Coronation

'You, who have the kingdom of heaven, are not a poor little woman, but a queen.'

Blessed Jordan of Saxony





















Painting: Charles Sillem Lidderdale, 1877

Fill in the Blanks

Lord God, You are holy and merciful and ___________________________________

I thank You for ________________________________________________________

The people I bring before You today are____________________________________

Please forgive me for ___________________________________________________

Please help with _______________________________________________________

I would like to talk with You about ________________________________________

I adore You because____________________________________________________

Throughout this day ____________________________________________________ 

May You be glorified in me, Lord Jesus Christ.  Amen.

  

Painting: Anna Ancher, in US public domain due to age  (PD-US)

A Pattern for my Pebbles

 
In the third century, Tertullian wrote that the blood of the martyrs is seed for the Church.  It was seed that God planted from the beginning.  St. Paul endured imprisonments, beatings, stoning; St. John was exiled on the island of Patmos; St. Peter was allegedly crucified upside down.

It all began with Stephen.

"Those who listened to (Stephen's) words were stung to the heart; they ground their teeth in anger at him.  Stephen meanwhile, filled with the Holy Spirit, looked to the sky above and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at God's right hand.  'Look!' he exclaimed, 'I see an opening in the sky, and the Son of Man standing at God's right hand.' The onlookers were shouting aloud, holding their hands over their ears as they did so.  Then they rushed at him as one man, dragged him out of the city, and began to stone him.  The witnesses meanwhile were piling their cloaks at the feet of a young man named Saul.  As Stephen was being stoned he could be heard saying, 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.'  He fell to his knees and cried out in a loud voice, 'Lord, do not hold this sin against them.'  And with that he died."  (Acts 7:54-60)

Surely his acute view of reality buffered Stephen's agony as stones were hurled at him.  He was given grace appropriate to the situation, just at the moment he needed it.

I like to remember this.  When I face a trial, God is there.  He gives me just the glimpse of Him that I need, exactly when I need it.  I know this through faith, and I know it from experience.  God stands ready with what I need.

I have never been pelted with physical stones, but I've endured a few pebbles.  Smirks and snubs for living and speaking the truth of God.  I like to remember that Jesus told us to expect nothing less.  "You will be hated by all on account of Me."  (Matthew 10:22).

I pray to remember the example of Stephen.  What a grace that the words of this first Christian martyr were written down:  leaving, in effect, a pattern for all who would come after him.  He looked at God, not at the situation.  He prayed.  He forgave.  And his actions were witnessed by one who would turn, in time, to God.

Stephen's pattern for dealing with stones is just as much a pattern for the pebbles.

Look to God.

Pray.

Forgive. 

And God stands ready with what we need.

Painting:  Giorgio Vasari, Martyrdom of St Stephen


In honor of today's feast, this was a re-post from our archives

Is There Room?

Sometimes, at this time of year, a question drifts into my mind.  It's always the same. 

"Is there room in Your heart for Me?" 

I immediately think of innkeepers.  I think of a house in Bethlehem where travelers once lodged, where no room was found when the time came for Jesus to be born.

Christ is in my heart; this I know.  But sometimes I wonder.  Am I providing a place of welcome and adoration?  Or could it be that I've allowed my heart to become cluttered with so many other things that I have little room in my life for Christ Himself.

The inn in Bethlehem was not filled with "bad" people on the night Mary and Joseph arrived seeking shelter.  It had no room for the holy family only because others had gotten there first.

Does Jesus find little space in some of my days simply because the hours fill up with everything else first?

Do I get up in the morning and put off prayer until I get one thing accomplished, and then one more thing - and do I ever find that the day has sped by without my spending any time at all in communication with God?  I am deeply ashamed to admit that more often than I care to mention, this has been the case.

My heart seems, today, like a manger filled with clutter.  Sometimes it's as if there's no room in it for the most important Person in the universe.   Just imagine the "logic" of that.  And so I come today to Jesus, asking HIM to clear out all the distractions.   I ask our Blessed Mother, who so tenderly prepared a place for Jesus, to help prepare my heart to be a fitting refuge for my Lord.  May she re-arrange my priorities as one might arrange pieces of straw in a manger.

As my Christmas gift this year, I ask that the same be done for you.  I ask that all our hearts be prepared as places of loving refuge for the King and Messiah Whose birth we are about to celebrate.

The world did not welcome Him when He came to earth as an infant; it does not welcome Him still.  You and I have the opportunity of welcoming Him in a world that does not do so.

