Love has Come for Us All

Years ago, I used to hang out at All Saints Convent in Catonsville, Maryland.  The Convent had a beautiful scriptorium full of holy cards that were hand painted by the sisters.  Each card had a picture and a saying.  It may be a scripture, or something wise and uplifting said by a holy person.

One card in particular stood out to me.  In it a little boy is kneeling on the ground.  He seems to be gathering flowers into a little bouquet.  From the message, you can read his intent:  "Go; nothing is better for the soul than to make another soul less sad."  

As a dysthymic, I am well acquainted with the problem of negative thinking.  My mind can be a weed patch overgrown with negative thoughts, rather than a garden blooming with flowers of peace, love and joy.  I also know, as an introvert, that the worst possible thing I can do for myself is to try to weed my own patch.  To paraphrase Jesus' warning about not sweeping the house clean just so it can be possessed by seven more devils, I've learned that if I tear up one weedy thought hastily and without care, ten more are likely to grab its place.

Over the years, however, I have discovered two important tools to help free me from the tyranny of the mind bent on its own destruction.  One is Adoration.

Adoration, or sitting quietly before the Blessed Sacrament, first and foremost offers me the opportunity to know I am not alone with my thoughts, no matter how painful they may be.  Just as Jesus asked his disciples to watch with him during his hour of suffering, in Adoration, he is watching with me.

In addition, it allows me the chance to let negative thoughts simply come and go.  I've used different visuals to help me in that process, one for each of the four seasons:  

• In the winter, my thoughts are snowflakes that disappear in a roaring campfire
• In the spring, my thoughts are bits of pollen carried away by birds, bees and butterflies to far distant fields where they can't bother me.
• In the summer, they are ripe dandelions, sending their fluff up into the air and away, away.
• In the fall, they are dry, brown leaves falling to earth, becoming one with it as they decay.

Each of these images helps me to remember how impermanent are my thoughts.  It gives me a moment to realize I can live without them.  I don't have to worry, be angry, obsess, daydream, live in the future, live in the past.

Lastly, it teaches me that in the absences of my self-absorbed thoughts, I can open myself to God's thoughts for me.

I've alluded already to the other tool.  Get the hell out of dodge, to paraphrase Pascal.  In other words, service.  Go weed someone else's patch.  Comfort the sick.  Visit the prisoner.  Clothe the naked.  Feed the poor.  

For one blessed second, forget yourself and preach the good news.  God is Love.  Love has come for us all.  

When you preach that message, whether in deeds or in words, you help others let go of the worst negative thought any one of us can ever think:  "No one cares for me."   

Instead, they'll say, "Thanks for thinking of me."  

Pax et Bonum,

Rose

Seven Pages a Day: Was the Gospel of Mark Written by a Buhddhist?

“When you can assume that your audience holds the same beliefs as you do, you can relax a little and use more normal means of talking to it; when you have to assume that it does not, then you have to make your vision apparent by shock, to the hard of hearing you shout, and for the almost-blind, you draw large and startling figures.”  Flannery O’Conner, Roman Catholic novelist

When it comes to understanding who wrote the gospel of Mark, I am a Bear of Little Brain.  I tried to figure it out on the internet from—guess what—Wikipedia, and a few other respectable looking sites.  The best I could deduce is that most modern scholars don’t believe Mark, the companion of Peter, wrote it.  But it’s possible he may have written parts of it—at least the oldest parts.  On the other hand, it was probably written around the fall of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70AD. It’s also legitimate to say Mark may have told others the stories which were written down by someone else.  Or maybe several someone elses. 

So let’s just say the Gospel of Mark was written by one or more ghost writers.  It’s Mark’s story, as told by…

I really like the Gospel of Mark.  I always have.  He, whoever he may be, had a way of putting you right at the scene by telling stories of past events using the present tense.  Everything was written with a sense of urgency.  For instance, the phrase “and immediately” occurs forty-two times in Mark, which intensifies the feeling of everything happening right here, right now.  The clean, spare narrative adds to the effect.  It’s as if things were happening so fast, Mark didn’t have time for details.   He was the journalist on the scene, giving a blow-by-blow description of events as they happened.     

But clearly the gospel was written by more than a journalist.  He was also a believer in Jesus.  How else could he have told such outlandish stories—Jesus calming the seas with a word, feeding thousands on a few loaves and fishes, rising from the dead—without batting a lash?

No, I really don’t think Mark was a Buddhist.  That was just to get you to click on the link.  But as I read this Gospel, I started to notice something unique about Mark’s point of view.  Each of the authors of the Gospels has a particular focus.  Matthew wanted to convince his fellow Israelites that Jesus is the promised Messiah.  Luke, who traveled extensively with Paul, wanted the world to know Jesus came for the Gentiles as well. 

Mark, on the other hand, seemed to be writing for everyone and anyone.  He wasn’t writing to impress or persuade a particular group.  However, he was writing to get the reader’s attention, just as Jesus had apparently gotten his attention.   That’s what got me thinking of Buddhism.  According to Buddhism, there are six—not five—senses.  The first five are what we usually think of: hearing, seeing, touching, smelling and tasting.  The sixth sense is the ability to recognize what is going on in that crazy “monkey mind” of yours.  It’s the sense that says, “Pay attention.”  Don’t let your dull, repetitive, boxy, trashy thoughts distract you from what your other five senses are telling you.

When you do that, when you really pay attention, then your other five senses come brilliantly alive, and you are vividly present to your life, to the world, and to what the world is showing you.  This kind of attention makes every moment of life a sacred opportunity for awareness of what is beyond the five senses.  This kind of attention leads you to pray, to meditate, to become aware of the presence of God.  Maybe, I thought as I read, Mark is trying to wake up our sixth sense.  Maybe he is saying, “Pay attention.” 

Having the good sense to pay attention is a gift.  Most of us don’t have it.  It’s been blunted by the “rude noise of the world,” as a priest I once knew put it.  In part two of this reflection on the Gospel of Mark, I want to write about the ways Jesus calls us to prayerful attention through the healing of our senses.  

But you don’t have to wait till then to begin the spiritual work of coming to your senses.  There are several forms of Christian meditation that can help to cultivate a spirit of prayerful attention.  One is called Centering Prayer.  It is briefly described here.  Practice it and see what you think.