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Posted by I love climbing on Saturday, February 27, 2016

Victimae Paschali

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccatta mundi, miserere nobis
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccatta mundi, miserere nobis
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccatta mundi, dona nobis pacem.

Agnus Dei ... This is the sound resonating throughout all creation. Not just the human heart: in unison, this is the sound of creation's groan: Agnus Dei ... 

Have mercy
Creation groans  
Give us peace 

For this is the still point of the turning world: at the reconciling center of the shattered world lies misericordia, the peace-bringing mercy of a Lamb who stands slain at the world's foundation.

And this is what creation groans for, and this is the source of its cry.

The lament is a song. The plea is adoration: for the Lamb stands at the center. The harmony is mounting, growing more piercing; it will not be stopped, for he is its source. Listen: can you hear it?

Creation sings: Agnus Dei ... Agnus Dei,  you are the source, from whence we came and to which we return, you, reconciling us before we knew our fault, you, taking up our lament and becoming the source of our song, you the beauty before all ages, the beauty piercing all, in all and through all: you, Agnus Dei. You take away the sins of the world: great is your beauty.

Agnus Dei, you stand at the center of the world, and we long for you, and we adore you, for you are our heartbeat.

The God become man has within himself gathered trembling and wounded creation, taking us into himself so that out of him we may be born, radiant again. The lament has become the alleluia: for he made our lament his, and made our lament his glory.

Oh redeemed mankind: arise! For you are crowned; you are priests of the eternally-reconciling Lamb, you, high images of Him so that creation's song might find it repose and glory. Do not desecrate your holiness! Here is the weight of glory: terrible, splendid, borne in full measure by the Lamb, bestowed in mercy on you and thence to all creation. Rise to his worship, and lead creation in its ever-growing groans as He has commissioned you:

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccatta mundi, miserere nobis
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccatta mundi, miserere nobis
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccatta mundi, dona nobis pacem.

Is it a phantasm, the thing that vanishes when grasped?
Do the voices of others' hearts drum up the fantasy?
Here the paradox:
Temet nosce cannot be ignored
Yet fain would its call be answered.

I name myself and find
Another on my lips or heart
Here the intersection:
Desire and desire -- both true,
Yet not the same.

Their nearness makes me fear;
Their goodness will not let me forget.
And here the question:
Who will dare to tread the inner Sanctuary,
But who can turn away?

Lament

What will deliver us from the cold empty heaviness within our breasts?
The weightlessness with which the human spirit upwards soars, full to bursting with life,
The very next moment encounters the dark and dank and deathly,
The empty, shameful, lonely.
And the soul that one minute before would have sung endless praises to the Sun
Now sits, stammering, helpless, desperate, hurting, needy,
Ashamed and angry, grieved and afraid--

--As different as heavy, blood-tangy metal (without blood's warmth)
Is different from a rose in first bloom, opening outward.
Yet even the rose has thorns.
What, then? Is this our fate: does every joy have a sorrowful twin,
Every comfort a corresponding pain?

What response shall we make to the outraged heart,
Whose love is ravaged by shards of broken spirit cast from its beloved?

New Blog!

While I will still be posting periodically on this blog, I have recently created a new blog where I hope to post my musings on my faith and the life of Christians. Check it out! http://catholicprotestant.blogspot.com/p/about-me.html

Sacred Silence (For Advent)

Here within the sacred silence

heavy with the weight of grief

shrouded in the dark of night

we, the captive souls await

illumined by a solitary light.

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel!

Within barren breast yet still hope beats

a fragrance sweet will grace us, furtively

barely noticed, grasped, and gone,

waiting here, we stay our hearts

in sacred silence.

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel!

Ears that never truly heard

heavy with the weight of silence

waiting now for silence broken:

Silence sacred awaits it consummation.

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel!

Darkness, you will meet with death by Dawn.

Our Life has come.

Rejoice: Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Clockwork Captive

I wrote this a few months ago, and I can't really take full credit for the image I use. It's taken straight out of a movie called Mirrormask, but it fit what I was trying to say too well to be ignored. It's not a very refined piece since I wrote it all at once. Anyway, take it as it is. The thought is mine, if the image isn't.

