A Spiritual Break

Posted on July 5, 2025July 5, 2025 by Michael J. Cunningham · 3 Comments

Seeing Through Heaven’s Eyes …

Seeing Through Heaven’s Eyes: A July 4th Reflection

A Spiritual Reflection by Michael Cunningham OFS

This July 4th morning, I was sitting in our chapel at San Damiano listening to the homily of Fr. Bill on Independence Day: What does God see when He looks down on America today, July 4th, 2025? What is his Point of View?

It’s a curious question, isn’t it? We humans have our perspectives—our memories of barbecues and fireworks, our pride in freedoms we’ve inherited, our concerns about the direction of our country. But what does the Creator of all nations see when 330 million Americans pause to celebrate their independence?

I imagine God’s view might be quite different from ours.

The View from Above

Francis of Assisi had a remarkable gift for seeing things from what we might call “God’s point of view.” When he looked at lepers, he didn’t see outcasts—he saw beloved children of the Most High. When he encountered the Sultan during the Crusades, he didn’t see an enemy—he saw a brother created in the divine image. Francis had learned to see with the eyes of the Gospel, to apply what we Franciscans call “Gospel to Life, Life to Gospel.”

So what might Jesus see as He looks upon our Independence Day celebrations?

I think He might see something beautiful and something that calls for deeper reflection.

What Might Bring Joy to Heaven’s Heart

First, the beautiful. I imagine God delighting in the pure joy of children waving sparklers, their faces lit with wonder at the magic of light dancing in the darkness. There’s something profoundly Gospel-like about that innocence, that capacity for awe that Jesus said we must become like to enter the kingdom.

I think He might smile at families gathering from great distances, sharing meals and stories, reconnecting across the miles that separate them. The Gospel tells us that love of family, that drawing together of scattered members, reflects something of the divine nature itself.

And surely there’s joy in heaven when people pause to express gratitude—for freedoms we often take for granted, for opportunities that have shaped generations, for the sacrifices of those who came before us. Gratitude, after all, is the foundation of all prayer.

I imagine God seeing the best impulses of the founders’ vision—that revolutionary idea that all people are “created equal,” that they are “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.” Even if imperfectly lived out, even if it took centuries to extend these truths more fully, there’s something deeply Gospel-like about insisting on the inherent dignity of every human person.

What Might Call for Deeper Reflection

But I also wonder what might cause concern in the divine heart as God looks upon our celebrations.

Francis taught that the Gospel always calls us to examine our relationship with possessions, with power, with those society considers “other.” So perhaps God notices the uncomfortable contrasts that exist alongside our celebrations—the abundance on some tables while others go hungry, the freedom some experience while others feel marginalized or forgotten.

Jesus consistently showed special concern for the stranger, the refugee, the one seeking sanctuary. I wonder what He thinks as He sees a nation built by immigrants now struggling with how to welcome the immigrant. Francis embraced “Lady Poverty” not from a hatred of material things, but from a recognition that our relationship with possessions can either bind us or free us to love more fully.

The Gospel teaches that true greatness comes through service, not dominance. So perhaps God’s heart aches a little when He sees a powerful nation more focused on being served than on serving, more concerned with being respected than with being respectful.

The Franciscan Way Forward

Francis lived by a simple principle: when in doubt, ask what Jesus would do. Not Jesus the abstract theological concept, but Jesus the carpenter’s son who walked dusty roads, who ate with tax collectors and sinners, who washed his disciples’ feet.

This Jesus consistently chose the way of humility over the way of power, the way of service over the way of being served, the way of peace over the way of violence. He called blessed those who hunger and thirst for justice, who are merciful, who are peacemakers.

So how might we celebrate our independence in a way that reflects these Gospel values?

Gospel to Life, Life to Gospel

Perhaps it begins with gratitude that moves beyond nostalgia toward responsibility. Yes, we give thanks for the freedoms we’ve inherited. But we also ask: How can we use these freedoms to serve the common good? How can our liberty become a means of liberation for others?

Francis taught that everything is gift. Our freedoms, our opportunities, our resources—all gifts to be shared, not hoarded. The founders spoke of being endowed by the Creator with rights. If God is indeed the source of our blessings, then our response should be shaped by Gospel values of justice, mercy, and peace.

