Death Comes for Us All

Death has been on my mind increasingly of late, and not merely because we have just come through the intense commemoration of Christ's death in the Easter Triduum.  That mystery, however, casts its shadow upon every experience of death and every pondering thereof.  For where our Lord has conquered death by His death there must also be life.

The reality of death never affected me much as a child.  Even now I can count on one hand the times that death has touched me closely, butchery of chickens and viewing of murder mystery shows notwithstanding.

I think of a priest I met who shared with us words his mother had repeated to him about how where there is death there will come life.  That priest knew a couple who received a newborn boy after they had longed eagerly for a child they had been unable to conceive on their own and had prayed through the intercession of the priest's mother.  Their new child was born on the same day that the priest's mother had died.  Where there was death there came life.

I think of tulips planted in rocks beside the ocean with their roots sheltered by soil carefully patted around them.  As their bright colors caught my gaze, I found my heart reflecting on death contrasting with their bright and vibrant life, for I thought perhaps the tulips stood as testimony to some lost love.

Before the mystery of death I have no words, writer as I am.  Still, writer as I am, I must strive to put words where only silence can adequately respond.  I must speak out from my heart what I know in its quiet beating, even though in the end I will say nothing of what I know with all my many words, but speak only of all that surrounds it, of all the little petty details that seem to mean nothing.

Perhaps it is best to rely upon poetry whose imagery speaks what prose cannot.  Here a little piece from G.K. Chesterton:

The Skeleton

Chattering finch and water-fly
Are not merrier than I;
Here among the flowers I lie
Laughing everlastingly.
No; I may not tell the best;
Surely, friends, I might have guessed
Death was but the good King's jest,
It was hid so carefully.

To Continue or Not to Continue, That is the Question

After spending Lent in various daily practices it seems strange to discontinue them, particularly the writing each day upon this blog.  As I ponder whether to continue, my inclination is to ask you, my readers, whether it is valuable for me to keep writing daily meditations to pass to you through the pixels of your screen.

Is it folly to thus ask for visible fruits?

We are called to give of ourselves, to give without counting the cost, to give without asking for any reward.  Surely then it ought to be unnecessary to consider whether my efforts draw you, dear seekers, any nearer to our Lord.  Yet I must needs dispense of the time given me wisely.

Discernment of this small piece of the time given me requires thought and prayer just as does every decision of our lives (although the quantity may vary substantially according to the weight of the outcome).  Sometimes we are given a clear answer in exterior circumstances or conviction that strikes our heart.  Sometimes, though, we have no illumination, but must choose to step forward in faith, hoping that in abandoning ourselves in the darkness we choose the right way, trusting that our Lord will guide our steps.

So I step on, pondering and seeking....

O Glorious Day of the Lord's Resurrection!

A blessed Easter to you and yours!

On this glorious day, I would like to share with you two things.  First, a beautiful Easter hymn of which so few people are aware and that I know thanks to my Anglican heritage.  The hymn is called "Hail Thee Festival Day."  It is difficult to find a good version where you can hear the words and the glory and power of the organ music, but here is one of decent quality so that at least you may become familiar with it:

The second thing I would like to share with you is one last meditation from the aforementioned character:

Dawn springs at last for the empty heart, setting free those bound in slavery to themselves and their own sins chaining them in misery. Only one who has tread the paths of self-servitude can understand what it means to be gripped suddenly by the light, to be pierced to the heart with truth and to dance with joy in the new day.

In that morning, the soul leaps up to the Lord to praise Him with song and all darkness has been banished. For the Lord has called each by name and now they have heard His voice. Each soul listens in the radiant glow of freedom and knows that he belongs to the Lord, that he is a wondrous work of creation, and that the Lord thirsts for his love.

Fear may strike the heart that first hears the sweet voice of love in his heart. Those bound in sin and servitude and accustomed only to the voices that drag them deeper in their misery do not know how to respond to such love. The light of freedom seems as darkness to them and they prefer to cling to their own misery rather than step forth on a path that leads to the heavens, on a road that stretches beyond their knowledge and understanding.

