The Spiritual Exercises entail the application of the senses. One way to do this is to take an element and apply senses such as a colour or a smell. What would grace, for example, feel like? Would it be the warm snugness of a hug by a loved one? Would grace sparkle in your favourite hue? Would it smell like warm bread or the air after a spring rain? Would healing burst through it in lightness and joy? How would you sense grace in your life when it visits you?
Peace,
Suzanne
In today’s Gospel, Jesus is teaching his disciples. Be merciful–as God is merciful. Don’t judge–and you won’t be judged. Don’t condemn–you’ll escape condemnation. Forgive–you’ll be forgiven. Give–you’ll receive. The measure you give is the measure you’ll be given back. Press down your measure and let it overflow. This is what will be returned to you.
We have a choice to fill up our measures, shake them down, overfill them or we can half-heartedly sprinkle some of our gifts into the measure and offer this. What’s your measure doing? Being used to the fullest or sitting half-empty? Do you comprehend what happens when you’re merciful, non-judgmental, and forgiving? These are all returned to you when you least expect it and are most in need sometimes. You reap what you sow, we are told elsewhere in Scripture. I am learning the truth of this.
Some folks on my caseload gave me a Willow Tree figurine today called Lavender Grace. It is a perfect gift, acknowledging my love of purple and the grace I need to keep in each step of the journey ahead. Reaping what I have sown does not come easily to me but I do so with a grateful heart. What are you sowing?
Peace,
Suzanne
Today Abraham in the First Reading and the disciples in the Gospel have mountaintop experiences. I have talked about me dealing with my illness by imagining that I am on the top of the mountain and not fretting about what is next, but rather remaining in the moment. That mountaintop is about to change. I am going to be climbing to another peak later this week once I hear the results of all my tests.
I did a bit of Ignatian contemplation today and imagined how both Abraham and the disciples felt. I suppose my experience at the moment is more like Abraham’s–one of facing an incredibly difficult decision. The disciples had less knowledge about the outcome of their decision to return down the mountain with Christ. Abraham knew fully what taking the life of his son would mean. In both cases, the choice was to remain faithful to what God was asking without fully knowing what would come next.
I just hung up the telephone with a long-time friend in Minnesota who affirmed me in how I have chosen to do this journey. We met 30 years ago and she has been a shining example of Christ for me. I hold this recent conversation as a gentle balm for this week–I will be given the grace to stay on the path. All is for God’s glory.
In the contemplation with Jesus at the transfiguration, I felt my reluctance to head back down the mountain. I wanted to stay with Him but I did rise and agree to go. Abraham had an Angel of the Lord call to him from Heaven to instruct him what to do. The disciples are told by God to listen to Jesus. In the Second Reading today, is a hint for the journey: Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. I read this reading from Romans at my sister’s funeral 23 years ago. It brought peace then. God is for us. Christ intercedes for us. As I have said, I am in good hands because I am in God’s hands.
Peace,
Suzanne
Today was the last day of my tests prior to seeing the surgeon next week. Now I am, as Bruce Cockburn sang, waiting for a miracle. Waiting is not always easy. We want to run ahead and know what the outcome is. I am not interested in what the psychics say or in having my tea cup read. My hope is in God. I know that whatever comes I do not walk alone as I wait for a miracle of sorts. Once again the medical folks I encountered today were kind and gracious. I had lovely interactions from the moment I stepped into the office with the purple walls, chairs and clipboards. The PET scan itself was fine. I was comfortable and the woman put me completely at ease. The man who gave me the radioactive sugar intravenously was also kind and explained everything well. I can only say that I have had amazing care thus far. Next week I am hoping for a miracle. I know that surgery is unavoidable unless a spectacular miracle occurs in the next while but miracles take on all sorts of forms. The first one would be that I have no cancer in my body anywhere. That is still my hope but I balance it with the fact that there could be cancer in the liver. I do not want to be naive or in denial. I must embrace that there is a chance that this is a a possibility according to the surgeon. I still remain positive that even if there is cancer, I stand a good chance of being healed and continuing on with life. I seem to be healthy otherwise. I know that many are with me on this journey, praying for the best outcome. That is a miracle of sorts. Not everyone has people to accompany them on such a journey. I am grateful for that blessing. I know that heaven is being stormed by so many people. I know that this does not guarantee a miracle or a cure, but it does mean a miracle in the joining together of hearts all over the world–in Nairobi, Rome, Israel, Germany, Singapore, Costa Rica, South Africa, Mexico, Canada, and the USA. Whenever Love unites strangers for a greater good, this is a miracle. These dear people hold me as we wait together for a miracle. There are angels amongst us and that is a glorious miracle. Peace, Suzanne
Matthew 7 holds one of my favourite bible readings–Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.” This reading holds special meaning from a challenging time in my life, a time when I needed to hear God’s voice. The reading haunted me one weekend and would not let me go. Ask what? I remember getting angry with God because I did not know what I was supposed to ask.
