Let Us Become Like Palms and Olive Branches

Chanting the Liturgy of the Hours must be the most beautiful way to enter into Holy Week.  I am much grateful for that gift Luke is sharing with our parish.  Because of it, I found myself reflecting on the second reading in today's Office of Readings which comes from a sermon by Saint Andrew of Crete.  Its words struck deeply into my heart, reflecting there some thoughts stirring there of late.  I want to share some of them with you:

"Let us go together to meet Christ on the Mount of Olives.  Today He returns from Bethany and proceeds of His own free will toward His holy and blessed passion, to consummate the mystery of our salvation."

What a beautiful phrase: to consummate the mystery of our salvation of His own free will.  Yes, His own free will.

Sometimes perhaps we forget—or merely do not understand—how willingly He goes into the suffering of His passion. It is easier to think that He did it because He had to do it. For who could possibly choose to suffer so much pain by His own free will? Who would choose to embrace the Cross? Surely only the One who loves more deeply than we can understand—who loves more deeply than we can bear.

How then do we respond?

"Let us run to accompany Him as He hastens toward Jerusalem, and imitate those who met Him then, not by covering His path with garments, olive branches or palms, but by doing all we can to prostrate ourselves before Him by being humble and by trying to live as He would wish.  Then we shall be able to receive the Word at His coming, and God, whom no limits can contain, will be within us.

"In His humility Christ entered the dark regions of our fallen world and He is glad that He became so humble for our sake...."

Humility.

It is the foundation of all the virtues, the foundation of freedom, and the foundation of joy.  Yet somehow it is the most difficult of the virtues to embrace in more than mind's intellectual assent.

Why?

I think it is because we fear our own vulnerability—our own woundedness.  We try in every way possible to shore ourselves up lest we fall crashing to the ground, lest we become a hopeless mess, lest we do what we would never wish....

Vulnerability.  It is a word that has haunted me whatever path I have taken: it drew me to theatre, to charismatic prayer, to friendship, to psychology, and again to prayer....

Yet still the word looms like an insurmountable tower, its gates impregnable against my weak-willed assault.  I gaze at it like a puzzle, wondering how to unlock it.  Yet in truth I am made ungainly by my own weighty mail with all its interwoven rings of steel, my own walls of protection stacked stone upon stone over the years, and cannot grasp with my armored claws something so soft and simple and small.

Of course we need our gates and walls to keep out the evils of the world.  The problem is mainly that we forget to let down the drawbridge when the King comes knocking, especially because He comes without fine array, riding on a donkey.

"So let us spread before His feet not garments or soulless olive branches, which delight the eye for a few hours and then wither, but ourselves, clothed in His grace, or rather, clothed completely in Him.  We who have been baptized into Christ must ourselves be the garments that we spread before Him."

When we admit our own vulnerability—that we are naked before Him—then we know that we must be clothed in His grace and in His very self.  That humility allows us to throw ourselves before Him to tread upon as He enters the heavenly Jerusalem in glory where one day—after our own journey to Calvary—He will raise us up to reign with Him and to enjoy our own resurrection.

Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest!

"We hold these truths..."

As I reflect upon life, psychology, and our modern society, I realize more and more how much we are influenced by the culture around us without our even being aware of it and without our willing it.  So also the past shapes our thoughts and feelings.

Today we celebrate some of that past: we celebrate the history of our country, the courage of our founding fathers, and the risks they took to secure our freedom.  Their choices then—more than two hundred years ago—inform our lives today. We are very much who we are today because of who they were.  That bold Declaration of Independence announcing to the world the formation of the United States of America still bears fruit in the little ways we too declare our independence from those in authority.

We like to think of ourselves in isolation from others.  We like to believe that we are unique individuals (as we are) with no need to credit anyone else for who we are (which is of course foolish).

