items out of our convent cabinets and handed them to Daddy (my brother) and I.  My nephew is just at the age where he can walk and he is fascinated by doors. Luckily for him (and perhaps no one else), our kitchen cabinets are situated on the ground and are approximately the height of a toddler. Thus, he carefully took one item after another out and brought them to me and then took them back, arranging the cans and bottles as he saw fit, finding each one its particular place. By day's end we had done this for upwards of two to three hours. And the thing is... I couldn't have imagined a better way to spend my day.

Reflecting back on the day, I couldn't help but be grateful for the time I have been given here in Philadelphia and the blessing of having the love of little child interjected into it. Watching this little guy go about his work, God pointed out how much I/we have to learn. Become like a child. Let me shower you with love, receive it freely, throw a temper tantrum every once in a while, and be free and trusting and curious.

Most of all though, God said, think of what you want for that child. Think of why and how you love him.  I paused.  I love him because. And all I really want is for him to become a reflection of my (and so many others') love for him. Bingo.

I'm finding more and more that that is what God really wants of me- to become a reflection of that divine love.  In many ways, that is both the easiest and the hardest thing that can be asked of me.  The last four month have shown that becoming a reflection of love is hard work. It doesn't always feel good; it means facing realities in the world and in yourself and remaining open to love in the midst of it all.  It means being free and trusting like a child, learning with each moment- from what is new and old- and allowing grace in everywhere.


My time in the novitiate so far has been all of that and so much more.

Yet, while four months marks a time of transition, it is a transition within continuity.  Despite being outside of canonical time, my focus remains the same; my primary aims are still a deepening of my relationship with God, particularly through a life focused on prayer. In that way, this point in time does not mark an end to what has already begun.  Really, I don't think anything could stop what has been begun/ what has been intensified by the last four months.  And what that is... I can't exactly put into words yet.

It's like learning things you've always known but learning them in an entirely new way: with your heart. And in that, it is like learning things that you didn't even know you didn't know, but now can never forget. At times, it's like being stretched in every direction possible- you hope that you'll grow, expanding to meet the challenge and being strengthened in the process, but finding that sometimes stretching means tearing... it mean being uncomfortable... it means discovering ways that you are flexible and ways that you aren't.  It is all of those things and more. And it's only been four months.

I think perhaps it all (the life that I am living and striving to live) is best captured in a line someone wrote me in a Christmas card this year. Below the image of the star of Bethlehem and a message about finding faith and peace in the season, they simply wrote: "God Bless you on your journey of love!"

When I read that, I stopped for a moment.  What would prompt them to write that? I've never used that phrasing to describe what I am doing here and for many that is not the way it appears. Vocational journey? Yes. Career path? Sure.  Radical choice? Yeah. But "journey of love"?  I cannot honestly say that anyone has called it that thus far.

But, that is exactly what it is.

I am on a journey of love.  Love surrounds me and I am being called to simply absorb that love and become a reflection of it for the world to see.

That doesn't change with any transition and isn't bound by the parameters of any splice of time... it is a life-long journey. The novitiate is simply a concentrated time in which to discover that. I am blessed to have it and recognize that really it has only just begun. So here's to transition, here's to becoming reflections of the God who loves us into being, and here's to what, in the midst of chaos, confusion and all manner of other things, can and must be a journey of Love.


___________________________________________________________________

For me, this transition will mean two days a week at schools sponsored by our congregation, trying my hand at teaching... or at least as a shadow of a teacher. One experience will place me in an elementary school, most likely a Montessori classroom, and the other will put me in the high school theology classroom where I visited early in my novitiate.  The prospect of teaching is exciting and also a little daunting; in all my experiences, I have never taught and, besides my time in youth ministry and volunteer coordination with middle and high school students, I haven't had any extensive exposure to kids in a classroom setting.  All I can say is that I'm sure I will have the opportunity to aid our congregational efforts in some way, shape, or form, but I can guarantee that I will learn a lot in the process- let the adventure begin!

Edge of the Unknown

I am notoriously behind the liturgical season.  I show up to Lent late; The Resurrection isn't quite visible for a couple of weeks post-Easter day. Most of the time, I simply wait. I've resolved that I am on my own timeline and as such, the liturgical calendar is less of a strict schedule and more of a basic guideline. 