I think of Francis’s famous prayer: “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.” What if we approached our civic life with that same intention? Not asking what our country can do for us, but how we can be instruments of peace, justice, and healing in our communities?

The Long View of Love

There’s a phrase I love from Thomas Merton: “We are not just Americans, we are not just Christians—we are humans, made in the image of God.” This July 4th, perhaps God invites us to hold our patriotism within the larger context of our common humanity.

We can love our country deeply while recognizing that God’s love extends beyond our borders. We can celebrate our unique history and values while remembering that every nation, every people, every individual carries the divine spark within them.

Francis found Christ in the leper, in the Sultan, in the poorest of the poor. Perhaps our celebration becomes more Gospel-centered when we remember that the God who blessed America also created every person seeking a better life, every refugee fleeing violence, every child born in poverty anywhere in the world.

A Different Kind of Fireworks

As the fireworks light up the sky tonight, I’ll be thinking about a different kind of illumination—the light that Francis saw when he recognized Christ in all creation, the light that the founders glimpsed when they wrote of the equality and dignity of all people, the light that still calls us toward a more perfect union, not just politically, but spiritually.

What if our independence celebration became a moment of recommitment to the Gospel values that transcend any single nation or era? What if our gratitude for freedom led us to work for the freedom of others? What if our pride in American ideals motivated us to live those ideals more fully in our daily lives?

I imagine that would bring joy to the heart of God—a people grateful for their blessings, committed to sharing those blessings, willing to be instruments of peace and justice in a world that desperately needs both.

Because in the end, the truest independence isn’t freedom from something, but freedom for something—freedom to love without limit, to serve without counting the cost, to be the people God created us to be.

That’s a celebration worthy of both heaven and earth.

Pax et bonum—Peace and all good.

Posted on May 16, 2025 by Michael J. Cunningham · 4 Comments

The Sanctuary

The Sanctuary

We all have somewhere special that we like to hang out. It might be a coffee bar, a local pub, a place in the woods, or the beach. You get the picture. Recently, I was visiting a good friend in New Hampshire on a visit back east for the weekend. We had not seen each other for many years, and yet we picked up the conversation just like it was yesterday. Good friends are like that, they don’t seem to mind how long it takes to touch base again; but rather like the prodigal son, I end up being welcomed like no other person. We had a great visit.

The day was a perfect one in the mountains, just as spring was getting ready to pass the baton to summer, unlike the image above, which is the White Mountains in winter. The woods there don’t seem to mind what clothes they are wearing, or what time of the year it is, they always look interesting and inviting. Just like the friends I was visiting.

The property that my friend lives on is 62 acres on a mountainside in the White Mountains. To say this is beautiful would be an understatement, and after having a lovely lunch prepared by his good wife, we walked the property. My friend, Tom, was keen to show me the entirety of the property, which I had previously only visited during winter. We walked down the hillside and from a clearing with a large pond into the woods.

As we entered the woods, he stopped me and, breathing deeply, waited for a few moments. I knew he was going to say something important.

Even though we had spent hours and days together over the years, we never really discussed our spiritual disposition. He knew that I was doing “stuff” with the church, but that was about it. And yet, we always felt we were on a similar wavelength. Compassion, love, and care for others were always on Tom’s list, which showed in all he did. There was no forcing of faith paths.

After this short pause, Tom declared with the precision of a poet. “Mike, this is my sanctuary … This is my chapel”.

The woods and the brook below were singing the song he wanted to hear, and they were his place of refuge. A place that touched his interior from the outside. A place where he was really “one” with nature and could contemplate safely surrounded by Mother Earth. It was a very powerful sharing moment. One that I am so happy he shared with me. I also felt the power of nature and creation enveloping me with some coolness from the slight breeze arising from the stream below.

We all have these places in our lives. Somewhere where the encounter with the marvel of God’s creation snuggles us tightly. Where we are, once again, in the womb that gave us life.

I wrote this reflection to describe that afternoon in Tom’s sanctuary. I was glad to be able to visit and see what moved his spirit. Of course, we all have our own sanctuaries, sometimes many of them.

Perhaps you can visit yours again soon.

The Sanctuary

Downhill, once more for the trip towards the stream

Who chuckles to herself, at speed now,

As the winter thaw begins;

In these sacred mountains

My feet begin to gain a spring today,

Despite their well-worn history,

As they gather me towards the longing,

The one within that drives me on.