For instance, I have in the past ten years developed a strong devotion to Divine Providence.  Now it is quite tempting to want to own this devotion for myself, to consider it almost as if it were my own conception, my own special revelation, my own gift to the world.  Yet it is, contrarily, something I have received, not only by virtue of my Catholic heritage, but also by being born into this great and free nation we call the United States of America.  For what are the ending words of the Declaration of Independence?

"And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives our Fortunes and our Sacred Honor."

A Day Reflecting a Lifetime: Wisdom from the End of the Third Decade

As I lifted my canoe to my shoulder and walked with it down to the lake, I had no thought of finding spiritual reflection.  I wanted simply to enjoy time spent in nature as a way to celebrate reaching the completion of three decades in this mortal coil.  Yet somehow that connection back to creation could not help but stir the soul toward connection with the Creator and that connection must needs shed light upon our wandering journey upon this earth.

Dipping my paddle in the lake first on one side of the canoe and then the other, I made my wending way across its surface, not knowing where I would end up or how long I could go on while the sun beat hot upon me.  I could have grown discouraged at my lack of progress as I struggled on, watching kayaks pass me with bows straight while my canoe's bow turned back and forth, floundering about a bit like a dying fish.  The delightful thing about a piece of plastic folded into a canoe—I call it my origami canoe—is its lightness, but of course that very lightness means it takes little to send it back and forth from side to side as if it had no clear sense of direction.  Each stroke of my paddle as I knelt in its center moved me as much to right or left as it did forward.  Every wave, no mater how small, and every breath of wind pushed me about in some direction or other.

Instead of growing discouraged as I do when things go awry in the minutiae of daily life I found my mind turned to reflection.  My journey across the lake became an analogy for life.

I tend to think that one ought to set one's sight on a goal and head directly toward it without turning to one side or the other, pursuing one's vocation and life purpose with unfailing success.  Yet somehow the path across the years seems rather to wend back and forth across the waters of life.

Alone in the canoe I could not keep a straight course.  It would have been easier with a companion, for we would have balanced each other's paddle strokes, working in unison toward that goal.  A companion too would have broken the silence that hung about me and seemed to wrap me about in a strange sort of contemplation.

It was not the doing that mattered even though the working of my muscles to send the canoe skimming across the waters gave me a feeling of strength, of belonging, of doing what I was created to do.  It was being that mattered more.  Instead of needing, seeking, striving, and a hundred other verbs describing our efforts to take control, I was responding gently to what came to me, breathing in the fresh air, as free as the proverbial child.

Why do we not live so?  Why do we fret and worry ourselves into illness or misery on account of the littlest things?

Sometimes I wonder whether this lack of peace and the rampant anxiety and depression in our society comes solely from this frenzied life that we live in this modern world we like to consider progressive and advanced and enlightened.  Have we achieved these seemingly-good adjectives only at the expense of our inner peace?  Perhaps even at the expense of contemplation?

Then I must wonder how much we would give up to regain that peace. Would we surrender all that we hold dear in order to cross the void of emptiness into that great work of the soul that is God's gift of contemplation?

Perhaps then we might forget our faltering footsteps and breathe in unison with a deeper force: the breath that stirred the waters at creation.

Veni Sancte Spiritus!

Time to Bury the Past

You Are Necessary For His Purpose

Somehow I am necessary for His purposes...

I have a part in this great work;

I am a link in a chain,

a bond of connection between persons.

These words come from the beautiful meditation by Blessed John Henry Newman whose feastday we celebrate today.  If you would like to read the full meditation, you can find it here.

Do you ever think of yourself as being necessary to God?  It is a strange thought to ponder: that the eternal God who is Being Itself should deign to need us for His great work of salvation.  Yet so He does out of love.  He wants us to work with Him, to be one with Him.  He desires it so much that He gives us a part in His cross that we may carry it with Him in order to free ourselves and others from the meaningless chains to which we bind ourselves by our sins.

We may not understand what lies behind each small piece of the puzzle, but He does.  He allows nothing that He cannot bring to its perfect end, like a director of a play who takes the contributions of all the actors and designers and tech team and weaves it all together into one beautiful work of art.

Therefore I will trust Him.