Yet somehow grace is at work, converting everywhere resistant hearts bent on their own destruction. Those most opposed to the light find themselves suddenly wrapped in it, reveling in a freedom and joy they never knew existed, tasting what one day will belong to them forever.

Somehow, too, each soul becomes mystically one with the Risen Lord, receiving Him in the most holy Sacrament. Lifted high above all creation, they themselves shine with the same light.

Blessed be the Lord who rose in glory that He might draw all men to Himself!

Blessed be the Lord who lifts the darkness and sets the sinner free!

Blessed be the Lord who has called me to be His poor unworthy servant!

Holy Saturday

Continuing with our meditations from said character, here is the one for today:

In silence, our Lady waited, perhaps in grief at the death of her Son and yet with great trust, for she who was conceived with no sin and remained without sin could not doubt the Lord's will. Surely she could not have known, nor understood, that He would rise from the dead any more than the apostles. Yet she trusted, waiting in the darkness of pure faith. What then did she expect? Did she wonder about the future, about what would happen? Her place was merely to accept and embrace all as the will of God, finding therein such intimate union that she needed nothing else. It was not for her to sit and grieve at her loss, at the dashing of all her hopes as some must have done, the apostles no less than the others, but rather she moved among them all with the same peace that had always graced her life, the same smile to encourage those who cowered in fear. Perhaps she spoke words to them of her trust in the Lord, but her presence spoke more than any words, and it was her presence that drew all she touched nearer to Him even without her knowing it.

Even then she must have been praying, pleading for those around her, especially those who seemed to be losing hope. As a mother it was her part to seek first the care of her Son, and so she did, even now in His death, for she served each person she met as if he had been her Son, as if he were indeed God Himself.

So it was that she found Him where no other could see Him, her heart ever the resting place of the Living God. So it was that she guided the Church in the pangs of its birth, when all seemed lost.

It was easy for others to forget her presence, to take for granted the peace she radiated. Few could have known the tremendous part she played in the salvation of the world; for her it was not enough to be the Mother of God: she had also to give her life for others in union with her Son, becoming the servant of all, and suffering all for love of Him, heeding only His will at each and every moment and never displeased that it was not her way, answering each temptation with the simple “fiat” that was her path to the heavens, leading across the sea to the glory of the risen Son.

Good Friday

I continue with the aforementioned character's meditation for Good Friday:

A sacrifice that goes beyond life—beyond death. Who of us can fathom such an absolute self-giving, a gift of love that holds nothing back, that suffers all for love, even the gibes and scorns heaped upon His head. They called Him a lamb because they thought He did nothing, suffering Himself to be led wherever they desired, and yet there was nothing passive in this, for it was a most active gift of self from the Lord who rules the universe.

With His death the world as we know it was rent asunder—is still rent asunder—because the veil that hides the mystery was torn away. We can no longer pass our lives outside the temple, awed at the mystery, gazing toward things beyond us as if they meant nothing to our lives, marveling at a God who reigns over us, ruling from the heavens above.

Nay, now we find ourselves face to face with Him, our Lord and Brother. We see His face, bruised and bleeding, disfigured almost beyond our recognition, a criminal. How oft we turn away! For who could bear to gaze long on that much love concealed in blood and grime? Who could recognize the King of the Universe in a man condemned to die?

And so it is, we turn away, seeking a God who better fits our mind, whom we can bind within the chains of our expectations. And so it is we find ourselves hiding from His face, ignoring the love with which He gazes gently upon us and speaks our name, calling us to Himself. And so it is we find ourselves taking charge more and more, forcing all circumstances to conform themselves to our will, and in the end trying to become God unto ourselves, not only to rule our own destinies, but also that of all the world.

