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When we feel weak and incapable

One of my top five books is Dom Marmion's Union with God, a collection of some of his letters of spiritual direction.

An excerpt:

You must not pay too much attention to the fluctuations which are ever passing over the surface of your soul. Like the sea, it is constantly ruffled, but in its depths it is all God's. Ask the Holy Spirit to give you an abundance of His gift of fortitude, nothing so honours God as to lean on Him in full confidence, just when we feel weak and incapable, 'When I am weak, it is then that I am strong . . . I glory in my infirmities that His strength dwell in me.' May you be filled with Christ's strength, the spouse is never so pleasing to her beloved as when she bears all her weight on the strong arm of her beloved.

And another:

Abandon yourself blindly into the hands of this Heavenly Father Who loves you better and more than you love yourself.

More to come . . .

Behold, there He stands . . .

Another of James Tissot's paintings and another of my favorites. It came to mind as I was pondering returning to Ordinary Time. Yet He still stands behind our wall, speaking to us:

"Behold, there he stands behind our wall,
gazing in at the windows,
looking through the lattice.
My beloved speaks and says to me:
"Arise, my love, my fair one,
and come away;
for lo, the winter is past,
the rain is gone.
The flowers appear on the earth,
the time of singing has come. . . .
O my dove, in the clefts of the rock,
in the covert of the cliff,
let me see your face,
let me hear your voice." (Song of Songs 2:9b-12a, 14)

Some of the Church fathers see the "cleft in the rock" as the pierced Heart of Jesus. . .

"Believe stubbornly that Jesus loves you."
(letter to St. Therese from Fr. Pichon, 1889)

Let Me love you.

I am a great fan of James Tissot's art (The Passion of Christ illustrated by James Tissot). I find he had a fresh and authentic way of portraying the events in the life of Christ. Tissot named this piece "Our Lord Jesus Christ", but to me it is the best portrayal I have seen of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, of His incessant thirst to give His love to us. "I am yours. Let Me love you."

(Look for more of his work in future blog entries.)

Fears and emotional wounds as the context for holiness

from Marc Foley's book on St. Therese of Lisieux, The Context of Holiness (ICS Publications)

"Becoming an adult does not mean that the deep emotional wounds of childhood disappear. Rather, being an adult means choosing to make courageous decisions in the face of powerful emotions." (p.13)

"When she [Therese] was assigned a job [novice mistress] that she thought was too much for her to handle, she felt overwhelmed, incompetent, unqualified, and inadequate . . . However, Therese does not apologize for her fears. She does not berate herself for feeling like a child; rather her fears and insecurities are the context within which she places her trust in God. It is as if Therese is saying to all of us: 'There are many situations in life that trigger the deep-seated fears of childhood. I have come to see that this is a normal part of daily life. I have also come to see that our childhood wounds are not obstacles to our spiritual growth but are in some mysterious manner the path on which we find our way back to God. The deep-seated fears of my life have forced me to abandon my self-sufficiency and to rely upon the grace of God.'" (p. 14)

"Therese did not make it a goal to get beyond the effects of her childhood but to do the will of God in the midst of them. Therese understood that the emotional wounds of her childhood were not obstacles to spiritual growth but the context of growing in holiness." (P. 96)

"Acts of faith are expressed in two ways. The first is our willingness to jump into the darkness, that is, choosing to trust in God's guidance as we venture into the unknown. The second is our willingness to sit in the darkness, which is continuing to do God's will when our emotional resources are depleted and life seems hollow, meaningless, and absurd. Therese was willing to sit in this darkness as long as God willed.
"These are the worst times in our life of faith when viewed from a psychological and emotional perspective. But from a spiritual vantage point, they are potentially the best of times. For when we continue to do God's will without emotional support, our love for God and neighbor grows and is purified." (pp. 136-7)

Christ, the lighted coal

"A friend comes to the rescue in time of need, and if he is aware of the truth of friendship, he directs his friend just as if he were himself and puts his own members at his disposal if he has lost his. ... a friend is a lighted coal, and if placed beside it, it can rekindle a dead one." (Bl. Simon Fidati of Cascia)

Christ is our true Friend, the lighted coal for each one of us, our hope of rekindling.

