By:

Jim Earles

Program Coordinator, Shalom Spirituality Center

I consider myself to be an amateur enthusiast of foraging for edible plants. I am tempted to use the word “weeds,” but that term carries some negative baggage! It can be rather subjective to refer to a plant as a weed, but it often boils down to human beings simply not wanting that plant to be growing in a certain spot. Farmers who are intentionally planting one field with corn and another with soybeans might refer to some errant stalks of corn in the bean field as “weeds,” even though that is the desired crop in another location. My in-laws, who are farmers, tell me that the term for this is “volunteer corn,” which has less of a negative connotation than “weeds.” Following along the lines of this terminology, I own one edible wild foods manual called The Volunteer Vegetable Handbook. I like the sound of that!

While I am not terribly skilled at searching for “volunteer vegetables” out in the woods, I’ve gotten pretty good at doing so in my own yard. I can safely identify and make use of dandelions, wild violets, plantain, sourgrass, pigweed, clover, mullein, purslane, catnip, amaranth, nettles, and ground ivy. The practice of trying to identify these plants has made me more mindful of where they grow. Strangely, one of the places that I notice most is the cracks.

To quote a famous Leonard Cohen song, “There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” In certain cases, we might change that to, “That’s how the dirt gets in.” I’m referring to all of the places in this world where human beings have covered large portions of the earth with cement or asphalt, such as with sidewalks, parking lots and roads. I think of these as being like scars on the earth—places where green things are no longer free to grow. However, even the strongest and thickest cement will develop cracks. Eventually, the wind will blow just a tiny bit of soil into that crack and something green will start growing out of it. I often take note, when I’m waiting at a red light amidst the Nature-free barrenness of a busy intersection, that there are scraggly little plants growing out of cracks in the median. I feel sorry for those plants, eking out a lonely existence as an endless litany of cars pass by, but I simultaneously feel inspired by them.

In the most unlikely of places, little bits of life will still come forth.

The little “volunteer vegetables” do their best to grow amidst challenging circumstances, and those challenging circumstances are almost always brought about as a result of human activity. I am humorously reminded of a fictional conversation between St. Francis and God, which makes the rounds online. I’m not sure who originally wrote this, so I can’t give credit where credit is due, but here are the opening lines in that conversation:

GOD: Frank, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistles, and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect, no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought, and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honeybees, and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But all I see are these green rectangles.

ST. FRANCIS: It’s the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers “weeds” and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

GOD: Grass? But it’s so boring. It’s not colorful. It doesn’t attract butterflies, birds, and bees, only grubs and sod worms. It’s temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.

The conversation continues, but that’s enough for now. What this fictional discussion says to me is that God’s plan always involves life blossoming forth, in variety and abundance. Human progress and ingenuity frequently involve an attempt to override Nature and hold things in a state of stasis. We want nothing to be able to grow in this patch of land in which we deem as a parking lot or an interstate highway. We want nothing but a strictly defined monoculture growing in our crop lands and our front yards. And this attitude is not confined only to plant life. We want animal wildlife to stay off the roads that we have built directly through their homes. We want the “desirable wildlife” to show up in abundance at our bird feeders and in our butterfly gardens, but the skunks, possums, rodents, insects, etc. need to know their place and stay away! All of these notions may seem perfectly logical to human beings, but they run contrary to God’s plans.

When we stop trying so hard to resist blossoming-forth of life, we open a space within ourselves for gratitude.

Those scraggly plants growing in the median of the highway are teaching us about resilience and bringing beauty to challenging circumstances. Those dandelions that pop up in our lawns bring color and a delicious addition to your salad bowls (if they haven’t been sprayed). The deer that ran perilously close in front of your car is a beautiful, graceful creature, living out its life as best it can. The squirrel who eats all of the seed you left out for the birds will be happy to pay you back with a delightful show of acrobatics as it scampers away following its meal. These are all occasions for us to develop a habit of gratitude.

REFLECTION:

What challenging or frustrating experiences in your life might be opportunities to develop gratitude?

Is there a story you would be willing to share about how you have already done this? 

By:

Father Mario Domínguez

Franciscan Associate, guatemala

See Spanish translation below — Consulte la traducción al español a continuación

Saving oneself or offering oneself in a pandemic situation. Where is perfect Joy?

It was during the time of the pandemic (Covid-19), when, for preventive measures, confinement in homes was decreed. Commerce stopped; the streets were empty. Church buildings were closed and the sacramental life of the faithful was reduced to virtual participation.

People began to die, among them, dear, irreplaceable friends. We all secluded ourselves. Fear arose, and extreme measures were put in place for distancing to avoid contagion.

In that time of such circumstances and needs, the Word of God appealed to my conscience. Meditating on the quote from Mt. 10:39: "Whoever finds his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for me will find it," I thought I couldn't stay locked up without taking care of the spiritual needs of the people who needed me. I had to lose my fear and to look for ways to support, accompany, and strengthen them.

In the parish, we began to distribute food until our funds ran out, thinking that the pandemic would last only a short time. The money was indeed depleted, but the pandemic continued.

