For other entries on Spirituality of Late Life see Spirituality of Late Life Part 1 below.
DEFINITION OF LATE LIFE SPIRITUALITY
So what is Spirituality of Later Life?
The second half of life offers many opportunities for spiritual growth. Late life is often a period of intense inner activity - a sorting out of decisions, relationships and commitments made during one’s lifetime. Psychologists call this process life review. Spiritual directors tell us that this looking inward can be a critical time of spiritual growth or crisis, as one comes to terms with the successes and failures of a life time. For one building on a lifetime of spiritual connection, it can be a period of great deepening of one’s relationship with God and others. As one nears the end of one’s journey, and realizes that much will be left incomplete, one can encounter the enormity of a God who accepts us and loves us unconditionally with all our faults and imperfections.
The many losses of aging - physical impairments, decreased mobility, chronic conditions, retirement from careers, empty nests, loss of loved ones - present a unique opportunity to reflect on the meaning of life and on one’s own life in particular. When one is stripped bare of material ambition, independence and even relationships, one faces one’s powerlessness in a very special way. The full reality of God’s love as gift can be experienced and the contemplative ideal of simply resting in God’s embrace may be realized. Of course, without spiritual guidance and support, this might well be a time of isolation and fear. The idea that older people are safely past spiritual crisis is a stereotype: each person grows or regresses in the spiritual life, at their own pace.
The spiritual odyssey of later life can be a challenge to those who are used to being productive; at the same time, it is an inner journey which can bear much fruit. For most Americans, interiority is a concept alien to our cultural bias for productivity. It is difficult to learn how to be still and silent, so one may discover God’s presence within. It is also painful and scary to look inside; older people, much like the young, seek noisy distractions to avoid the pain. Exploring Late Life Spirituality together in groups that foster faith sharing and reflection can be a help for us on this quest. Learning how to see God’s presence in one’s own life experiences, with the gentle support of companions on the journey, can be the greatest blessing of later life.
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Spirituality of Late Life - Part 3
For other entries on Spirituality of Late Life see Spirituality of Late Life Part 1 below.
While I worked for Catholic Charities for 25 years, I oversaw various programs for older persons. Ministry to Seniors was our finest hour, training volunteers in the parishes of the Archdiocese to reach out to their elder congregants in various ways including visits to the homebound. One of the parish programs we initiated were Senior Spirituality Groups, which are faith sharing groups for older adults who wish to grow in their spiritual lives. Facilitated by trained leaders, the participants:
While I worked for Catholic Charities for 25 years, I oversaw various programs for older persons. Ministry to Seniors was our finest hour, training volunteers in the parishes of the Archdiocese to reach out to their elder congregants in various ways including visits to the homebound. One of the parish programs we initiated were Senior Spirituality Groups, which are faith sharing groups for older adults who wish to grow in their spiritual lives. Facilitated by trained leaders, the participants:
Reflected on their life experiences and God’s presence throughout.
Discussed spiritual aspects of everyday life and concerns.
Shared their unique faith journey with one another.Prayed for the needs of group members.
The senior years can be a very challenging time of life; perhaps a time to become aware of the “new life” trying to emerge, to seek new opportunities for prayer and union with God, to “meditate and search our spirit“.
We might take time to reflect on our own life experiences and God’s presence throughout, or perhaps reflect on the spiritual aspects of our everyday lives and concerns. We may have the opportunity to share our unique faith journey with one another. In the senior spirituality groups, guided sharing and prayer was an integral part of the participants journeys - a true blessing.
In my next blog I will give a definition of late life spirituality to help us reflect on this special time of life.
We might take time to reflect on our own life experiences and God’s presence throughout, or perhaps reflect on the spiritual aspects of our everyday lives and concerns. We may have the opportunity to share our unique faith journey with one another. In the senior spirituality groups, guided sharing and prayer was an integral part of the participants journeys - a true blessing.
In my next blog I will give a definition of late life spirituality to help us reflect on this special time of life.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Happy Anniversary
Happy Anniversary in Heaven, Mom & Dad. Seventy years ago today, my parents, John and Elizabeth, were married in St. Brigid’s Church. What love and faith and courage it must have taken to make a joyful commitment to the future, with the dark clouds of world war hovering all around. Yet they took the step and began a family, trusting that “all will be well”. Thanks to them - and their faith, so many lives exist today, including my own, my children, and my grandchildren. I am grateful for my Mom and Dad. And for this day.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Memories of Dad #4
Memories of Dad continued .....
My Dad was the quiet, observing person who loved nature and sunsets and clouds and trees. He would rise at 5 a.m. and drive hours to a lake or river and fish quietly all day. He liked a buddy with him, whether it was Uncle Bill or his cousin Gene or a friend from work or me or Kathy or one of the boys.
He was also the one who couldn’t watch a sentimental program on TV or hear a beautiful song on the “relaxing” station WPAT, without tears coming to his eyes. I’m like him in that way, the least thing gets me all choked up and teary eyed. Mom never cried at a movie; at least she never let me see her cry.