When I read the Gospel this morning, I smiled. It was a comforting memory of God having my life in the palm of God’s hands. I did not like the outcome at the time but God was there and the Spirit was moving. In retrospect, I can see that. My heart, shattered in pieces, could not be easily fixed then but I did know that God was right there in the mess with me.
Tonight, I lay on my couch wondering what I needed to ask for my current life situation. Am I to ask for healing? For a cure? For courage? For comfort for those praying with me? For this all to be for God’s glory? To place the outcome in God’s merciful hand? I had no easy answers but I did feel a great peace. I am the widow knocking at the door. All those who join me in prayer are banging at the door. We are storming heaven. We are asking, seeking and knocking.
I glance at the first reading with this in mind and can taste Queen Esther’s anxiety as she prays for courage. She asks for what she needs as she praises God. She is clear in her asking: Save us by your hand, and help me, who am alone and have no helper but you, O Lord. I, and those who love me, place our needs in your hands while we ask, seek and knock. Blessed be your name!
Peace,
Suzanne
I have loved Matthew 25. 31-46 for a very long time. Naturally it invokes a certain fear in me, but at the same time, that deep call to see with different eyes is an invitation that excites me. When did we see you, Lord?
I had the oddest experience on Sunday evening at mass. This couple I had never seen before sat behind me. I had been a lector so had a visible presence during the mass. At Eucharist, the man asked if his female friend could receive the host because she was not Catholic. I gave him two options–one being a blessing and one to receive if she were in need. I am not really sure why I said that but overhearing my comment, I saw tears well up in her eyes. “Come,” I invited her but she shook her head and sat down. “Really, you are welcome.” I could not change her mind. He went up for a blessing.
At the end of mass, he came up to me again and engaged me in a conversation at which point he mentioned that his friend’s mother was dying. I looked at her and saw the tears streaming from her eyes. I was tired and wanted to go home but something compelled me to stay. We chatted for a few minutes and I could see that the situation was incredibly complicated. I explained that I coordinated the bereavement ministry at the church and gave some advice that I thought would be helpful. Then she said that she was sure her mother was going to hell because she was not a believer. I had to sit down at that point. Here was a theological discussion that should have taken time and energy that I simply could not expend.
“Do you really believe in a God like that?” I heard myself ask. “I sure don’t and I don’t think you do either. The God I know is merciful and loving. Your mom is not going to hell.” I am not usually so blunt with strangers but I was compassionate and it seemed to work.
As we were wrapping up the encounter, a mentally ill woman approached us and sat down at the far end of the pew. She and I had had a fight a few months back when I was feeling exceptionally tired–now I realize that it was due to being ill–and she had not spoken to me since. The argument had been about giving her a ride home. I had agreed to do so but had put some stipulations on it. She got angry with me. As she sat there she began talking to the air, and this couple, who did not know her, followed my eye gaze and listened to her request to no one in particular to take her home because it was too cold for her to take the bus. The man asked where she lived and offered to drive her. She promised that she would get out of the car right away when she arrived at the rooming house where she stayed. She was still not looking at me. This is one of the requirements that many of us who are her regular drivers ask of her some nights because of the lateness of the hour at which the mass finishes.