The ground below is soft and tactile …

The result of years of nature’s carpeting

Never needing fitting or cleaning,

Just perfected by the seasons and her admirers.

I see it now, as the opening in the woods appears,

Nature’s chapel, my chapel, without disguise … she beckons

A heart always longing for her.

Final steps bring me to her center.

The path speaking directions,

The stream singing below,

The scene revealing my place in her heart.

Now I sit in the lean-to to which is my prayer mat,

A place of contemplation where hours turn to minutes,

And nights to seasons,

Her work within begins.

Here is where healing thrives,

As she, Mother Earth pours herself into me,

Like a lover without shame or guilt,

Where all that was seen can be consumed by her forces.

Leaving me rebirthed to face more days.

Days where the sights of pain and violence are replaced

By calls of love and goodness,

As she replenishes me.

For goodness and peace will remain.

As she remains in me.

This Mother Earth.

This book of creation.

Where I am but a sentence;

Encouraged now, by the writer.

Posted on May 8, 2025May 8, 2025 by Michael J. Cunningham · 1 Comment

Resistance

For those of you who recall physics in school or college you may remember the meaning of electrical resistance. The “resistance” of a wire determines how much current and voltage flows through it based on its character, its essence. During some recent retreats it seems this relationship can also be applied to the way we enter into prayer and communion with God.

Perhaps this is nowhere truer than in contemplative prayer, particularly meditative prayer forms where we are encouraged to “tune out” the rest of the world and listen for that small, still voice mentioned in scripture so frequently. Eucharistic Adoration, Centering Prayer and even imaginative prayer all call the issue of our “resistance” to listen and stay quiet to hear what God wants us to receive.

One major factor limiting our growth in this area is an unwillingness to give in to God’s will, but rather make requests to suit our own benefits. While there is intrinsically nothing wrong with prayers of petition; we all do them all the time … it does not place us where we need to be when we take a contemplative prayer route. In contemplative prayer, we are putting ourselves in a disposition of “opening our heart to God, without an agenda or goal”, we are trying “to rest in Him” and let go of all of our own needs. (St. Augustine comes to mind. “My heart is restless till it rests in thee”.) The Our Father and many places in scripture describe this fully in the words “Thy Will Be Done”, which also means, God’s will be done, not my will.

Placing ourselves in this position requires us to drop all resistance, which keeps the electrical current that God wants to provide us with… grace… flowing at full tilt. When we surrender to His will, the agenda, our needs, and our requests are gone. We place ourselves near the Cross and rest in Him.

During my own journey, I can think of many times when I was grateful to God, but I still resisted the call to be close to Him. No because He was not present, but rather because I was unwilling to drop my internal resistance. I was unwilling to be vulnerable, to be humble, to be open to His complete love by dropping my guard entirely. I needed to rest in His arms as a small baby would do in the arms of their parents or grandparents.

Perhaps it is time to reexamine my own resistance to surrendering to God. Am I fully on board with “Thy Will Be Done” and leave my own will at the door? My answer is I still have some way to go.

So perhaps the old saw, “Let Go and Let God,” still has much relevance in my spiritual life today. I will work on it. Perhaps you are being called to look at resistance in this new light.

Just a thought.

Posted on April 4, 2025 by Michael J. Cunningham · 2 Comments

The Franciscan Way – An introduction to San Damiano Retreat

This following post is an introduction to San Damiano Retreat for those visiting us for the first time. It also provides a summary of the Franciscan Way, which we promote and try and live out in our everyday lives here at the center. I hope that you find this helpful in your own journeys, and perhaps explains a little more what we are up to here in the hills surrounding the Bay area. God Bless … Michael Cunningham

The Franciscan Way: A Path for Today’s Seeker

An Introduction to Franciscan Spirituality

Welcome to San Damiano Franciscan Retreat Center. I’m delighted you’ve chosen to spend this sacred time with us in this beautiful place named after a small, dilapidated chapel that changed the course of history eight centuries ago.

As we begin our journey together, I’d like to offer you an introduction to Franciscan spirituality—not as a historical curiosity or scholarly exercise, but as a living, breathing path that continues to transform hearts and minds in our modern world, just as it did in the 13th century.

The San Damiano Moment: Where It All Began

It’s fitting that we gather in a retreat center named San Damiano, for it was in the original San Damiano chapel near Assisi that a young Francis, still searching for meaning and purpose, knelt before a Byzantine crucifix and heard Christ speak to him: “Francis, go repair my house, which is falling into ruins.”