Dad was concerned with our education but not in the same way as Mom: he was proud when we brought home good marks but I think it was more of a vindication. Dad was a high school dropout, while his oldest brother was a college graduate. Dad never got over this and would always let me know if he thought I was getting boastful or conceited about my academic achievements. And when I was in college, he resented my “know-it-all” attitude and took it personally. He must have “hurt” from his relationship with his older brother. So our marks must have proved in some way that Johnny Lovas was not so dumb after all!
Dad was a powerful teacher in his own quiet way. He taught me a lot about faith and beauty and constancy. He was the ultimate responsible person. He was the cool head in a crisis. He never panicked, you felt so safe with Dad. He could fix anything - around the house, and more importantly, when Jeff had all his accidents and Mom was hysterical, Dad knew just what to do.
Dad never missed Sunday Mass but he would go himself to the early Mass. He didn’t like crowds and often shared that he thought worship should be a private affair. Every night, he sat on the edge of his bed, head bowed, and said his prayers silently before going to sleep. His favorite spot to think about God was out in God’s creation. Dad had a picture of a Mass being offered on the shores of Jackson Lake in the Teton Mountains when he was in the CCC’s. That was the perfect church for Dad.
He was also the one who couldn’t watch a sentimental program on TV or hear a beautiful song on the “relaxing” station WPAT, without tears coming to his eyes. I’m like him in that way, the least thing gets me all choked up and teary eyed. Mom never cried at a movie; at least she never let me see her cry.
Dad was concerned with our education but not in the same way as Mom: he was proud when we brought home good marks but I think it was more of a vindication. Dad was a high school dropout, while his oldest brother was a college graduate. Dad never got over this and would always let me know if he thought I was getting boastful or conceited about my academic achievements. And when I was in college, he resented my “know-it-all” attitude and took it personally. He must have “hurt” from his relationship with his older brother. So our marks must have proved in some way that Johnny Lovas was not so dumb after all!
Dad was a powerful teacher in his own quiet way. He taught me a lot about faith and beauty and constancy. He was the ultimate responsible person. He was the cool head in a crisis. He never panicked, you felt so safe with Dad. He could fix anything - around the house, and more importantly, when Jeff had all his accidents and Mom was hysterical, Dad knew just what to do.
Dad never missed Sunday Mass but he would go himself to the early Mass. He didn’t like crowds and often shared that he thought worship should be a private affair. Every night, he sat on the edge of his bed, head bowed, and said his prayers silently before going to sleep. His favorite spot to think about God was out in God’s creation. Dad had a picture of a Mass being offered on the shores of Jackson Lake in the Teton Mountains when he was in the CCC’s. That was the perfect church for Dad.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Rembering 9/11/2001: The Hope
On September 12th, 2001, my 60th birthday, I did not go to work. At Mass that morning, I was struck by the readings for that day: all about forgiveness and not seeking revenge. As a former spiritual director of mine would say, there are no coincidences. And the thought did occur to me very soon after the attack. Please don’t let this result in retaliation. The Sharks and Jets song from West Side Story kept playing in my head. “Well they began it, they began it … and we’re the ones to end it once and for all!” For a short time, I lived in hope.
Later that day, to get away from the TV and the horrific replays of collapsing towers and falling bodies, I went to walk in the Botanical Gardens. As I sat outside the Café, on another bright blue day, something seemed strange. It was so quiet. The sky was so alone. Of course, there were no planes, no visions of spear like jets bent on mass murder; for a long time after September 11th, whenever I saw a sleek jet, fear would grip my heart.
But right there at the Café, the stories of goodness began to unfold. A woman coming back to thank a Café worker for helping her the day before, when she was desperately trying to find out if her daughter was safe; her daughter was with her now. It gave me hope: human kindness and compassion were not destroyed after all.
Still later, our family gathered at an upstate restaurant to celebrate my birthday. And my daughter’s gift was a surprise announcement that she was pregnant. I remember thinking that this child should be named Hope. And today, five year old Sierra is a constant reminder that hope for the future is alive and well.
I finally got back to Manhattan; the freedom to walk where I wanted was already disappearing, for security reasons. Sad. Since I worked for a social service agency based in NYC, we were immediately mobilized to respond to the tragedy. First, we were organized into a 24 hour telephone response team to answer calls coming in. We thought most calls would be from victims or their families needing help. But all the calls I took were from people from all over the country wanting to help. HOPE. Goodness seemed to be making a comeback big time.
On the day I returned to work, my daughter called me, urging me to get out of Manhattan; she was scared. I felt so depressed after work I began to walk up First Avenue. A candle light vigil was scheduled and I saw people beginning to line up along the street. But I had no candle. There was a church nearby and I went inside feeling distraught, drained, and left out. I began crying; it was all too much. When I came out of the church onto the avenue, a woman gave me a candle. And I stood, with countless others, of all different ages, colors, faiths, nationalities. We stood shoulder to shoulder along First Avenue singing “God Bless America”. Hope.