May our hearts prepare Him room.

This post is a slightly edited version of one first published on The Cloistered Heart blog in December, 2011.

And There Are Books

It's a time of year when minds of young men and old women lightly turn to thoughts of books. 

Yes, I made that sentence up all by myself.

Perhaps I could put it this way.  The air outside is chilling.  Darkness falls early.  There's frost on the punkin, snow in the forecast, a crackling fire beneath the mantel, and a cup of warm tea by my side. 

And of course, a book.

This is also a time when we're thinking about Christmas gifts. Dolls and scooters and toy airplanes (I bought one of each this morning; shhhh, don't tell..). And what better gift than a book?

But there are books, and there are books.  Some transport us to worlds of wonder, and we soar through their pages on words spun together like threads in fine tapestries.  Others read more like a string of sentences akin to the first one in this post.  Not likely to be on any bestseller lists, they. 

Of course, bestseller lists are not the best places to find good reading material.  I know such news is not a shock to anyone reading this, and there are certainly exceptions, but many highly popular offerings are not worth our time (at best) and can (at worst) be harmful to our lives of faith.

I think St. John Bosco gave us perfect guidance on the matter when he wrote "Never read books you aren't sure about... even supposing that these bad books are very well written from a literary point of view.  Let me ask you this: would you drink something you knew was poisoned just because it was offered to you in a golden cup?" 

After my recent post on spiritual reading material, I’ve been thinking of writings that have struck me in some way.  Here are just a few, with links to more information about each. 

The Fulfillment of All Desire by Ralph Martin. An inspiring look at growth in holiness, using the works of seven Doctors of the Church.  One of my favorite books of all time.

Fire Within by Father Thomas Dubay SM. I love anything by Father Dubay, but this one is my favorite.  

Francis de Sales, Jane de Chantal, Letters of Spiritual Direction helped me know (and love) both of these saints as human beings. 

And then there are the following three titles, which had me burning the proverbial midnight oil.  I found them (the first in particular) as riveting as novels -  probably because the stories are true.  

Unplanned by Abby Johnson. 

Mother Angelica... by Raymond Arroyo. 

A Right to be Merry by Mother Mary Francis PCC.  I love Mother's humor! This was written in the (1950s?), but the life has changed little, and hey: a smile is still a smile.....

I want to feed my mind with things that will lead me toward God, never away from Him.  One of the most comprehensive helps I've found, for when I'm considering various topics and even (a few) authors, is a list of links on the Women of Grace Blog.  Even though it does not list specific titles, it does deal with subject matter we might run into when we're considering spiritual books.  I once heard it said that "lies are more believable when they're built on a foundation of half truths."  So I am grateful for the help that can be found by clicking here.

I write this as winds begin to stir outside.  I have a hard time adjusting to this season of early darkness.  My old clock keeps up a steady tick; it chimes on the hour, but never correctly (we decided to call this idiosyncrasy "charming").  I have chamomile tea, a soft afghan, and of course - a book.  

Long Sigh.


Painting:  St Cecilia (detail), John William Waterhouse 

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Monthly Linkup

The House at the Back of My House

I'm beginning to see it.  As leaves fall and trees turn into tall bare sticks, I'm beginning to see.

All through the summer, the neighbors' house was there.  Even though I couldn't catch so much as a glimpse of it out my back windows, I knew it remained.  Our trees were full and lush, shielding the house from view; but I knew that once autumn winds blew and tossed leaves about, I would see it again.

It's not that I'm particularly attached to that house.  Oh, I do enjoy the look of its gray roof against a winter sky, and I find the sight of smoke billowing from its chimney downright neighborly.  But what caught my attention in a moment of prayer was the realization that, whether I see it or not, the building remains.  The presence of the house is an objective fact.

Whether or not I "see" Him, God remains.  Things may come along and block my view, but that makes no difference.  God's presence is an objective fact.  Nothing that obscures my view of Him changes that.  Always, no matter what, He is there. 

Sometimes things wedge themselves between me and God.  Often I plant these things myself.  But always God is there, and unlike the house at the back of my house, He is actively waiting.

He waits for me to turn to Him, push aside whatever blocks our union, and come to Him anew.

