A Lesson from Parsley

Parsley recently taught me the power and need for confession. 

I always end up with a clump of parsley in my vegetable bin of my fridge because it’s sold in clumps larger than I need. For years I would throw out old wilted parsley. One day, someone taught me to trim off the dead ends of its stalks and place the bunch in an inch or two of water on the counter.  Within a few hours, the parsley that had drooped over the cup’s edge pitifully, with no sign of life apparent, stood straight and tall, green and perky.  

The grace of the sacrament of Reconciliation works with similar efficacy. To trim off what’s dead in us, what’s preventing us from receiving the water of life from God, we step into the life-giving sacrament. We tell the priest what we wish to trim away. We express our contrition for we don't like our droopy looks and actions. We can't seem to stand up on our own. He absolves us and the grace of God floods us. Our soul is immediately refreshed; our body responds happily with the removal of the weight of the sin(s) we’d been carrying. Our heads and hearts no longer droop.

October Surprise Helps Grace Arise

     Oh my gosh, I must be really out of it. I looked out the window here in Michigan.
     "Oh, look! It's raining," I said.
     My daughter and son-in-law look out at the view.
     "No, that's not rain, Mom," my daughter responded.
     "Oh, is it the stuff from the trees?" I quickly corrected myself, looking at the forest that abuts their property.
      "Noooo, Mom. That's snow. Do you remember snow?" she asked teasingly.
      I am so not ready to be looking out the window and seeing snow falling.
      It's over now. Thank goodness.
      The chilly temps of this Michigan day converted the clouds' weeping to a new form of water.  The inverse seems to happen  in our prayer times when we lift the heaviness in our hearts to God who draws it into the heavenly warmth of His loving thermals and dissipates it into wispy clouds of lightness and relief. We don't know why we feel lighter afterwards. Or perhaps we simply don't remember what snow is.

Who are You Below the Surface?

Living on the water has its benefits.  Daily reminders to pay attention to what lies below the surface of things occur sometimes hourly as mullets jump, schools of fish shimmer their scales in the sun, and dolphin fins pop up like toast.

Every person we walk by, sit beside, work or live with is the same: a depth of memories and emotions that shimmer and pop up unannounced looking for nourishment or company. Or a breath of fresh air.

Search below the surface of a familiar face today. What don't you know about them? What assumptions may prove false? Enrich your life with a deep conversation. Put a tantalizing bait on the tip of your tongue, throw out a question into the depths of a friend or co-worker, and wait with calm compassion to see if you catch anything. 

There's a lot of good soul out there today. Some need to be caught. Even only for a moment.  Some moments last a lifetime and change you forever. Feel like fishing today? See a shimmer in someone?

Why I Write

Yes, push! Dad said until the end.

His strong will urged, "Write on, my friend,

to souls who need encouragement

to trust in God, to give consent.

"They wait a word or two or more

 to mend their hearts then to adore
 the One their soul is longing for.

Oh, hold not back! Write on! Explore!

"Be not afraid to write your truth.

 Stand strong like poor Naomi's Ruth.

Strip off your pride. Step on your fear.

Your time to write is now, is here.

"Don't you hold back, just let her rip.

Dry souls all need a quenching dip

into the Word that you have heard.

Tell them it's love. Don't feel absurd

"To speak of the one, only thing

that springs from trust so peace can ring

that softest bell within all hearts

that souls know well ne'er departs.

"It's love above, below, beyond.

No need for some old magic wand

to dispel darkness in your night:

It's love, sweet love, God's subtle might.

"That's what you know so write it well.

It is the truth that makes hearts swell

in knowledge from antiquity

of undivided unity.

"Your words are strong, your words are clear.

They sing along as God draws near.

 They give us freedom, finally

 to melt into eternity.".

Clothes, Logs, and Window Washing

Entertainer Ruby Gettinger posted the following story recently.

A young couple moves into a new neighborhood. The next morning while they were eating their breakfast, the young wife notices her neighbor hanging her wash out to dry.  "That laundry is not very clean.  She doesn't know how to wash correctly.  Perhaps she needs new laundry soap."

Her husband observes but says nothing. Every time her neighbor hangs her wash out to dry, the woman makes the same comments. A month later, the woman sees a nice clean wash on the line and says to her husband, "She's finally learned how to wash her clothes properly.  I wonder who taught her this?"

Her husband replies, "I got up early this morning and washed our windows."  And so it is with life.  What we see while watching others depends on the clarity of the window through which we look.

This simple story reminds me of the lesson Jesus taught about removing the log from your own eye before dealing with the speck in your neighbor's eye. Matthew 7:5       My father was a great teacher.  Like the husband in this story, his actions taught more than by his words. He'd show me something once then walk away. I'd protest loudly to no avail. Then I settle down to figure out how to do it, knowing it could be done, and leaned into his belief that I was more than capable.

