Does a day go by when we don’t feel a tinge of chagrin caused by the persons around us? I mean, after all, why can’t people be like me perfect in every way? The ideas of Julian of Norwich and those of Teilhard de Chardin remind me that we’re all in this together, so let’s make it work!

Lady Julian of Norwich wrote: “By myself I am nothing at all, but in general, I AM in the oneing of love. For it is in this oneing that the life of all people exists.” Julian is speaking, first of all, of the oneing in the Trinity, that Mystery of Relationship in love, three persons in One God unified in total outpouring of love and creativity. She is also writing of the union, the oneing, of all created things centuries before Teilhard de Chardin wrote The Divine Milieu.  Julian continues: “The love of God creates in us such a oneing that when it is truly seen, no person can separate themselves from another person. In the sight of God all humans are oned, and one person is all people and all people are in one person.”

Recently I read an article about the millions of microbes in and around me—how in some way they’ve been around since the Big Bang and will continue in existence, how they are all necessary in the plan of creation. I’ve been making myself more conscious of the interdependence of all things. Maybe I achieved a bit more consciousness when I found myself apologizing to the microbes as I cleaned the sinks with disinfectant.

Today give an apology to Planet Earth and think of ways to preserve her.

It’s jubilee time in the convent, and there’s so much to celebrate! We have jubilarians of joy professed 75 years ago. They have been a joy to us and to those to whom they ministered.  We have iron jubilarians professed 65 years ago. They are still giving their firstfruits, while anticipating the final harvest already reaped through Christ’s dying and rising. We have diamond jubilarians professed 60 years ago. God has been fashioning them all these years into radiant jewels. We have golden jubilarians professed 50 years ago. Their lives have been the golden chords that echo the mighty song of all God’s People. They still have miles to go, as they are continually being refined into purest gold. We have ruby jubilarians professed 40 years ago. Their apostolic spirit shines with enthusiasm and glowing love.  We have silver jubilarians professed 25 years ago. They have given their lives in total dedication, just as every Sister has. So raise your glass—er, prayer–in praise and thanksgiving to God and to our jubilarians.

The challenge of the Christian life is to become steeped in God. The method: I the water and God the tea bag. That sounds odd, for Jesus spoke of himself as living water. But I would have no power to change clear water into green tea. God is the One who can transform me. I simply need to receive the tea bag, allowing it to work its transformation. As I let myself become steeped in God, the union of tea and water becomes tea. Because  God wanted to be steeped in the human condition,  God became one of us. God became human. Fully one with humanity, God steeps the Godself in each of us, allowing us to become divine. Enjoy the brew, and drink its responsibility.

Thank you, God, for buzzing things,

For humming things, for chirping things,

For crocuses, first cheery signs of spring.

For irises purpling the drive,

For perennials on cue opening wide,

For colors that flaunt in unabashed pride,

For strawberries scenting the sky,

For vines that furtively pry,

For white daffodils so shy,

For the daisy, the “day’s eye,”

For creation buzzing, croaking, singing,

Crawling, slinking, winging,

For people of every race and nation,

For Christ, the Lord of all creation,

Praise, O God, and endless thanksgiving

In your Spirit, the power of all that’s living.

 Bobbing in the breeze, miniature pansies begged, like baby robins. When I didn’t water them, their faces became question marks—two dozen questions without answers.

When I walked down the path, I thought of the answer Jesus may have given: “Or take the lilies; they do not spin, they do not weave; but I tell you, Solomon in all his splendor was not arrayed like any one of them . . . Stop worrying” (Lk. 12:27, 29).

Have you ever begged God for something, but never received it for a very long time, but then the request fell into your lap? Perhaps you thought, “Maybe I better duck when I ask in complete dependence upon God!” There is no need to worry.

O God, teach me trust. Help me learn the lesson that there is no need to worry. Let me be like the flowers which, without worry or care, grace the world in splendor.

The flower garden’s dainty carpeting of Sweet Woodruff had wandered a few inches to introduce itself to the grass. Hostas were performing acrobatic acts upon their slender stalks. The auricular seemed to form their own garden club with the Snow Lady calling the meeting to order. The poppy mallows reveled in the sun. Pink turtlehead laughed in the corner. The sun sank lower, darkness letting the weeds escape detection. It was now too late to start weeding. I had chosen the better part—delighting in the flowers.

As a liturgist/musician I participate in nearly every act of worship in the parish. This should make me holy, don’t you think? But it doesn’t seem to be working that way. The liturgy can easily wash over me without my participating in the reality.

Ron Rolheiser writes: “We participate in Jesus’ sacrifice when we, like him, let ourselves be broken down, when we, like him, become selfless. The Eucharist, as sacrifice, invites us to become like the kernels of wheat that make up the bread. . . broken down and crushed, so that we can become part of communal loaf. . . .”

Am I willing to become crushed wheat? Or is that just a heroic thought that flies away like the chaff at the slightest irritation or affront to my ego? But I can return the next day with the chaff and once again ask to become transformed, to become what I eat—the Body of Christ.

I’ve walked through gardens where the owners named every plant, and I’ve walked through woods with persons who could name the wildflowers and identify the trees. I’ve read books on flowers classified with phylum, genus, and species. The naming indicates an ownership that escapes those who can only point to plants and say, “I wonder what those are.”

One difference between wildflowers and “tame” flowers is the name. Garden plots are dotted with empty seed packets impaled on sticks that let us know exactly what to expect, but there are no signs in the woods where it’s difficult to know a cinquefoil from a yellow-flowered wild strawberry.

By naming us, God has “tamed” us. God has made us God’s own and has given us a mission. This mission corresponds to our personal God-giving name.  Do you know God’s name for you? Do you know your mission?  To find out, you might begin with these steps:

1. Think of your favorite Scripture passages. Is there a common theme among them?
2. Reflect on your unique talents and spiritual gifts.
3. Who is Jesus for you?  In other words, who is “my Jesus”?
4. As you begin to decide upon your name and your personal mission, look back             over your life to see whether the name and mission may fit you consistently.