'In all our thoughts and actions we ought to remember the presence of God, and to count as lost any time in which we do not think of Him.'  (St. Bernard of Clairvaux)


Painting:  Vitus Staudacher Sommertag im blühenden Bauerngarten; in US public domain due to age

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Monthly Linkup

Letting Go of Splinters

It was one of my grown children who helped me see the error of my ways.  Launching into a story about someone I'll call 'Millie'... relating a tale I'd been told by a friend who'd heard from a co-worker who knew for sure because someone had said ... I was stopped mid-sentence.  "Mom," said my son (kindly), "before you say any more, just know that whatever you tell me will make a difference in what I think about Millie from now on."
. 
Well.

Feeling chagrined, I fell silent.  I was stung by the truth of these words.  I could pass along my little bit of gossip, feeling only slightly guilty about doing so, and I would most likely forget it (as it is, I don't remember it now).  But every time my son saw or spoke with 'Millie,' he would carry with him an impression left in the wake of my careless action.  Even though I cannot, today, recall what I was starting to say, I know it was not something positive.  

Oh, I might have tried to be 'nice.'  I probably intended to mention that Millie had a few good qualities, bless her heart.  But was there a good reason to casually mention her actions to my son?  No.  I had no reason to share whatever-it-was.

This happened several years ago, and will I sound dramatic when I say it was life changing?  Probably.  But it was.

Somehow my son's wise perspective had entirely escaped my notice before this time.  I'd more or less taken it for granted that if all the Millies of this world never heard the negatives people said about them, they couldn't be hurt.  Could they? 

I immediately started noticing how my own opinions of people are formed by what others say.  And by body language:  smirks and headshakes and rolled eyeballs.  Then I realized that while I cannot alter what others say about someone, I can definitely choose what I do or do not share, and with whom.

I can begin by checking my motives when I'm tempted in this area.  Do I like to seem 'in the know?'  Am I concerned that befriending someone others look down on will make me less appealing to those others?  Do I want to be in the loop of shared laughter?  Am I afraid a friend might like Millie more than she likes me, and thus I want to cast a shadow on Millie's character?  Am I feeling jealous?  Threatened?  Angry?  Inferior?  Afraid?  

Do I often find fault with others over inconsequential things?  If so, can I prayerfully get to the root of why this might be the case?

I have a great many planks in my own eyes (Matthew 7:3).  Now that I've begun in earnest to let God deal with these, my vision is growing clearer.  I can focus on Our Lord, and see more clearly what He wants to change in me. 

And one thing I know for sure.  It is time to let go of Millie's splinters.  
 
'We make ourselves judges of the minds of our fellow creatures, which are for God alone to judge.'  (St. Catherine of Siena)

'Do not judge, and you will not be judged.'  (Luke 6:37) 

Painting:  Mehclers, The Sermon, 1886; cropped

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Monthly Linkup

A Religious in the Attic

Someone I know compares the Church's storehouse of spiritual treasures to an attic filled with family heirlooms, ones discovered anew as each generation comes and goes.  Our Church is blessed with devotions, traditions, revelations, stories, truths, and precious gems of faith.  Some of these are emphasized at particular times, while others slide into the background only to resurface a few decades later.  Thus we may find it helpful to “climb up into the attic” from time to time to see if perhaps there might be some treasures we're overlooking.

There are a few people who try to caution us about the attic.  There's nothing but old stuff up there, we're sometimes warned.  Just bundles of old junk not relevant to the world today.  "We don't really have books about saints," I was once told by someone running a Church library.  "Mostly we have modern self-help books and some fiction." I came away feeling like someone whose spiritual ancestors had been forgotten; maybe even erased from the family tree.

One of my favorite books was sent to me by a friend in another country.  She'd rescued it when people hosting a retreat were throwing it into the trash.  It's just an old volume, very "out of date," she was told.  Funny.  I quote this (out of print) book here from time to time, and am often told how much help it has been.  In fact, because of a recent request, I have gone back and labelled blog posts quoting this writer - so now we can more easily find them.  The author, who wrote simply under the name "A Religious," actually wrote a number of small volumes on prayer and spiritual growth.  Thanks to the generosity of yet another kind friend, I'm currently able to borrow some of these titles, one at a time.

If you've ever searched for copies of The Living Pyx of Jesus, or any other writings by this particular author, you know they're rare - and in the neighborhood of $300 per volume (last time we checked) when they can be found.

And someone was throwing one into the trash.

If you'd like to sample some treasures from the heart of "A Religious," you can now do so by clicking this line. 

Also:  I have used other short quotes from this writer on The Cloistered Heart, and I've now labelled those as well.  They can be found by clicking this line.   

