Lessons From the Last Leaf

Lessons From The Last Leaf

“Everyone whom I allow to touch me in my weakness and help me to be faithful to my journey to God’s home will come to realize that he or she has a gift to offer that may have remained hidden for a very long time. To receive help, support, guidance, affection, and care may well be a greater call than that of giving all these things because in receiving I reveal the gift to the givers, and a new life together can begin.”—Henri Nouwen in You are the Beloved (Convergent Books 2017).

 A single autumn leaf has been clinging to the wood frame of my office window for weeks. It is the first and last thing I look for as my day begins and ends. It reminds me of one of my favorite O. Henry short stories, “The Last Leaf.” A young artist in New York’s Greenwich Village at the turn of the last century loses her will to live and succumbs to pneumonia. She watches from her window as the cold winter wind blows leaves from a tree branch growing along the side of a nearby adjacent building. She decides when the last leaf falls, she will die. She eventually watches the last leaf miraculously remain on the tree until she regains her will to live. Later, she discovers that an older artist in her building, whose own realistic paintings rarely sell, heard her story. He spends a night in the cold, while she sleeps, painting a leaf on the wall of the building. Shortly after he paints “his masterpiece” to save her life, he also dies from the pneumonia epidemic.

Of course, the story is one of sacrifice of love for another human, reminiscent of the story of the good Samaritan. It is also a story of hope. How do we offer people that they will not remain in despair? There is a promise of Easter after every Good Friday experience. But that promise of light in the darkness can be difficult without the help of others. The darkness forgets what light is like. We see and read about this hope from others. The story of old Simeon and Anna at the temple in Jerusalem at Jesus’ presentation reminds us of the promise that the Christ Child will always come to us.  

I also see this story about the use of our gifts and talents. We may think our abilities are minor compared to others, maybe even worthless. But there will be a time when what we have to offer is more significant than what others can offer. We will be called to use our talent at the right time, when no one else will be there to help.

Advent is a time to watch, wait, and pray that we will be open to offering what we consider as our “insignificant masterwork” that will make a difference in the life of another.

Joanna. joannaseibert.com

Holy Listening

Holy Listening

“Listening creates a holy silence. When you listen generously to people, they can hear truth in themselves, often for the first time. And in the silence of listening, you can know yourself in everyone. Eventually, you may hear, in everyone and beyond everyone, the Unseen singing softly to itself and you.”—Rachel Naomi Remen, Kitchen Table Wisdom from InwardOuward.org, Church of the Saviour Daily Quote.

One of my partners at work gave me this book by Rachel Remen, another physician who writes about the spiritual life in the ordinary. I remember the book, but I also remember the giver’s kindness. I offer thanks for Richard and the times, often very holy, that we had together. I have learned that books are meaningful to me for what is in them and for the person who gifted the book.

We have discussed holy listening often, especially from Margaret Guenther and her book Holy Listening, the Art of Spiritual Direction. The message I keep hearing this Advent is to make sacred listening with those I disagree with as part of my Advent discipline. For example, my husband and I listen to a news program for brief periods, interpreting the news differently from what we usually hear. How do we then learn and search for the truth? I don’t know the answer, but at least hearing a different story and interpretation of what is happening can help us understand why others believe what they do.

There is also another setting where I am trying to be a holy listener. I sometimes find myself with people who speak up too often and sometimes have what I interpret as boring words to offer. In the past, I would cut them off and try to escape from the conversation. During this season, I have been trying to listen and listen for the Christ within them.

 I have difficulty seeing and hearing Christ in them when I have lost my connection to Christ within myself. Christ, the God, the holy, the Spirit within us, can make that sacred contact. I think that is our job. If we stay connected to the God within, we will discern the answers we hear in holy listening and enter into relationships with those so different.

I am holding on to this hope.

Joanna.  Joannaseibert.com

Water and Desert in Advent

 Encountering Water and Desert in Advent

 Guest Writer: Dr. Elizabeth-Anne Stewart

Banks of the Jordan River

We need both the desert and water, that time of aridity, and that time of refreshment and cleansing. These seeming opposites belong together: on its own, the desert is a fearsome place that can leave us at the mercy of sand storms, scorpions, wild beasts, night terrors, and agonizing thirst; on its own, water lets us float aimlessly or else tugs at us relentlessly until we are swept away by powerful currents or else battered by tempestuous waves.

 To linger in the desert too long places us at the mercy of demons, while to dive deep into unknown waters can lure us into forgetfulness and oblivion. Alone in the desert, we are left to face our worst selves and to relive the pain of lives past-- forgotten memories of what we have done and what we have failed to do, of promises made and broken, of relationships that ended with a bang or a whimper, of opportunities missed.

Alone in the water, we lose all agency as the waves and rippling currents do what they will, lulling us into complacency or leaving us struggling for survival...

But together, desert and water are balms for the soul. In silence and solitude, we remember; in water, we are "re-membered" or made whole again. The desert brings insight, allowing us to see how we have been responsible for much of our pain, primarily because of our attachments and ego needs; at the same time, it allows us to understand why others may have harmed us, to see how their own wounded selves have caused them to be cruel, unjust or indifferent. For its part, water washes over us, cleansing our hearts and minds, soothing our aching limbs, and accepting our tears of grief and remorse.

Just as in the days of John the Baptist, the people of Judea flocked to the desert to be immersed in the waters of the River Jordan, so we, too, need to seek out both desert and water, both insight and forgiveness. This desert/water immersion is neither an empty ritual nor a mere obligation. It is not about trying to feel good, getting rid of guilt and regrets, being "saved," becoming righteous, or preparing for Judgement Day. Instead, it is an opportunity to encounter the God who dwells in both desert and water, to be with the One who was driven by the Spirit into the desert to find his mission and identity, and who had the power to calm turbulent waters. In his company, we look to the desert to find life, not death; at his bidding, we plunge into the maelstrom to learn to walk on water...

For all its glitter and frenetic activity, Advent is a desert season. Still, while we in the northern hemisphere celebrate a snowy wonderland in our carols, it is the living water that brings life to the desert--the inexhaustible streams of God's love and mercy that are ever-present in those places where even angels fear to tread, flowing through the wasteland, the scorched earth and the parched lands...

Elizabeth Stewart

Joanna joannaseibert.com

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