Lectio Divina — Memorial of the Passion of Saint John the Baptist
Theme: listen
1. Lectio — What is God saying to me?
> “When he heard him speak he was very much perplexed, yet he liked to listen to him.”
— Mark 6:20
There is something frightening in that sentence. Herod listened to John.
John’s words perplexed him. Something in the prophet’s voice apparently reached him. Herod even protected John for a time because he recognized him as righteous and holy. Yet eventually the man who liked to listen to the prophet ordered the prophet’s head placed upon a platter.
Listening, then, is not necessarily conversion.
I can enjoy listening to Scripture. I can listen to homilies, podcasts and spiritual reflections. I can spend each morning with Lectio Divina. I can even enjoy being challenged by what I hear. Yet if what enters my ears never changes my choices, I may be closer to Herod than I want to admit.
John did not preach so that Herod might find him interesting. He called Herod to repentance.
Christ does the same with me.
So today I ask:
Do I listen to God’s Word because I enjoy hearing it—or because I am willing to obey what I hear?
2. Meditatio — What is God saying to my life?
In the early morning here at The Glenn, I listen to the rumble of thunder.
There is something wonderful about thunder before sunrise. Before I see very much of creation, I can hear it.
And perhaps creation itself is performing a kind of Lectio Divina.
As Laudato si’ reminds me, for the believer, contemplating creation means hearing a message, listening to a paradoxical and silent voice.
That phrase catches me this morning because thunder is anything but silent.
Yet what the thunder means is silent.
It does not explain itself. The clouds do not provide commentary. The rain does not tell me what theological conclusion to draw from it. Creation simply presents itself before me and asks me to pay attention.
I can listen to the thunder merely because I enjoy the sound.
Herod enjoyed listening too.
Or I can allow what I hear to move me.
Thunder may remind me that I do not control the weather. Rain may remind me that the life of The Glenn depends upon gifts I cannot manufacture. The soil receiving that rain may remind me that creation is something entrusted to me rather than something belonging absolutely to me.
The sheep, dogs, birds, insects, plants, wind and rain are continually saying something simply by being what God created them to be.
The question is whether I am listening deeply enough to learn.
That requires more than romantic appreciation of nature. If contemplation of creation never affects how I use water, energy, soil, animals, technology or possessions, then perhaps I have simply learned to enjoy listening to another beautiful sermon without intending to respond.
John’s voice demanded something of Herod.
Creation’s voice may demand something of me.
And God’s Word certainly does.
3. Oratio — What do I want to say to God?
Lord, teach me to listen.
Through the prayers of Saint John the Baptist, give me courage not merely to hear your truth but to obey it.
May what I hear in your Word, in others and in creation lead me to conversion.
Amen.
4. Contemplatio — What word will I rest in?
Listen.
Magnifica humanitas reminds me that living the Gospel within society is not a project completed by some previous generation and handed to me with all the answers filled in.
It remains a task.
Every generation must listen again.
I must listen to God’s Word.
I must listen to the Holy Spirit.
I must listen to creation.
I must listen to the signs of the times.
And, perhaps most difficult of all, I must listen to other people.
That last kind of listening can resemble Herod’s listening to John. Another person may perplex me. Their words may challenge assumptions I would rather protect. I may even enjoy listening to them while having already decided that nothing they say will change me.
That is not the listening required for a synodal Church.
If Christians are called to seek new ways for relationships among people to reflect the Kingdom of God, then listening cannot simply mean waiting politely until it is my turn to speak. It requires the possibility that the Holy Spirit may reveal something through another person that requires me to change.
The thunder outside The Glenn offers me an image for this.
I cannot answer thunder.
I can only receive it.
I can stop.
I can listen.
And then I can decide what its coming rain requires of me.
The Passion of Saint John the Baptist shows me the terrible alternative. Herod listened repeatedly, but when John’s voice finally collided with Herod’s power, reputation and promises, Herod protected those things rather than the truth he had heard.
John lost his head.
Herod lost something far greater: the opportunity to respond to the truth standing before him.
So today I will listen differently.
When creation speaks, I will ask what stewardship requires.
When another person speaks, I will resist preparing my answer before hearing theirs.
When Scripture speaks, I will not ask merely whether its words comfort or interest me.
I will ask:
What must change in me because I have listened?
Memorial of the Passion of Saint John the Baptist