Initially, Francis took these words literally, using his father’s cloth and money to rebuild the physical chapel. But as his journey unfolded, he came to understand a deeper meaning—that Christ was calling him to help renew the Church itself, not through power or wealth, but through radical simplicity, authentic joy, and loving service.

That San Damiano moment stands as a metaphor for Franciscan spirituality itself—an unexpected encounter with divine presence that calls us beyond our limited understanding toward a broader vision of what it means to live the Gospel.

The Heart of Franciscan Spirituality

At its essence, Franciscan spirituality is not about complicated theological systems or rigorous religious practices. Rather, it centers on a few simple yet profound elements that continue to resonate across centuries and cultures:

1. Gospel Simplicity

Francis was captivated by the Gospel. When he heard the words of Jesus sending out his disciples without money, extra clothes, or provisions, Francis exclaimed, “This is what I want! This is what I seek!” He embraced radical simplicity not as deprivation but as freedom—freedom from the endless cycle of acquiring and protecting possessions.

In today’s world of consumerism and complexity, Franciscan simplicity offers a counter-cultural invitation to discern what is truly essential. It asks us: What possessions, habits, or attachments might be weighing down your heart? What would it mean to travel more lightly through life?

2. Creation as Sacred Text

Perhaps Francis’s most distinctive contribution to Christian spirituality was his profound sense of kinship with all creation. He addressed the sun, moon, water, and even death as brothers and sisters in God’s family. For Francis, creation wasn’t merely a backdrop for human activity but a sacred text revealing divine presence.

Francis didn’t love nature in the abstract or romantic sense. He encountered specific creatures with reverence and joy—birds that listened to his preaching, a wolf he befriended in Gubbio, the elements that sustained life. This wasn’t sentimentality but profound theological insight—that every created thing bears the divine fingerprint.

In our age of ecological crisis, this aspect of Franciscan spirituality offers prophetic wisdom. It invites us to move beyond seeing nature as a resource to exploit toward recognizing it as a community to which we belong.

3. Perfect Joy in Imperfect Circumstances

One of the most striking features of Franciscan spirituality is its emphasis on joy, even amid difficulty. Francis was known as “God’s troubadour,” singing and celebrating God’s love even as he embraced voluntary poverty and encountered resistance.

In a famous story, Francis explained to Brother Leo what constitutes “perfect joy”—not success or acclaim but maintaining peace and gratitude even when rejected, misunderstood, or suffering. For Francis, joy wasn’t dependent on external circumstances but flowed from the conviction of being loved by God.

In our anxious, achievement-oriented culture, this Franciscan perspective offers revolutionary freedom—the possibility of finding joy not when everything goes right, but even when things go wrong.

4. Contemplation in Action

Franciscan spirituality beautifully integrates contemplation and action. Francis would withdraw to remote hermitages for extended prayer, then return to towns and villages to preach and serve. This rhythm created a spirituality that was both deeply mystical and practically engaged.

Clare of Assisi, Francis’s spiritual sister and founder of the Poor Clares, developed this contemplative dimension even further. Her “gaze” upon Christ through prayer transformed her seeing of everything else. As she wrote to Agnes of Prague: “Place your mind before the mirror of eternity… and transform your entire being into the image of the Godhead itself.”

This integration offers us guidance for our fragmented lives—neither escapist spirituality disconnected from the world’s needs nor frenetic activism disconnected from spiritual roots, but a harmonious flow between contemplation and compassionate action.

The Franciscan Path in Everyday Life

How might we live this Franciscan vision in our daily lives, eight centuries after Francis walked the hills of Umbria? Let me suggest a few practical applications:

Practicing Presence

Franciscan spirituality invites us to cultivate attentiveness to the present moment. Francis had a remarkable ability to be fully present to whatever person, creature, or situation was before him. In our distracted, multi-tasking world, this simple practice of presence can be revolutionary.

Try this: For one day, approach each person you meet as if they were Christ in disguise. Notice how this shifts your attention and transforms ordinary encounters.

Embracing Vulnerability

Both Francis and Clare embraced vulnerability not as a weakness to overcome but as a sacred space for encounter with God and others. Francis’s willingness to be seen as foolish—singing in the streets, embracing lepers, appearing before the Pope in rags—created openings for authentic connection.

