Lectio Divina — ATTENTION
Wednesday of the Twenty-eighth Week in Ordinary Time
This Week’s Theme: REDUCED
1. Lectio — The Word of God
Luke 11:42
“…but you pay no attention to judgment and to love for God.”
There is something rather alarming about the possibility of paying attention to everything except what matters.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus rebukes the Pharisees, not because they pay attention to the details of their religious obligations, but because their meticulous attention to tithing herbs has come at the expense of judgment and the love of God.
They have reduced righteousness to a matter of religious bookkeeping.
I wonder how often I do the same.
I can count the prayers I have said, the Masses I have attended, the charitable works I have performed, and even the creatures I have protected here at The Glenn. But can I count the occasions when I have truly paid attention to God’s love and allowed that love to shape my judgment?
Jesus does not tell the Pharisees to abandon their smaller obligations. He tells them to attend to what is greater without neglecting what is lesser.
Perhaps the danger is not that I pay too much attention to the little things, but that I have reduced the great things to little things.
And perhaps the Monarch butterflies gathering outside my window have something to teach me about that.
2. Meditatio — Paying Attention to the Passing Monarchs
Here at The Glenn, our attention has been drawn to the remarkable number of Monarch butterflies fluttering about the property.
A few weeks ago, I reflected in my Lectio Divina upon the beginning of the annual Monarch migration. At that time, their appearance seemed almost incidental, a few solitary travelers passing through on their extraordinary journey south.
But now there are dozens!
What I am witnessing appears to be a phenomenon known as a Monarch migration roost.
Although Monarchs generally travel individually during daylight hours, they gather together in groups at night, sometimes by the dozens, hundreds, or even thousands.
One of our cypress trees here at The Glenn has apparently become a temporary refuge for these remarkable creatures.
It is rather extraordinary to think that a tree planted here for one purpose has become part of a migration extending across an entire continent.
The butterflies are particular about their accommodations. They seek shelter from the wind, suitable temperatures, and places where they can conserve their energy. At night, they cluster together, hanging almost motionless from the branches, resembling dead leaves rather than living creatures preparing for another day’s flight.
Then comes the morning sun.
As their bodies warm and conditions become favorable, the Monarchs begin to stir. When the time is right, they take flight and resume their journey toward Mexico.
And just like that, they are gone.
The entire spectacle may last only a night or two.
Had I not been paying attention, I might never have known they were here.
That thought troubles me.
How many other creatures pass through The Glenn without my noticing? How many relationships within this little ecosystem escape my attention because they offer no immediate economic benefit?
Laudato si’ reminds me that the protection of biodiversity requires particular attention to places rich in species, especially those that are rare, threatened, or insufficiently protected.
I cannot claim that The Glenn is some extraordinary biodiversity sanctuary simply because a few dozen Monarchs have chosen to spend the night here. But neither can I reduce their presence to a pleasant curiosity.
Their appearance reveals that The Glenn participates in an ecological relationship far larger than its property boundaries.
The cypress tree is not merely my tree.
It is, at least for a little while, their shelter.
And that shelter is part of a network of habitats upon which the Monarch migration depends.
Yet I must be careful not to reduce my meditation to the protection of butterflies alone.
Jesus’ criticism of the Pharisees was not that they paid attention to insignificant things, but that their attention had become disconnected from justice and love.
I can become so absorbed in the Monarchs that I overlook the person who needs my attention.
Or I can become so occupied with human affairs that I fail to recognize the intricate relationships of creation through which God continually speaks.
The challenge is to hold both together.
My attention to creation should enlarge my capacity for love, not reduce it.
Perhaps the Monarchs are reminding me that genuine attention is not simply looking at something.
It is recognizing that what I see makes a claim upon me.
3. Oratio — A Prayer for Attentive Love
Heavenly Father,
You who guide the Monarch butterfly across mountains, rivers, plains, and borders, teach me to pay attention to the wonders of your creation.
Thank you for allowing these delicate travelers to rest among the cypress branches here at The Glenn.
Forgive me for the times I have reduced your creation to its usefulness, its beauty, or its inconvenience.
Forgive me also for the times I have reduced my faith to rules, rituals, and opinions while neglecting judgment, mercy, and love.
Lord Jesus, you saw beyond the outward observances of the Pharisees into the intentions of their hearts.
Look into mine.
Show me where my attention has become misplaced, where my judgments have become uncharitable, and where my love has grown cold.
Holy Spirit, awaken within me the attentiveness of a good steward.
Help me recognize the needs of the creatures entrusted to my care, the people who cross my path, and those whose suffering I might otherwise overlook.
May the Monarchs’ brief visit remind me that every encounter is an opportunity for hospitality.
And when they depart, may I continue to care for the place that sheltered them.
Above all, Lord, never allow my attention to the details of religion to diminish my attention to the God of love.
Amen.
4. Contemplatio — When Attention to Truth Is Reduced to What Is Useful
Magnifica humanitas, Chapter Four, Paragraph 134 — Safeguarding Humanity at a Time of Transformation: Truth as a Common Good, Truth and Democracy
There is something almost comical about the contrast between a Monarch butterfly and the enormous machinery of modern technology.
The Monarch weighs less than a gram, yet it undertakes a migration spanning thousands of miles. Its journey depends upon conditions that no single butterfly controls: the weather, the seasons, the availability of nectar, and the survival of suitable resting places.
Meanwhile, I live in an age when artificial intelligence can analyze enormous quantities of information, recognize patterns, and predict outcomes with astonishing speed.
And yet, for all this technological sophistication, I remain capable of overlooking the truth immediately before my eyes.
This brings me to paragraph 134 of Magnifica humanitas, which warns that democratic life is weakened when the pursuit of truth is reduced to whatever appears useful or effective.