I found myself sighing. I could see the first woman still was upset. I could not imagine that this would go well. The man looked at me as if for assurance that it would be ok to drop her at her destination. Suddenly, the woman looked at me and announced that her boyfriend had died last week. I was stunned. He was a man about my age. I softened. Calling her by name, I clarified using his name that he had passed away. She started telling me the story. I gently interrupted, “You can tell me about it on the way home.” The church was almost empty and the person in charge of locking up would be shooing us out the door at any minute. Rising, she thanked me by name.
I wished the first couple well and reiterated what I thought was the best plan for the woman. I invited the second woman to come along. As I stretched out in bed later, I wondered what the heck had happened in these interactions. Something had stirred deep within me. It was not until reading the Gospel this morning that I figured it out. When did I see Christ? I saw Him in the strangers visiting my church last night. I comforted Him in the women. I heard Him on the way home, when the woman said to me that I was her friend as if to erase the past few months when she had been so angry with me. I found Him despite my own weariness and illness. Somehow, Christ ministered to me in an odd way that I cannot explain. He asked me to reach out to the least of these and be reminded of how much I love to serve even when I thought I did not have the energy to do it. God is in all things, strange and wonderful.
Peace,
Suzanne
Ordinary time is on hold. Today is the first Sunday in Lent and Mark propels us into the desert with Christ, for forty days. We too enter the desert with Christ for the next forty days. We will be tempted by Satan, no matter what we have chosen to give up on this path. Wild beasts will taunt us. Most importantly, Angels will wait upon us. Now is the time to repent and believe in the Good News. Now is the time to set out upon that path that will transform us into a newer, and hopefully, more whole, person.
When I took my Introduction to Religious Studies class several years ago, I suddenly heard the harshness of Mark’s words and had to debrief after class with the instructor about what it meant. The Spirit drove Jesus out into the wilderness. Did that mean Jesus did not want to go? Did it mean that the Spirit will drag us kicking and screaming to places we do not want to go? This was not a pleasant aha moment. The other two Synoptic Gospels are gentler with the Spirit leading Christ to the wilderness. The other Gospels also expand on the experience and show how Christ beats Satan in his own games by standing firm against the temptations. The starkness of Mark brings home the reality of how Satan works.
As we begin this Lenten journey, maybe we too need to know that we can survive the starkness of what is to come. My own health issues dominate this Lent. I am a little hesitant to step out on the path and yet I am already on it and there is no turning back. There will be wild beasts growling and gnashing their teeth as I try to walk one step at a time. They want me to be distracted and fearful; they want to scare me. I lean on the strength of the One who has been there. I know that Angels are waiting on me. Jesus who is fully human and fully divine was tempted. He knows the walk. We can learn something from Him if we pay attention.
There was no magic wand to get Jesus out of the desert before the forty days ended. He remained there with Satan and the wild beasts badgering Him. Sometimes our journeys in the desert seem longer than necessary. We want to flee but there are lessons in the desert. If Jesus had the stamina to stay in it and acknowledge that the Kingdom of God was near, maybe, just maybe, we can too. These forty days are no longer ordinary. They are different, holding opportunities that we may not have wished for but that we cannot flee from. Lent drives us into the wilderness with our own inner beasts and Satan hounding us down the path. May we go with the Angels who wait upon us and find strength that we did not know we had.
Peace,
Suzanne
Today is Ash Wednesday, the day when we remember that we have come from ashes and to ashes we will eventually return. I begin this Lenten journey deeply aware of this humbling fact. Tonight as I got ashed, I felt emotions rise and collide. This illness could get the better of me but tonight I knew that I have to pick up my cross and walk the path ahead of me that is marked with the blood of the One who has simultaneously led the way and is yoked to me. I continue to be in good hands, because I am in God’s hands.
Ironically enough, tomorrow is a fast day for me. I will spend the day preparing for a medical test in which I must empty myself physically. I will use the occasion to fast and empty myself spiritually. I was sharing with a friend of mine who is dealing with cancer treatments right now, that I usually offer uncomfortable medical tests up for torture victims. I think she thought I was kidding until I explained that I do not often remember to pray for this group of people and so tomorrow and the next day, I will be thinking of people who have unspeakable things done to them. Most of us do not really suffer much. What I will go through in the next couple of weeks as I undergo more tests will be offered up for those who are suffering. When I go into my scans this week, I will find myself yoked to those who are held in captivity, unable to move and without freedom. I want to offer up these hours of waiting in the unknown for those whose hours slip into days, months and years. Our world needs that right now. The families of those who are kidnapped need our prayers too.