In our culture that values strength, control, and competence, Franciscan vulnerability offers liberation. Where might you risk being more authentically yourself, less defended, more open to connection?

Practicing Generous Simplicity

Franciscan simplicity isn’t about following rigid rules of poverty but about cultivating a generous heart that holds possessions lightly. Francis gave away not only material goods but status, reputation, and control.

Consider: What would one step toward greater simplicity look like in your life? Perhaps it’s clearing physical clutter, reducing digital noise, or simplifying your schedule to create space for what truly matters.

Reading the Book of Creation

Francis found God revealed not only in Scripture but in the natural world. This “Book of Creation” complemented the “Book of Scripture,” each illuminating the other.

Try this Franciscan practice: Spend time regularly in nature—not hiking with earbuds in or checking items off a fitness app, but simply present, attentive to the specific creatures and elements around you. What might God be revealing through this sacred text?

Building Peace Through Encounter

Francis was a remarkable peacemaker, even crossing battle lines during the Crusades to meet with the Sultan of Egypt in a spirit of respectful dialogue. For Francis, peace wasn’t achieved through avoiding conflict but through courageous encounter across differences.

In our polarized society, this Franciscan commitment to building bridges invites us to move toward, not away from, those who differ from us—approaching them with curiosity and respect rather than defensiveness or dismissal.

Conclusion: The Ongoing Invitation

As we begin our time here at San Damiano Retreat Center, we stand in a spiritual tradition that continues to offer wisdom, challenge, and hope. The Franciscan path doesn’t offer escape from life’s complexities but a way to move through them with greater freedom, joy, and love.

Francis himself never intended to start a spiritual movement. He simply sought to follow the Gospel with his whole heart, without gloss or compromise. In doing so, he discovered that the way of radical love leads not to constriction but to an expansive freedom—what he called “the perfect freedom of the children of God.”

That same invitation extends to each of us today. In the coming days, may we open ourselves to the transforming power of Franciscan spirituality. May we, like Francis before the San Damiano cross, be willing to listen deeply to how Christ might be calling us to “repair the house” in our own time and place.

The Prayer of St Francis

As we begin this journey together, let us pray in the spirit of Francis:

*Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.*

Peace and all good—Pax et bonum—as Francis would say.

Posted on March 21, 2025 by Michael J. Cunningham

Head and Heart

I’ve recently been reading a book called The Heart of Trauma by Bonnie Badenoch. Bonnie is a therapist who has been dealing with trauma patients for several decades. She is a well-known expert in this field. She has a great capacity to identify with the technical aspects of therapy and its spiritual intersection. Something that is often missing from modern therapy. Many enter therapy expecting results in a short period of time, in the same way as we have come to expect results from getting our car fixed or medication that will cure us of our illnesses. The results of this strategy are not good. A recent study shows that empathy amongst many in society has declined by a massive 75%, as society becomes more focused on self-fulfilling needs versus helping others less fortunate.

When it comes to the brain, and in this case the heart, life is not so simple, as we all know. Miss Badenoch explains that some of the single-minded thinking that seems to dominate our world today, comes from my reliance on using the left hemisphere of our brain more than the right. Now without getting into the details of her book the interesting observation that I made, was the relationship between the implicit results-oriented left brain, and the explicit meaning of what is happening in our lives that the right brain controls.

There has been some debate in these circles for many years, that the left brain and the right brain thinking tends to dominate our personalities. The simplistic view we have been given is that the scientific aspect of our brain is the left-hand side, and the artistic side is the right-hand side. It turns out, just in the same way as our lives, that both sides are dependent on each other. In the same way that our heart often determines our decision-making process, in conjunction with our head, therefore making decisions that have some meanings built into them rather than just opinions or results.

This interdependence between our head and our heart is the core of the healing that Miss Badenoch and her clients search for together in her therapy groups. In the same way, as we are searching for meaning in our own lives, we cannot deal with problems in isolation, we have to search for meaning and understanding in order to be able to reach some semblance of peace as a result.

I guess my point in this reflection is that science is starting to recognize that our heart, our spirit, and our soul are a much more important compass for us to manage our way through our lives. And of course, with God at the center of all of those, we can be assured that the movement that we make toward peace and reconciliation will be better as a result of being guided by Him.