The Thinning of the Veil

There is a belief among many that there exists places in the world where there is a thinning of the veil - the space between the natural and the spiritual world, or perhaps a liminal space that is set apart between the two. The" spiritual world" may mean different things to each of us. It could be thought of as the afterlife or heaven or just some other place that isn't "here." I have felt it on a few occasions. One of the most memorable was in Assisi, Italy but not in the basilica of either Francis or Clare, and not in the monastery. As I stood at the overlook outside the basilica and took in the vista of the valley below and the mountains in the distance, the words came to me, "This is holy ground." This is Holy Ground. I felt the thinness there, more like a thought brought to life, of this being a place that had somehow been sanctified and that all who walked this ground left with a grace that could be physically experienced as well as spiritually. I looked over at my companion to see if she felt it too. I was gifted with a slight smile and the two of us both somehow knowing this was a time to be still and enter into the space. I can go back to that vision of the Umbrian Valley in an instant and the accompanying feeling of being in the sacred.

On my recent Ignatian pilgrimage, I again felt the thinness of the veil in all the locales you would expect. As the biography of St. Ignatius of Loyola goes, Iñigo converted and dedicated his life to Jesus at the shrine to Mary in Montserrat and eventually wrote the Spiritual Exercises in Manresa. Each of these three locations, Loyola, Montserrat, and Manresa held incredible gifts for me as the veil lifted. In Loyola, I was fascinated being in the family home and gazing out the window where Ignatius contemplated the stars and the universe, sitting in the kitchen and wondering what was for dinner, and praying beneath the crucifix that he passed by without a moment's notice each day of his young life. But I more strongly felt the lifting of the veil as we walked into town and entered the Shrine of our Lady of Olatz where Ignatius regularly prayed to the Blessed Mother. The bucolic scene of the sloping hillsides covered by grazing sheep on one side of the four-lane street and vineyards on the other drew me in, experiencing the beauty that the Loyola community was a part of in the 1500s and suddenly I felt transported. I took photos so that I could forever remember the deep green of the inclines and relive the feeling of the nearness to God. The encounters in Montserrat and Manresa were similar but once again I didn't experience these holy ground moments inside the shrines, abbey, or basilicas. It was the natural world that called to me. The view of the mountains of Montserrat are of such incredible strength and beauty that your first thought can only be of the grandeur of God. The veil lifts and you listen for the call. It is no wonder that it was in this place, that Ignatius placed his sword at the feet of Mary and dedicated his life to her Son. As predictable as it is to say that I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit in the cave at Manresa, that is exactly what happened. Today the cave has no similarity in appearance to what it was when Ignatius frequented it, but nonetheless, I couldn't get enough of it. I was drawn to it each morning upon rising and at any spare moment I could carve out of our scheduled excursions. It was like a magnet pulling me back in to feel again and again the thinness of the veil. This, this is holy ground. It was for Ignatius 500 years ago and it always will be for any who enters into the space with an open mind and heart.

These places of thinness offer themselves to us as a place to think about the world and our place in it differently. We are given the invitation to come and pray, come and feel the presence of God, or just come and experience whatever it has to offer. The stories of these places feed our spirits and if only for a moment we put ourselves in the footsteps of Francis or Ignatius and consider a different way, a quieter way to be in the world.

Freedom

 The Spiritual Exercises written by St. Ignatius of Loyola profess that freedom comes from releasing our hold on possessions, people, and ideas. As we gradually learn to let go, our ego shrinks, taking its place in the background, and we come to understand a little more of what is to love God with our whole selves. I learned many years ago, the value of letting go of possessions and am well known among my circle of friends and family as being a bit of a minimalist. It is a skill that certainly made my cross country moves easier.  I have held on to the essentials and the "just in case" extra dishes and glassware but there are many things I only own two of - one to use now and one for the laundry. When I travel I like to make a game of only taking what I think I will need. I come home especially pleased if I wore everything I packed and there were no extras or unnecessary weight that went to and from my destination.  But I learned a valuable lesson recently on my pilgrimage to the Camino Ignaciano when a fellow pilgrim arrived with only her carryon luggage in tow.  Any frequent traveler has experienced this feeling of unwelcome lightness and it is always a little disturbing.  You walk about knowing that something is missing and as if your feet are no longer in touch with the ground.  But you remind yourself that mistakes happen, you've been through this before, and your luggage will eventually catch up with you.  