We began to pray every night, before the exposed Blessed Sacrament. People started to connect with us, sharing their names and their prayers. Some time later, people commented to me how much comfort they received in those moments! The holy hours went on for two years, night after night, as we prayed and prayed.

I began to visit the sick when they requested it and celebrated with them the Sacrament of the Sick. Many had Covid-19, although their relatives preferred to tell me that it was pneumonia. I also offered prayers for the deceased, in funeral homes and in private residences, regardless of ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The important thing was to bring God's comfort.

To administer the Sacrament of Reconciliation, since it was not possible inside the church building, I went out to the atrium, armed with a small screen made of PVC pipes and lined with transparent plastic. On Thursdays and Saturdays, many people came. The two hours, sometimes three, that I dedicated to it were insufficient.

The most painful experiences were: praying and saying goodbye by video call to a parishioner brother, already in agony, and encouraging him in his passing; visiting and giving the last rites and viaticum to a brother priest who died in the early morning; waiting for the body of another brother priest outside the hospital and accompanying him to the grave, with all the restrictions and care imposed by the authorities; and offering the prayers for the deceased for another brother priest from afar, at the entrance to the cemetery, because that was the only way possible.

I also recorded daily meditations for about 150 days and sent them via WhatsApp to all the contacts I had. The purpose was to accompany, strengthen, and encourage. We made some videos with those same topics and posted them on the parish’s Facebook page.

Why do I share all of this? To meditate on the theme of "Perfect Joy" through a personal experience.

In the face of a pandemic and the possibility of contagion and likely death, the logical thing to do is to seclude yourself and to take care of yourself. Yet, the Word of God questioned me so that, at that moment, I could not be afraid. I couldn't "save my life" because that would be to lose it. That made me leave my fears behind and go out and bring God's comfort to sick people and their families.

That experience helped me to live life with greater intensity, to celebrate it every day. It also helped me to be a little freer. Joy arose from letting go of the fear of contagion and death, in this specific situation of the pandemic; and without ceasing to be careful with my health, to see an opportunity to give myself, offering what from my priestly ministry I could give, consolation and the closeness of God. I am thankful for that.

REFLECTION:

Perfect joy is a gratuitous gift. When have you received the capacity to respond positively in a difficult situation?

¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

By:

Padre Mario Domínguez

Franciscan Associate, guatemala

Guardarse u ofrecerse en una situación de pandemia. ¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

 Fue en los tiempos de pandemia (Covid-19), cuando por medidas preventivas, se decretó el confinamiento en las casas. Se detuvo el comercio, las calles quedaron vacías. Los templos se cerraron y la vida sacramental de los fieles se redujo a la participación virtual.

Comenzaron a morir personas, entre ellos, amigos entrañables, insustituibles. Todos nos recluimos. Surgió el miedo, los distanciamientos y medidas para evitar el contagio se hicieron extremas.

 En tales circunstancias y necesidades, la Palabra de Dios, me llamó a la conciencia. Meditando la cita de Mt. 10, 39: “El que encuentre su vida, la perderá; y el que pierda su vida por mí, la encontrará”, pensé que no podía quedarme encerrado sin atender las necesidades espirituales de las personas que las necesitaban. Debía perder el miedo y buscar formas de cómo apoyarles, acompañarlas, y fortalecerles.

 Comenzamos a repartir víveres, con los fondos parroquiales, hasta que se agotaron, pensando que era cosa de poco tiempo. El dinero se agotó y la pandemia siguió.

 Comenzamos a orar, todas las noches, con el Santísimo Sacramento expuesto. Las personas comenzaron a conectarse y a compartir sus nombres y oraciones. Tiempo después, me comentaron, ¡Cuánto consuelo recibieron en aquellos momentos! Las Horas Santas se prolongaron por dos años, noche tras noche, orando, orando.

 Empecé a visitar enfermos, cuando me lo pedían, y darles la unción o extremaunción. Muchos de ellos enfermos de Covid 19, aunque los familiares preferían decirme que era pulmonía. También a ofrecer responsos por los difuntos, en funerarias y en casas, sin importar jurisdicción eclesiástica. Lo importante era llevar el consuelo de Dios.

 Para administrar el Sacramento de la Confesión, puesto que no se podía en el interior del templo, salí al atrio, armado de un pequeño cancel hecho con tubos de pvc y forrado con un naylon transparente. Los días jueves y sábado. Las personas acudieron. Las dos horas, a veces tres, que dedicaba a ello, eran insuficientes.

 Las experiencias más dolorosas fue orar y despedir a un hermano feligrés, que ya estaba en agonía por video llamada, orando y animándole en su trance; visitar y darle la extremaunción y viático a un hermano sacerdote que falleció en la madrugada; esperar el cadáver afuera del hospital a otro hermano sacerdote y acompañarle hasta la tumba, con todas las restricciones y cuidados que imponían las autoridades; y ofrecer un responso, de lejos, porque solo eso se podía, a otro hermano sacerdote en la entrada del cementerio.

 Así también, grabé meditaciones diarias y las enviaba vía wasap, a todos los contactos que tenía, fueron alrededor de 150 días. El fin era acompañar, fortalecer, animar. Hicimos algunos videos con esos mismos temas por el Facebook parroquial.

