Hearing God in a New Season

Last week, my wife and I traveled to Maine. Visiting Bar Harbor, Acadia National Park, and Portland had been on our bucket list for a long time. So had eating a lobster roll in the place that produces more lobsters than anywhere else in the country.

It was an incredible trip. Beauty was everywhere.

Around Bar Harbor, the lakes were crystal clear. The forests were a deep, rich green. Hydrangeas were bursting with color. Apple trees were heavy with fruit. Blueberries and cranberries seemed to be everywhere. Life and abundance were everywhere.

Then I remembered: this is Maine.

The growing season is short. The soil is rocky. And the winters are long and unforgiving.

I wondered if that might be why everything blooms with such intensity.

It struck me as a beautiful metaphor for the spiritual life.

There are seasons that are harsh and seemingly unfertile. Winters of grief and disappointment. Autumns of loss and change. Sometimes, when I am stuck, it feels as though spring will never come. Nothing is growing.

It prompted me to look at the changing seasons of my own life and how my prayer changes with them. I realized that my prayers are not the same in the springtime as they are in the winter.

As I looked at the flourishing life around me in Maine, I thought about what the winter must have been like. The sap in the trees withdrew. Plants went dormant. Fish and other wildlife moved deep into the lakes and forests. Everything seemed to be waiting for spring.

But they weren’t simply dormant. They were drawing upon reserves stored up during the seasons of growth.

St. Ignatius of Loyola understood something similar about the spiritual life. He says, “When one enjoys consolation… [let one] store up a supply of strength as defense against the day” of desolation. (Spiritual Exercises, Rule 10). For me, storing up those graces means noticing and remembering God’s unwavering faithfulness when the waves of dryness come.

St. John of the Cross offers a different kind of wisdom for those who find themselves in a new and difficult season. When the familiar ways of praying no longer seem to work, he says to “content yourself with merely a peaceful and loving attentiveness toward God.” (Dark Night of the Soul, Book I, Chapter 10).

Maybe that is what some seasons require.

Not trying to make something happen, but simply being present. Not asking, “Why don’t I feel God?” but asking, “Where is God in this season?”

Seasons change. Prayer needs to change too.  

Does your prayer match the season you’re in?