The word of Kelly's missing luggage was disseminated through our group's What's App texts long before we ever met its owner.  Her husband walked into the first group meeting introducing himself and assuring us that Kelly would also soon be in attendance.  As she entered the room, I was struck by her calm demeanor.  She gently took a seat and joked lightly about her lack of luggage.  In the days that followed I would never see her without that same serene smile.  

The itinerary of the pilgrimage was arranged so that we would have 2-3 nights in each location so we were all fairly certain that the missing suitcase would appear before leaving Azpeitia, the home town of Ignatius of Loyola.  Kelly worked with our host at the retreat center to speak with the travel agent and airport representatives to locate the wayward luggage.  No luck.  So off we went to Javier and still there was no sign of it.  All the while Kelly appeared each looking fresh and clean with that smile and often the white shirt we met her in on Day 1.  Now and then she and her husband would peel off from our group travels to locate a grocery store and emerge with a new shirt, a pair of shower shoes or other necessity.  They purchased only what was needed.  Every few days I would ask about the progress of finding her suitcase; she always responded with a voice that could only be called calm and placid.  There was never a hint of frustration or irritability.  I was amazed and the entire entourage all began to learn the lesson of true freedom through her.  Kelly had everything she needed: her loving husband by her side, she was part of a long awaited pilgrimage to follow in the footsteps of St. Ignatius, and was deeply loved and in love with God.  She could live the rest of her life without whatever was in that suitcase.  She had proved that over the last 12 days.

There was word of the lost luggage in Monserrat, again in Manresa, and yet again in Barcelona, the point of their return flight to Cleveland.  We joked that she could just recheck it on her homebound flight. But, incredible as it may seem, she left Spain with only her carryon and few shopping bags she had collected along the journey.  And it wasn't until a week later that she and her suitcase were reunited.  

I am grateful to have learned the importance of staying in the present moment on this pilgrimage.  Kelly's suitcase reminded me again that everything you need will be provided.  

Praying with the Monks

The bells rang slowly and I immediately fell into step with their rhythm but then I suddenly became aware of their low tones. It seemed that I could almost feel them more than hear them. They had the same resonance of my heart beat or maybe my breath, not the typical higher piercing pitches that call us to Sunday mass. I took a moment to breathe in the cool air of Montserrat and turned the corner entering the Abby. Last night we had prayed at the shrine of the Virgin of Montserrat. I knew it wasn't possible for anything to top that this morning. But I also wasn't going to miss an opportunity to be a part of the morning prayers with the Benedictine Monks. Surely, this was a once in a lifetime event. The few worshipers that began the trek alongside of me at the sound of the first bell slowly increased until as I reached the door I was one of many. 7:30 AM is definitely a favorite time of day for me but it's rare to be a part of a large group at that hour. I found my way to a seat in the first few rows and quickly lost any semblance of time or place. As the monks began walking into the worship space, my focus was entirely on each man. Some walked in alone, some in pairs, and some took a moment to be with the Virgin of Monserrat before coming down the stairs to pray. This is definitely not like videos I had seen with the Benedictines marching in single file and pealing off like a marching band to take their places in unison. So as each walked in, I put myself in his presence and thanked him for his lifelong dedication to prayer and chanting.

