Read Sister Joan's comments on the spirituality of darkness.. A walk into the dark

The spiritual life does not come cheap. It is not a stroll down a Mary Poppins path with a candy-store God who gives sweets and miracles. It is a walk into the dark with the God who is the light that leads us through darkness.



Darkness, I have discovered, is the way we come to see. It creates the depressions that, once faced, teach us to trust. It gives us the sensitivity it takes to understand the depth of the pain in others. It seeds in us the humility it takes to learn to live gently with the rest of the universe. It opens us to new possibilities within ourselves.



Darkness is a very spiritual thing.



Myra B. Nagel has written, “The season of Lent is a time to reflect on the cross and its meaning for our lives.” There is no doubt in my mind that the cross is significant in any life. Who ever carries a cross and is the same at the end of the journey as they were at the beginning? The only question is the nature of the change. I have so far always been stronger at the end of struggle than I was at the outset. But I have always been more independent, distant, isolated, as well. That hasn’t been all bad—but it has, at the same time, taken its toll.



I have discovered over time that the cross is supposed to take its toll on us. It forms us to find God in the shadows of life. Ironically enough, it is the cross that teaches us hope. When we have survived our own cross, risen alive from the grave of despair, we begin to know that we can survive again and again and again, whatever life sends us in the future. It is this hope that carries us from stage to stage in life, singing and dancing around dark corners.



But hope is not a private virtue. Hope makes us witness to the invincibility of the spirit. The hope we bring to others becomes the one sure gift we have to give to those in pain.



The God of the Dance beckons us out of the caves of the soul to faith and trust and new beginnings. It’s when we get trapped in the past—in its details, and its shame, and its narrow boxes and short leashes—that life stops for us. When life is defined for us by others, we limit our sense of ourselves.



Darkness is one of the ways to God, provided we see it as leading to the light. Provided we don’t turn it into the death of our own soul.



—from Called to Question by Joan Chittister (Sheed & Ward)



The spiritual life does not come cheap. It is not a stroll down a Mary Poppins path with a candy-store God who gives sweets and miracles. It is a walk into the dark with the God who is the light that leads us through darkness.Darkness, I have discovered, is the way we come to see. It creates the depressions that, once faced, teach us to trust. It gives us the sensitivity it takes to understand the depth of the pain in others. It seeds in us the humility it takes to learn to live gently with the rest of the universe. It opens us to new possibilities within ourselves.Darkness is a very spiritual thing.Myra B. Nagel has written, “The season of Lent is a time to reflect on the cross and its meaning for our lives.” There is no doubt in my mind that the cross is significant in any life. Who ever carries a cross and is the same at the end of the journey as they were at the beginning? The only question is the nature of the change. I have so far always been stronger at the end of struggle than I was at the outset. But I have always been more independent, distant, isolated, as well. That hasn’t been all bad—but it has, at the same time, taken its toll.I have discovered over time that the cross is supposed to take its toll on us. It forms us to find God in the shadows of life. Ironically enough, it is the cross that teaches us hope. When we have survived our own cross, risen alive from the grave of despair, we begin to know that we can survive again and again and again, whatever life sends us in the future. It is this hope that carries us from stage to stage in life, singing and dancing around dark corners.But hope is not a private virtue. Hope makes us witness to the invincibility of the spirit. The hope we bring to others becomes the one sure gift we have to give to those in pain.The God of the Dance beckons us out of the caves of the soul to faith and trust and new beginnings. It’s when we get trapped in the past—in its details, and its shame, and its narrow boxes and short leashes—that life stops for us. When life is defined for us by others, we limit our sense of ourselves. Then we dismiss the God of Possibility from our lives. We refuse to become the more that we are. We sit on the dung heap of our past and make it our present. We fail to believe that God is. That God is in us. That God is calling us out of the darkness into the light.Darkness is one of the ways to God, provided we see it as leading to the light. Provided we don’t turn it into the death of our own soul. FROM THE HEART: Karen wrote, “I like the layout, the content, and the art.” She was one of many customers who dropped a note of appreciation for our Lenten pamphlet, Mercy, Misericordia by Joan Chittister. Because of your support we reprinted the pamphlet four times and were able to send 3,000 copies to prisoners through the

Karen wrote, “I like the layout, the content, and the art.” She was one of many customers who dropped a note of appreciation for our Lenten pamphlet, Mercy, Misericordia by Joan Chittister. Because of your support we reprinted the pamphlet four times and were able to send 3,000 copies to prisoners through the Joan Chittister Fund for Prisoners . Thank you. For info on the Fund for Prisoners, click here SEEK PEACE AND PURSUE IT: What can one person do to stem the barrage of violence in today’s world? In the March 2016



What can one person do to stem the barrage of violence in today’s world? In the March 2016 The Monastic Way , Joan Chitiister reflects on the words of Zen master, poet and peacemaker Thich Nhat Hahn—“If your steps are peaceful the world will have peace”—to offer some suggestions. Subscribe now to make sure you receive this issue. Check here for more information. LENTEN MEDITATION: The Dutch painter Rembrandt was a master of light and dark. One of his most famous paintings, The Return of the Prodigal Son, is a good meditation for Lent and for the Year of Mercy, initiated by Pope Francis. Henri Nouwen, the late spiritual writer, devoted an entire book to the painting. Here are the painting and quote.