This post (which is an adaptation of an earlier one on "the attic") is also being published on The Cloistered Heart blog today.  

We are unearthing treasure!  It's good to have at least the shadow of a map.

He Has Been Waiting All Along

Yesterday I again wrestled myself into prayer.  I'm ashamed to admit how long it took me to get there, but finally I struggled through the day's distractions to find myself in front of an open Bible.  I looked at the page only to see what seemed like a spattering of random words.   What, whenever, surpassing, things, count, that, for.

This was worse than usual.

Meanwhile, a charming collection of junk mail had stacked up on my table.  Brightly colored pizza coupons.  A sale flier for... what is that, candles?  A catalog of, oh my goodness:  books.   I tried to concentrate.  I tried to pray.  I batted away stray thoughts that buzzed around like flies.  I repented.  I expressed sorrow.  I thought of how many meaningless things persistently shout for my attention.  I felt sad.  I felt hopeless.  I felt defeated.  I felt

interrupted.

Right in the middle of my self-beating, even as I realized that I'm not a person of discipline and routine and likely never will be, I had a sudden sense of something I cannot describe.  A kind of warmth. Amazing warmth.  If I could paint a picture of it, I'd show Jesus looking over at me with a tender, loving smile.  As if He were actually.... pleased!

If I could put words in His mouth (and really, it was almost as if I "heard" these), they would be "you have no idea how much you love Me." 

No, that was not a typo.   It wasn't "you have no idea how much I love you" (although I'm totally sure that is the case), but "you have no idea how much YOU love ME." 

How astonishing.  Could that possibly be true?  In the midst of my distractions and laziness and aridity, when my prayers are dry as dust?!  Oh surely not!  And yet - at the moment I felt this, I also had a strong sense of peace.  It was as if a veil lifted, and in an instant I could see oh, so much at once.   

The "much" started with, of all things, blogs.  I thought of this one, specifically, and of how I'd originally considered this as the blog wherein I could ramble about any and every random thought that crossed my mind.  Yet rarely, in the nearly two years since I started writing here, can I recall a post that didn't lead toward or speak of or include God.  It's not that I set out from the beginning to do this (I realized); it's that I write (or quote) what is truly on my mind.

Even though I've felt dry, lazy, and unspeakably distracted, I have made up my mind to come to Jesus and wrestle my way to Him.  How tender of Him to let me know that He is smiling on my little efforts.  How generous of Him to give me a glimpse of how much I really do love Him.  It's good to know the truth of it (and yes, I believe it is truth) that I love Him more than I realize.  If I hadn't gone through the motions once again, I would never have been in a position to see this.

He loves me beyond all imagining.  And I, distracted as I am, love Him.  I want to please Him.  By His grace (and His grace alone) I am growing, at least a little, in virtue.

He has been waiting for me to go through the motions.  He has been waiting all along.  

Go Through the Motions

I sometimes must wrestle myself into prayer.  It often seems that I'm waging an all-out battle against distractions, laziness, daydreams, aridity, and sudden inexplicable desires to latch onto any shiny bit of trivia that will keep me from praying.   

This makes no sense. 

God Himself, the Creator of the universe and the One Who loves me beyond all imagining, is waiting to comfort and heal and bless and listen to me.  He is, quite literally, waiting. 

And I, in effect, ignore Him so I can turn my attention to....... what?

Let's see.  In just the last few days, I've put off prayer in order to focus my attention on junk mail, crossword puzzles, television, a book just borrowed, idle chatter, tiredness, a fleeting headache,  various Internet links, and at least one catalog order that suddenly "had to" be placed right then and there and not half an hour later. 

Interesting.  I don't see anything at all there about my family or the work I've needed to do.  All I see is a list of totally inconsequential things that suddenly become of paramount importance when weighed against spending time with, well... with the Author of Life.

See what I mean?  It makes no sense. 

This morning I was graced with a glimpse of the senselessness.  Weakly, I asked God for help.  That's when the thought crossed my mind:  "at least go through the motions."  Don't feel like taking time for prayer?  Take a few minutes anyway.  Don't feel inspired?  Pick up a prayer book and mouth some words.  The Bible and Breviary seem to weigh a ton today? ("oh...hooow will I ever liiift them?!").  Pick one up anyway.  Make the effort.  Do something.  If your heart feels wired shut, at least open your mouth. 

Go through the motions.  