The prayer service began and I went back to my early days of converting to Catholicism as I looked for signs in the crowd as to when to sit and stand. No matter how focused you are, the novices are always a half beat behind the regulars and I could feel the dissonance in my missteps. The prayers and songs were, of course in Spanish so I was not connecting to the message, only the feeling of being in the presence of God in this new and solemn way. I somehow had the foreknowledge that this was a memory to which I was going to want and need to return. I had no desire to be that tourist filming the Benedictines at prayer but I did discreetly recored a minute or so of the audio. As time went on I became aware of another presence in my close proximity. It was quickly followed by a thought that was mine but from eons ago. At the same time as I felt the being and thought the thought, I recognized it as coming from 8 year old me. As clear as if one of my fellow worshipers had leaned over and whispered in my year, she said, "Can you believe we are here?" It startled me so that I had to confirm with my inner self that it had really happened. Yes, little Tere was here and with me in this place 5,000 miles and many decades away. When would this little pony-tailed girl growing up in rural Council Bluffs, Iowa in the 60s, and baptized as a Presbyterian ever have heard of the Benedictines? The conversation between us continued with more exclamations of wonder. "We are here, in SPAIN!" I looked to face her dead on and all I could do was smile. Yes, my little one. We have come so far from our childhood of long ago and here we are in Spain, following in the footsteps of St. Ignatius of Loyola and praying with the Benedictines. Who would have ever thought this could be possible? Only God.

Only God could have had a plan that would move a child from Iowa to Florida to California and 60 years later after several decades of teaching in Catholic and public schools find a way to guide her in the ways of the Ignatius and the Jesuits. And then at the end of that career present to her an opportunity to travel to Spain and follow the Camino Ignaciano accompanied by fellow Jesuit teachers and administrators. Only God.

The Pilgrim Returns

A few days ago I returned from 12 days in Spain and a pilgrimage from Azpeitia to Barcelona following the journey of Ignatius of Loyola. I went into this adventure with anticipated views of a dirt or rock path and little else. So I was certainly unprepared for the beauty of the mountains and valleys of the northern provinces of Spain. I also assumed that all would be revealed to me while walking the path of the Camino. Granted, there were thoughts and images that brought many questions to a close but I certainly did not receive any answers to the big questions: What do I do next? Which direction do I follow?

So what was it all about?

Gifts of the pilgrimage:

• God is with me. Traversing the mountain from Arantzazu was definitely a challenge and as I struggled to breathe and walk simultaneously I called on God (something I have struggled to do in real time of challenges). As I attempted to put one foot in front of the other I repeatedly told myself, God is here, God is with me, I am not alone.
• I am human with physical limitations. The last 3 miles down the mountain brought back to me the pain of my running years and the tightening of my IT Band. My only consolation was that if I could keep my knee from bending, I was pain free so I knew it wasn't anything serious. I was humbled to come to terms with the fact that I would not be walking the entire pilgrimage. I am grateful that experiences with half marathons taught me that every body has a tipping point and you just can't push past the pain without creating much more serious problems. "No!" rings through the air.
• Being in the same space of a man I have respected for years, 500 years later was quite overwhelming. I was breathing the air Iñigo breathed, I stood in his family kitchen, I stood beside his death mask and sat with him in the cave in Manresa where he too wrote his thoughts. I felt his spirit everywhere and struggled to leave behind each of those spaces.
• My plan of getting a simple tattoo before I left has grown into a much more complex design. I fear that no longer will it fit on my wrist where I would see it daily. I'm trusting that with Tessa's help, "all will be well."
• I can't explain how I know it, but I was reassured that my invitation to the Pierre Favre program in September is exactly where I need to be. The feeling that you are at least heading in the right direction is enough to know that this is the call.
• Being invited into the stillness. The quiet reflection of the pilgrimage has continued as I have returned home and attempt to find my place in the world again. I step slowly into my life once more. Returning home as retired is extremely helpful to my prayer practice. It is day 3 and I remain significantly outside the world. I am reconnecting with family and friends that I know will attempt to understand this experience or at least nod their heads knowing that whatever it is I experienced was something beyond language and was all good.