Yet somehow His love will never bear that we escape Him for ever. Somehow whispers come to us, so gently it is easy to ignore them, to forget, but never to escape forever the gentle touch upon our hearts.

In the end we have to face Him. Something comes to bring us to Him and we can no longer avoid the searching judgment of our lives. At that moment we are taken into His death. It is then that we must humble ourselves and unite our pain to His or else spit upon His face and turn away, knowing that His gaze of love follows us still and if we will allow it, converts our hearts and brings us back to Him at last.

Maundy Thursday

Today I would like to share with you words from a character of mine—a pirate captain turned priest.  Here is his meditation, roughly translated, which conveys at least some of the beauty of the original language and thought I hope:

How eagerly He desired that moment, how eagerly He desired that they might understand, how eagerly He desired that He might share His suffering with them by sharing His very life! For what does love desire except to give itself wholly to the beloved and to keep nothing for itself? So much He loved us that He would not keep even that to Himself!

So it was that on that night He knelt and washed their feet, teaching them how greatly He wished to turn their preconceived notions upside down. And so He still does. He calls us to follow Him and then reverses all that we expect in following Him.

He sat there then, asking them to come to Him, even as He asks of us now, as He said to them: “This is My Body,” and “This is My Blood.” This He said because it was His life He gave for us, and so it was that He asked us to do the same, to give our lives for Him and for our brothers.

This is what a priest is called to do, whether a ministerial priest or any baptized person sharing in the life of Christ. We are asked—for He always asks and rarely commands, begging our love—to become ourselves a living sacrifice, to pour forth our blood for others and to let them eat of our body in His memory, not as we eat of His Body and Blood, but in a spiritual way that is in communion with His sacrifice so that all we do, all we suffer, all that others ask of us, and all that each moment brings may be an offering of love to Him.

Yet always, weak and sinful creatures that we are, our time is cut short. We think that we are in the garden to keep watch with Him, but then we find ourselves sleeping and all our efforts lost, all our attempts to pray in vain. When He says it is time to go, we do not understand. We want to beg Him to wait, but it cannot be so. We can only let go the past and meet the next moment for love of Him, trying once more to be faithful where we have so often failed.

Our Hearts' Desire

How much do you desire God?

That was the question heading the most recent Restoration newspaper I read from Madonna House and it is a good question.  Ultimately it is the question that underlies all that we do throughout our lives, but particularly during Lent.

The whole purpose of Lent is to identify our desire for God.  We sacrifice goods in order to purify our desire within that we may recognize it as such.

Desire is like a flame; it starts small and it grows.

So Catherine Doherty wrote in the first article I read and I think the simile is so apt.  Desire truly is like a flame, which, as we feed it, grows and grows, while when we give it no fuel it dies away into embers, waiting perhaps for fresh kindling and a breath to bring it back to life.  The more we feed that desire the larger it grows until it becomes a bonfire and we are set on fire.  And then, as Saint Catherine of Siena said:

If you are who you should be, you will set the world on fire.

That conflagration may start from the smallest of flames.  It matters little whether you find in your heart only a coldness and emptiness or whether you feel that your desire for things of the world outweighs any desire for God.  If you feed the tiniest flicker with prayer and abandonment to God, you will become that burning light.

We exist to desire the Desired One: God.  As St. Augustine said, "Our hearts were made for Yourself, O Lord, and they are restless until they rest in You."

Catherine Doherty's words speak so powerfully to the reason for our existence.  One of the greatest struggles of our lives is to determine the answer to that question: why do we exist?  The Baltimore Catechism answers it simply: To love and serve God in this life and be happy with Him in the next.  In that simplicity there is great truth and it is our desire for God that prompts us to love and serve Him.

In order for that desire to grow, however, and in order for that flame to burn, there must be room for it.  As Catherine Doherty puts it:

His every act, His every word, must be enclosed in our desire, for if we are to fulfill our desire to see Him when the door of death opens (and even before, for the Kingdom of God begins now), we have to imitate Him whom we are going to look at.