So I did.  With a heart that felt like dried, fissured, ancient rock, I tried to focus while my mind flitted .... somewhere.  With mind unengaged, heart uninvolved, attention scattered to dusty winds, I went through the motions. 

Then it happened.  Like a lamp in a house whose electricity had been out, suddenly I knew I was connected.  It felt as if chains were shattered, and indeed - I think that's true.  But that would not have happened if I hadn't begun by going through the motions. 

And does this post even make any sense?  Possibly not, but regardless - I'll hit "publish."  With a prayer for anyone else who might be having trouble making the decision to take a few minutes in prayer.. and with a prayer for myself as well. 

After all, tomorrow's another day. I know how this goes:  it is a daily battle. I will face it again, and again.  

I pray for grace to go through the motions.

Wyczolkowski Wiosna painting

My Visitations

I often reflect upon Mary's visitation to Elizabeth (Luke 1:39-56).  I think about the fact that the original scene probably attracted little attention from observers.  Two women, two relatives, greeted one another.  It was something that happened all the time.   

No one watching would have shouted out: "Quick!  Come see!   Here's a scene that will be written about in the Bible!"  

Mary visited Elizabeth because both had first BEEN Visited - Mary in a totally unique way, of course.  She came to Elizabeth carrying God Himself within her.  

What particularly strikes me is that while I do not carry Jesus in the same way Mary did, I can indeed carry Him in my heart. 

“Perhaps you yourselves do not realize that Christ Jesus is in you..” (2 Corinthians 13:5)

"We may well tremble to think what sanctuaries we are, when the Blessed Sacrament is within us."  (Frederick William Faber)  

Imagine.  The Lord of the universe within us, within me.  Imagine.  

And I have the opportunity to "carry Him" to everyone I meet. 

What might happen if I make a conscious effort to go through today "on visitation?"

What if I first visit the Lord in prayer, and then specifically visit every person I encounter with the love of Christ?  This does not mean I have to say or do anything that will draw attention.  It may mean that I pray a silent aspiration for the letter-carrier, smile at a harried store clerk, relate to family members with patience.  I might write a note of encouragement, call a lonely relative.

My visitations will be simple and unnoticed.   

But as I carry the love of Christ to those around me, I have a feeling that all of heaven will rejoice.

Painting:  La Visitation, James Tissot, Brooklyn Museum

Portions of the above were previously posted on The Cloistered Heart blog in 2012.

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Blitz 

To be a Setting Sun

Thinking of what has formed me spiritually, I take one more look at the martyrs. These holy ones inspire me not because I like suffering (which I definitely do not), and not merely because their intense gift of self to Christ is challenging (although it is). I think I am enamored of them because their accounts pull me out of self-pity when I'm feeling arthritic, headachy, unable to find the car keys, or when it's raining for the ninth day in a row.

A witness of, say, an Ignatius of Antioch can hush my whines at such times.  And fast.

"Now is the moment when I begin to be a disciple," proclaimed St. Ignatius as he was on the way to be fed to lions. "May nothing seen or unseen distract me from making my way to Jesus Christ.  Fire and cross and battling with wild beasts, their clawing and tearing... let them assail me, so long as I get to Jesus Christ.... How glorious to be a setting sun - setting on the world, on my way to God!"

I hope to remember these words tomorrow, when I'm on the verge of grumbling about allergies and that load of laundry I must fold.

Painting:  The Christian Martyrs Last Prayer

Breakthrough

The painting on this post is one I will also be using on my other blog for the feast of Pentecost.  I love letting this one appear in a large format, so that it crosses the sidebar.  I love seeing it break through boundaries, burst past neat edges.  I can think of nothing more appropriate for this Feast. 

The events of Pentecost did not fit into neat, tidy categories.  Suddenly, the world the apostles had known was bursting at the seams. 

'When the feast of Pentecost came it found them gathered in one place.  Suddenly from up in the sky there came a noise like a strong, driving wind which was heard all through the house where they were seated.  Tongues as of fire appeared; which parted and came to rest on each of them.  All were filled with the Holy Spirit.  They began to express themselves in foreign tongues and make bold proclamation as the Spirit prompted them.'  (Acts 2:1-4)

My prayer for all of us on this feast is that we open our hearts to the Holy Spirit of God.  

May He fill the hearts of His faithful. 

May He cause us to know and love Him. 

May He break through barriers of sin and darkness, and renew the face of the earth.  