Whatever, wherever I am,
I can never be thrown away...
My sickness, or perplexity, or sorrow may be
necessary causes of some great end,
which is quite beyond us.

The more we trust, the more we allow Him to work.  It is where we doubt or try to force things to meet our expectations that we stand in His way.

Therefore, we may in trust surrender all to our Lord who loves us so dearly:

Let me be Thy blind instrument. I ask not to see—
I ask not to know—I ask simply to be used.

Blessed John Henry Newman, pray for us!

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!

Your Choice

How will you suffer?

In essence that is the question that we face each day of our lives.  We all will suffer.  It is not as if by choosing the way of individual freedom and pleasure we could ever choose not to suffer.  For suffering truly is part of the human condition.

Nor by choosing Christ will we have no more suffering.  Sometimes people think that all we need to do is follow Him and then we will never suffer again but will always be filled with joy and love for all the world.  Unfortunately that is not the case.  I have had to learn that lesson myself.  To be perfectly honest, that is a lesson I must continually re-learn.  My head of course knows the reality, but when my Lord bestows joys upon me as I seek to do His will my heart begins to expect that serving Him will be an easy and joyful thing and then I face trials and my heart wavers.

It was the priest's homily at Mass this morning that inspired my reflection today.  He spoke so simply and clearly to the heart of this matter, asking this question: will you suffer on your own or will you suffer with Christ?

In all our suffering we have the choice of suffering in union with Christ or trying to face it all on our own strength.  Suffering with Him will not take away the suffering.  It will not make it easier to bear.  Yet it will give us the strength to bear it, the reason to bear it, and the hope that through that suffering we will attain a greater good for ourselves or others.

Live in Abundance

​Yesterday, as I mentioned in a letter how I wished I could make a holy hour before the Blessed Sacrament more often, a phrase sprang to my mind that I had forgotten: the Sacrament of the Present Moment. I believe this phrase originated with de Caussade. One might also say merely the duty of the present moment, but that would be to forget about the incarnational presence of Christ in each moment.

For Christ comes to us not just in the Eucharist, not just in the Scriptures, not just in exceptional signs and visions, but in each and every moment and in all that happens to us. After all, He is everywhere and in everything.  We often speak those concepts intellectually without understanding with our hearts how He is constantly pouring Himself out for us, as is the nature of love.  Yet that is the reality.  I daresay we would die if we could truly see Him fully in each moment, for none can see the face of God and live.

It is that awareness of the Sacrament of the Present Moment that keeps us present to things and people around us.  It sets us free to live fully each moment. I came that they might have life and have it more abundantly, said Christ.  (John 10:10.)

Saint Joseph must have lived most faithfully in that vein, for he responded so promptly to the workings of grace and the Holy Spirit.  Although so much of his life was hidden and shrouded in silence, that hiddenness and silence speak strongly of a life lived in adoration of the Sacrament of the Present Moment.

How much peace Joseph must have found in adoring the Omnipotent God in the smallest of circumstances.  It is no wonder then that he should have been chosen to serve as the foster-father of the Incarnate God and as the husband of the one who uttered her absolute fiat to the will of God in all circumstances, who certainly saw with the eyes of faith her Lord in every twist and turn of her earthly pilgrimage.

When the Going Gets Tough

...the tough get going.

So goes the expression.  Perhaps it is a particularly fitting one as we enter this second week of Lent.

Discipline has always come easily to me—not always to the extent that I wish of course, but certainly far exceeding that of most people.  Thus it has always been easy for me to enter into the sacrifice of Lent, which seems of necessity to require the giving up of something; somehow I take that sacrificial aspect for granted as part of the season rather than it being a main focus.

Because of my self-discipline I often find it difficult to relate to those who fail at what they are giving up.  Intellectually of course I can relate, but not so much experientially.  If I say I will do something, I jolly well will do it.