When people ask me about the pilgrimage, I just say Spain is beautiful. There is little else I can say about a pilgrimage that is supposedly a trek up and down a mountain and through the valleys toward the docks of Barcelona but in actuality mostly takes place in your inner being. So I slowly, ever so slowly reenter life extremely aware that God is guiding my steps if only I take the time to wait, ponder, and reflect.

Letter to my Spiritual Companion

As I continue to prepare mentally for the Camino, I am coming to terms with my understanding of a pilgrim and a pilgrimage.  This journey is becoming a symbol of my life here on earth.  I am a traveler learning and growing as I go through the weeks, months, and years of my life moving ever closer to God and the person I was created to be.  There have already been beautiful vistas to enjoy as well as the desolate deserts.  But in all of the times of my life, God has been beside me calling me nearer to the path that was created for me.  To be a pilgrim is to enter into the unknown, trusting that all will be well.  It means being present to your surroundings and learning to see the environment as part of the call forth - "Come and see."  This, all of this is for you to experience.  It is all laid out for you to either enjoy and be awestruck by or to learn from.  Part of the journey is to be present to the place, the people, knowing it is all part of the pilgrimage.  I want to take it all in and appreciate this liminal space and time that has been set aside to move through the transition into the next phase of my life.  To be a pilgrim is to be open to the unknown of what lies ahead.  It is to be courageous as you enter into this new frontier of what God has waiting for you.  It is to trust.  

Me as Pilgrim

 Within a matter of a few days, I will be retired once again and be boarding a plane bound for Spain. Upon my arrival I will be following in the footsteps of St. Ignatius as I pray my way from Loyola to Manresa.  I have no doubt that God has led me to this place in this precise time.  I am embracing the label pilgrim but it has been something I have had to define for myself.  Today I am sharing an unedited/unrevised entry from my journal.   

As I continue to prepare mentally for the Camino, I am coming to terms with my understanding of a pilgrim and a pilgrimage.  This journey is becoming a symbol of my life here on earth.  I am a traveler learning and growing as I go through the weeks, months, and years of my life moving ever closer to God and the person I was created to be.  There have already been beautiful vistas to enjoy as well as the desolate deserts.  But in all of the times of my life, God has been beside me calling me nearer to the path that was created for me.  To be a pilgrim is to enter into the unknown, trusting that all will be well.  It means being present to your surroundings and learning to see the environment as part of the call forth - "Come and see."  This, all of this is for you to experience.  It is all laid out for you to either enjoy and be awestruck by or to learn from.  Part of the journey is to be present to the place, the people, knowing it is all part of the pilgrimage.  I want to take it all in and appreciate this liminal space and time that has been set aside to move through the transition into the next phase of my life.  To be a pilgrim is to be open to the unknown of what lies ahead.  It is to be courageous as you enter into this new frontier of what God has waiting for you.  It is to trust. 

Final Thoughts on the Spiritual Exercises

God has called me his Beloved.  I am His and He is mine.  The Exercises began exactly where I left off in the cell of El Retiro more than five years earlier, feeling completely enveloped in the love of God and yet fearful of meeting God's deep loving gaze.  The loving gaze of God was something to which I would slowly grow accustomed during the Exercises and learn to welcome.  In the beginning, tears always accompanied this experience.  Who was I that God could love me so deeply?  This was followed by the hollowing out of my ego and sinful self to make room for the loving presence of God that would reside in me forever.  These were days of extreme discomfort and unexplainable tears. When it had passed, my promise was to love, honor, and praise God in my words, thoughts, and actions. I began to say Yes following the model of Mary and I never stopped. Yes to daily prayer, yes to listening for the still, small voice of God in whatever form it took, yes to my loved ones, yes to the call - whatever it might be.