Pentecost painting by Jean Restout 

A Pattern for the Pebbles

Close to the base of my "spiritual family tree" stand those who have suffered for Christ, those who've given up lives, health or comfort for love of God.

It is only appropriate that such heroes are seen (by all of us) as basic to the faith, for they are exactly that.  As Tertullian said in the third century, the blood of the martyrs is seed for the Church.

It was seed that God planted from the beginning.  St. Paul endured imprisonments, beatings, stoning; St. John was exiled on the island of Patmos; St. Peter was allegedly crucified upside down.

It had all begun with Stephen.

"Those who listened to (Stephen's) words were stung to the heart; they ground their teeth in anger at him.  Stephen meanwhile, filled with the Holy Spirit, looked to the sky above and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at God's right hand.  'Look!' he exclaimed, 'I see an opening in the sky, and the Son of Man standing at God's right hand.' The onlookers were shouting aloud, holding their hands over their ears as they did so.  Then they rushed at him as one man, dragged him out of the city, and began to stone him.  The witnesses meanwhile were piling their cloaks at the feet of a young man named Saul.  As Stephen was being stoned he could be heard saying, 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.'  He fell to his knees and cried out in a loud voice, 'Lord, do not hold this sin against them.'  And with that he died."  (Acts 7:54-60)

Surely his acute view of reality buffered Stephen's agony as stones were hurled at him.  He was given grace appropriate to the situation, just at the moment he needed it.  I like to remember this.  When I face a trial, God is there.  He gives me just the glimpse of Him that I need, exactly when I need it.  I know this through faith, and I know it from experience.  God stands ready with what I need.

I have never been pelted with physical stones, but I've endured a few pebbles.  Smirks and snickers and snubs for living and speaking the truth of God.  I like to remember that Jesus told us to expect nothing less.  "You will be hated by all on account of Me."  (Matthew 10:22).

I pray to remember the example of Stephen.  What a grace that the words of this first Christian martyr were written down:  leaving, in effect, a pattern for all who would come after him.  He looked at God, not at the situation.  He prayed.  He forgave.  And his actions were witnessed by one who would turn, in time, to God.

Stephen's pattern for dealing with stones is just as much a pattern for the pebbles.

Look to God.

Pray.

Forgive. 

And God stands ready with what we need.  

Painting:  Bernardo Cavallino, Martyrdom of St. Stephen 

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Blitz 

This Sweetest Water

Into my basic spiritual formation (which is Scripture) have been stirred the 'flavorings' of various saints.  These bring more than mere flavor to my personal spiritual stew.  They provide nourishment of their own.

Such richness is always consistent with Scripture and the teaching of the Church.  Is it important that there be this kind of complimenting?  Absolutely.  Just as we would not toss marshmallows into beef stew, we don't ladle conflicting teachings onto our storehouse of treasured scriptures.  Such mixtures could result in everything from an unpleasant taste to (depending on the added ingredient) something harmful to our physical or spiritual health.

Looking back over my mix of holy influences is turning out to be a marvelous exercise - sort of like tracing my spiritual family tree.

Taking stock of some of the saints whose writings first formed me, I find (very close to the 'base')  St. Teresa of Avila.  When I discovered her Spiritual Autobiography and Soliloquies in the 1980s, I felt I had found a friend for life.  

'O Lord my God,' wrote this wise, mystical, practical Doctor of the Church, 'how You possess the words of eternal life, where all mortals will find what they desire if they want to seek it!  But what a strange thing, my God, that we forget Your words in the madness and sickness our evil deeds cause!  O my God, God, God, author of all creation!... bring it about... that my thoughts not withdraw from Your words.'  (Soliloquies)

'Lazarus did not ask You to raise him up.  You did it for a woman sinner; behold one here,  my God and a much greater one; let Your mercy shine.  I although miserable, ask life for those who do not want to ask it of You.'  (Soliloquies)

'O Life, Who gives life to all!  Do not deny me this sweetest water that You promise to all who want it.  I want it, Lord, and I beg for it, and I come to You.  Don't hide Yourself, Lord, from me, since You know my need and that this water is the true medicine for a soul wounded with love for You.' (Soliloquies)

My Living Idiolect

I am finding it a challenge and an (enormous) inspiration to take inventory of my 'spiritual idiolect.'  What persons and teachings have formed me over the years, I ask myself... what ingredients make up my own 'spiritual stew?'

One thing I know for sure is that it all starts with Scripture.  The word of God, as taught through the Church, is the foundation upon which all else in my life rests.