Consequently, I have found myself able to enter into Lent with a spirit of joy.  Certainly there is an element of sorrow in meditating upon our Lord's passion, but how much more joy there is in recognizing His great love for us and in giving up some little things to become united with Him.  It is joyful not on account of the sacrifice, though, but rather on account of the freedom.  For I always find that when I am able to give up some little things I become more free and less weighted down by the chains of things I must have to be happy.  Because I can see so clearly the freedom it brings, the enemy does not even try to tempt me.

Already this Lent, however, I have come to a point of greater temptation.  The enemy likes to catch us when we are weak, waiting until sickness and our own efforts have brought us to a place of confusion and darkness.  Then he strikes.  For he knows that in the clear light and joy shining from the heavens he will have no chance.  It is only in failing strength that he has hope of victory.

Yet our victory is in the name of the Lord.  By His strength, we shall remain firm in our resolutions to live wholly for Him this Lent.  Pray for me in that, as I pray for you.

Everything Leads to Goodbye

A while ago I had the opportunity to view a film of a theatrical production of Kiss the Moon, Kiss the Sun and one thing in particular that struck me was the phrase, "Everything leads to goodbye."  That reflected the experience of a disabled man, a major character in a quite beautiful story, but I will say no more about it so as to avoid any spoilers for those who may wish to experience the story for themselves.

Everything leads to goodbye.

That phrase has continued to echo in my mind these past months.  How much it reflects our experience of this life!

So many times people comment that they hate goodbyes.  Then they refuse to say goodbye and just say, "See you later," or some other trite phrase.  (Which in my opinion is a trifle silly, as the origin of goodbye is simply "God be with you," a beautiful wish for anyone, and implies no end, but thus the corruption of language.)

How silly we are sometimes to try to hold on so hard.  We try to preserve the past with hordes of pictures and memorabilia that we scarcely ever bother to look back at and then we complain prodigiously about the amounts of stuff we have.  We are always trying to perpetuate the goods of the current moment, just as the apostles at the Transfiguration wanted to build tents that Christ might remain there with Moses and Elijah always.  We do not want anything we perceive as good to pass away.  So we become slaves to the past.

It is not only things we hold onto, but people too.  We try to retain the relationships we had whether people die or drift out of our lives.

I used to think that everything would work out and that all the tangled web of relationships lost or strained would be straightened out if only I sought love and trusted in God.  I thought I would understand why those goodbyes had to come and why those things happened that led up to the necessity of breaking or loosening ties.

Yet as time goes on and the ache of those broken relationships goes on, I doubt I will find the happy endings I once looked for.  Perhaps I read too much as a child, for my mind seems to have been trained to believe that everything will tie up neatly and reach its wrapped-up end within a short and reasonable time.  Or perhaps that is merely human nature.

In any case, I know now that when I expect those perfect conclusions, I place all the emphasis on events resolving outside of myself.  (To put it in dramatic terms, I focus on plot instead of on character.)  In other words, I let go of my own responsibility.

Reality does not reflect my desires.  Instead of finding the warped threads of scattered paths coming together into one clear line, I am seeing the threads diverge more and more across the dark wood before me.

Yet my heart knows the Presence that remains still no matter how broken and empty it is.  The more I let go, the more I become aware of that great and awesome Presence waiting.

My heart is beginning to understand a deeper reality: it is not those ecstatic moments of joy and heart-felt connection to which we must cling.  Indeed, we must cling to nothing.  We must let go, adrift on the dark flowing waters as the moon and stars shine down upon us.  We can smile up at that night sky because our hearts are set free—because we are okay with goodbyes even if they last until forever.

"We are our own aptest deceiver." - Goethe

"...he forgot for the while what experience had taught him—
that no human being can really understand another,
and no one can arrange another's happiness."

The Heart of the Matter
by Graham Greene

Those last two phrases in particular sound out in bold ringing tones, like a bell struck hard in an old abandoned church tower that grates out a harsh unused and funereal tone, scattering pigeons into flight and drawing the gaze of those working nearby in the fields.  So it might catch us, striking us out of the stolid comfort of our own assurance.