God is greater than our hearts . . .

I was away on vacation and then doing the proverbial catching up after vacation, and consequently neglecting this blog. Now I'm back.

Last week I read a very thought provoking--and hope provoking--piece in Magnificat by Msgr. Romano Guardini. The beginning may not sound hopeful--hang in there with it.

In the condemnation of the heart, it is God himself who condemns. Wrong has been done to him. Wrong has been done to the gentle and holy life that he has awakened in the heart, to the holy trust that binds him to his child. How can man's self-defense reach these depths.

What possible help is there? John says, "If our heart condemns, us, God is greater than our heart." Do you observe that this answer comes from the same depths as the condemnation itself? The answer is not: "You have done right. Your intentions were good. Be of good cheer." No, the answer is: "God is greater than your heart."

Your heart is great. That is the first thing, and it is amazing that that should be said at all. But God is still greater. The heart that has been lost is great. But God is greater. The heaviness of the heart to which wrong has been done is so great that it must sink. God is the sea of greatness where everything heavy is made light. The wrong that has been done to life is great. God is the Creator, and God is life and grace. He is greater than everything. The holiness to which wrong has been done partakes of the dignity of God. His trust has been infringed. That is terrible. But he himself, his magnanimity, his creative love, is greater than all this wrong. John does not say, "Cheer up, it isn't so bad after all." He does not say, "Don't take life so seriously." God says, "Give these things their full weight. Then I will come to you. I am God."

And when he comes, the creature will become clear to itself. Its self-importance will be dissolved, and everything will be fulfilled.

Courage

I just came across a card sent to me by a good friend at a very, very challenging time in my life. (A story for another time.) It was tucked away in the front zippered compartment of my bible, a place where I've put a number of treasures. I don't look in there very often, and, hence, I sometimes forget what is in there--like this card. There is only one word on the front of the card: Courage. The card then unfolds to a 17 x 11 inch poster with the quote: It is at night that faith in light is most admirable. I thought about laminating it and putting it up somewhere, but I think I like it best to just re-discover it once in awhile tucked away in that zippered compartment of my bible. And it always seems to be just the right time to re-read it . . . (Thank you, Kathleen K.)

Don't be afraid of being afraid

One of the greatest pieces of advice from my spiritual director--actually, almost everything he's ever said to me qualifies as "great"--was "Don't be afraid of being afraid." It quickly expanded to include "Don't be afraid of being a mess." "Don't be afraid of the emptying [God stripping me to give me more of Himself.]" etc. You can fill in your own blank.

One take on this is found in one of Caryll Houselander's letters: "During the war, I was simply terrified by air raids, and it was my lot to be in every one that happened in London, sometimes on the roofs of these flats, sometimes in the hospitals, sometimes in Mobile First Aid in the street. I tried to build up my courage by reason and prayer, etc. etc. Then one day I realized quite suddenly: as long as I try not to be afraid I shall be worse, and I shall show it one day and break; what God is asking of me, to do for suffering humanity, is to be afraid, to accept it and put up with it." In another letter: "You asked me how I managed to accept fear in the raids. Well--perfectly simply. Instead of kidding myself and trying to minimize the danger or to find some distraction from it, I said to myself: 'For as long as this raid lasts--an hour--or eight hours--you are going to be terrified. So just carry on and be terrified, that's all'--and at once the strain ceased. Oh yes, I was terrified: I've often had to resort to sheer force to hide the fact that my teeth were chattering, and been unable to speak as my mouth was too dried up and stiff from funk. But at the same time I felt that God had put His hand right down through all the well upon well of darkness and horror between Him and me and was holding the central point of my soul; and I knew that however afraid i was then, it would not, even could not, break me. I always volunteered (after the discovery) for most frightful things (if called on to do so only!)--like Mobile First Aid in the street, and fire watching on the roof Nell Gwynn: and always knew God was there in a special way, to accept the offering of fear. It's only when we try not to experience our special suffering that it can really break us." (November 11, 1949)

It's okay to be human . . . That's exactly where God meets us.