Surrounded and covered in so much more than living flesh--
The child that no longer was a child,
A simple and profound beauty, hidden beneath layers,
The childlike trust and stubborn love obscured and suffocated.
How can her living soul breathe beneath the heavy golden mask?

The child, her infant days giving way to full flower of youth
Torn from innocence because of a foolish step
Taken captive to a dark kingdom where she stays
Made an impostor, hypnotized and seduced into deception
And her dark nurses, crooning lullabies,
Making of her a living corpse
And she sits still, in their grip,
Not herself, yet somewhere hidden deep within.

She is no longer recognizable for the carefree maiden
The one that would gather flowers and give strong advice to a coward
She is a slave to the dead kingdom
Like clockwork, everyone moves the same
Glamour is not beauty, but everyone there pretends it is.

Somewhere inside her there is a struggle
Sometimes a glimmer of that little maiden breaks forth
The dead eyes lose their cold glint and come to life
A tear sometimes falls
But the kingdom wants no letting her go

And she is not strong, not is her confidence strong in a savior
Else she might cry out until her voice had gone
Despite the bruises her captors inflict,
Despite the many times she is brought under them again.
But this is a dark battle, and she is wanted here
To stay, like clockwork
A strange compliment to a dim world
Somehow, perhaps, it finds perverse beauty in owning the remnant of innocence.

And she lets go of hope, time and time again, though she had given a cry
Though the savior has pushed his way through the brambles outside
And never stops coming for her at the sound of her voice
But she is captive to a dark spell
And she cannot bring herself to break it--
Cannot bring herself to break the searing and mesmerizing gaze of her clockwork captors.
Is it beautiful?

Perhaps the profundity of their ugliness mimicks beauty
Perhaps the strange light here makes her fear the bold light of the upper kingdom
Perhaps she cannot face the horror of her captivity
But finds it easier to sink back down into painfully sweet hypnosis
For somehow the embrace of despair is less frightening then.

But if she will be free, she must look her captors in the face
Not as clockwork companions, but as monsters
She must hate the monstrous shell they have made around her
That she has come to call herself
She must refuse to be consoled until the savior breaks the throne
And shatters the darkness around her.
The clockwork will fall to pieces,
And she, naked but living, weak but taking in strength, can step forth.

This is a dark battle, fought against a dark lord.
Only life and light can shatter the clockwork darkness of death.

Preface: The Storm

Hair tight back in coiffure fit only for the office, she balanced her luggage against herself with one hand, fumbling with keys to unlock the door with the other. With a glance at the sky, which was threatening, and a slightly exasperated sigh as one folder slipped from her grasp, scattering paper, she opened the door and tossed what she could into the far passenger seat. Sliding into the car, she hurriedly reached down to retrieve her lost papers before tossing them, pel-mel, beside the open briefcase, closing the door just as the wind started to pick up, and letting her hair down with a sigh. One moment of silence, tired head against the headrest, eyes closed; a rub of a weary face; and then, resolute, she reached for the keys and pulled away from the office.

I should have kicked off my shoes. Too late --

--as she pulled into the street and entered traffic, too absorbed with lane-changing for a moment to think of anything else. Only a slight throb of a headache persisted for the moment to remind her of the weight of stress and -- something else, what was it? --but she was too busy.

Interstate -- get over into the right lane, pull back to the left after a violent honk and a near-collision; u-turn, another u-turn. Get back into that lane, resolute this time; merge onto the interstate. Cruise control, and a deep breath. Now she could think.

About what? That was always the problem; a weight pressing down, unidentified; thinking was only staring at a blank wall and hoping to see a pattern. It was there, but she couldn't make it out except out of the corner of her mind's eye. So, turn on the radio....skip until the stations start over...nothing on. Back to silence.

It was the same thing that drove her to watch the news until bedtime or catch up on her latest BBC series episode, or else look for something new to keep her occupied: anything to avoid the silence and solitude where one is simply ans starkly alone with one's thoughts, feelings, prayers, mind --trying somehow to fill ... what? The emptiness, maybe.

