Resurrection in Dark Times

These Covid-19 lockdown days are a rollercoaster of emotions, from the blackness of despair to fleeting moments of light and hope. Even though it’s only been a few weeks, the toll on our mental health, relationships and general well-being is very high. It’s especially hard on frontline workers, those bereaved or dealing with sickness, or those families cooped up in houses and flats. I have it easy in comparison. After a ‘honeymoon’ start to lockdown, recently I’ve had to abandon all my high-flying plans for reading, writing and exercise. The last few days in particular have been very tough, even though objectively it seems like the worst is over, often it feels like an endless nightmare. At this stage, it is a question of enduring and getting through, arriving alive at the other side. Whenever that comes.

The experience reminds me a lot of the 30-day silent retreat, the Spiritual Exercises (it also reminds me of my five-week Camino walk), that we do on entering the Jesuits. The first week begins with the joy and wonder of God’s grace, but very soon you hit the wall in the third week with the pain of the Passion of Christ and all seems lost. The wisdom of the retreat is such that you have to arrive to these very dark places of disintegration and loss to appreciate the resurrection; it is God’s world and in God’s time things swing around, our lives are merely an ‘on loan’ gift. The death-resurrection experience (a ‘U’ shaped curve) is a process of slowly coming back to life and recovering the joy of simply being again. The key to it is being grateful for small things. Being in the Passion, the trough or the dip though, robs you of the ‘feel-good’ factor, of the simple pleasures of good sleep, exercise, and being on top of things. The danger is losing perspective and motivation. You have to trust the process, only through arriving at your limits allows for a hard-earned breakthrough.

Some people have written about this Covid-19 crisis as a time of grief. It’s the loss of so many things, freedom, relationships and autonomy. Awful dread days and nights are interspersed with sudden flashes of light. Like the grief process (cf. Kubler-Ross’s 5 stages of grief, a ‘U’ shaped curve), there is isolation and the feeling of dying inside, in an endless night. But like a self-righting buoy, something always brings me back to the light. At the darkest hour the dawn arrives again anew, just like always, but I forget so easily. This pandemic world of sickness and death (watching the news is horrifying) is not the end. It’s not all of reality as it proposes to be but just a temporary place of growth and purification. Unexpectedly, I am redeemed, saved from the grave. I learn about humility, compassion and grace. A person, the Christ, has lifted me up. My true destiny is revealed, to be with the Light, breaking open the clouds of weary, isolated existence.

The life and death of Jesus is not something that happened years ago and no longer relevant. Rather it is the very essence of the lives we live, the dying and the rising is a continual process that marks our lives and especially shapes our Covid-19 world. The experience of the process of suffering and pain alternates with great joy and fulfilment. Especially the last few days when I began to hit the ‘wall’, reaching the limits of my strength and endurance (Richard Rohr calls this ‘liminal space’), I know to hang on. You begin to get down, life loses its meaning and things become grey. It is a suffering of tedium, awareness of limitation and mortality. Nothing seems to happen, move or motivate me… I begin to realise I am drifting away from the life and the source itself, I am deluded by pain and weariness to believe that there is no meaning, no God and no hope… This is the experience that Jesus himself passed through in the Garden of Gethsemane, the ‘why have you forsaken me’ moment which is chilling but inspiring in its raw humanity.

That’s where the radical prayer comes in, the prayer of the cross, imitating the same ‘U’ shaped process that Jesus has lived through. Reaching the limits and handing it all over to God, holding nothing back, stepping into that dangerous mysterious void. It means trusting the ‘passionate one’, the one who has been there before us in the depths, who has beaten the rap and taken the hit for us. To pray using the words of the psalms, as Jesus did in his darkest hour, has an extraordinary power:

Into your hands O Lord, I commend my spirit
Take away this cup
Why have you forsaken me

I begin to see a chink of light, I begin to pull out of the dive, I begin to rise again.

