This week, I was thrilled to read Catherine Anne Sullivan’s take on Finding God Along the Way in the Englewood Review of Books. Besides being positive promo, it’s going to bring my book to the attention of people well beyond the reach of my usual target-audience circles.
Catherine’s writing is gorgeous, so enjoy that for its own sake! Click on her name to explore more of her work.
Here’s the review, entitled Reflections Centering on Presence:
The most pointed insight I ever gained into the Prodigal Son story (Luke 15:11-32) came during a retreat skit performed by a group of West Chester University Newman Center students.
I remember no context—only that they’d been put into groups and assigned parables to act out. (BTW I can’t believe I made them do this. I skipped my own college orientation because I heard there were skits!)
Truly, I remember nothing about the enactment of the Prodigal Son until right after the guy playing the older brother—scandalized by the fatted calf’s having been killed to celebrate his rascally sibling’s return—turned on his father, saying, “You never gave me so much as a kid goat to celebrate with my friends.” Christopher Jowett, the tall, ponytailed dude who was playing the father (and who surely wouldn’t mind my quoting him without permission here, because it was awesome), spun around and thundered:
“YOU NEVER ASKED ME FOR A KID GOAT!”
I’m sure the skit went on from there, but I was done. Mic drop done. Convicted done.
Here’s what I grasped, in an instant. The younger boy’s departure had been a dagger in the heart, sure. “Give me the share of your estate that should come to me” was was just a polite way of saying, “I (literally) can’t wait for you to die.” But the older one’s reaction to his brother’s reappearance? That was a knife in the back.
The one who had seemed to serve faithfully by his side was actually in it for the reward? The one about whom he could say “you are with me always, and everything I have is yours” wanted more? The one who had borne witness to the depths of his grief still did not know him well enough to share his heart’s rejoicing?
This was a stranger.
The one who had borne witness to the depths of his grief still did not know him well enough to share his heart’s rejoicing.
Over the course of our lives, we may all vacillate along the continuum from the younger brother’s “dissolute living” to the elder brother’s life of “dutiful service,” with readers of this blog probably mostly avoiding the more dissolute end. We can’t be on our high horses about that, though, because it only means that’s not where our temptation lies.
That’s not where our temptation lies.
Our temptation—should you recognize yourself among the “older brother” types—is to serve dutifully but resentfully. Keeping careful records. Believing all the things that go right in our lives are because of our hard work and responsibility. Not recognizing the four hundred things a day that go right because of happenstance, privilege, or mercy.
Each time we fail to share God’s parental distress over every lost and suffering soul, or wholeheartedly celebrate each return to grace, we are the older brother.
I suspect there’s something there to convict us all, so I’ll end simply with this beautiful poem by Rumi, which I first encountered in Marilyn Lacey RSM’s marvelous book This Flowing Toward Me: A Story of God Arriving in Strangers. May we all recognize God’s flowing toward us today.
For sixty years I have been forgetful,
every minute, but not for a second
has this flowing toward me stopped or slowed.
I deserve nothing. Today I recognize
that I am the guest the mystics talk about.
I play this living music for my host.
Everything today is for the host.
Based in St. Louis, the Bridges Foundation provides ongoing formation in the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. I’m grateful to Steve Givens for this quick, fun chat about Finding God Along the Way.
And here’s Steve’s Lenten blog post, picking up where we left off!
Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye,
but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own? (Luke 6:41)
Thirty years ago tonight, Fr. Sam Verruni left the sacristy at West Chester University’s Newman Center with his vestments a mess. His chasuble was crooked, the back all caught up under the belt of his alb. Utterly oblivious to his disheveled state, he processed from the sacristy to his chair, and later from his chair to the ambo to proclaim the Gospel. After the congregation seated themselves for the homily, he called me out.
You see, I’d been conspicuously distracted, absorbed with trying to undo a knot in the cord of the cross I was wearing around my neck. I hadn’t looked up for the Gospel. I hadn’t looked up as the homily began. “Christine,” Sam said sharply, “Can I interest you in paying a little attention to what’s going on around you?”
“Well, Fr. Sam,” I replied . . . “Maybe you want to straighten out those vestments of yours first?”