You make it sound so melodramatic, like you're just--depressed and miserable. What is it, though? It isn't nothing. It's not like I'm totally happy, either. Just that gnawing, pestering something.

But if you can't make sense of something, you ignore it; what's the use of sitting there and letting an indeterminate discontent, unrest -- whatever it is -- torture you with no point and no progress as a result? Solitude sometimes feels like an enemy.

And finally the threats of the lowering sky and buffeting wind were fulfilled. The floodgates of heaven were opened, in increments, and drop, drop-drop, patter, thrum, roar --clap of thunder. She jumped, started her wipers waving furiously, headlights on. Something about that storm brought relief, or maybe a kind of catharsis that could not be put in words or even thoughts. Here was something that was more eloquent for its wordlessness. Like deep crying out to deep, or like a mother rocking a whimpering child. Both, somehow, wrapped into one, the terrifying and majestic fury of a storm with all the comfort of a mother's embrace.

When she pulled into the driveway, she turned off the engine but did not get out. Silent, she closed her eyes and felt the pounding, whooshing, thundering. She took off her shoes and let her head fall back against the headrest. No answer in the storm, but the message was clear: be still and know that I am. Not a lucid phrase, but it stuck deep, almost achingly so: and for a moment, she waited, still.

Bearer of Burdens

The newly-laden branches of spring,
Outside my window: you are laden with more than leaves.
How many of my musings have you borne,
As I, gazing at your shape and movement,
Have wondered at my life and pondered my work?

How many of my questions, and fears,
How many doubts, griefs, reliefs
Have you taken upon yourself?
So full are you with my musings;
And surely unaware of the weight you bear.

How my thoughts have taken on your shape!
It is as if they found a dwelling in you,
A place in which they could unfold
And untangle from within me, not unburdening,
But always finding in your pattern a path to follow,
A shape to take,
Like water poured into a vessel.

You have not resolved my problems,
But always you have been there,
And their meaning found expression in your curves,
Winding their way, constricting my mind,
Or releasing with the onset of peace.
You, silent, said nothing, took nothing, gave nothing,
But patiently bore the weight.

Thus, I am ever bid to bear my burden
To the only one that can relieve it.
You can only observe, remain patiently
As a backdrop perhaps, or, poetically speaking,
A listener. But never more:
Only one can take the shape of my burdens
And redeem them.
There my road finds its destination.

With My Song

This work of yours I cannot explain;
I cannot fathom its beauty, nor its pain.
In the depths of my heart you have wrought songs
Songs I never knew how to sing; in tears you taught me song.

What now, what arises within me?
What is this strange thing, this thing of beauty
This thing of pain, of joy, this thing I cannot understand?
Out of the mouths of babes...out of the hearts of the young,
You have brought perfect praise.

For you have taught me to sing where I might only have seen despair:
There
You have shown me greater beauty than I have ever known.
And with my song I will praise you.

The Suffering Servant

Isaiah 53: "Who has believed what we have heard? And to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed? For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or comeliness that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that made us whole, and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth. By oppression and judgment he was taken away; and as for his generation, who considered that he was cut off out of the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people? And they made his grave with the wicked and with a rich man in his death, although he had done no violence, and there was no deceit in his mouth. Yet it was the will of the LORD to bruise him; he has put him to grief; when he makes himself an offering for sin, he shall see his offspring, he shall prolong his days; the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand; he shall see the fruit of the travail of his soul and be satisfied; by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous; and he shall bear their iniquities. Therefore I will divide him a portion with the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; because he poured out his soul to death, and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors."

In Weakness

Who am I, my savior,
but a tangle of confused desires and fears,
weaknesses and confusion?
Sometimes I feel how little I know myself
with a pain that reaches to my gut.

And the last I want is pity;
The situation warrants none.
Perhaps solidarity,
For I know I am not alone.
But I do not always feel it.

Alone, I want companionship;
With others I fear to lose myself;
In you I have my being.
But it's hard to see sometimes.
I stand still in a tempest.

Buffeted, I am not conquered,
But I wish the storm would cease;
In the calm, the quiet weighs in on me.
Yet sometimes I laugh with the sun --
Sometimes, too, I laugh with the thunder,
Though through tears (or are they raindrops?)

