In a search for information about how much greenery to use for my Advent wreath—information sadly not forthcoming, by the way—I found a delightful video of a boys choir singing an Advent hymn I had never heard before.
It’s highlighted on the Diocese of Washington’s blog—go read the reflection and watch the video, and see if that music doesn’t make you want to rejoice.
You can tell when my quarter is nearly over because I start blogging again. I suppose a better blogger would set up auto-posts or some such thing so that people who stopped by wouldn’t give up if there were three months between entries. If I could ever decide on the real direction of this blog I might do that.
Two quick things to share with you on this last day of Ordinary Time:
A quote from a 14th-century Muslim mystic:
Pulling out the chair
Beneath your mind
And watching you fall upon God–
There is nothing else for Hafiz to do
That is more fun in this world!Shams-Ud-Din Mohammed Hafiz, Muslim mystic (1320 – 1389)
And this, from a sermon by my friend St. Augustine, who I encountered in this morning’s Office of Readings:
Even here amidst trials and temptations let us, let all men, sing alleluia. God is faithful, says holy Scripture, and he will not allow you to be tried beyond your strength. So let us sing alleluia, even here on earth. Man is still a debtor, but God is faithful. Scripture does not say that he will not allow you to be tried, but that he will not allow you to be tried beyond your strength. Whatever the trial, he will see you through it safely, and so enable you to endure. You have entered upon a time of trial but you will come to no harm—God’s help will bring you through it safely. You are like a piece of pottery, shaped by instruction, fired by tribulation. When you are put into the oven therefore, keep your thoughts on the time when you will be taken out again; for God is faithful, and he will guard both your going in and your coming out.
I’ve had a rough couple of days. Everyone knows that the holidays are hard for single people. Let’s just say I’ve decided on a different meaning for Black Friday: it doesn’t mark the shopping season, it marks the lonely season. And I am no different from anyone else in having to struggle through it. I can’t test out of it, or get a hall pass, or accrue anywhere near enough spiritual brownie points to make it easier.
I was arrogant enough to think that I wouldn’t have a hard time this year. These two passages help me to know that 1) my time of trial is not over but God will give me the strength to get through it; and 2) God has indeed caught my fall and all I need to do is surrender to Him.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward springs–
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)
I apologize for the awkward spacing; some of the lines are not quite right. Windows Live Writer, which I otherwise find exceedingly useful for writing blog posts, has its limitations.
Anyway. I had quite an experience this morning.
People have asked me, “how do you know what God wants?” I’ve asked that question myself. It’s not always easy to know. However much I might sometimes appreciate a well-modulated bass voice booming from the heavens, God is usually more subtle than that.
But there is a way, which has to do with paying attention to how you feel when you reach a conclusion or make a decision. You pay attention to feelings of consolation, feelings of rightness. That’s what happened to me this morning.
It’s my habit to pray and meditate first, then go for a walk. I often reflect further on my prayer as I go. This morning, reflecting on my prayer and on some advice I had received from a friend, I suddenly realized what it is I really want to do with my life.
Holding that realization, I walked headlong into the arms of God. There He was, in a patch of dappled early morning sunshine on the path. I felt His presence all around me, palpably. Joy rose deep within me and spilled over. I felt a holy Yes, and I remembered the first line of that poem, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.”
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
Yesterday morning, just as I was getting ready to step outside to say Morning Prayer on the patio, my four-year old niece, Sophie, came into my room and climbed up on my bed.
“Can I look at that God book?” she inquired.
Somewhat surprised, because I didn’t think she knew how to read, I passed over In Conversation with God, and watched as she leafed carefully through the pages.
“How can you read this book?” she demanded. “It doesn’t have any pictures! I better look at another one.” She put ICWG carefully aside and picked up the Liturgy of the Hours.
Figuring that I was going to have company for prayer time, I sat down and began the series of vocal prayers that I say each morning. When I finished, Sophie looked up at me.
“You better keep praying,” she advised. “I have a lot of books to go through.”
She reviewed each one of my prayer books. When she finished she shook her head, almost in disgust.
“Don’t any of these books have pictures?”
“Well, no,” I said. “I just read the words.”
Sophie shook her head, climbed off the bed, and wandered out. Prayer must look a lot different to a four-year old.
My current “theme” Scripture:
Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for God is at work in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure. (Philippians 2:12-13)
That’s what I’m doing. Step by step. Bit by bit. Slipping back and gradually moving forward. Continuing on this spiritual journey because, really, it’s too late to turn back and I have no other options. Making a daily act of will to put my trust in God. Trying to accept the fact that I don’t have the big picture of where I’m going to end up; only the daily task list:
I attribute it all to mental prayer. One of these days I’ll get up a post on how mental prayer changed (well, is still changing) my life.