Throughout the Exercises I "heard" God in new and astounding ways. My weekly meetings with Kelly, my Spiritual Guide, taught me to pay attention to the little things, to words and phrases that I repeated n my sharing from week to week or month after month. The result was a primary teacher's Word Wall on my bathroom mirror reminding me daily of how God was working in and through me. God spoke to me in my dreams - a totally new experience for this deep sleeper who has always yearned to remember her dreams. God woke me with songs in my head - some that I hadn't thought of for 30 years and some not since my childhood. What started as a lyrical mystery to be solved soon just became a welcome reminder that God was with me at all times and nudging me into an awareness of that presence in new and beautiful ways. I entered the world of Christian, not specifically Catholic, music and will never be he same. Prayer took over my life as a constant conversation with God. Each morning I started with my email devotionals as I always had but not until I had wished my Beloved a good morning and entered into deep gratitude for what may lie ahead in this day. I delayed my rising just to be in the loving presence of God. I felt his love surround me as I lay in the hollow of His cupped hands. I never found a systematic prayer time for the Exercises but I looked forward each day to sitting in my prayer chair and saying Hello to the God who was always waiting for my greeting. I learned to begin with quiet music to calm my head and after a few minutes would look up to hold God's loving gaze, the small act that would lead me into new and deeper understandings of my faith, my love, and myself. Ignatian Contemplation did not come easily to me but as I stuck with it (thanks once again, to encouragement from Kelly) the world of scripture as I had known it was broken wide open. Readings I had heard in church for decades, had read numerous reflections about , and had even taught in Religion classes suddenly held great epiphanies of what Jesus was all about and on a personal level, God's plan for me. As I traveled with Jesus during his ministry, God revealed to me what my own journey had been and what He still had in store for me. God spoke to me in my thoughts but they were easily recognizable as being of and from Him. He was now in my head and heart and spirit. My daily walks became time to give thanks for creation; I learned to slow down and embrace all that had been given to me; to give thanks to be in this place in this time. My days were filled with gratitude and I was finally learning to live in the moment and to be intentional. I could feel God's presence throughout my day and at times it was overwhelmingly powerful. Just as I started my days with God I looked forward to ending them there as well. In the daily Examen, God and I went through the day together, sharing all the people and events that held grace for me and were messages of where God was leading me. I finally understood the power of this simple prayer and how it leads to discernment ever so gently and assuredly day by day.

The urge became stronger and stronger to return home to the loving embrace of my family and friends, to my spiritual home of the Mission Church, to the work that had been left unfinished at Sacred Heart Nativity School. The voices were many; Lucia, my granddaughter whose dreams I will never again doubt, my mom who constantly found new ways to say she didn't need me in Florida and it was OK to leave, my friends who revealed to me that my presence would be a loving balm to their wounds; but more than all of these was the call of Jesus to return to the Eucharist. The only thing that all of these voices shared was their location - HOME. So the release began. I opened my tight fisted-hold on my home, my possessions, my plan and embraced the unmarked trail that was God's plan for me and me alone. I learned, for the first time in my life, to put my complete trust in a presence beyond that of my head or heart. I embraced Ignatius's prayer, the Suscipe and it became part of my daily mantra. (Take Lord, receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, my entire will - all I have and possess. You have given all to me, Now I return it. All of it is yours. Dispose of it according to your will. Give me only your love and your grace, that's enough for me.) I took on the easy yoke of Jesus and learned to love as He did, to leave my possessions behind and follow Him, and to look at the world through his compassionate eyes.

The me that I was, has been, and continues to change. I look forward to what God has planned for me as I listen for His voice in prayer, contemplation, music, and my dreams. I sit back and wait patiently, knowing that all God has planned for me is goodness. I was reminded of this at a recent homily about how God answers prayers - he responds with yes, not yet, or I have a better idea. I am trusting completely in all three of these answers as I discern God's plan for all the grace and blessings that wait for me in the days and years ahead.