A week later, the Annual Westchester Mass for Older Adults was about the only event that hadn’t been canceled. The usual festive occasion was quickly toned down in keeping with the somber times. During the Mass, a young man came into the church. He still had his firefighters uniform on – it was covered with soot. He was a rescue worker, just returned from Ground Zero, and had stopped into church only to come across a hundred or so senior citizens. At once they embraced him, invited him to the luncheon after Mass, where he was the guest of honor and spoke to us about his experiences and the sacrifices so many heroes were making in their efforts to find survivors. Nothing turned out as it had been “planned” for that day but I am sure no one forgot the 2001 Westchester Mass for Older Adults. And the special gift I received from those days, when so many were at their best and gave so unselfishly was Hope.
Later that day, to get away from the TV and the horrific replays of collapsing towers and falling bodies, I went to walk in the Botanical Gardens. As I sat outside the Café, on another bright blue day, something seemed strange. It was so quiet. The sky was so alone. Of course, there were no planes, no visions of spear like jets bent on mass murder; for a long time after September 11th, whenever I saw a sleek jet, fear would grip my heart.
But right there at the Café, the stories of goodness began to unfold. A woman coming back to thank a Café worker for helping her the day before, when she was desperately trying to find out if her daughter was safe; her daughter was with her now. It gave me hope: human kindness and compassion were not destroyed after all.
Still later, our family gathered at an upstate restaurant to celebrate my birthday. And my daughter’s gift was a surprise announcement that she was pregnant. I remember thinking that this child should be named Hope. And today, five year old Sierra is a constant reminder that hope for the future is alive and well.
I finally got back to Manhattan; the freedom to walk where I wanted was already disappearing, for security reasons. Sad. Since I worked for a social service agency based in NYC, we were immediately mobilized to respond to the tragedy. First, we were organized into a 24 hour telephone response team to answer calls coming in. We thought most calls would be from victims or their families needing help. But all the calls I took were from people from all over the country wanting to help. HOPE. Goodness seemed to be making a comeback big time.
On the day I returned to work, my daughter called me, urging me to get out of Manhattan; she was scared. I felt so depressed after work I began to walk up First Avenue. A candle light vigil was scheduled and I saw people beginning to line up along the street. But I had no candle. There was a church nearby and I went inside feeling distraught, drained, and left out. I began crying; it was all too much. When I came out of the church onto the avenue, a woman gave me a candle. And I stood, with countless others, of all different ages, colors, faiths, nationalities. We stood shoulder to shoulder along First Avenue singing “God Bless America”. Hope.
A week later, the Annual Westchester Mass for Older Adults was about the only event that hadn’t been canceled. The usual festive occasion was quickly toned down in keeping with the somber times. During the Mass, a young man came into the church. He still had his firefighters uniform on – it was covered with soot. He was a rescue worker, just returned from Ground Zero, and had stopped into church only to come across a hundred or so senior citizens. At once they embraced him, invited him to the luncheon after Mass, where he was the guest of honor and spoke to us about his experiences and the sacrifices so many heroes were making in their efforts to find survivors. Nothing turned out as it had been “planned” for that day but I am sure no one forgot the 2001 Westchester Mass for Older Adults. And the special gift I received from those days, when so many were at their best and gave so unselfishly was Hope.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Mother Teresa and Faith
I just read a newspaper article about how Mother Teresa struggled with her faith for the last 50 years of her life, with only a 5 week respite. During this time she could not feel or experience God's presence and questioned her belief in God and the value of her life's work. Although I have not yet read the book of her letters and writings documenting her "dark night of the soul", knowing that she went through this gives me a new appreciation of Mother Teresa's profound faith. Ironic?
To be lost in such persistent darkness and then to forge ahead anyway and continue to do the good works you once felt called to - well, to me that is faith personified. And to desire God the way she did, without feeling anything, without being certain of anything and yet, still desire this relationship with God - if this is not faith, what is? I believe that most of the saints experienced these times of darkness, but fifty years? I admire her courage to continue to search her soul and look within. Most of us, faced with such pain, would give up and reach for the TV, tranquilizers, work, cookies, whatever it takes to distract us from the dark truth of uncertainty.
I started this blog with the dark womb of transition and how I felt a bit lost as to where the road leads for me in my post-retirement world. I think I may have a new patron saint of persevering during dark times. Mother Teresa may turn out to be the champion of those who struggle with their faith.
To be lost in such persistent darkness and then to forge ahead anyway and continue to do the good works you once felt called to - well, to me that is faith personified. And to desire God the way she did, without feeling anything, without being certain of anything and yet, still desire this relationship with God - if this is not faith, what is? I believe that most of the saints experienced these times of darkness, but fifty years? I admire her courage to continue to search her soul and look within. Most of us, faced with such pain, would give up and reach for the TV, tranquilizers, work, cookies, whatever it takes to distract us from the dark truth of uncertainty.
I started this blog with the dark womb of transition and how I felt a bit lost as to where the road leads for me in my post-retirement world. I think I may have a new patron saint of persevering during dark times. Mother Teresa may turn out to be the champion of those who struggle with their faith.
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