Sometimes we get caught up in thinking we can make others happy.  That desire often places upon us an undue burden, leading to pain or mental illness.  We may despair because of the impossibility of even understanding what will produce another's happiness.

In the sense of the above quotation, trying to arrange happiness becomes a sort of manipulation.  All too often that is exactly what our love is: an attempt to control others.  Thus even what is good—namely love, which is willing the good of the other—has become corrupt.  We may not realize how deep is the decay of our intentions.  We continue to deceive ourselves in focusing on doing the other good, but it is a good that ultimately seeks to give us a sort of power over them.

Similarly, the desire to please others leads us into the trap of manipulation.  The logic in our heads is as follows: if we do what others wish, they will be happy.  It is good logic.  The problem is in the premises; after all, receiving precisely what we want does not make us happy, ridiculous as that fact is.

Furthermore, as long as we are trying to force a result, we are manipulating, controlling, dominating.  We are not free to give and receive.  Henri Nouwen expresses this idea perfectly in his book called The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom:

"A lot of giving and receiving has a violent quality, because the givers and receivers act more out of need than out of trust.  What looks like generosity is actually manipulation, and what looks like love is really a cry for affection or support."

How many times have we gone to others looking for love, begging for them to fulfil our needs while trying to hide from them the fact that we were in need at all?  So many times we reach out in hope that another will fill the void within.  Sometimes we dare not even risk that much vulnerability and turn to pleasures instead.

Yet there is a way to break out of this crippling circle of insanity.  As Nouwen himself puts it, we must first experience love in the depths of our being:

"When you know yourself as fully loved, you will be able to give according to the other's capacity to receive, and you will be able to receive according to the other's capacity to give.  You will be grateful for what is given to you without clinging to it, and joyful for what you can give without bragging about it.  You will be a free person, free to love."

That is the key to achieving the liberty of being able to love generously: we must set others free from our desires for them and accept the fruit of our efforts and offerings made out of love, no matter whether we achieve success or failure.  We must do our duty and leave the rest to the One who is All-Powerful.

Yes, we must surrender our wills.  We must surrender everything to the Creator and Healer of our souls.

Yet if it is love we desire, how could we do better then to lay ourselves in whole-hearted surrender at the feet of the One who is Love?  It is hard many times to receive love from One so intangible.  It seems impossible to entrust ourselves to One so hidden.  How can we reasonably expect One so unseen to care for us?  And yet He does.  And He does so according to our capacity to receive, according to our surrender.

In the end, He is not after all so invisible.  It is we who are blind.

Walk Humbly with Your God

We have been told again and again that the Infinite God wishes to inhabit our lives and dwell in our hearts. He became Man, being born as a little helpless babe, that He might come to know us in a deeply personal manner. Then He gave us His very flesh to eat under the form of bread that we might take Him into ourselves and be subsumed into Him. As if this were not enough, He seeks constantly to speak through us—to make of us His instruments that we may bring His love to others.

Sometimes we have the benefit of catching a glimpse of how He works. We may see how reaching out to those struggling breathes hope back into their eyes or we may find that He gives us the words to speak directly to another's heart.

However it happens, I always find myself awed by this happening. So well aware of my flaws and sinfulness, I can hardly believe that my Lord deigns to work through me.

There is a deep spiritual joy in that experience: a well of life that springs up in a shower of grace, cascading over the soul as it confirms the truth that we are children of God, that we are made great by communion with Him.  For He has called us His friends rather than the slaves we deserve to be for our sinfulness.

When I see my Lord speaking to others through my words, written or spoken, I feel incredibly humbled.  Not only do I feel as if I am the humble servant of the Holy Spirit, but I also feel fully alive, as if I am becoming who I am meant to be, as if I am most deeply who I am.

“The glory of God is man fully alive.” ~Saint Irenaeus

The experience of being fully alive makes me want to give myself wholly in that way, to sacrifice my pride and selfish will for the glory of God and the good of others. For there I taste freedom, which my heart desires above all else.