Is there anything
more precious,
more immediate,
on our way to prayer
than each undefended moment
that wraps my trembling soul
in the amazing mystery
of this sacred now?
Today I stopped and embraced
this beautiful and uncertain day.
As the cosmos swirled and unfolded
around its prior patterns,
I listened for the unexpected presence
of our ever-present God.
May this silent, sacred place
become a seminary for my soul,
where I can discover
all that I can be.
Teddy left us today, September 28.
His journey at Springbank entered a new dimension.
In his early years, he was a companion of Ursula.
He frolicked and played in Haddon House.
When Ursula entered eternal life,
Teddy moved on to be with Trina.
He became her cherished friend.
He visited the art room when she
Taught indigenous wisdom and clay.
Often he would rest on the chapel floor
when Trina played the baby grand piano.
Teddy was Trina’s spiritual director.
He was her wisdom guide.
He prayed joyfully when she was glad,
was a source of comfort when she was sad.
Goodbye Teddy!
Joey and others of your family
welcome you home.
Ask yourself,
What do I see
in this broken mirror?
Perhaps it’s the day
you fell and scraped your knee
on the fractured sidewalk
in front of your house.
Or the day you failed
a class in high school,
watched your future shatter.
Perhaps your days
became broken mirrors,
each reflecting back
your hopes and dreams,
shining fragments of your
as-yet-unlived life.
Some years ago, I visited the Grand Canyon. As I gazed into its depths, I felt a fresh awareness of divine presence within my soul.
At Springbank, I often walk among the live oak trees. I recall the great Canadian maple that stood in our backyard when I was growing up. Trees remind me of the verdant beauty of our creator God.
I behold the generosity of God through His creation. The region where Jesus lived illustrates this. The area was surrounded by two bodies of water: the Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee. Every drop of water that flowed into the Dead Sea remained there. The sea was dead, and in fact, it did not give. On the other hand, every drop of water that flowed into the Sea of Galilee flowed out. It lived because it gave what it received.
May we be guided by the generosity of the Sea of Galilee and live with generosity to share what we receive.
Creator God, source of love and life,
we gather today at Springbank Retreat,
in response to the call of the Great Spirit,
surrounded by this pine oak forest.
We come here at this precious moment,
enveloped in the divine milieu.
We embark, energized by the trails
that call us forward
to discover our inmost self
and the vast universe that surrounds us
Remembering my flaring forth
on this day,
I give great thanks
for the day when I was born.
Memories of the great flaring forth
wash upon my soul.
I rejoice that I was present
when the stars were born.
Today I look back and rejoice with lasting thanks
to my mother Elizabeth, the one who gave me life.
With deep gratitude,
I give great thanks
for all that was and is to be.
Amen
Springbank Retreat is a wondrous, sacred place. Here on eighty acres of pine and oak forests, there is a magic in the air when you drive onto the property. You experience a sense of the sacred with each passing day. When you walk among the flowers, green grass, and live oaks, you are awash in an ocean of grace that trickles into every grateful crevice and quenches the longing of your soul. In the sacred space called Springbank, you are enveloped in holy mystery and wonder. You experience an infusion of divine awareness that permeates and your soul. You have arrived where you belong: you have come home to God.
I tell you this story,
so you will never again forget
the beauty of your heart.
It is a heart that is open
to the joys and sorrows of the world;
a heart responsive
to the pulse of the planet;
a heart always aware
of racial injustice,
of fires that ravage homes, trees, lives;
a heart sensitive and wise,
healing us in this pandemic plague;
a heart guiding each diabetic soul
into a cheerful, balanced life.
Yes, I tell you this story
of Sr Theresa’s heart
so you never forget
God is good and so is she.
Today I ask for a response to an unbidden question in my life.
I strive to listen to the silent voice rising from the deep abyss that guides my journey and remains open to surprise.
May I always cherish the unseen guidance that nudges me forward into life.