This too, you say, is for my good.
I believe; help my unbelief.
But surely this, too, is to pass?
Surely I will see a victory,
Surely, at least, I will no longer wait alone.
Soon, or later, will I have found my place,
Roots of cedars to stay me in tempests?

For this I pray:
Faith when I doubt,
Humility when I am proud
Repentance for insincerity
Pure love and not self-love
Love of you before all else
And blessings only from your hand.

Surely I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,
And with my song I will praise you.

Amen.

Lenten Meditations, 8: The Shame of Love

I've noticed that there is a certain subculture that takes a particular pleasure out of sacrilegious mock-representations of Christ, particularly him crucified. An while, on one hand, it makes me ill to see such a beautiful thing treated like so much garbage (and worse), on the other hand, a beautiful irony shines through it. The very attempt to defeat the work of the Cross by debasing it is self-defeating: for self-abasement is the glory of the Cross. It is as though these people never think about the fact that Jesus defeated the power of any possible mockery of himself, because he chose the most debasing path possible, voluntarily. It is precisely in this that we, as Christians, glory in: that through the horrendous shame of a Roman crucifixion, the most painful but also the most shameful death possible -- by the very fact of his mockery and crown of thorns, his exposure, the open mockery of the crowds -- precisely by submitting to this, through just this suffering of shame, was Christ elevated to the highest place in existence and his name made the Name above all names. The crucifixion was an event saturated with mockery, with defilement of the holy, with obscene debasement of what was good. And Jesus, for the sake of love, accepted it all. They do no more than echo the original event, the thing that made it what it is.

But the reason it was a glorious act is because it was an act of God himself: the Resurrection proved that. By the Resurrection Jesus made manifest his Divine nature in a way not yet done, and through that his power over not only death, but shame. It cannot touch him; his very glory is to be found in his extreme humility -- the dignity of his extreme and voluntary humility, to the point of death. By this act he proved himself Creator, showed himself to be beyond the power of any evil power because he was in fact Love itself. Love, which is not afraid to descend to the very lowest depths of servitude, which seeks no vainglorious recognition -- sacrificial love. Of this the world knows nothing, and for this reason it foolishly thinks it has won a victory by ridiculing the Crucified Christ.

Ridicule was what characterized his crucifixion; and through this pain and mockery, he won the victory, the greatest victory that ever has been or ever will be won. The image of the Crucified Christ is an image of Christ's acceptance of mockery for the sake of Love: in a certain sense, these recent mockeries only throw it into greater light. They lend applause to the Victory of Love over the defilement shame.

Love glories in self-abasement, because its joy is to be victorious, and its victory is to serve. Its authority and terrible majesty comes just at the point where it has descended below the lowest of all to serve them -- at that point has it shown itself to be far exalted above anything imaginable. Because it is humble, Love puts us on our faces before it and we cry, "Woe is me, for I am undone!"

This does nothing to excuse sacrilege; for the Cross is a holy and pure event. It is so because of Who underwent it. And yet we see that we are at a sort of paradox: for, on one hand, it is a terrible offense to deliberately debase something holy. This is most certainly what some are seeking to do, and it is shameful. Yet the shame is entirely imputed to the offenders: what they try to do to the Sacrifice of Love, they merely have done to themselves. They reveal the state of their own soul, because they reveal how far it has stooped and what it has embraced. This sort of self-abasement knows nothing of love, for it glories in the destruction of what is good. And yet the primary good that is thereby destroyed is often the last thing they had in mind: themselves.

Yet Christ was not beneath embracing the shame of his mockers which, unbeknownst to them, was displayed for all to see in the Body of Christ Crucified -- Christ, who took the shame upon himself, along with the sin and the pain of the world. Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!