From the ashes of our broken lives, we must rise. We must believe in the Gospel. “Repent and believe in the Gospel” was the simple statement that accompanied the marking of my forehead with a blackened cross. Repent….believe. I walked back to my seat, wondering of what should I repent and what should I believe. When I sat before this beautiful cross in Assisi in August, I did not know then that my pilgrimage would lead me here. I am beginning to understand the silence that greeted me, the tears that overwhelmed me, and the need to return to my city for more instruction in new and different ways. Tonight at mass I also returned to my offering of self from my spring retreat. I had written it out but as I read it aloud ten months ago I substituted a word in a sentence that now makes sense. I have had this premonition for awhile that I would need that word but I did not know it was for me.
My prayer to the Creator was this:
You are the Source and Centre of my life. All is gift. I humbly offer to You all that has been given, asking that I may serve You with joy, humility, compassion and love. I desire only to be Your faithful daughter. I surrender to Your will. To God be all the glory.
I am not sure if I substituted or added the word courage to that list of how to serve. It was heaven-sent then–for an acceptable time, as the second reading proclaimed tonight. Now is the acceptable time. I see that this Lent is when I will embrace courage as I pick up my cross. I am marked with the sign of Christ’s cross and Jesus is yoked to me for each step of the difficult process ahead. This Lent will be unlike others for me. This time I am dragging my cross through the streets. I do not know how much I will have to suffer as I go through this, but I know that the Suffering Servant is with me. When I do not have the energy to take another step, when I fall, when I do not think that I will have enough grace to get through, and when I fail miserably I will call upon the One who can do it with and for me.
I am so unbelievably blessed with a host of earthly angels helping me walk this journey. It reminds me that Jesus also did not walk to Jerusalem, Gethsemane and Calvary alone. God and the angels were with him. I figure I am in good company as I enter Lent.
May your own Lenten path be blessed with all you need.
Peace,
Suzanne
This morning I happened to hear Natalie Grant’s song Held on the radio. That song comforts me. I think it is because the image of God holding me is one I comprehend. The song also is not for the weak of faith. It does not promote the if I am good than all shall be well philosophy. The lyrics tell the tale of a woman who has lost her child and yet experiences the mercy of God. For weeks now I have been falling asleep to another song by Sons of Korah, Psalm 91. I turn out the lights, take a deep breath, reach for my iPad, and press play. This beautiful psalm of protection and blessing calms me. I imagine St. Michael, St. Raphael or St. Gabriel wrapping their wings around me and a bright Light falls over me as I close my eyes. Many people have wondered if I lay awake nights since the news of my illness. I can assure you that I sleep solidly and restfully for which I am grateful.
We look for meaning in music, in nature, in life. Today’s Gospel from Mark talks about the people looking for a sign. I have experienced profound signs in my life. I am grateful for reassurance or wisdom that comes with these signs. I hold lightly to it all though but sometimes I chuckle. My brother and I have this recurring number in our lives–11, sometimes double 11:11. When I went to my first appointment with the liver surgeon, I went to the clinic in the purple bear wing of the hospital. I laughed and texted friends who know my favourite colour is purple. I also mentioned to them that the bear was a symbol of courage and protection for Aboriginal people. A friend later added that bears also mean healing. My next appointment is in the pink owl wing. That made me a little nervous because I know owls are associated with death often but a little research shows that they also are for guidance, wisdom and sacred knowledge. They can also predict a life transition.
Jesus had reason to caution people about looking for signs. We do not always understand them. We often read into them too much. We place our trust in them when we need to place our trust in the One who knows all things. When I let go of looking for answers, I let God hold me. That is the safest sign for me that all shall be well.