 Y todo esto, ¿Por qué lo comparto? Para meditar sobre el tema de la “Alegría perfecta” a través de una experiencia personal.

 Ante una pandemia y la posibilidad de contagio y muy probablemente la muerte, lo lógico es recluirse y cuidarse.

 La Palabra de Dios, me cuestionó, que no podía en ese momento, estar con miedo. No podía “guardar mi vida” porque eso era perderla. Eso me hizo perder el miedo, dejar los temores y salir y llevar el consuelo de Dios a las personas enfermas y sus familiares.

 Esa experiencia me ayudó a vivir la vida con mayor intensidad, a celebrarla cada día. También a ser un poco más libre. La alegría surgió de soltar el miedo al contagio y a la muerte en esta situación concreta de la pandemia; y sin dejar de ser cuidadoso con mi salud, ver una oportunidad de darme, ofreciendo lo que desde mi ministerio sacerdotal podía dar: El Consuelo y la cercanía de Dios. Agradecido por eso.

Guardarse u ofrecerse en una situación de pandemia. ¿En dónde está la Alegría perfecta?

 Fue en los tiempos de pandemia (Covid-19), cuando por medidas preventivas, se decretó el confinamiento en las casas. Se detuvo el comercio, las calles quedaron vacías. Los templos se cerraron y la vida sacramental de los fieles se redujo a la participación virtual.

Comenzaron a morir personas, entre ellos, amigos entrañables, insustituibles. Todos nos recluimos. Surgió el miedo, los distanciamientos y medidas para evitar el contagio se hicieron extremas.

 En tales circunstancias y necesidades, la Palabra de Dios, me llamó a la conciencia. Meditando la cita de Mt. 10, 39: “El que encuentre su vida, la perderá; y el que pierda su vida por mí, la encontrará”, pensé que no podía quedarme encerrado sin atender las necesidades espirituales de las personas que las necesitaban. Debía perder el miedo y buscar formas de cómo apoyarles, acompañarlas, y fortalecerles.

 Comenzamos a repartir víveres, con los fondos parroquiales, hasta que se agotaron, pensando que era cosa de poco tiempo. El dinero se agotó y la pandemia siguió.

 Comenzamos a orar, todas las noches, con el Santísimo Sacramento expuesto. Las personas comenzaron a conectarse y a compartir sus nombres y oraciones. Tiempo después, me comentaron, ¡Cuánto consuelo recibieron en aquellos momentos! Las Horas Santas se prolongaron por dos años, noche tras noche, orando, orando.

 Empecé a visitar enfermos, cuando me lo pedían, y darles la unción o extremaunción. Muchos de ellos enfermos de Covid 19, aunque los familiares preferían decirme que era pulmonía. También a ofrecer responsos por los difuntos, en funerarias y en casas, sin importar jurisdicción eclesiástica. Lo importante era llevar el consuelo de Dios.

 Para administrar el Sacramento de la Confesión, puesto que no se podía en el interior del templo, salí al atrio, armado de un pequeño cancel hecho con tubos de pvc y forrado con un naylon transparente. Los días jueves y sábado. Las personas acudieron. Las dos horas, a veces tres, que dedicaba a ello, eran insuficientes.

 Las experiencias más dolorosas fue orar y despedir a un hermano feligrés, que ya estaba en agonía por video llamada, orando y animándole en su trance; visitar y darle la extremaunción y viático a un hermano sacerdote que falleció en la madrugada; esperar el cadáver afuera del hospital a otro hermano sacerdote y acompañarle hasta la tumba, con todas las restricciones y cuidados que imponían las autoridades; y ofrecer un responso, de lejos, porque solo eso se podía, a otro hermano sacerdote en la entrada del cementerio.

 Así también, grabé meditaciones diarias y las enviaba vía wasap, a todos los contactos que tenía, fueron alrededor de 150 días. El fin era acompañar, fortalecer, animar. Hicimos algunos videos con esos mismos temas por el Facebook parroquial.

 Y todo esto, ¿Por qué lo comparto? Para meditar sobre el tema de la “Alegría perfecta” a través de una experiencia personal.

 Ante una pandemia y la posibilidad de contagio y muy probablemente la muerte, lo lógico es recluirse y cuidarse.

 La Palabra de Dios, me cuestionó, que no podía en ese momento, estar con miedo. No podía “guardar mi vida” porque eso era perderla. Eso me hizo perder el miedo, dejar los temores y salir y llevar el consuelo de Dios a las personas enfermas y sus familiares.

 Esa experiencia me ayudó a vivir la vida con mayor intensidad, a celebrarla cada día. También a ser un poco más libre. La alegría surgió de soltar el miedo al contagio y a la muerte en esta situación concreta de la pandemia; y sin dejar de ser cuidadoso con mi salud, ver una oportunidad de darme, ofreciendo lo que desde mi ministerio sacerdotal podía dar: El Consuelo y la cercanía de Dios. Agradecido por eso.

REFLECTION:

La “alegría perfecta” es un don gratuita. ¿Cuándo has recibido la capacidad de responder de manera positiva a una situación difícil?