The purity of Christ is untouchable, for he is Love: Love is untouchable, but it can paradoxically be touched and thereby moved to compassion. This is its glory: in being touched by the lowest of the low, in descending beneath even them to bear them up by bearing their shame, Love shows its untouchable purity. Love fears nothing, not the worst shame, for it is far more powerful. The Cross was a shameful event, but the Love that underwent it was never thereby shameful. This is Christ, who was not above undergoing shame for the shameless. This is why the humiliated Christ cried out to his Father on behalf of his mockers, "Father, forgive them -- they know not what they do." For he knew all too well what they did, and how terrible a crime it was. Yet he also knew their small-minded foolishness, and he knew above all that he had accepted abasement at their hands voluntarily. Yes, he knew full well what a terrible crime it was. But he is Love; this was the sacrifice of Love. And this Love was not above serving even his mockers at the hour when their mockery won for the world salvation at His hands. How, how is this thing possible? Certainly not by our sin, but by the work of Christ, who made use of those actions.

This is why it is both a terrible crime and Love's greatest glory to be mocked. Because through this He saved the world; the world merely showed how badly it needed saving by its mockery of Love. And the world had a hand in the Victory of Love in spite of itself. Everything winds up serving Love, because Love serves all.

What can we do but worship Love and beg mercy for ourselves and for those who prefer to spit in his face? For he is not above saving them: he is above loving no one. He is Love; he is thereby undefeatable: bow down and worship, for this is your God.

Lenten Meditations, 7: Incarnation

We will not give a love-starved person the remedy by merely telling them how much they need love. We will give it to them if we give them love.

We will not give a Christ-starved person the remedy merely by telling them how much they need Christ. We will give it to them if we give them Christ.

You might ask -- how on earth are we supposed to do that without telling them about him?

It's not that we shouldn't tell them about him, but human words are not the final remedy, however true they are. The only remedy is the Word of God. And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.

Sometimes we may be tempted to think that if we preach a good enough sermon, people's hunger will be filled, their problem solved. But if we think that our words are enough to give someone life, we are mistaken -- however true they may objectively be. The only thing that gives life is God, and so if we rely instead on ourselves to argue them into life, or talk them into life, we risk leaving them more alone than when they started.

Why? Are we not supposed to preach the Gospel? Certainly, all the time. But words are not always the first way to preach it, especially when words come at the expense of listening. If we reduce the Gospel to only a verbally preached word, we risk taking the humanity out of it, the heart out of it, the love out of it -- Christ out of it. Love is acted out and given, not merely talked about -- though it is worth talking about. People need not merely our words, but the Word; not mere talk about the Love made flesh, but Love Himself made flesh. When you look at someone and think, "What they need is Christ," you are right. But how are they going to be given him? Their heart is starving for love, and Christ himself saw that the only way to finally bring us that love was by becoming flesh. So if we reduce Christ to a mere concept we're trying to convince others of, we are in danger of missing the point and causing more harm than good. Love is Incarnational: Christ has irrevocably shown us that. We need to bring them Christ -- Christ is what they need, and only Christ will fill them. Not just words, but the Word made flesh.

But how are we supposed to do that? We're not Christ--are we? We can't be Christ -- can we? Christ became Incarnate once and for all; but in you he seeks to become incarnate every single day. You are a little Christ: your call is to let Christ live through you. In other words, you are called to let Love become incarnate in you. You give people Christ by being Christ to them; you are Christ to people by being love to them in the name of Christ. But Love gives everything and expects nothing in return. Love gives sacrificially: it does not loan. Paul insists that without love, the most extravagant acts (or words) for the Gospel are worthless -- we must take note. Only what is fueled by Love will remain in the end. The rest will be consumed by fire.

We live for love, because Love died for us. Now we are called to do the same for others.

Lenten Meditations, 6: Who is Like the Lord?

Who is like the Lord?

No matter how weak or foolish we are, he is strong. No matter how dark the path ahead of us seems, his vision knows no darkness; and though we stumble, his hand is always outstretched to uphold us. The Lord is good.

We serve a God who, in response to our trouble, came down himself to help us, became one of us, died for us -- all to heal us and make us his own. We are loved. There are moments when, perhaps, we have trouble seeing the hand of God in difficult circumstances. Whether they be truly dismal or whether our own emotions cloud our vision, it sometimes feels as though God has fallen silent. Though we know he would never abandon us, perhaps we still feel abandoned.

