Thurs. Mar. 10, 2022
Listening for God in Jenness Beach
Steve Falci
The wind had whipped up a harsh New England winter morning. Coco, my golden retriever, and I strode briskly toward Jenness Beach to witness the impact of last night’s nor’easter on our beloved sanctuary of peace. Arriving we could still witness the large swells violently churning in the ocean as the tide receded, but the awesome power of the ocean had already done its damage. The storm had coincided with a rising tide, unifying the beach and parking lot, as the onslaught of the surf had migrated sand, seaweed, and driftwood to places where beach goers eagerly park their cars in summertime in anticipation of a restful day at the beach. While the damage could have been a lot worse, Coco and I would not be enjoying our haven of tranquility this day.
Jenness Beach is part of the sprawling 18 mile New Hampshire coastline. Growing up in New York City, I didn’t even know New Hampshire had a coastline! Nevertheless, I am now blessed to call Sea Coast NH home, and Jenness Beach has become a very special place. It is where I’ve been listening for God.
Prayer for me can often be a struggle. Sure I can regularly recite prayers I have said since childhood or petition God on behalf of family, friends and of course myself, but experiences of prayer where I listen for God, God’s direction and feel God’s loving consolation can be sporadic and fleeting. The turbulence of daily life – strife in our world, work related stress, worry over loved ones or just plain frenetic foolishness – are often impediments to slowing down, sitting still, and listening for God.
I have, however, been blessed to feel the extraordinary touch of God through prayer at different times in my life; a touch that has helped provide clarity for the direction of my life. Centering prayer, a form of contemplative prayer rooted in early Christian monasticism, was where I first learned to slow down and listen for God. It deepened my relationship with God as a young adult and opened my heart to exploring new directions that eventually led me to begin my career in sustainable investing in Pittsburgh and guided me to attend Pittsburgh Theological Seminary.
Ignatian Spirituality, the gift of St. Ignatius of Loyola and the Jesuits to all of Christianity, touched my life right after I graduated seminary, and provided me with the tools to “Find God in All Things” and to listen for God’s movements in my daily life. It was there I learned to recognize true spiritual consolation, a sense of peace and clarity that reveals how God may be providing direction in one’s life. It was in the midst of my retreat in daily life with St. Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises that I was presented the opportunity to move to Ireland to continue my sustainable investing career. While my pragmatic sense would not have considered such an option at 47 years old, I was deeply moved and immediately excited by the possibility. I reflected on the deep consolation I was feeling, and when my wife Christine enthusiastically said, “well, we never did junior year abroad,” we were off to Dublin for five amazing years where we reveled in the Irish way and love of life. I also was blessed to participate in Ignatian ministries with some Irish Jesuits, which broadened my horizons and pointed me in directions I am still exploring today.
While sporadic and fleeting, memories of such seminal moments of God’s touch earlier in my life that provided me amazing, grace filled clarity, is consolation in and of itself and inspires the yearning to slow down and be more attentive so I can experience that consolation again. During the seemingly eternal Lent that COVID has induced, I have been able to use my long evening walks with Coco on Jenness Beach to slow down and listen for God amid the awe of God’s creation.
That I could look for God’s presence in the beauty of nature, many long term friends would find absolutely hilarious. This city boy who was born and raised in Queens, New York near La Guardia Airport, actually thought that an acrid tinge to the crisp autumn air was normal, until years later when I realized, as I was at the airport waiting to board my first flight, that the tinge was actually residual jet fuel fumes. Similarly, my young adult years in Greenwich Village left me mostly oblivious to the beauty of creation as I blocked out the stench and pollution of the Hudson River when I tried to find peace on my runs down the West Side of Manhattan.
But after five years in Ireland and my eight years on the Sea Coast I have been drawn into occasions of peace through God’s awesome creation; Finding God in All Things in my evenings on Jenness Beach. It has come in the vibrant burning harvest moon rise in the September evening sky, whose intensity could some nights be mistaken for a sun rise if you were not aware of the time of day. It has come in the rainbow over the ocean after a thunderstorm, which while bringing back wonderful memories of Ireland, also made me think, that while there may not be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, God is surely there. It has come on a frigid, clear January night where I am warmed by the brightness of the full moon and the multitude of stars and am moved to say, I’m here God, let’s talk.
And we have – powerfully - yet still sporadically. But the affirmation and consolation I have received some nights on Jenness Beach keeps me coming back even on cold winter nights. While I do experience frustration that these moments are still too sporadic - with daily worries and pressures continuing to cause distraction and restlessness, these blessed moments, keep me moving forward in my relationship with God, assured that the possibilities of such moments are waiting as I work to make myself available to God.
As I walked to Jenness Beach with Coco amid the second nor’ easter in two weeks – this one a blizzard - I pondered the furor of the storm and was again resigned that this would not be a day to listen for God on Jenness Beach. But on my second walk of the day, the winds had modestly waned, night was falling, and I allowed myself to be enveloped in a world of white serenity created by the snow. And then it struck me – God was there in both the fury of the storm and serenity of the snow, much like God is there amid the fury of angst in the world and our day to day lives as well as in the stillness where we may more easily find God.
And that is the enduring consolation – GOD IS ALWAYS THERE – waiting for us, ready to reach out, touch, guide, and most importantly, love us unconditionally.