Complaining is the acid that shrivels our own souls and the soul of the community around us as well.

Sr. Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict

Nothing sends fear like a dagger into the hearts of librarians more than the dreaded monster known as Damp. If you reshelve even one single, lone damp book back in the stacks, it can, over time, infect all the books. Hidden within the stacks, the Damp will turn to mildew, which will expand and reproduce silently, traveling from book to book until someone notices the overpowering smell of mold, and a whole section of infected books has to be tossed in the dumpster.

I think Damp and Complaining are two sides of the same monster. I have seen one damp, bitter, snarky, murmuring complaint have the same effect on a community, spreading the mildew of discord or a spirit of ingratitude, infecting conversations, attitudes and outcomes. When I worked in a library, a damp book was only allowed to be reshelved after it had thoroughly dried out, been inspected and cleared.

Lent is a season that affords us all an opportunity to take stock of our habits and attitudes, including our tendencies to shop our complaints and grumblings around, and to seek instead spiritual practices like silence, stillness and self-control that will reorient us toward the mind of Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit in our hearts and on our lips. This is a moment in our common life when we can stop, repent and begin again, choosing what words we speak and listen to with great intention and care.

For Reflection
Where does complaining show up in your communities? How can you choose or encourage a different approach?

Offer advice with the deference of humility, and do not presume to defend your point of view obstinately.

Rule of Benedict

Several years ago, our family spent a year attempting to live out as many practices from the Rule of Saint Benedict as possible. We did this partly because I was writing a book on the experiment and because my husband, Nathan, and I felt our family was at a crossroads and needed a reset. We needed to take the time to identify our family’s vocation and values and then align our actions. So, we set about incorporating practices such as stillness, silence, service, prayer, fasting and humility into our common life. Some worked, some flopped and some we carry on to this day.

One of the practices we continue is Mutual Listening in the kitchen. Nathan and I clashed in the kitchen for the first half of our marriage. He likes to follow a recipe to the smallest detail, while I prefer to read recipes as suggestions. Nathan goes to the grocery store with a list of ingredients; I open the pantry and make do with what I can find. He dices an onion with precision; I just chop it up. By practicing Mutual Listening in the kitchen, we each need to be willing to listen and learn. We do this by taking turns being “chef” and “sous chef.” The primary rule of this Mutual Listening practice was that the sous chef could not critique the chef’s directions, recipe or technique and that the chef would not be defensive if the sous chef asked questions for clarification. Instead, each person committed to assume goodwill from the other, chopping, stirring, leading and following from a place of love instead of defensiveness. It took about six months of intentional practice to build the muscles of humility and trust needed to cook side by side as equals, but transformation happened. Funny how that works.

For Reflection
What relationships in your life—at home, church and work—could benefit from an intentional practice of Mutual Listening?

When God created human beings, he enjoined them to work on created things.

Hildegard of Bingen, Book of Life’s Merits

It can be easy for writers and readers to romanticize the agrarian life. We love to write and read about the transcendent moments of watching the bees on a sunflower or how a sun-ripened tomato tastes exactly like the love of God without experiencing the sting of the bee or the stain of the tomato juice on a clean white t-shirt. The truth is that rural life is often boring, sweaty, dirty and repetitive. And the more organic your practices, the more creation-honoring approach you employ, the more time it takes. The fewer chemicals you use in a garden, the more weeding you have to do. The more grass-fed you want your livestock to be, the more rotating and moving fences you must do. It is often slow, dirty and repetitive. These are not things I particularly like, but I know they are things my soul needs. I need the transformation that comes from doing what I want to do in theory but don’t really want to do in practice. I need the spaciousness in my body, mind and soul that repetition creates, a space that allows the Holy Spirit to speak and move in my heart. I need the garden, the chickens and the seasons. I need to pull weeds, move fences, shell peas, wash eggs and can tomatoes. Again and again and again.

The work of rhythm and repetition is good for all of us—together and alone. This wisdom shows up in our Anglican tradition. Part of the work of liturgy is to create this same kind of spaciousness in all of us. This is why it matters that we show up to the familiar work of the table, singing many of the same songs and praying many of the same prayers, time and time again. When we pass the peace again, break the bread again, repent again, wash each other’s feet again, we are doing things that don’t take a lot of analytical thought. The movements and words are as familiar as taking a shower or washing dishes. It is here, while our bodies and minds are distracted, that our hearts have the opportunity to open, creating space for the work of the Holy Spirit.

For Reflection
How can you create spaciousness? Is there a chore or a spiritual practice that might help?