This will require that we empty ourselves of many things, since the kind of fiery desire we have takes a lot of space.  It is not just a little kindling that we are going to ignite but huge dry wood.

We must desire to empty every corner of ourselves of everything but this person called Jesus Christ, God and man, who died and resurrected so that we might see the face of the Triune God....

Coincidence

It never ceases to amaze me how coincidences happen constantly, demonstrating the Providence of our great Father in heaven.  It has become my practice to treat spiritual reading as an opportunity for that encounter, so I open to a random place in a spiritual book and read, taking from those pages whatever my Lord wishes to speak to my heart.  Today the page to which I opened in Lui et Moi, the book I mentioned before of our Lord's words to Gabrielle Bossis, happened to have today's date and also to have taken place in a year when that date fell within Passion week:

April 11th

Have faith.  Everything becomes simple then.  It will be simple to love Me, simple to serve Me, simple to be happy to suffer for Me.  Believing is almost the same as seeing.  To see Me!...  What progress, what riches to exploit, when you speak to Me, when you tell Me that you love Me.

The proof of your love for God is the affectionate care you take of your neighbor.  Be sure that you see Me in him, that you charm Me when you charm him.  This will keep you humble beside him.  Always be the smallest.  Think of the size of the Host.  Begin today to do your best to speak to Me when you speak to your neighbor.  I expect this of you this afternoon when you get together with your friends.  You would not want to refuse Me anything this week of My passion, would you?

May these words inspire your own journey this week as we enter into the commemoration of our Lord's passion and death!  I pray that all of us may have the humility to be small, to accept our weaknesses, and thereby to open the way for our Lord who is so great to descend into our nothingness and transform us by His presence.

I will leave you again with that last haunting question.  Think of it as our Lord speaking so gently and tenderly to your heart, for He longs more desperately for your love than you long for anything:

You would not want to refuse Me anything this week of My passion, would you?

Filling the Void

It is amazing how many thousands of things we can use to fill the void.  What good is it to give up one if you replace it with any number of these?  It seems it would be better to give up everything.

I suppose this is why our Lord withdrew into the desert, fasting for forty days.  There was nothing there to fill the void and yet how could He have felt the void, for surely that is the result of man disunited from God?  Yet He suffered as we, so He must in some way have experienced it.  Elsewise the temptations of the devil would not have been in the least tempting to Him.  Clearly He would never have given in to them, but He must have found them alluring at least in His humanity.

The allurement of earthly pleasures is what draws us to them and keeps drawing us to them, even when ultimately we find them unsatisfying.  No matter how many times we indulge, we always want more.

Taking forty days to let go of one of those ways of indulging might mean only that we replace it with another.  Yet if we are able to replace that pleasure instead with prayer or good works, we may find a new habit that deepens into joy through the struggle.  That sacrificial practice forges our souls, forming us into a new creation, and allowing God to work within us.

Then too we take one small step nearer to the God who is already so near to us.

All Glory, Laud, and Honor

This beautiful hymn expresses so wonderfully the glorious praise heaped upon Christ as He made His glorious entry into Jerusalem.  Imagine all the people gathering in the streets, laying out their cloaks and palm branches and shouting Hosanna to the Son of David! as He fulfilled the scriptures by riding in on a donkey.  This glorious event was a recognition of Christ as fulfillment of the prophecies and as the King, the Messiah.

What happened to change so quickly the people's hearts that they should go from praising and glorifying Him to calling for His death?  For it was only a short time later that they shouted instead: Crucify Him!  Crucify Him! 

Is it not the same thing that happens in our own hearts?  When all goes well and we see the brilliant path of God's plan, we praise and glorify Him, but as soon as we face trouble and discouragement or no longer feel a desire to serve Him we want nothing to do with Him.

Again and again we face this reality through our lives.  We are uplifted on the waves of joy and delight in His consolations and then crushed beneath the weight of desolation.