But know this: if your own trouble caused him to be born as a man -- if he bore your own griefs, and sins, on himself, all the way to his death, and if he rose, conquering death itself for your sake -- then, my dear brother or sister, you are not abandoned. No, you can be certain of this: he himself cried out for you, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" and he will never abandon you. He has borne your griefs and carried your sorrows; he knows you more intimately than you even know yourself. That, indeed, is a wonder. But you, and I, are weak, and sometimes we cannot see him and we grieve as though left alone. He understands our weakness, and he is even now interceding for us.

He will not leave us orphans -- he has not left us orphans. By his Spirit within us we cry out, Abba! Father! We have a Father who is everything to us, Father and yes, even mother, and he will never, never leave us even if we lose sight of him. And we have Jesus, our brother, our lover, our friend, king, master, and God; we have his Holy Spirit who communes with us and prays for us with unutterable sighs.

You are not alone: you have been adopted and betrothed.

Who is like the Lord?

Lenten Meditations, 5 : Taste and See

So I've been thinking about solitude again. Not methodically, but it's just been sort of at the forefront of my thought lately.

And I've realized that even some things we don't want are gifts from God. It's just not always that easy to see it. The fact is, he's a loving provider, and that grossly understates the matter. See, if you are seeking to follow him, he is constantly working to make you into who you were meant to be, at every single moment. He never takes a break from that, and everything is a gift. That's not to say you shouldn't ask to be brought out of desert places -- but if you seem to be stuck in one, know that he has your back.

And maybe it's a gift he wants you to accept for the moment. In other words, love him and trust him completely, that he will provide you what you need when you need it. He will not leave you stranded. To paraphrase a Psalm, wait on the Lord: trust him and trust that he not only will come through but is coming through even now when you can't see it.

Desert places can be just as much a time for growth as oases, although the Promised Land is destined to be lush beyond our dearest imaginings. Because the desert place is a place where we are forced to trust and to learn to love in a new and often deeper way, it's something to be thankful for even though we pray and wait for it to pass. It is not meant to be permanent, but it is not without its value. If you allow it to teach you its lesson, then your capacity to see the Promised Land for what it is will be yet greater than it might have been otherwise.

So look and see what the desert has to offer you -- how is the desert a servant of your faithful God? How can you see his hand even in the arid place? It can be seen, but don't worry if you can't quite see it. Just know, it is there beyond a shadow of a doubt. "We know that in everything God works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28, RSV)" Remember that you are called according to his purpose, and he will not fail to fulfill you and reward your trust in him.

It's not so much about loving hardship as it is about learning to love God even through hardship, to rest content in him. He wants to teach you to know his love in all situations, even those that are not according to what you would want. Especially those times when you keep waiting for something to change and nothing does ... those are times that you can find immeasurable depths of love and beauty, where you least expected it. Because through those you learn how unconditional his love is; how good he is in every single circumstance. You have recognized it in times of bounty, and in times of famine now you are given the incredible gift of seeing that he is still good, ever good -- his steadfast love never ceases. He never abandons you, even in hardship. Through even that hardship, he is giving to you with an incomprehensible love. He is with you; his grace is sufficient for you, for his power is made perfect in weakness. If we were not so weak, how could we understand his saving love the way we can?

You are loved, enough to be made into something more beautiful than you can imagine, than you even dreamed to ask for. And oddly enough, even those times of hardship, in a way especially them, are witnesses to that love. You are being purified with the most heartbreakingly tender yet unstoppably powerful love imaginable. This is the degree to which you are loved; and this love alone can make you worthy to receive it. Even now, it has made you worthy, and it is making you ever more worthy.

Know that the Lord is good: taste and see that he is good.

Lenten Meditations, 4: A Dragon's Treasure

I will take your heart of stone.
(The dragon snarls.)

Can this lapis lazuli heart feel?
Is it cold inside your breast?
It gleams beautifully, but --
It is heavy with the pleasures of this world
Unfeeling when it should feel
Brittle and fragile when it should be supple
Bloodless when it should bleed,
And stone cold, cold as death.
Give it to me.

You attack your healer.
This stone does not fit within living, breathing flesh;
Rightly does it pain you,
Rightly do its shattered fragments make you bleed,
Leaving you cold and burdened
Yet you will not let it go for its beauty.
It is a deadly beauty:
Not all that glitters is good.