The document insists that democracy requires more than rules and procedures. It requires fidelity to facts and a genuine commitment to the common good.
I find myself wondering whether the way I pay attention to the Monarchs reveals something about the way I pay attention to truth.
Suppose I were to regard these butterflies only as beautiful decorations for my landscape.
Their presence would be pleasant, but their ecological significance would remain largely invisible.
Or suppose I were to regard them merely as data points: a certain number of butterflies, at a certain location, on a certain date.
The information might be accurate, but something essential would still be missing.
For these butterflies are not simply numbers or ornaments. They are living participants in a complex web of relationships.
Their presence tells me something true about the world.
And if I am attentive, that truth places responsibilities upon me.
The same is true of democracy.
I can reduce political participation to voting, reduce citizenship to loyalty to a party, and reduce truth to whatever supports the conclusions I have already reached.
I can even employ artificial intelligence to gather arguments that reinforce my convictions while paying little attention to evidence that challenges them.
In doing so, I risk becoming precisely the sort of person Hannah Arendt warned about: someone for whom the distinction between fact and fiction, truth and falsehood, has lost its significance.
That is a frightening possibility.
Not because I necessarily intend to deceive anyone, but because I can become so accustomed to hearing what I want to hear that I cease paying attention to what is actually true.
And here I return to Jesus’ rebuke of the Pharisees.
They had not abandoned religion.
They had reduced it.
Their attention to religious observance had become detached from the judgment and love that gave those observances their meaning.
Likewise, democracy can retain its elections, institutions, and procedures while losing the shared commitment to truth that makes those institutions worthy of trust.
Technology can make information more accessible without making me more attentive.
Artificial intelligence can produce an answer without teaching me to love the truth.
And I can possess a mountain of information while remaining remarkably ignorant of the world immediately around me.
Perhaps the Monarchs offer a small but profound corrective.
They do not recognize the political boundaries that human beings have drawn across the continent. Their migration depends upon a network of habitats that requires cooperation among people who may differ in language, nationality, politics, and religion.
The butterflies do not ask whether the cypress tree belongs to a Republican or a Democrat.
They simply need a place to rest.
Yet their needs are real, and the facts of their migration are not matters of political preference.
The truth of their existence precedes my opinions about them.
So does the dignity of every human person.
And if I am to be faithful to both Laudato si’ and Magnifica humanitas, I must resist the temptation to reduce either ecological stewardship or democratic responsibility to ideological slogans.
I must pay attention to facts.
I must pay attention to relationships.
I must pay attention to those whose voices are easily ignored.
And I must pay attention to the possibility that my own understanding is incomplete.
The Monarchs have chosen The Glenn as a temporary resting place. Their presence is a gift, but it is also an invitation to responsibility.
Truth, too, is a gift that demands responsibility.
I cannot claim to love God while paying no attention to the truth of his creation or the dignity of my neighbor.
Perhaps that is what Jesus wants me to understand this morning.
The danger is not simply that I might overlook a butterfly.
It is that I might overlook the truth.
And in overlooking the truth, I might overlook God.
5. Actio — Practicing Attentive Stewardship
Today I will spend some time observing the Monarchs at The Glenn without disturbing their roost.
I will consider how my management of the property can better support migratory pollinators, particularly through the preservation of native flowering plants, reduced pesticide use, and the protection of suitable resting habitats.
In the spirit of Laudato si’, I will remember that ecological stewardship begins with recognizing relationships rather than merely managing resources.
In the spirit of synodality, I will also practice the same attentiveness in my human relationships.
Before dismissing an opinion with which I disagree, especially concerning politics, religion, or the environment, I will ask whether I have genuinely listened, verified the facts, and considered the dignity of the person expressing it.
My resolution: I will not reduce attention to observation, truth to usefulness, or love to sentiment. I will allow what I discover to change how I live.
6. Song for Reflection
Be Thou My Vision
This ancient hymn asks God to become the guiding vision of my life.
It is an appropriate companion to today’s Gospel because it reminds me that the problem is not simply what I see, but what I consider worthy of my attention.
If God is truly my vision, then my understanding of creation, truth, and neighbor must be transformed accordingly.
7. Movie for Reflection
The Big Year
This film follows three birdwatchers whose determination to observe as many bird species as possible becomes an examination of ambition, relationships, and what truly matters.
Its central irony is particularly appropriate for today’s meditation: I can become so absorbed in observing the natural world that I overlook the people closest to me.
The challenge is not to stop observing, but to learn what deserves my attention.
8. Poetic Reflection — ATTENTION
Eight verses for Wednesday, October 14
Upon the cypress branches high, Where autumn breezes blow, A thousand miles beneath their wings, The Monarchs rest below.
They hang like leaves upon the tree, Their orange folded tight; And I, who claim the world to see, Might miss them in the night.
The morning sun will warm their wings, And southward they will fly; Yet in their brief and fragile stay, God’s wonders catch my eye.
I count the creatures passing through, And measure what they need; But do I count the judgments made, Or love expressed in deed?
The Pharisee could tithe his mint, Yet fail to understand; That justice, truth, and love of God Demand a willing hand.
The world now gathers facts untold, And builds machines that know; Yet truth is more than what is sold, Or what the numbers show.
So teach me, Lord, attentive care, For all that comes my way; The stranger resting unaware, The truth I face today.
And when the Monarchs take their flight, Beyond my watching eyes, May I have learned to love what’s right, And see beyond disguise.
Today’s concluding thought:
The Monarchs have drawn my attention to a cypress tree here at The Glenn, but Jesus is drawing my attention to something greater. I must not reduce truth to what is useful, creation to what is beautiful, or religion to what is observable. The measure of my attention is whether it leads me toward judgment rooted in truth and a deeper love for God and neighbor.