Then, before I know it, I see the spring outside. I hear the birds again, carried and inspired, the world seems all right, the pain drifts away, I can see a way, I walk towards the light, I am walking in faith, hope and love abound. The hardest thing is hanging on in the bottom of the dive and remembering that it’s not about me, that I am being carried and I need to let myself be lifted and freed. The biggest illusion is in the mind, that there is no meaning (the work of the ‘bad spirit’) and that I only deserve the worst. It is a seductive pattern of inviting me to give up… all lies of course.

This cycle can last a year, a month, or even a day. The challenge is to live every day like a resurrection day. To be so fully present, in the moment and living the paradoxical tragedy-wonder of life. It is all about gratitude: to see the absolute giftedness of every moment, the wonder of every encounter, the silver lining on every cloud. The mask of mundanity is pulled away and I see the wonder of things, fragility, and strength, the way we are held in being at each moment. The Gospel of today, the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24), mirrors this exact same process of desolation to hope, darkness to light, and 11th-hour rescue from despair.

-Brendan McManus SJ

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Fermanagh-born Brendan McManus SJ works in the area of spirituality and spiritual accompaniment. He is the author of Redemption Road: Grieving on the Camino, a highly-praised personal reflection on healing and recovery. It deals with Brendan’s experience on the Camino pilgrimage as part of his effort to come to terms with his brother’s suicide. (Shared with kind permission from his blogpost Jesuits in Ireland)

Little Pieces of Light

The terrible chaos, the violence, the destruction of the insurrection in Washington draped a further layer of darkness over the darkness of the pandemic. Suddenly, everything became even darker, more desolate. It all seemed so surreal, nightmarish. What unfolded on Capitol Hill was like something we might see unfold in a movie but not in real life.

“One of the darkest days in the history of our nation” was how president-elect Joe Biden described these events of January 6. This darkness was far-reaching, and I reached for a small book on my bookshelf, Joyce Rupp’s Little Pieces of Light.  Amidst the devastating darkness, I longed for light, even if they were just little pieces of light to brighten my day and lighten my heart.  You might wonder why I did not turn to the One who said, “I am the light of the world.” I think I did and was led to pick up the little book.  As I flipped through the pages, the first couple of lines in the introduction caught my eye. I read what I did not want to hear! “We need light for our journey, but we also need darkness.” Darkness for transformation, it went on to tell me. Well, yes, I know that.  Did I want to be reminded?  Certainly not.  I was looking for words of comfort, consolation, encouragement.  I was searching for little pieces of light to penetrate the darkness to give me courage, to go on, even a glimmer, some sparse light would help to lift a corner of the darkness. Just enough light in that moment of darkness, so I might hear that small, still voice within whispering, “I am with you, always.”

If I felt overwhelmed by the darkness, safely ensconced in my lockdown space far away from the devastation in the Capitol Building in Washington, how would those women and men have been feeling while hiding from the stampede of the hordes ravaging the Capitol. I doubt many were praying, “In the shadow of your wings, I take refuge until the destruction passes.” (Ps 57) When we are afraid, wrapped in darkness it is hard to keep the spark of hope alive in the empty places of our hearts.  Yet if, though it be hard, we “keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience … The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish.”  (Rabindranath Tagore)

On Wednesday of this week, ‘morning’ did come, and it came early.  It came on Tuesday evening with a somber sundown ceremony at the Lincoln Memorial where the glow of 400 lights were illuminated along the edges of the Lincoln Reflecting Pool.  Between sundown and dusk, these lights shone in the darkness along the pool of reflection, foreshadowing even brighter light about to break through - and break through it did. 

““Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness” Desmond Tutu ”

"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness" Desmond Tutu wrote years ago during those dark times in South Africa.  Joe Biden, inaugurated on Wednesday as the 46th President of the United States of America, also believes there can be light despite all the darkness of recent times. On the steps of the Capitol Building, where just two weeks earlier chaos and terror had reigned, a luminous event unfolded peacefully.  Calm descended upon the Capitol, the city, the State.  Far-reaching calm and peace spread out, as beautiful, reassuring words were spoken eloquently with conviction and dedication.  Soothing balm for many, these light-filled moments echoed throughout the day.  Little pieces of light were scattered everywhere throughout that momentous, memorable day.