The congregation, who’d been frozen in horror at Sam’s totally uncharacteristic meanness, burst out laughing. We took a little bow. I fixed his vestments, and he went on to preach about the Splinter and the Beam. I don’t remember what he said about the human tendency to harp on the faults of others while blithely ignoring our own. He probably doesn’t either.
But I’ll bet many people there that night remember Sam’s wonky vestments, and the homily he preached without words.
Ben was the publicist for my first two books, so we’ve been chatting about writing, passion projects, evolving career paths, and life/work balance for more than seven years now. I’m delighted to call him a friend.
Every time one of my books enters the world, Ben celebrates by hosting me on “This Podcast Will Change Your Life.” In 2018 he titled our conversation The Power of Stories; in 2022, it was A Whole Life.
Dip into our latest delightfully meandering conversation—aptly titled I Wanted to Write the Book—and see if the third time really is the charm.
I’m grateful to my Jesuit Media Lab friend Alli Bobzien for pitching and writing this beautiful review of Finding God Along the Way, which just posted in Today’s American Catholic. I’ve never had a book reviewed before! Two others may be pending, but props to Alli for being first across the finish line.
You can read more of her wonderful writing at The Pondering Heart.
This is my second time as a guest on Finding Favorites (here’s the first), and I must say that Leah Jones is a fabulous interviewer, for two reasons you’ll discover when you listen:
1) She walks me through the whole pilgrimage (no pun intended), asking great questions about the logistical and emotional aspects of our month-long adventure. I did not have any of those questions in advance, but quickly realized I could count on Leah to take the lead, allowing me to be fully present. (A very pilgrim-y experience!)
2) She brings her whole self to the conversation, from her Jewish faith to her cancer diagnosis. Even though I’ve only spoken with Leah twice in my life, recording the podcast felt like sliding into a diner booth with an old friend, skipping the superficial chit-chat and diving right into what really matters.
So, slide on into that booth with us and enjoy!
P.S., While you’re on Finding Favorites, see who else Leah Jones has interviewed; the conversation with her former rabbi was quite delightful.)
My gosh, did I have fun with this one. Fr. Brendan McManus’ The Way to Manresa helped prepare my heart for pilgrimage, and his newest gem, Living the Camino Back Home, is a filled with good advice for how to sustain one’s pilgrim heart. (Also, he kindly blurbed my book; what a guy!)
We shared stories and insights in a rich hour’s conversation with talented interviewer Eric Clayton. (That hour was preceded by almost half an hour of tech troubles, which may be why we sound so comfortable with one another!)
You can play straight from the image below, or visit the AMDG show notes for more information about the podcast and Fr. McManus’ books. (And while you’re there, you can check out the many other awesome AMDG episodes.) Enjoy!
When I returned from the Ignatian Camino, my challenge was to transform a personal experience of pilgrimage into a book that could touch the hearts of people who might never be able to walk away from their life for a month. Now that Finding God Along the Way is out in the world, a new challenge has arisen: transforming words on a page into living, interactive retreat experiences.
I can’t think of a more hospitable place to begin than the Cranaleith Spiritual Center, where last Saturday I led a morning retreat called “The Long Pilgrimage to Justice.” Moved by a spectrum of concerns, ten souls braved the cold to gather in a sunny room and ground themselves for the work ahead. Together, we considered how the metaphor of pilgrimage could allow us to keep our goal on the horizon while staying deeply present to what is right in front of us. Drawing on wisdom from the Ignatian Camino, we discussed finding our “one thing,” taking the next step, redefining failure, and equipping ourselves spiritually.
My favorite part came near the end. Thoughout the morning, I’d been sharing snippets that speak to me—Scripture verses, songs, poems, quotes, etc. Finally, I read a passage from Chapter Sixteen of my book, “It’s in There,” and invited people to share what they carry in their own “go-bag” of inspiration.
The responses began as slowly as an afternoon snowfall, but each offering encouraged the next until the room was blanketed by consolation. It was such a joy to hear people ask one another, “Wait, who was that author?” “What was the name of that song ?” “Tell me that website again!” Phones came out so folks could look things up; pens came out so we could write them down.