Wether it's Muslims, gays, fourteen Presidential candidates, or Confederate flag wavers that get us flapping our tongues, we all have a few windows to wash of our own before we speak too many words about neighbors.  I was taught years ago that when I point a finger at someone, three others are pointing back at me.

When you've said something wrong.

Truth. There are several layers to that onion, some of which make us cry.  I used to pride myself on witty double entendres that had a little sting to them. It was leftover behavior from childhood when we would mercilessly tease and name call those who were outliers. Often they were family members since we saw them the most.
     One day, I was on the receiving end. It was a vulnerable day. I felt the sting of words directed at me like a paper cut that keeps reminding you of its painful presence with every bend.  I made a vow to stop the cutting remarks. I took a second look at the pride I felt at being witty and now saw a new truth of pain I was unknowingly delivering.  I had believed the smiles I had received. They were fake. I didn't realize that back then. We learn to pretend, to display an emotion we do not feel in order to pass in society as acceptable, especially when we're broken or vulnerable inside.
     On that day, I made a vow to stop being sarcastic.  Pain is a great teacher.
     I still allow evil to override my lesson or vow sometimes, when it prompts me with an enticing barb. I recognize that the prompt is wrong and not taking the bait is the high road. Sometimes, I  take the bait. We all do. We're human. When I do, Love immediately steps in with "the look" that pierces  me at my still point. You know what I'm talking about. Just about every parent has cultivated "the look" they give their children which warns them they're about to push all the wrong  buttons and make Mom or Dad really mad.  I  pull back if there's time to do so, or make reparations quickly when the comment is already out of my mouth. I don't want to cause pain, to myself or others. I've learned to do it quickly like tearing off a bandaid. Waiting to apologize because my pride must bend low is like pulling off a bandaid one hair at a time.
    Afterwards, I sit in God's lap for a while and let Him soothe my soul the way a mother strokes the head of her little ones. My pride is such a big baby.

Calming End of Life Fears

I've never had a near death experience, but those who've had one, report the extraordinary view of their body from above it, usually in a corner of the ceiling. To me, this is the soul's view. One of my friends described the overwhelming sense of peace she had while she watched the doctors working on her body, and told me she no longer fears death because of it.
      Priest and author John O'Donohue tells a story of a 26 year old young man who died in a village in Connemara, Ireland. At the cemetery as his body was being lowered into the grave, his younger siblings began crying. Their mother spoke to them in Gaelic. The English translation: "Don't you be crying now. There's no need to be sad. He's not there. That's just the covering he used while he was here on earth."

     If we're talking soul here in Soul Matters, let's address the elephant in the room. What is soul anyway? Something under our body's covering? We use the word 'soul' loosely, it seems to me, in American culture. We list it as a genre in music and food. Spiritually, we're aware of it peripherally at the edge of our consciousness, but unsure of its existence, much like a ghost.  

     The Catholic Church teaches us that the soul is life, that when the body dies, the soul leaves it. The human soul is created for immortality. Without knowing that who you are has an existence above and beyond your body, it is easy to understand the fear about what happens when the body dies. It seems to be an end.  We imagine when the person  dies, they go somewhere to eternity far, far away.  We think spatially and imagine heaven and hell as places somewhere in a world well beyond our own.

      Meister Eckhart was asked once, where does the soul of a person go when a person dies.  He answered, "No place." The eternal world isn't a place at all. It is a different state of being. 

       "When the soul leaves the body," says John O'Donohue, "it's no longer under the burden of space and time. In other words, the soul can be anywhere that it wants to be now. That's why I believe the  the dead are our nearest neighbors. I believe that the souls of the dead are all around us."  The only difference between us and the souls of the dead are that they are in an invisible form, O'Donohue proffers.  I can buy that. Many of us have had experiences of sensing the presence of dead relatives, children, or spouses very near us.  On Father's Day this year, I stood in the hall of my house, my hands akimbo, and knew my father was standing very near me.

     The soul is the part of us which is not our physical body. That which knows its Creator. That which is meant to live with God forever.  It is the ground in which my heart is rooted. It is to whom God speaks when He reaches out to me. It is the part of me that recognizes the nearby presence of familiar souls who are no longer living in their human bodies.

     What does soul mean to you?

Sabbath year

In this age of productivity, I consider one of my great successes the simple choice of resting for my first year of retirement.  I made no demands on myself, no deadlines; I let go of any ideas of producing some written work to be able to "show" the world something I did.  I simply rested.  I let my spirit breathe and my mind unwind from decades of working at high levels of leadership.

Deep peace is my reward from this rest.  I now feel ready to start making lists of things to do and accomplish again.  A sabbath year is a gift to yourself worth working to achieve.