This is what stood out for me: Joe Biden’s radiant face, his smile, and the infectious smile of Kamala Harris, his delightful Vice President.  Furthermore, there was the beautiful, luminous Amanda Gorman, the young poet laureate.  She most certainly was far more than a little piece of light. Poised and self-assured, she scattered glowing pieces of light as she eloquently shared her poem The Hill We Climb.  This enormously gifted young African American woman is the embodiment of Desmond Tutu’s words, “Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” In a country where such profound darkness has been experienced by so many and where the slogan, Black Lives Matter, has echoed throughout the land, there on the steps of the Capitol Building at this momentous occasion, this young woman’s light shone brightly for all to see. There is hope for the future, for, as Amanda put it, “There is always light.  If only we’re brave enough to SEE it, if only we’re brave enough to BE it.”

Did we not experience on this momentous, historical day, that “God cannot be limited by any human concept or prediction. [That] He is greater than our mind and heart and perfectly free to reveal himself where and when he wants”? (Henri Nouwen; You are the Beloved)

-Sister Magdalena Vogt, cps

A Book for our Time

Diana Beresford-Kroeger is the author of many books including an extraordinary book for our time, TO SPEAK for the TREES - My Life’s Journey from Ancient Celtic Wisdom to a Healing Vision of the Forest. I hope that each of you either have or will read this book and will take its message to heart. Diana Beresford-Kroger’s life work reminds me of what is at the heart of the work of the Sisters - deep and profound listening and responding to the needs of our time. The author has spent a lifetime of listening deeply and profoundly in the natural world and has actively been at the forefront of conservation and advocacy for forests and all life. She helps us to understand the complex interconnectedness of the nonhuman and human realms.

In her autobiography, Diana Beresford-Kroger shares her story of growing up in Ireland being schooled by elders in the ancient Celtic wisdom practices with a “vision of nature that saw trees and forests as fundamental to human survival and spirituality”.  Diana Beresford-Kroger unfolds her journey of becoming a scientist particularly in the fields of Botany and Medical Biochemistry. She shares her work, successes, and challenges as a professor and researcher in Ottawa early in her career. Diana Beresford-Kroger then settles locally on a farm property to continue her life work integrating scientific knowledge and the traditional concepts of the ancient world as well as Indigenous knowledge and wisdom.  

Photo by Anton Darius, UNSPLASH

In To Speak for the Trees, Diana Beresford-Kroger “eloquently shows us the intricate ways in which the health and welfare of every living creature is connected to the global forest and how to strengthen those connections. If we do so, she argues, we can pause the climate crisis long enough to have a fighting chance to mend our self-destructive ways.” I encourage you to read TO SPEAK for the TREES and respond accordingly. This book is available at your local public Library - although the waitlist may be long!

-Sandy Bell-Cameron, CSJ Associate

All Sorts out of Sorts

Synchronicity fascinates me. Recently, one of my friends was gripped by a sense of malaise. I am sure you agree with me that this is something many of us experience off and on in varying degrees during these protracted weeks and months of the pandemic.  While my friend and I were chatting about the overall impact the pandemic has on our psyche and spirits, she chuckled and said, “All sorts feel out of sorts.”  Well, and then she suggested I’d write a reflection about all sorts being out of sorts, a delightful play on the licorice brand name Allsorts. I laughed and suggested she write about being out of sorts since she had just had a taste of it. Herein lies the synchronicity, shortly after our conversation I had my own taste of feeling out of sorts. 

Probably none of us needs to turn to a dictionary to learn what it means to be out of sorts, still, I did. According to the Collins Dictionary when you are in that state, “you feel slightly unwell, upset, or annoyed.” It has been my experience that it is all these feelings mixed together.  Feeling out of sorts is all sorts of feelings layered on top of each other just like some of those Allsorts liquorice pieces.