We are placed in this world, and it is in and through this world, not by the denial of it, that we shall come to know God.

Esther De Waal, A Life-Giving Way

When our eldest child was fourteen, he let us know that he was queer. While in college, he began a committed relationship with a wonderful guy who also happened to be transgender (and who has since become a beloved member of our family). Over the years, our family has continued to grow and change, and now, all four of our children identify as LGBTQ in some way.

Like a lot of mothers, I had expectations for my children’s future, most of which were based on my experiences as a cis-gender, straight, white, middle-class woman from the United States.

But as each of our children’s unique createdness was revealed, I was presented with a choice. I could cling to my expectations of what their lives—and our common life together—would look like, or I could release my expectations and open my heart and imagination to a new reality, a new world, one populated by my most favorite humans on this planet. Had I denied their truth and clung to my expectations of who or what they would be, I would have spent the rest of my life missing out on the beauty and gifts of who they are. And I would also miss out on the unique manifestation of the Divine—the Imago Dei, the Image of God—within them.

Only in and through this world, a world in which my children and your children are their authentic selves, and not by the denial of it, have I begun to understand what it means when we say we believe in a life-giving, loving, liberating God who gives all, gathers all and draws all toward shared wholeness.

For Reflection
Is there a part of your world or life different than you expected? What might you learn about the love and nature of God through this change?

Let the brothers, in whatever places they may be among others, serve or work.

Saint Francis

Physically exhaling breath stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system, which controls the body’s relaxation response. Often, when you hear someone sigh, it’s not necessarily a non-verbal commentary on anyone or anything. Instead, it’s the body’s way of regulating the nervous system and helping them to relax.

Once, during a season of great change for us both, my good friend Marna began to say, “What if it could be easy?” “It” was whatever question we were asking or challenge we faced at that moment. Marna’s question wasn’t wistful or wishful. Instead, it was a challenge to reorient our expectations. Instead of expecting resistance and negativity, what if we trusted in the abundance of God and flipped our approaches and perspectives? What if, instead of looking at our challenges as mountains too hard to climb, we waited for a clearer path to open before us, trusting that when the time came, we would have all we needed—within ourselves and among our communities—to follow? What if we stopped pushing and cajoling, trying to force and rush the Holy Spirit’s timing and showed up to each day faithfully, making dinner, leading worship, picking up kids from baseball, walking the dogs and praying morning prayer until the answers presented themselves? Somehow, the phrase “What if it could be easy?” became a sort of spiritual exhale, a way to practice that old Christian adage, “Let go and let God.” It became a way to open my heart and hands to another way I couldn’t see on my own.

Over the years, saying this phrase when I feel stymied or overwhelmed has served me well. It helps me work and serve wherever and with whomever I find myself, at whatever pace and with whatever tools are at hand.

For Reflection
Is there a challenge or issue in your life that feels like pushing a boulder uphill? Could you practice this spiritual exhale exercise for the remainder of Lent?

And you shall so announce and preach His praise to all peoples that at every hour and when the bells are rung praise and thanks shall always be given to the Almighty God by all the people through the whole earth.

Saint Francis, A Letter to All the Custodes

My husband gave me a smartwatch for Christmas a few years ago. I had not-too-subtly hinted for the gift, reasoning that having a smartwatch could help me to formally pray the Daily Offices of Morning Prayer, Noonday Prayer, Evening Prayer and Compline. The plan was to set alarms on my watch, reminding me to stop whatever I was doing, open the app on my phone where the Daily Offices lived and pray.

It was a great idea—for someone living a different life than mine. The irregularities and demands of my multi-time zone and travel-heavy work life and the frequent interruptions that come with family life meant that stopping whatever I was doing to pray four times a day was not realistic. Instead, Morning Prayer or Compline became the offices I kept best—and usually only one or the other on any given day. Eventually, all the alarms were turned off, save one. Apparently, the alarm I had set for Noonday prayer is impenetrable. I am not even sure how or where it is programmed. But for the past four years, at 12:14 p.m. each day, a bell on my wrist rings. I wish I could say that I stop and pray each time the bell rings or that I announce and preach Christ’s praise, but the truth is most days, I do good to remember to pray, “Thank you, thank you,” before I hit the stop button. I am sure if I put more than thirty seconds of effort in, I could figure out how to turn the alarm off permanently. But where would the hope be in that?

For Reflection
What bells are frequent in your life? School bells? Camp bells? Alarms? Maybe you live in a place where church bells ring frequently. Could you begin to hear those bells as reminders to offer prayers of thanksgiving and praise? Is this something your whole community could practice together?