With all that in mind you can imagine my surprise when I awoke today and it was Advent. That is, the calendar didn't just say today was the first day of the season and friends weren't just sending me messages to wish me a happy new year. No.  When I opened my eyes, I knew it was Advent. In my heart, in my mind, and in my soul, a time of waiting has begun.

Will this season of hopeful anticipation resolve itself in four weeks? I have my doubts. I don't think I'm set to synchronize my being with the liturgical calendar for good, but by grace and synchronicity, Advent and I have collided. Oh happy fault!

As I stared up at the ceiling of my bedroom, I talked to God. (We've been doing a lot of that lately.) The past few months have brought blessings and challenges. Some I had hoped for for the longest time, others have come of their own accord, and still others have been rude awakenings, teaching in their own perversely delightful way.  All of these have accompanied me through these first few month of religious life; they were, in some way, shape, or form, to be expected. Now, though, I find myself on the edge of what seems to be completely unknown.

Coming to this life, making the transition, was unknown for sure, but it was the type of unknown that while mysterious is not completely unbeknownst. There are hints of what it will be like, your gut tells you certain things will be true, and so when things (events, lessons, blessings) occur they seem somewhat familiar although they are new.  

Recent days, though, are uncovering a true unknown before me. Who am I being called to be? What does this world need? What is the future of religious life? What is becoming of the Church? Who is listening to the Spirit? What must I become and what do I need to surrender?  All of this is unknown. I can't even speculate what the answer is or might be. All I do know is that it requires faith in the present moment, in where God has led me so far, and faith in the future, of God's continued presence and ongoing creation... that is hope.

That is what God cries out to each one of us on these cold, dark December nights. Have hope. Hold tight to faith. I do not forget my promises. I will be the Way. That is the cry that we listen attentively for- the new creation within each one of us in this season and the cry of a little baby that is still weeks away, which we have heard before but which we wait to hear with new ears.  That cry asks us to be present, to wait attentively, to hold tight to faith, and no lose our sense of hope. The future holds wonder, we simply need faith.

Each day is an opportunity for this. A new day for learning and growing. No one says that it will be easy but, as Christians, we are a people of hope- caled to be the cry of hope and joy we ourselves listen for. 

In thinking of this, I remember the four martyred American Churchwomen: Ita Ford (pictured above), Maura Clark, Jean Donovan, and Dorothy Kazel.  Today is also their day: the anniversary of their martyrdom 32 years ago in El Salvador.  I have reflected on the hope they share with me before. But today, as Advent begins, the hope and faith they offer is all the more poignant. 

Today it is Dorothy Kazel, the Ursuline Sister of the group, who speaks to me:

El Salvador, Savior of the World, is writhing in pain – a country that daily faces the loss of so many of its people – and yet a country that is waiting, hoping, yearning for peace. The steadfast faith and courage our leaders have to continue preaching the Word of the Lord, even though it may mean laying down your life in the very REAL sense, is always a point of admiration and a vivid realization that JESUS is HERE with us. Yes, we have a sense of waiting, hoping, and yearning for a complete realization of the Kingdom, and yet we know it will come because we can celebrate Him here right now. 

Despite all the unknowns and all that awaits, we pause to remember that what we await is, in fact, right here before us. Jesus is Here. The Kingdom is coming. Despite all the darkness, light will guide our way.

And so, Advent begins.

Today is the day. The dawning of a new year. A day of mourning for all that has passed away, all that we have lost in the last year and yet it is also a day full of hope as we of look forward to what is ahead, the promise of renewal and new beginnings. 

Today is a day to be lived into. A day to discover something new. A day to have faith in the future tense. A day to be who we truly are.

ethereal to immanent: Journey, Story, & Prayer

Two months ago today, I became a Sister of St. Joseph. And honestly, I haven't posted nearly as much as I would have liked in that time. But this time isn't about blog posts. Be assured that I'm writing; it's just a matter of what does and doesn't make it to the internet.  In many cases, the pen stays to paper in my journals but isn't making the virtual jump.  On this day though, there is something that I've been wanting to share (and is about 2 months overdue) and a reflection that this anniversary gives me the opportunity to share.

I spent this afternoon sharing with a group of seniors from Mount Saint Joseph Academy, the all-girl high school sponsored by our congregation, as a part of their Vocation & Human Sexuality course.  I can't speak to their experience of my sharing but know that to have the privilege to share my story (both of faith journey and vocation) was a great blessing for me.  

