Lectio Divina — “building”
Memorial of the Most Holy Name of Mary
Day 12 of the Season of Creation — Living Water
Lectio — building
> “That one is like a man building a house…”
— Luke 6:48
Jesus does not tell me merely to admire the house, nor even merely to draw plans for it. He speaks of building—of digging deeply, laying a foundation, and then enduring the flood when it comes.
Today, on the Memorial of the Most Holy Name of Mary, I remember another kind of building. God built his dwelling among us through the humble fiat of Mary. She did not know beforehand every storm that would strike the house she was entering. She simply allowed God to build through her.
And perhaps that is the first lesson for me: before I can build something for God, I must permit God to build something in me.
Meditatio
Today I am away from The Glenn, in Spring, Texas, preparing to bring Bianca home. She is only one Maremma puppy, yet I find myself looking at her and seeing something much larger—a possible beginning of the third generation of livestock guardian dogs at The Glenn.
There is something wonderfully dangerous about building: I must work toward a future I cannot see.
I can select a dog. I can train her. I can introduce her to sheep. I can hope that someday she and Rojo will continue a line of good working dogs. But I cannot manufacture the future. Bianca herself is not a building block to be fitted into my plans; she is a living creature entrusted to my stewardship.
Perhaps that is what this summer has been teaching me about my Laudato Si’ Plan as well.
Coyotes came.
The heat came.
Plans changed.
Some dogs left.
And yet the house did not collapse.
Jesus says that the wise builder “dug deeply” before laying his foundation. Perhaps I have been tempted to judge my plan by what can be seen above ground—dogs, sheep, pasture, water systems, projects and results—while Christ keeps asking me about what lies underneath them.
What am I building upon?
During this Season of Creation, the image of living water makes the question especially sharp. Water does not respect my plans. A flood tests foundations; a drought tests priorities. The Ogallala beneath The Glenn reminds me that even something apparently permanent beneath my feet can be depleted.
And yet Living Water is something altogether different. Christ does not merely give me enough water to maintain the house I have designed. He becomes the water from which a different kind of house can grow.
So perhaps bringing Bianca home is not simply about my building the third generation of LGDs.
Perhaps I should ask:
Lord, what are You building at The Glenn—and will I let myself become part of Your construction?
Mary answers before I do: Let it be done to me according to your word.
Oratio
Lord Jesus Christ,
You are the foundation beneath everything I attempt to build.
Forgive me when I confuse my plans with Your providence,
my productivity with fruitfulness,
my control with stewardship.
Through the intercession of Mary,
whose holy name I honor today,
give me something of her fiat.
As I bring Bianca to The Glenn,
teach me to receive her not merely as part of my plan,
but as another creature entrusted to my care.
When coyotes come, strengthen me.
When heat comes, sustain me.
When my plans fail, humble me.
When success comes, keep me grateful.
During this Season of Creation,
teach me to protect the living water
upon which creatures, land and generations yet unborn depend.
Dig deeply within me, Lord.
Remove whatever cannot bear the weight of love,
and build my life upon You.
Mary, Mother of Jesus, pray for me. Amen.
Contemplatio
Today I see an unexpected connection between building The Glenn, raising Bianca, caring for creation, and discerning artificial intelligence.
Every builder makes choices.
If I build a fence, I decide what belongs inside and what remains outside. If I establish a breeding program, I choose which traits I value. If I manage pasture, I decide which plants are desirable and which I call weeds. If I allocate water, I decide—whether consciously or unconsciously—which creatures receive a share of something increasingly precious.
Technology does the same thing.
Magnifica humanitas warns me that AI is not morally neutral because every system embodies decisions about what will be measured, ignored, classified and optimized. An algorithm has foundations even when I cannot see them.
That makes Jesus’ image disturbingly contemporary: before admiring the building, dig down and examine its foundation.
What assumptions about the human person lie beneath the technology I use? What vision of creation lies beneath my management of The Glenn? What assumptions about usefulness lie beneath my relationship with Bianca? Do I value a dog only because she guards sheep, a pasture only because it produces forage, an aquifer only because it gives me water, or technology only because it makes me more efficient?
Mary points me toward another architecture.
God’s greatest work was not built by domination but through consent: fiat. The Word became flesh because a human being freely opened herself to God.
That must become the pattern of my building.
The Season of Creation reminds me that our common home cannot be built by treating creation merely as raw material. Living water cannot simply be another commodity to extract until the well runs dry. Bianca cannot merely become a means to produce another generation. And human beings cannot become data points optimized by algorithms.
Each belongs within a creation whose deepest foundation is gift.
Today I will travel back toward The Glenn with a little white dog and a great many plans.
But perhaps wisdom begins when I loosen my grip upon the blueprints.
I am building—but I am not the Architect.
And if I dig deeply enough beneath The Glenn, beneath technology, beneath my plans, and finally beneath myself, I pray that I will discover the only foundation capable of surviving every storm:
Christ, from whom flows Living Water.
Day 12 of the Season of Creation on the Memorial of the Most Holy Name of Mary