Give me the treasures you stow within,
You weeping dragon injured by jewels;
The injury of losing them is far less.
You will lay up treasures in heaven.

Come to me, you heavy-laden, and I will give you rest;
I will take away your heart of stone
And give you hearts of flesh.
Before you followed graven stone;
Now my love is written on your heart

In my blood: the law of life
The treasure without price.

Lenten Meditations, 3: Struggles in the Desert

Well, one one the most difficult things in the world is to give Christ his proper place in relation to us. No matter my own intention, I always find myself tripping up because something manages to get in the way. As far as my will goes, I always strive to pursue his will above my own, and yet the struggle can be awful sometimes. It is no easier because I can't always tell the difference between false accusations and true guilt. I never deliberately choose to put Jesus on a back burner. But when there is something I want, especially when it's something I have yet to attain, the struggle is incredible. Part of me thinks that I shouldn't be surprised: I am a fallen human, and is this not a struggle even the most devoted Christians face? But on the other hand, I know myself too well, and I know my tendency to be too hard on myself. And so I'm left with this paradox, feeling that at once I have to turn my gaze more fully on Jesus and that I am accusing myself when I simply need to trust him more. I think, perhaps, there might be a combination of both going on. Of course we all struggle to make Jesus our first love, however much we may love him. Perhaps at least in part it is because we can't see him face to face as we do a beloved friend or spouse: and so naturally our eyes turn more readily toward what we can see. I think that is why he has given us physical and visual manifestations of his love, because otherwise we simply would not have the strength to keep out eyes on him. Of course, we all fall short of faithfulness sometimes, but I think that at least some of those times we have fallen because we sought to be stronger than we were and did not rely on his strength instead of our own. That is, we sought to be so spiritual that we denied our physical humanity, and we failed.

Not that this is something new, but this is a struggle I have been facing recently, and I am agonized because I don't know what the source is. Is it a matter of repentance, or mere weakness that needs healing? Is it both; is it my fault or merely a trial? I could speculate a hundred different situations that all sound plausible but that I could not be sure were the right explanation of my struggles.

I suppose sometimes our sanctification involves persevering, however imperfectly, in trusting God even when our weaknesses seem to prevail and we cannot find a resolution. But I would at least like to know if the problem is my own sinfulness or just my own anxiety -- because I do overanalyze a lot. What is this block that seems to loom up between me and the most extravagant of all Lovers even at the most intimate moment? I have noticed it often arises because I am afraid it will; fear is often somehow involved. I know this about myself: anxiety often raises blocks in my spiritual life. And through it God has taught me immensely. I see the powerful work of Love in what he has done for me through my weakness -- I am grateful. But it does not mean that I like to be weak or that I do not seek to be freed from that weakness. It is my seeking to be freed from it that, I feel, he has used to help me grow. And I praise him for the depths of my soul that he has opened through that. He always does that, for each of us: and he is to be praised for it. As a side note, do not despair even in the most persistent weakness, for if you persevere in waiting of the Lord and calling his name, expecting deliverance even if you do not know when, and relying on his strength even when you do no feel it, you will be sanctified. He never fails to deliver on that promise; but it is a slowly maturing fruit, one born of endurance. But it is well worth it, I assure you. I have not even seen all the fruit of his work in me, and I can already attest to its beauty.

So for the moment I rest although I am not certain whether the struggle I face is primarily born of sin or anxiety. I feel that there is some element of both; I suspect a large portion of it is anxiety. And so, knowing that he is deliverer, I will wait on him.

Wait on the Lord, whatever desert you may be in. He is the Living Water and the Bread of Life. You will live if you cling to him even if you are at death's door and have not an ounce of strength left in you. For then you are in a perfect position to be filled with his life and his strength, which of course is the only thing that bears fruit in you and allows you to imitate him. You are called to imitate him and to persevere in love, which is holiness: but not by your strength--never by your strength. Your task is to open yourself to receive him and to accept what he sends you, forever crying out to be filled. We are all beggars in the kingdom, but by reason of this the richest of all. For only the beggar has room to be filled with the immeasurable riches of his glory. So come to him empty, and you will be filled. But remember that you must be willing to be patient.