In my class last spring on Contemporary Christian Prayer and Spirituality, some fun was poked at the expense of people who maintained a prayer list. I know other people who feel that praying for others by name is somewhat redundant, like telling God to do something that He already knows about and is probably doing already.
Well, I keep a prayer list and I pray for specific people by name. I have done this for years, and it feels right to me but it’s a good question: why do I do it?
I do in fact believe that God holds all of us close, cares for us, and does His best to answer our petitions, whether or not we speak them. For that reason, I don’t ask for specific intentions very often unless someone asks me to do so. I usually ask God to hold people close, hear their prayers, and bless them abundantly, which I figure should cover everything.
I guess for me it’s a specific act of love, to commend these folks to God each day. Many of those on my list are people I do not see every day, and praying for them by name helps me feel close to them and to think of them. I’m afraid that outside of prayer time, my brain is so busy that although I might think of someone, left to circumstance I would probably forget.
And then there are the people on my list who I don’t like. I’m not sure why I pray for them daily, by name, other than in hopes of effecting a change in my own heart. My pastor, Fr. N., once said in a homily that anyone you prayed for by name couldn’t remain an enemy for long. In hopes of that, and in some specific cases in hopes of healing, I pray for certain people who I would much prefer to ignore.
There is another reason. It has to do with being an extreme introvert (a reality show you will never see). People wear me out. I love them, and I want to hear their stories—and then I want them to go home. And sometimes I don’t want to see anyone for awhile. It is easier for me to love some people from a distance—and one of the ways I do that is by praying for them.
Just read this, and understand why I love St. Augustine. Dude lived 1600 years ago, but still rocks.
So, then, my brothers, let us sing now, not in order to enjoy a life of leisure, but in order to lighten our labors. You should sing as wayfarers do — sing, but continue your journey. Do not be lazy, but sing to make your journey more enjoyable. Sing, but keep going. What do I mean by keep going? Keep on making progress. This progress, however, must be in virtue; for there are some, the Apostle warns, whose only progress is in vice. If you make progress, you will be continuing your journey, but be sure that your progress is in virtue, true faith, and right living. Sing then, but keep going. (From the Liturgy of the Hours, volume 4, second reading from the Office of Readings for the Saturday of the Thirty-Fourth Week in Ordinary Time.)
Yes, this morning marks the beginning of using volume 4 of the Liturgy of the Hours, and I was “moving back in,” looking at where I had left my ribbons back last November at the end of Ordinary Time, and I saw this wonderful passage.
I am full of gratitude and praise for God this morning, and my heart is singing within me.
This question has occurred to me more than once, ever since I took the vocations self-test in the Catholic Northwest Progress and answered Yes to 7 out of 9 questions. (If you answered Yes to at least 2 questions, you are supposed to call the Vocations Office. I haven’t yet.)
Yesterday, via the excellent OSV Daily Take blog, I found an article that provides one answer to the question. It is an interview with a Catholic lay person who is exactly that: a contemplative in the world. The interview is lengthy, but inspiring. I highly recommend it. Go take a look.
(Thank you to Mary DeTurris Poust for the original tip.)
This summer I spent $1700 in tuition to learn tai chi (shibashi, actually—note: link opens a Word document in a new window), among other things, in a class on Spiritual Discernment at a Catholic university. And you know what? I managed to get to a place of acceptance about the whole thing.
Oh, not about using it as a mindfulness practice. I have my own ways of doing that, and they work just fine, thank you. And although I recognize and accept that some people feel that praying by moving their bodies is a necessary spiritual practice for them, it doesn’t really do anything for me. I have been accused, not without foundation, of using my body as a case in which to drag around my brain.
So what happened? Well, the fact that I do like exercise is a good place to start. I mean, I’m usually a runner. Not right now; I have a stubborn pulled hamstring, so I’m on the bench. But I like to move. And I like to be outside. So looking at shibashi as simply exercise was a good start for me.
I came to enjoy the movements, the slow transitions from one to another. We were asked to hold a prayer intention while we moved. I was uncomfortable with that until I remembered that I used to pray the Rosary while walking and I thought about the injunction to pray constantly. I noticed that almost every movement we made was repeated three times. Three times: Trinity! I began to see how to make this work.
With the first repetition I prayed the introductory prayer to the Liturgy of the Hours, the one used if you have already prayed the Invitatory:
God, come to my assistance; Lord, make haste to help me.
I have already discovered the usefulness of this prayer for turning to God and asking for help at any time during the day. And I got that idea from one of the desert fathers—John Cassian (see Conferences, number 10. I have the Classics of Western Spirituality edition; it’s on page 132).
With the second repetition of whatever movement, I prayed the Jesus prayer, another favorite of mine, and a technique I often use to quiet myself, especially in front of the Blessed Sacrament:
Lord Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
With the third repetition, I prayed the first part of the Prayer to the Holy Spirit:
Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of Your faithful, and kindle in them the fire of Your love.
There you have it: Trinitarian Tai Chi.