As we come to know this pattern more deeply and to understand His love more fully, perhaps we shall be able to abandon ourselves more perfectly in both joys and sorrows.  May He grant us that grace as we enter this Holy Week with Him!

That Secret, Lonely Place

A life without a lonely place, that is, a life without a quiet center, easily becomes destructive.  When we cling to the results of our actions as our only way of self-identification, then we become possessive and defensive and tend to look at our fellow human beings more as enemies to be kept at a distance than as friends with whom we share the gifts of life.

In solitude we can slowly unmask the illusion of our possessiveness and discover in the center of our own self that we are not what we can conquer, but what is given to us.  In solitude we can listen to the voice of the One who spoke to us before we could speak a word, who healed us before we could make any gesture to help, who set us free long before we could free others, and who loved us long before we could give love to anyone.  It is in solitude that we discover that being is more important than having, and that we are worth more than the results of our efforts.  In solitude we discover that our life is not a possession to be defended, but a gift to be shared.  It's there we recognize that the healing words we speak are not just our own, but are given to us; that the love we can express is part of a greater love; and that the new life we bring forth is not a property to cling to, but a gift to be received.

-Out of Solitude, by Henri Nouwen

~

Nouwen's words on prayer are so powerful and I find his reflections on loneliness as it relates to prayer all the more piercing.  For truly loneliness does divide us, making us feel as if the whole world is against us, as if we must fight against a tide that never turns, and as if there is no loyal friend to stand beside us.

Yet instead of clinging to that feeling of loneliness, if we can turn it instead into solitude, we will encounter the healing love of God.  We then can learn to love ourselves that we may in turn love others.

In that solitude, in that radiant peace of God filling the depths of our being, we can slowly learn to trust Him, for only when we trust Him can we begin to abandon ourselves to Him and His working within us, just as only when we trust others do we open our hearts to them.  When we know that He is God and loves us more than we love ourselves, then not only shall we be able to trust Him wholly, but we shall rejoice in that love.  We shall know that we are made great because He has become small and come to us.

Santa Chiara, prega per noi!

Since I am staying tonight at a convent of Franciscan sisters in the guest apartment in a room named after Saint Clare, it seemed fitting to reflect on some of her words.  These were the ones God provided:

"We become what we love and who we love shapes what we become.  If we love things, we become a thing.  If we love nothing, we become nothing.  Imitation is not a literal mimicking of Christ, rather it means becoming the image of the beloved, an image disclosed through transformation.  This means we are to become vessels of God's compassionate love for others."

All I can think of tonight is how impossible her words seem—how impossible it seems to ever become a vessel of God's love for others.  For always the time comes when the forces of daily life grind us down and the enemy's subtle whispers drag us into the depths of our own murky pond.  In those moments any good seems impossible.

Exhaustion is bound to come upon us all sooner or later.  Frustration, failure, and regret for the past will have their way also.

Yet despite all these things, we still can become that image of Christ, not by our own power, but by His.  No matter our weakness, no matter our sinfulness, if only we turn to Him in humility, He will raise us up from the dust.

Perfect Timing, Part II

After that lovely adventure the other day of everything working out just barely and perfectly on time for my flight (here if you missed it), I was not expecting the evening to go differently.  Yet we arrived to pick up our rental truck and the place was closed, as it had been for the past three hours.  There was nothing obvious to be done and we still had an hour's drive to the hotel.

Then a truck appeared and I thought perhaps here was the solution, but it was too small and the people driving it were not employees.  So that fizzled out.

We ended up going to a restaurant to get dinner and wait it out.

After reinvigorating ourselves with much-needed sustenance and exploring various options, there seemed only one reasonable possibility.  So we ended up taking a car service to our hotel and having it arranged that we would pick up a truck the next day from a different company.