No:  not 'rests.'  Grows.  My spiritual idiolect is not a static thing, set into place like a lump of immovable concrete.  It is living, active, growing day by day.  Even the parts of scripture that inspire and challenge me are not the same as time goes on;  I am drawn to ponder different ones as situations shift and bend with the passage of time.

There are verses I have clung to as to a life raft; they've carried me through trials and kept me afloat.  There are some that seem to sing with the very voice of God, reminding me that scripture is indeed living and active, sharper than a two-edged sword. (Hebrews 4:12)

Tonight I look upon my Bible - my worn, tattered, thirty-five year old Bible - with reverence.  How much we have been through, this priceless friend and I.  I find I want to hug it (it wouldn't be the first time), and definitely I want to thank God for the gift of it.  Yes, it is a sharp sword, but I love it for the sharpness.   It has divided light from darkness, pierced through my blindness, challenged and comforted and corrected and inspired and taught..... 

"I have come to rate all as loss in light of the surpassing knowledge of my Lord Jesus Christ.  For His sake I have forfeited everything; I have counted all else rubbish so that Christ may be my wealth."  (Philippians 3:8)

"I put no value on my life as long as I can finish my race and complete the service to which I have been assigned by the Lord Jesus, to bear witness to the gospel of God's grace."  (Acts 20:24)

"We know that God makes all things work together for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His decree."  (Romans 8:28)

"I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall be ever in my mouth."  (Psalm 34:2)

"Though the fruit tree blossom not nor fruit be on the vines, though the yield of the olive fail and the terraces produce no nourishment, though the flocks disappear from the fold and there be no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord and exult in my saving God.  God, my Lord, is my strength; He makes my feet swift as those of hinds; He enables me to go upon the heights"  (Habakkuk 3:17-19)

Thank God for the gift of scripture.  I cannot imagine being "formed" without it.  May it ever be the basis of my life.

Painting:  Guido Reni, St. Matthew and the Angel

and we shall SING!

The idea of a 'spiritual idiolect' (as written of by Connie Rossini) is one I find personally intriguing.  I say this as a person whose vocal accent has been formed by such varying things - where I've lived, teachers in my earliest years, family, friends, and numerous et ceteras - that often people cannot tell what part of the US I hail from.  Professor Henry Higgins would surely find a challenge in me.

I now find myself comparing my blend of regional accents to my personal mixture of spiritual influences.  I am thankful that Scripture is primary among them.  Also primary is the teaching of the Church.  And then there is that (thank God for it) harmony of notes sounded by saints throughout the centuries.  Each has his or her own voice to add into God's heavenly blend.  I envision these, together, as a grand chorus of praise sounding throughout the Heavens, finding echoes in the praises and actions of those yet on earth.

Over these next days, I hope to look into a sampling of Scriptures, quotes, saints and charisms - particularly (but not limited to) those that form my own 'spiritual idiolect.'  I am intrigued by this fresh way of looking at the heavenly chorus into which I - and you - are invited to blend our 'voices.'

We have been called by God to tune our lives to the music of Heaven.  We hear, we are drawn; we echo.

Each one of us is called to participate.  Each one has a specific, irreplaceable, part to sing.

'There are different gifts but the same Spirit; there are different ministries but the same Lord; there are different works but the same God Who accomplishes all of them in everyone.  To each person the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good.'  (1 Corinthians 12:4)

'It is one and the same Spirit Who produces all these gifts, distributing them to each as He wills.'  (1 Corinthians 12:11) 

Painting:  Thomas Webster, A Village Choir

Interrupted By Glory

This time of year can bring both blessing and hassle.  Holy meditations, carols, the contagious wonder of wide-eyed children:  these unwrap great blessings and usually great fun. 

For some of us, however, the activities of Christmas can feel like an intrusion.  Day to day life is more or less put on hold by an urgent need to shop and wrap and bake and write and plan and decorate.  Chairs and tables are displaced by, of all things, a tree in the middle of our house.  There's no time to do ordinary things, as everyday life is seriously disrupted for weeks on end.  It can all seem like a major interruption.

Last December, the truth of it hit me.  This is what Christmas has been since the instant of the Incarnation:  an interruption.  Please stay with me here, because our first reaction to the word “interruption” could be negative.  But interruptions are often quite positive, and this Interruption was the most positive of them all.