Keeping the eternal perspective

A great article about keeping the eternal perspective during the times we are facing.

A man who writes hope

Anthony Esolen's writings continue to inspire me and give me hope. His latest post on Touchstone's blog, "I Want to Be on That Man's Team" is another example.

While it was still dark . . .

A piece I wrote a couple of years ago on Easter morning (to call myself to more hope):

“Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark . . . “ (Jn 20:1)

While it was still dark she came. She did not wait at home. She did not wait for Him or for others to come to her. And she expected to find what? Surely the stone still blocking her from Him. And yet she came. In the darkness. In her grief. She sought Him out even if only to lean upon that stone that separated Him from her. In the darkness, in her grief she came.

And what did she find? The stone rolled away—but He was not there. He was not there. “I sought him, but found him not. I called him, but he gave no answer” (Song of Songs 5:6b). “Where have they laid him? They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him” (Jn 20:13b).

Her sorrow is now greater, yet she does not return home. She stands there weeping. And seeking. While it was still dark.

And no one else can solace her. Not angels. Not gardeners . . . She still seeks Him. While it is still dark. And that seeking, that longing of her soul, that anguish at His absence is the latch Christ uses to open her heart when He says her name: “Mary.” While it was still dark.

So go to Him. While it is still dark. While you are still weeping. Even when you cannot find Him. Stand there weeping and seeking Him. And listen for your name. Even now He is saying it.

While it is still dark.

Words of Hope from Benedict XVI for this day

Today is Holy Saturday.

“Holy Saturday is the day of the ‘death of God,’ the day which expresses the unparalleled experience of our age, anticipating the fact that God is simply absent, that the grave hides him, that he no longer awakes, no longer speaks, so that one no longer needs to gainsay him but can simply overlook him . . . Christ strode through the gate of our final loneliness; in his passion he went down into the abyss of our abandonment. Where no voice can reach us any longer, there is he. Hell is thereby overcome, or, to be more accurate, death, which was previously hell, is hell no longer. Neither is the same any longer because there is life in the midst of death, because love dwells in it.”

“Christ descended into ‘Hell’ and is therefore close to those cast into it, transforming their darkness into light. Suffering and torment is still terrible and well-nigh unbearable. Yet the star of hope has risen—the anchor of the heart reaches the very throne of God. Instead of evil being unleashed within man, the light shines victorious: suffering—without ceasing to be suffering—becomes, despite everything, a hymn of praise.”

“God cannot suffer, but he can suffer with.”

~Benedict XVI

"Come, Christians, Join to Sing"

I just read this week a piece by Dr. Anthony Esolen, professor at Providence College, entitled "Come Christians, Join to Sing!" It's worth reading the whole article. Last paragraph: "How sorry such a life [without a culture in which to celebrate] would be! Which makes me think--or I should say, makes me insist--that long before we Christians take to the streets in protest, we should take to the streets in song. Let our merriment abash our opponents, before our indignation steels their resolve. Let's take them by a storm of celebration. I have no idea what is stopping us. Surely it can not be our knowledge that we'd probably celebrate with lousy music. Our opponents have lousy music too. They invented most of it, after all, and we picked it up from them. Let's go for the celebration. Not to proselytize; just to pray and sing and be together, outdoors, with people to look on and laugh at us for being the fools that we are. Let them. We keep it up, and they'll be fools alongside us too."

Let them not, then hide this hope

"They [the laity] show themselves to be children of the promise, if, strong in faith and in hope, they make the most of the present time (cf. Eph. 5:16; Col. 4:5), and with patience await the glory that is to come (cf. Rom. 8:25). Let them not, then hide this hope in the depths of their hearts, but even in the framework of secular life let them express it by a continual turning toward God and by wrestling 'against the world-rulers of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness' (Eph. 6:12)." (from Lumen Gentium 34)