Our Lord could have arranged it all differently.  He could have provided someone there at the service center who could have given us a truck for example.  For some obscure reasons, He did not.  Why He arranged it thus I have absolutely no idea.  Yet why should I consider this experience any less a matter of His perfect plan than my earlier experience of everything working out according to my idea of perfect timing when He is the one who knows all?

In Thy perfect timing, Lord.

The Reluctant Catholic

In conversation the other day, it came to my attention that Graham Greene has been called the Reluctant Catholic.  That title he bears for the fact that he believed that Catholicism was true and yet he wished it were not, or behaved as if he wished it were not.  Henry Scobie, the main character in his book The Heart of the Matter (the only book of Graham Greene's I have yet read) much resembles that perspective and for that reason I found him a fascinating and relatable character.

For are we not all Reluctant Catholics?

(Nota bene: Although that question refers specifically to those who know that the Catholic faith is true, this appellation may be applied similarly to the broader term Christian, or even extended further I daresay.  You might, if you wish, for example, think of it in universal terms in which you see the word “Catholic” as standing for universal truth and thus understand my meaning according to whatever that term means to you.  Also that will save me the trouble of trying to resolve upon a more universal phrase that would be bound to be decidedly more cumbersome.  So I continue.)

Whenever we know that one thing is right and choose to act according to our own desires instead, whenever we prefer our own pleasure to the good of others, whenever we refuse justice because it means sacrificing our own comfort, we are Reluctant Catholics. Our fallen human nature seems to crave all but the truth. So even when we know the truth, we act as if we wished it were not true.

Few stand out bravely from the vast crowd of Reluctant Catholics.  Although many speak beautifully of various aspects of the truth and preach its good works, when faced with some challenging situation they quickly revert to acting as if they wished charity and truth did not exist.

I wish that I could say to you: Do not be a Reluctant Catholic.  Yet I cannot.  I might just as well tell the world not to revolve around the sun.  It is a part of our fallen human nature, which we cannot wish away.

Instead we must learn to accept it—to embrace our shadow side—in order to approach the heights of heaven.  For when we can identify that rebellious streak within us with a cheery greeting of “Oh, you again!” we are in much better straits than when we try to pretend it is not there.  Its recognized presence ought to spur us on to bring our lives into accordance which what our mind knows is true.

After all there is a deep-seated truth hidden in that phrase, Reluctant Catholic.  It implies a belief so powerful that it is impossible to deny.  Scobie expresses that position so paradoxically—and even controversially—as he struggles against what he knows is true.  He tries to convince himself that love requires him to act contrary to his beliefs, but it only makes him miserable because deep within him is a belief in the truth so overwhelming that he cannot ignore or deny it.

So I say to you: Be a Reluctant Catholic. Come to know the truth so deeply that you believe even if you wish not to believe.  Only do not be lukewarm.  For if you delve into oceanic depths of truth, seeking the face of God, then surely your love will grow and you will choose the truth in the end, even though first you must wrestle much with yourself and even wrestle with God?

Lord, Fire!

One more piece from Madonna House's Restoration newspaper on prayer comes to my heart to share with you:

There is another story about St. Cuthbert, an English saint from the holy isle of Lindisfarne.

One day he looked down the coast and saw great flames where a castle was located. He turned towards the blaze, held out his hands and cried: “Lord, fire!” The fire ceased immediately.

What a simple prayer! All he needed to do for the Lord to answer his prayer was to speak of it in one word. So when we do not know how to pray, we can remember this story and know that it is not how many words we use or how eloquently we beseech Him. Even one word can gain His answer swiftly.

When we lift up those we love, we need not know precisely what to ask for.  We need not pour out many words.  It is enough to call upon our Lord and speak to him the names of those we love.

Our Lord loves the simplicity of our prayer.  If we know not what to pray, we need only speak to Him in that simple trust of a child, calling out to Him with a name or word.  If it is a prayer from our hearts and is in accord with His will, then He will surely grant whatever we ask—even if we know not fully what that is.

Storm the Heavens!