Think of it.  Mary was living a quiet, hidden life.   She was betrothed.   Then one day an angel appeared to her, and with that Holy Interruption Mary’s life was changed forever.  As was Joseph’s, as was yours, as was mine. 

As we know, there was a Birth.  There were shepherds tending their flocks, and again an angel appeared.  A night of sheep-watching was interrupted.  

While most of the world went on unaware, a few men in the east noticed something out of the ordinary.  A sign in the sky.  Something signaling, to them, a wondrous Interruption – one so marvelous that they must drop any other plans they had and go in haste, and they must bring gifts.  These men were wise enough to know that somehow the world had changed, maybe even that the course of life on earth had been altered. 

The change was so shattering that mankind took notice.  Calendars would later mark the divide.  God Himself had split the heavens.  We now measure time by the before and after of that Grand Interruption, in effect saying that yes, we see.  We may not understand, really, but we recognize the wonder and the mystery of it.  God interrupted the cycle of sin and death by breaking into our world (John 3:16).  Jesus broke into the flesh of man, shattering hopelessness with His power and mercy. 

With Jesus' arrival in the flesh, God interrupted our misery.  He opened to us the path to salvation.  

When I feel stressed by Christmas interruptions, I try to remember what I'm celebrating.   Death was interrupted by Life.  Despair was interrupted by Hope.  With His glorious interruption, God tore through the fabric of time.      

This is a slightly edited re-post, originally appearing on my other blog last December.   

The Christmas Window

I recently wrote of one special Advent in my life.  I was twenty years old then, and paying no attention at all to God.  I wasn't attending Church regularly; I was in what I called my "I don't bother God and He doesn't bother me" phase.  That started changing as the world began its pre-Christmas celebrations.

While I was not talking to the Lord on a regular basis at that time, He used Advent as an opportunity to talk to me.

It was a season of non-stop reminders.  I almost couldn't get away from them.  Switching on a radio, I would catch an old familiar carol, one I'd heard every Christmas since childhood.  This time, however, the words sounded... different.  Sales clerks wished me merry Christmas.  A nativity scene was, as always, featured on the Court House steps.

I've heard discussions lately about whether or not Christmas should be celebrated before the 25th.  There is so much commercialism, the argument goes - and yes, I agree that this is the case.  In the Church, Advent is a time for quiet, for prayer, for hearts to wait in hushed anticipation.

There are many people, however, who are just as I was at twenty.  They may not spend much (if any) time in Church.  Maybe they were once deeply faithful to Christ, but along the way they've gotten distracted, busy, confused.

It seems to me that in the secular, "we're-doing-fine-by-ourselves" world, there appears in this season a window of opportunity. 

 A slot.

A crack in the Everyday.

An opening through which the call of God might be heard through carol or card.   

In recent years, we have seen that crack narrow.  The Court House steps of my youth haven't seen a nativity display in years.  Store clerks wish me "happy holidays" at best. But even now, somewhere between shoppers lined up for black Friday and the queues awaiting after-Christmas sales, there is still a window of opportunity.  A time when someone rushing through a store might catch the strains of an old familiar carol, one she's heard every Christmas since childhood.   Yet this time, the words sound.... different.  She remembers pictures of a babe in a manger, and some part of her seems to thaw....

This is a season when we can acknowledge (like at no other time) the One Who was born for us. After all, few of our friends will toss out cards that happen to have nativity scenes on them.  Neighbors visiting our home won't be offended by the words of "The First Noel." It's all just part of the season, part of the holidays, part of the fun.

The Church will begin Christmas music and celebrations on the 25th, but out here in the world, the window is now wide open.

This is when scenes and songs normally found only in Church can spill out into the world.

And who knows?   Someone years from now might look back on a card I sent this season, or remember the nativity scene she saw in my home, and recall this year as her own special Advent. 

For now, for just these few short weeks, the window is open.

We have no idea who might be looking through it.

I pray that they may catch a glimpse of Christ.

His Vision

"Sometimes we wonder why the Lord makes us wait so long for an answer to our prayers..... 

"His vision of our situation includes factors that are hidden from us.  We see only our present need, but His eyes range ahead over
the whole of our lives, and not of ours only, but of all those other lives which are affected by ours.  He sees the deep needs of each one
of us and of the whole of mankind. ..

"God's timing is always
perfect."  

            (Pope St. Leo the Great) 




 



(Painting: Jesus Goes Up Alone Onto A Mountain to Pray by James Tissot, in US public domain)