May I follow each seemingly imperceptible unfolding moment that reveals a new direction.
May I heed the call to embark on the precious waters of my as-yet-unlived life.
John Lewis, peacemaker, troublemaker,
friend of freedom seekers.
your life, your courage, your nonviolent action
inspire us and call us forth today.
Your vision of justice on the bridge in Selma
and on so many bridges you called us to cross
is deep in each soul—
bridges for black and white
bridges for equal pay
bridges for a safe place to live and raise children
bridges of “I shall not be moved”
bridges of perseverance and forgiveness
bridges that make us all one.
We all have our particular work in the world. For some, it may be becoming a nurse, a spiritual companion, a homemaker. In that work, we all long for—if we haven’t yet found it—a greater destiny and purpose. Sometimes we are able to identify the presence in our lives that is always inviting us to join our work with the larger needs of the world. This divine nudge may call us to respond to the pandemic and the racial injustice that has been so inflamed by our current president.
We sit here silently today.
This is a day of waiting:
waiting for time to pass,
waiting for friends to call,
waiting and wondering,
what tomorrow will bring.
Wondering today why our planet is sick,
waiting for tomorrow for friendship,
waiting for air to breathe,
waiting for a world that is just,
waiting for a time
when all can be free.
It is so easy to deny one is racist,
so easy at times to deny what is true.
In this pain-filled world,
denial can be a subtle thing,
a shelter from growth, from love.
Today is my memory day.
It is so hard to admit fragility,
so hard to see it is what we need now
to unlock true memory,
to become again what we were
in the beginning,
all one.
The sun rose that morning
in May of ’64.
It was a special day for each of us,
our ordination day.
We knelt before the bishop,
said our Adsum
when our name was called,
announced that we were there.
Thus began my journey of now 56 years
from parish to classroom to street.
Today I wake at Springbank,
here among the trees.
It has been a sometimes rocky road,
an uncertain path.
Today I give thanks on this Pentecost eve
and thank god I am here.
Dishes are done,
plates put away.
I step into darkness,
light a candle and pray.
This day, immersed in virus,
many lives lost.
I ponder the mystery:
what good, at what cost?
Our prayer time ticks by,
we hear the bowl sing,
then adjourn for the night,
with courage not lost.
When confronted with a future that seems clouded and unclear, we return to a place and calling that will take us beyond conscious thought to a pre-consciousness of the spirit.
It is a place in our soul, a threshold moment.
It is a calling that we hear, which echoes from the past, calling us into a free and focused future, a future more beautiful than all the pasts.
It is a place where, through uncertainty, we are able to step over the remaining embers of a dying culture to become midwives and plant a new seed in the greening power of hope.
It is a time when, through images and impulses, we arrive at the threshold of a sacred mystery.
A compass shows us this new moment, which is liberating for us and beneficial for all peoples on the planet. This process is guided by impulses and images that mysteriously arise from the floorboard of our soul.
We reflectively emerge to this new resurrection moment that is now our privilege to fully embrace as we venture forth into a future as yet unknown.
Today, overflowing with promise and possibility, we embark on a future, alive with images, promises, and hope.
Questions:
To what do I respond when everything seems tattered and torn?
To whom can I turn when nothing but a blurred future appears?
What do I respond
when my world falls to pieces,
when all seems tattered and torn?
To whom do I turn
when my direction seems lost,
when a blurred future appears?
Then I step back and breathe,
allow balance to return,
chart a way forward.
Find freedom today.
I feel alone today,
disconnected and afraid,
all by myself
in this wondrous world.
How can this be?
Today amidst sunshine
and a fresh warming breeze,
alone among the trees,
I breathe a soft prayer:
how can this be?
I watch the news,
as healers and companions
wait for good news,
I listen, breathe and pray:
how can this be?
Today the clouds lift,
yes, beauty returns,
as I once again ask,
tell me, please tell,
how can this be?