One gentleman shared a reflection from Unfolding Light that captured the spirit of the day. It began: Hope is not anticipation of a certain outcome, but trusting goodness. Though the world around us abounds in hateful rhetoric right now—with even people on “our side” (whichever side that may be) delighting in mean memes and zinging caricatures—it was refreshing to remember how much goodness dwells in people’s hearts and memory banks.
Hope is not anticipation of a certain outcome, but trusting goodness.
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
It made me realize that, just as January is a month in which many of us return to a healthier diet after the excesses of the holiday season, so is this a time to be careful about our mental consumption. What we read, watch, and listen to has a profound effect on our spiritual health. Let’s resolve to choose wisely!
Excerpt from Chapter Sixteen, “It’s in There”
“I know we’re supposed to be praying during the first two hours of every walk. Does repeatedly taking the name of the Lord in vain count?”
I cracked this joke at the end of a particularly pressured segment of hiking, but I wasn’t actually swearing my way across Spain. The only truth in that snarky remark was the word “repeatedly.” When the pace or terrain overwhelmed my ability to pray deeply (by which I mean conversationally, meditatively, or imaginatively), I took comfort in repeating words and phrases lodged in my memory.
It began during that long ascent to Arantzazu. Knowing that we were going to “visit” the Blessed Mother, I was thrown back to one of my mom’s favorite prayers, the Memorare. As I grew more exhausted by the climb, I resorted to repeating the last sentence like a mantra, in cadence with my steps: O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in your mercy hear and answer me.
Gradually, other words emerged from the deep. Once upon a time, I’d memorized a few prayers in Spanish, so I was able to pass a satisfying hour trying to drag those beloved lines out of the mental vault. Later, I challenged myself to piece together all four verses of Tagore’s “Friends Whom I Knew Not,” which I’d quoted extensively in my book Finding God Abiding. In both cases, something about the combination of meaningful words and mental exercise sustained me for quite a while.
Various Scripture passages joined the parade of words in my head. Walking through the mountains, I recalled the beginning of Psalm 121: “I will lift up my eyes unto the hills, from whence shall come my help.” On another day, I clung to St. Peter’s incredulous exclamation after Jesus asked if he wanted to jump ship like other faint-hearted followers: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of everlasting life.” Mile after mile, the rhythmic “Lord, to whom shall we go?” reminded me that there was nowhere I’d rather be.
Certain hymns also provided prayerful refuge. Gospel songs such as “Guide My Feet” and “We’ve Come This Far by Faith” encouraged me to press on. The sight of a little dead bird evoked “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” assuring me that I was not alone. Even though such repetitive prayer isn’t ordinarily my style, I’m grateful to have had access to such richness under duress.
In the age of smartphones, the ability to “look anything up” is both a gift and a curse. Though vast amounts of information are there at our fingertips, the convenience discourages committing things to memory. But even if I’d had cell service in the Cantabrian mountains, what would I have done—pulled out my phone and said, “Hey Siri: What’s a good prayer, poem, Scripture, or song for when you’ve climbed higher than you would have thought possible but still have an impossible distance to go?” (Okay, I just tried it, and got a link to “30 Prayers to Give You Peace of Mind When You Need It Most,” but there’s no way I could have flipped through them without dropping my phone or dropping out of the pack!)
Back in the late 80s, a series of Prego spaghetti sauce commercials featured the slogan “It’s in there!” (All the ingredients a home cook could want, right in one convenient jar.) Prego is Italian for “You’re welcome,” so perhaps that’s God’s response as I offer thanks for all the heartening words that dwell in my memory banks and offer themselves as needed. “Prego!”
I am grateful to my friend Alli Bobzien (whom I met during the amazingly generative “Ignatian Creators Summit” offered by the Jesuit Media Lab last summer) for offering me a guest spot on her Substack, The Pondering Heart.
In it, I dive into my long-standing gripe about tomorrow’s Gospel and how I finally got my heart around it.
While you’re on Alli’s site, be sure to poke around and read some of her own beautiful writing. My favorites among recent posts are “The Heart of the Fire” and “The Inkeeper’s Daughter.” The first is a poem and the second a dive into historical/biblical fiction, but both are gorgeous!
Click the image below to read on . . .
Christine Marie Eberle 