“The true center of Rembrandt’s painting is the hands of the father. On them all light is concentrated; on them the eyes of the bystanders are focused; in them mercy becomes flesh; upon them forgiveness, reconciliation, and healing come together, and, through them, not only the tired son, but also the worn-out father find their rest.”

—Henri Nouwen on Rembrandt’s painting, The Return of the Prodigal Son

The Dutch painter Rembrandt was a master of light and dark. One of his most famous paintings, The Return of the Prodigal Son, is a good meditation for Lent and for the Year of Mercy, initiated by Pope Francis. Henri Nouwen, the late spiritual writer, devoted an entire book to the painting. Here are the painting and quote.“The true center of Rembrandt’s painting is the hands of the father. On them all light is concentrated; on them the eyes of the bystanders are focused; in them mercy becomes flesh; upon them forgiveness, reconciliation, and healing come together, and, through them, not only the tired son, but also the worn-out father find their rest.” VIDEO OF THE WEEK: On a lighter note, you can also celebrate Rembrandt by viewing this flashmob recreation of his painting, The Night Watch, that took place to mark the painting’s return to the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. On a lighter note, you can also celebrate Rembrandt by viewing this flashmob recreation of his painting, The Night Watch, that took place to mark the painting’s return to the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. Click here to view. SOUL POINTS: February 23: What are the Lenten and Easter season without some immersion in Handel’s “Messiah.” Today, when we mark Handel’s birthday (1685), is an appropriate time to listen to a selection from that masterpiece.



February 27: On this day in 1902 John Steinbeck, the author of the novel, The Grapes of Wrath, was born. What we don’t know, we are inclined to fear. Difference is the enemy of humanity. “The comfortable people in tight houses,” Steinbeck wrote, “felt pity at first, and then distaste, and finally hatred for the migrant people.” So sad.

—from A Monastery Almanac by Joan Chittister

What are the Lenten and Easter season without some immersion in Handel’s “Messiah.” Today, when we mark Handel’s birthday (1685), is an appropriate time to listen to a selection from that masterpiece. Click here On this day in 1902 John Steinbeck, the author of the novel, The Grapes of Wrath, was born. What we don’t know, we are inclined to fear. Difference is the enemy of humanity. “The comfortable people in tight houses,” Steinbeck wrote, “felt pity at first, and then distaste, and finally hatred for the migrant people.” So sad. POEM OF THE WEEK: Ever think about writing down your preferences among the many possibilities and doing it with a wry smile? The Nobel Prize poet Wislawa Szymborska did.



Possibilities



I prefer movies.

I prefer cats.

I prefer the oaks along the river.

I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.

I prefer myself liking people

to myself loving mankind.

I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.

I prefer the color green.

I prefer not to maintain

that reason is to blame for everything.

I prefer exceptions.

I prefer to leave early.

I prefer talking to doctors about something else.

I prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.

I prefer the absurdity of writing poems

to the absurdity of not writing poems.

I prefer, where love's concerned, nonspecific anniversaries

that can be celebrated every day.

I prefer moralists

who promise me nothing.

I prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.

I prefer the earth in civvies.

I prefer conquered to conquering countries.

I prefer having some reservations.

I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.

I prefer Grimms' fairy tales to the newspapers' front pages.

I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.

I prefer dogs with uncropped tails.

I prefer light eyes, since mine are dark.

I prefer desk drawers.

I prefer many things that I haven't mentioned here

to many things I've also left unsaid.

I prefer zeroes on the loose

to those lined up behind a cipher.

I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.

I prefer to knock on wood.

I prefer not to ask how much longer and when.

I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility

that existence has its own reason for being.



~ Wislawa Szymborska ~ FROM OUR READERS: Sr. Joan, Heartfelt thanks for your insightful and compassionate work, "

– R.S., Akron Ohio



For info on "A Month of Memories," Sr. Joan, Heartfelt thanks for your insightful and compassionate work, " A Month of Memories ." Along with songs, friends, and writing reflection, this work of yours has been most cathartic and helpful in making sense of my life after my wife's sudden passing just before Thanksgiving. Every once in a while, you read something you never thought of and no one ever could or no one ever tried to teach you...and you say...of course, that has to be true, that is the way it is for me. The grief of missing her is crushing me, yet leading me to a new and unknown future life. Thanks for providing such an insightful and compassionate road map to this journey I never would have chosen on my own. Continued blessings on your very important talents and works.For info on "A Month of Memories," click here Compiled by Mary Lou Kownacki and Benetvision Staff