As with any story, this story changes each time that I tell it. It depends on who I am sharing it with, what the purpose of the sharing is, and what at the time seems most pressing to be told. Anyway though that it is told, it is like making a straight line out of what on paper surely does not appear to be straight. But there is even blessing in that.  Our stories are not designed to be ironed out; they take on the wrinkles and creases of time and we simply need to take them out every now and then, so that they might see the light of day and so that the silent influence that they have had on us all along can go from ethereal to immanent.  Sharing provides the opportunity for that and I for one am a firm believer in the power of story to unite us to God and to one another.

I won't go into the details of the day here, but be assured that in the light of day my journey still has much to teach me and God is certainly using my experiences past and present to form me.  As I spoke to the group, I took note of the draw that I felt deep within myself to this formation. Grace has brought me safe thus far and in sharing the grace of this journey I felt at ease, assured that it all points back to Christ and in so doing, gives me life... honest, true, authentic... a life worth living.

And so with that, on this anniversary I share a prayer that probably should have made its way here on September 19th, my initiation date, but has taken its time in coming.  It is the closing prayer from my initiation ceremony, a prayer that was given to me this summer in Boston and which resonated deep within me.  It is the prayer that led me into this experience and as I pray it for myself, I also pray that it might ring true for each one of you.

   

 God of our hearts, your love has the power to transform.

  Set my heart on fire, let your loving flames consume all that I am and transfigure me from the inside out. Quench my thirst for You alone. Give me the grace to surrender to your work in me, that everything else that occupies me might be taken away and who I am may be set in Christ.  Ignite your fire deep within me and let it burn in me and through me each new day.     Amen.

Altogether Standard Rarity

I am sitting on the cusp of a rarity in life in the novitiate... a day off.

You wouldn't think I'd need it from a run down of my weekly schedule as a novice but something of the intensity of this time escapes a simple calendar view. Monday I spend time at our congregation's retirement home, visiting with sisters, starting conversations, engaging women I have never met, and soaking up their wisdom. Tuesday and Wednesday I have classes- Spirituality of Religious Life, Ecclesiology, and Congregational History.  They are wonderful and extremely personal. Just think myself, my director, and my teacher. Really, these classes are one-on-one. You do ALL the readings, engage ALL the topics, and try to integrate the material. Thursday, I spend the day in two classes (Human Integration & Discernment) with 11 other novices, men and women, from various congregations around Philadelphia. Friday, I pray. Yeah that's right all day. Throw in a smattering of events at our Motherhouse, Mass each day, morning and evening prayer, and workshops on the weekend. And you have my life...and... I love it... and... it is one of the most exhaustive things I've ever done.

Just imagine, nothing I do is graded. Nothing is for a purpose other than growing in relationship with God and with this community I am now a part of... Nothing.

And that to me is everything.

Yet, it is draining. Everything is connected. The things that I learn make their way into my prayer. My prayer makes its way into every aspect of my life... even the aspects I have consciously and unconsciously tried to keep it out of.

As I said in my last post (way back when), even time is sacred.  God works in time and I can surely report that God is working in me.This Jesus fellow that I pledged to follow, who I've loved for so long, he's turning out to be a completely different person/ God than I thought I knew and yet he is completely familiar, taking up residence in my soul, a place he's been for so long... only now he seems to be stretching it out, making more room. I guess that's where the everything comes in.

After jumping around last week to accommodate my prayer day (Friday), which was shifted by my Liturgy class, welcoming a barrage of handy men to our convent/house to fix numerous problems over the last month, and finally picking up and moving for three days to accommodate Hurricane Sandy, it is time for a day off.

And I must admit... I don't know exactly what that means.

Because, we all know that on a day off, time doesn't stop. And if time doesn't stop, well then, the Sacred surely doesn't (you know with that whole "before all time, in all time, beyond all time" thing it's got going). And if the Sacred doesn't stop, it's going to be present to me. And I'm being conditioned to recognize the Divine and commune with it and grow in relationship and let myself be deepened. And that being the case, what I used to define "having a day off" as certainly can't, won't, and shouldn't be the same.

Instead, tomorrow will be a day off of the normal schedule. It will not be out of the ordinary. In fact it will be filled with what I'm coming to realize each of our days are filled with: the Divine just waiting for us to take a moment to look up from our schedule, to lock eyes with the One who loves us, and to witness the altogether standard grace that we make a rarity: God in our midst, woven deep in our lives, no matter if it's a off day or not. And that, my friends, that's extraordinary.