I was extremely proud when Smoochie, a male cat who’s lived with me for more than seven years, began to understand — and obey — my command, “Come here!” Not long ago, Mimi, who’s 15 and has been with me since she was six months old, was sitting on the dining room table. I called to her and patted my stomach once, twice and a third time. With feline grace — and in her own time — she came and curled up in my lap. Then there’s Mimi’s plaintive cry, which I have come to recognize as her request for kibbles.
The longer the cats and I live together, the better we're able to communicate with each other. Smoochie complains each morning that he's hungry and I try to persuade them not to scratch the furniture. My ability to communicate with them was never more important than the other day when a guest apparently went out the back, opening both the sliding glass door and the screen door, but only closing the sliding door behind them.
When I came into the living room, I wanted to get some air and so I open the sliding glass door not realizing that the screen door was also open. I put out food for the kitties and when I walked back into the living room, I saw to my horror that both doors were wide open. I ran to see if Smoochie was eating, he was not. I ran to the door calling his name, over and over and over. Finally, the scalliwag trotted over, sat down and gazed up at me.
“Smooch, come on, come inside.” Luckily, he complied whereupon I immediately closed the screen door.
There’s a spiritual parallel here. Through prayer, spiritual reading, meditation and even acts of kindness, forgiveness and generosity, I believe we strengthen our connection to God. God, obviously, always understands what we’re saying, but listening to God’s Word and deeply understanding it, well, that takes time. But just like Mimi, Smoochie and me, the longer we hang out together, the better we communicate. And the longer I hang out with God and listen closely, I can hear God issuing not a command, but an invitation, an invitation to Love.
I guess that's not surprising, Spring is slowly making its way into our formerly frozen New England landscape. Change is all around us. I've recently had the opportunity to be with grieving folks; I offered programs for two different groups at Connecticut retreat centers. People arrive with broken hearts, with a desire to stop the sadness. After learning a bit more about the Land of Loss, they leave with a willingness to let grief guide them through the difficult terrain. Some speak of a desire "to live in healing more consciously." Again, transformation is taking place.
I'm experiencing transformation in my own heart as well. I've loosened my grip on expectations, opening myself to new ways of being. It's ironic though, the path isn't completely new to me; it's as if I'm settling into a more authentic version of myself. The "big change" that I've been resisting is more of a refinement. The Sculptor has smoothed away unneeded stone, letting beauty be revealed.
Why do we resist the changes that appear in our lives? Of course, we all have our own stories, our unique reactions. As human beings, though, we often share a defensive response to the demands of life's revisions. We try to push it all away. But the death of a loved one, for example, does not let us avoid life's call to change. Neither, on a much smaller scale, does a broken leg or an illness. And so, we try to learn from the crisis and grieve the loss. We honor what was, we pray for what is and trust what will be. Transformation does not happen in an instant, it’s a process of opening to mystery.
As we walk within the mystery of the Easter season, we follow a sacred letting go. We heard Jesus’ story of transformation and look at our own lives. Can we open our hearts and shout Hosanna at the arrival of Love? Will we share community with others, loving them as they are? Can we confront the emptiness found in the absence of love, however that experience comes to us? And, when our hearts are ready, will we say "yes....Yes....YES!" to the fruits of new life that are bursting from within?
Whatdoes our own path of transformation look like?
Alleluia!
Lisa Irish, MEd, MA, BCC, ministered as a chaplain for the Hospital of Saint Raphael and Yale New-Haven Hospital, where she ran a bereavement program and supported patients, families and staff in hospital and long-term care. Her years as a Mercy Associate have led to a commitment to Mercy by the Sea and to her ministry in retreat and spiritual direction. Lisa’s first book, Grieving with a Grateful Heart by Abbey Press was published in 2016. Her newest book, Grieving – the Sacred Art was published by Skylight Paths Publishing in 2018 and is available in the Mercy by the Sea bookstore. To learn more about Lisa and her work, visit her website.
This week is National Volunteer Appreciation Week. We will honor our 56 volunteers at a luncheon on Wednesday, April 10. But how can we fully express that volunteers are always needed and forever appreciated at Mercy by the Sea?
With the announcement that financial aid is being cut to Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador, my prayer this morning drifted to the many trips I had made to visit our Mercy mission in Chanmagua, Guatemala. One trip, in particular, stood out.
My travelling companion, Sister Ellen Kurtz and I had spent the night in Guatemala City en route to Chanmagua. After travelling across Guatemala City, we boarded the bus to begin the four-hour bus trip — no bathrooms or AC on the bus — to Esquipulas. There we planned to meet our Sisters and travel the rest of the way up the mountain, ultimately arriving in Chanmagua.