Peace,
Suzanne
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, that artificial commercial day with inflated prices and hopeful expectations. Now that it is over, I thought I might talk about a different kind of love as I deliver some distressing and challenging news in light of today’s readings. Today’s first reading is from Leviticus 13 and the Lord is talking to Moses and Aaron about leprosy. I always think of Che Guevara in the Motor Cycle Diaries when I think about leprosy. He braved to break with convention and reached out to the lepers in a very powerful scene in the movie. In Mark’s Gospel, the man with leprosy begs Jesus on his knees for healing: “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Compassionately Jesus reaches out and touches him, responding, “I do choose.” As is often the case with Mark’s writing the word immediately appears–the man is at once healed. In reality, we are sometimes not instantly healed of what ails us.
I have not been well since last fall. I returned from Europe and within a couple of weeks found I was tiring easily. I went to see my new family doctor and she sent me for blood work and told me to keep coming back if I was not soon better. I did return and after a few visits she sent me for an ultrasound of my liver because my liver enzymes counts were high. The ultrasound revealed a large benign mass on the liver. After the ultrasound my doctor did a complete physical rather than wait for my annual examination. She sent me then for a CT scan and finally for an MRI. After the MRI results came in, I met with a surgeon who suggested that the two or three large masses may or may not be cancerous but either way they must be removed. A number of scans and exploratory tests must be done to ensure that I am cancer-free elsewhere as the liver is not a usual primary cancer spot.
In the next couple of weeks I will continue with these tests. To stand in the unknown can be scary but as I explained it to a remarkable young friend of mine who climbs mountains I prefer to not be in that fear. I instead aim for that moment of standing on the summit, looking out at the beauty all around–essentially of finding God right there in the Now–and breathing. At that precise moment there is no past and no future. You do not remember the struggle to reach that spot and you are not contemplating on how you are going to descend. You just feel alive in that moment and that is all that is necessary. That is how I want to do this journey.
I am finding that my go-to place has not been to fall on my knees and beg Jesus to heal me. I have set in motion the prayers of those who love me and asked them to storm heaven for me. The hardest part about this is knowing anxiety rises in those around me. I oddly see it as a win-win situation for me at the moment–I beat this (whatever this is) and continue on with my amazing life or I do not and I go Home. Both seem like two goods to me. Telling family and friends though is distressing for me. I do not want to hurt or worry them. I could have kept it quiet but that did not feel honest or fair to them or me. Once I told my parents I felt a huge burden lift.
For me, I have decided to trust and to stay positive. I do not officially have a diagnosis yet. I have some large tumors that need to be removed. I have rallied my prayer people around me. I have sat quietly with Jesus in contemplation asking some hard questions such as “Why not me?” and “How should I pray?” Mostly, I just close my eyes and lean my head on his shoulder, his arm around me. My family and friends have sent words of Love beyond my imagining. I weep reading them sometimes, feeling somewhat unworthy of the sentiments but ever grateful that my life has touched people in these ways.
In a book by John Maxwell that my aunt gave me today’s meditation had this line: Only people who can see the invisible can do the impossible. I am not looking at this situation with human eyes right now. I am looking for the Invisible. I see the Love that surrounds me. I feel the prayers that envelope me. I know at the core of my being that I am in good hands because I am in God’s hands.
The Spiritual Exercises teach us that illness or health and long life or short are to be held with open hands. I will have the opportunity to pray this in a way I have never had to over the coming months. In a conversation I had last night with someone, he looked into my eyes and said, “You are not afraid to die.” Even though it was an observation and not a question, I concurred. He nodded back, “I see that.” That is my reality at the moment. I may not be heading Home for many years yet but that realization is a gift.
I have received two beautiful prayer shawls that I wrap around myself for comfort and in gratitude. I sit here wrapped in one now, feeling the many hands of Love on my shoulder. Whatever this journey brings, I do not walk it alone. Jesus chooses to walk it with me, as do many of you reading this. People from around the world are praying with me or sending me positive energy. Light is pouring into this body of mine, filling me with great peace and holy hope. I am grateful for so much. I know that I am loved. All this is a very good place to begin this experience. I pray the same for those who accompany me. God is with us.
Peace,
Suzanne
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 | Iris Radev on Overcoming Adversity |
 | Monica Storozuk on Setting the World on Fire |
 | Dan St.Yves on Setting the World on Fire |
| M. Storozuk. on Setting the World on Fire |
God in all things 