In his book, Molloy, Samuel Beckett has his protagonist express feeling out of sorts like this, “I was out of sorts.  They are deep, my sorts, a deep ditch, and I am not often out of them.” Phrasing the state of being out of sorts like that sounds like the crème de la crème expression about what many of us experience these days. During these dark days, an unsettling mood can easily invade us. It is not unusual that we can find ourselves in a depressed mood during this pandemic without knowing exactly where it comes from and the degree of such moods can vary from person to person, from situation to situation. How deep are the ditches of some of your pandemic induced ‘sorts’?

““I am offering you life or death . . . Choose life. (Deuteronomy 30:19)”

When we have the courage, the gumption, one step at a time, to extricate ourselves from those dark moods, we choose to live instead of remaining in the dark ditch. The longer we remain in the ditch, the harder it tends to be to get out of it. No, it is not easy.  No, it is not instant. By relying on our life experience, on support from those we trust, and the grace of God we can learn bit by bit how to extricate ourselves ever more easily from our ‘deep sorts [that] deep ditch.’ Over the years, I have often held onto these words of Scripture, “I am offering you life or death . . . Choose life. (Deuteronomy 30:19). Perhaps you also have a Scripture quote or a mantra that helps you, offering you a lifeline when you are out of sorts, in one of those dark moods.

Henri Nouwen, a man who had his struggles with being out of sorts, believed, “One aspect of choosing life is choosing joy. Joy is life-giving but sadness brings death. A sad heart is a heart in which something is dying. A joyful heart is a heart in which something new is being born.” (You Are the Beloved: Daily Meditations for Spiritual Living)

During this pandemic, when so many people are experiencing such terrible, devastating suffering you can be forgiven for thinking it is absurd for me to try to suggest we find joy while we are out of sorts, in a dark mood.  True enough.  Yet, we always do have a choice.  Leaning on each other, I find so often is the only way forward. Supporting one another, encouraging one other, finding strength in each other, holding each other in prayer are some of the best ways forward during this pandemic. Pope Francis expresses this stance, such solidarity in these words, “The Covid-19 pandemic has revealed that all of us, fragile and disoriented, are in the same boat. All of us are called to row together [since] no one reaches salvation by themselves.” (Vatican News: World Day of Peace Message, Oct. 20, 2020)

To strengthen us, especially during our darkest days, God promised to, “give us a new heart and put a new spirit in us.” (Ezekiel 36:26) Even when we are out of sorts during this pandemic, may we trust, with the grace of perseverance, to live in the hope of better days to come. We do have a choice. We can choose life and joy rather than feel like victims of being out of sorts.

-Sister Magdalena Vogt, cps

Contemplative Sitting Network Reflection

I wanted to share with you this article written for the Institute of Contemplative Sitting Network from Sister Nancy Sylvester, an IHM Sister from Michigan.

-Sister Pat St. Louis, csj

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Bruno Barnhart was a Camaldolese monk who died in 2015. In his book The Future of Wisdom, he states, “The Christian history of the past two thousand years has been characterized by a continual tendency to reverse the event of the incarnation and separate once again the divine and the human, Trinity and humanity, God and Creation.” 

David Bohm was a physicist, in fact, one of the most significant in the 20th century, who died in 1992.  He said, “What is preventing mankind from working together….is a kind of thought that treats things as inherently divided…Each part is considered to be essentially independent …It’s similar to a virus…a disease of thought.”

In this time of COVID19, we do well to remember every time we sit in contemplative silence, alone or with others, we are generating antibodies to the above “thought disease” of both church and society.  Intentionally dwelling in oneness with ourselves, others, Earth, and the Divine, however much we are assaulted by thoughts or other distractions, we are in fact about immersing our consciousness in the source of ultimate unity.  We imbibe the correcting antidote.   We experience the unification of ourselves and our fractured Universe.  The Christ is once again being reborn in both ourselves and our world.

-Margaret Galiardi, OP and Nancy Sylvester, IHM

Reprinted with kind permission from Nancy Sylvester, IHM Detroit, MI.    

The Institute for Communal Contemplation and Dialogue is offering 3 programs via Zoom in January, February, and March 2021. To learn more about the newest program, click here: Enter the Chaos: Engage the Differences to Make a Difference.