When a dear friend writes and asks me to pray and I promise to storm the heavens, I feel a little foolish. After all, how can I storm the heavens when I scarcely even know how to pray? How can I truly intercede for others?

Scarcely do I begin to question when I pick up a copy of Restoration, the newspaper from Madonna House.  It was the January issue which I had not yet had a chance to read. The theme for the month was prayer and the title of the first article was Prayer that Pierces the Clouds. How fitting that I should have mislaid this issue of Restoration until it should speak even deeper to my heart!

Although this issue of Restoration, like every issue, held many beautiful thoughts and stories, it was the section known as The Pope's Corner that I would like to quote:

But we need to pray from our hearts. A courageous prayer that struggles for that miracle. Not like those prayers of courtesy: Ah, I will pray for you! Followed by one Our Father, a Hail Mary and then I forget.

No! It takes a brave prayer like that of Abraham who was struggling with the Lord to save the city, like that of Moses who prayed, his hands held high when he grew weary.

Prayer works miracles, but we must believe it.

What I learn from these words of Pope Francis is that in order to storm the heavens, in order to intercede for another, we cannot treat this interchange with our Lord as a matter of manners where we ask nicely and make sure to say please. No, rather we must implore Him like the widow persisting in beseeching the judge to hear her. We must not throw out a simple gesture of prayer, but stand up bravely like Horatius at the bridge, defending the entire city alone. We must wrestle in prayer like Jacob who found out he had wrestled with God.

Perfect Timing

As I sat in the plane on the runway, we were early, but waiting for a gate, directed from runway to runway, waiting—waiting as the minutes slipped by. Soon all minutes gained in flight were lost. Anxiety began to beat within. I had a tight connection and I began to fear I would not make it.

In Thy perfect timing, Lord, I said and let peace return to my soul. If He willed that I should miss the flight, I would trust that it was better that way and that He had arranged it so for a reason.

By the time we finally got a gate, it was still twenty minutes until departure time for my connection, so I was not unduly worried, even though it took a few more minutes to unload. Rather than push past the people ahead of me, I waited patiently, trusting that those few extra seconds would make little difference.

Then I came to the monitor with flight times and gates listed. I found mine and stared for a moment unsure what to do, for under boarding it said CLOSED.  And I did not yet know whether I might have to go to another terminal by which time it would surely be too late.

Still I had to try.  What else was there to do?

By perfect orchestration my departure gate was only two gates down from the one at which I had arrived.  It was only a few steps from where I stood staring at the list of departures.

Hurrying to the gate, I found no one ready to let me on, so I went up to the counter.  Others stood before me and I decided not to wait my turn.  Instead, I headed directly to the jetbridge, as if to board, meaning to ask those lounging about there whether boarding was indeed closed.

A woman came over and asked my name and then told me they had been waiting for me.  Of course they had waited.  No anxiety had been necessary.  As usual, the Lord had it all in hand.

In Thy perfect timing, Lord.

Things later that evening did not go quite so much according to plan and work out so conveniently, but that is a story for another day....

In Thy perfect timing, Lord.

Prayer for Mercy

In Your gentle mercy, Lord, guide our wayward hearts, for we know that left to ourselves we cannot do Your will.

That prayer comes from Lauds this morning. It is a beautiful prayer of humility in which we place ourselves completely at the mercy of God, knowing that we cannot do His will of our own strength or power.

We like to be self-sufficient. We want to believe that we can do anything we set our minds upon. We can thank the philosophers of the Enlightenment for increasing our belief in the capacity of man to become god unto himself. Yet, as I have mentioned before, this philosophy has born little fruit other than increasing mental illness.

In humility we find the counterweight to insanity. By admitting that we cannot do the will of God on our own and that our wayward hearts are not within our control, we discover what we can do through the power of Christ who strengthens us.

In Your gentle mercy, Lord, guide our wayward hearts, for we know that left to ourselves we cannot do Your will.