Lenten Meditations, 2 : Solitude and fulfillment

I once heard someone bemoan their solitude; and is it any wonder that they did? It is only too human to be alone and to tire of it. And for a long time since, those words have reechoed in me, at different times, and I feel that they struck a resonance in me that I am only now understanding. The same cry echoes in my heart.

Man was not made to be alone. Every human, in some fashion, spends his life seeking or waiting to be known. I have only truly come to understand how central this is from my own experience, the constant longing to belong, to be known, to love.

And is it not interesting that although on one level, God is the ultimate fulfillment of that desire, he did not create us as solitary creatures? There is something essential in human relationship: he has built in a need in us to be known by each other.

It's expressed most saliently in the story of Adam and Eve; God saw a need to give him someone that was "bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh." There is something incredibly profound here. In no way is this need for human relation in competition or contrast with our need to be known by God. No: they go hand-in-hand. When we isolate ourselves from one another, our relationship with God will also suffer. And in loving others and being loved by them, our relationship with God thrives. God helps us to see and love others at the level they deserve; and in turn our love of one another is somehow, mysteriously, a deeper revelation of the love of God himself.

Indeed, I often tire of solitude, as we so often do: but the only answer to that solitude must come from the Father and from Christ in the Holy Spirit. Without him, I would be alone indeed: and even solitude within his will is encompassed by his embrace. We are in a desert as long as we walk this earth: given satisfaction, but never total fulfillment. It is only human to be alone and to tire of it. In a sense it is a reality that is always ours, because the ultimate communion we seek will only be found in heaven. Yet even in the desert, we are at the outskirts of the Promised Land, whose oases already reach out to us. I say this by way of reminder: do not think that you have no need of water because you are in the desert, that you will be satisfied without it until you reach the promised land. No: you cannot live without water, even in the desert. And your thirst must be filled even now, by the Living Water. You thirst for a reason: because you need to be filled. And whoever drinks from the springs of that Source will never thirst again. Cry out to be filled: for he who seeks finds. But seek to be filled not in temporal things but in Life Himself, and through temporal blessings from his hand alone. If you have him, you have found your place, no matter your earthly circumstance; you belong; you are not truly alone even if you go through periods of solitude and desert - they are only passing, and the underlying reality that you are loved and provided for unfailingly never passes even when you do not feel it. If you are empty, cry out to be filled, to be reminded that your only life comes from Life and your only love from Love. Waiting will bring you patience, but patience is not complacency. Seek to be filled. Only make sure it is from the Fountain: if love, from Love himself; if peace, from Peace himself; if passion, from the All-Consuming Fire. From his hand, all is immeasurable blessing, and he can fill you as none other can. But do not think this is the final fulfillment. It is only the beginning.

He makes all things beautiful in his time.

Lenten Meditations, 1: The Inescapable Battle

It's a battle we each fight, separately and alone, each in his own struggle, locked in his enemy's embrace, locked in his very own embrace, because too often we are the enemy. I know it too well: it has shown its face to me in many forms, changing faces to trip me again, that I, not recognizing the foe for what he is, might once again fall prey to him. The distinction between attacked and attacker is not always clear. I struggle, and for what? To be understood by men, to be loved by God, to speak words that please me or others, to speculate, to answer truth? Weakness lurks always in the shadows. What once was pure is too easily stained by lesser desires. Sometimes I abstain and remain hungry, but unable to fill myself. The battle is ongoing.

In love I fight, in love I persevere. Love is our battle cry as Christians: Love saved us, love is saving us. That love became incarnate: we have Jesus Christ as living proof. Living and dying proof, and through that the greatest living proof there is.

Nothing is worth anything without that love. And that is why I struggle and pray for the grace not to run after any desire apart from that love. I am learning that it is supreme. Nothing in me deserves it, and I am not even that good at seeking it. But I do know that this love is faithful and my everything. It has succeeded in wooing me, even if I am not completely faithful. I strive to be faithful, in my weakness. And my goal is to open myself to its purifying fire. I gladly relinquish anything in me that is not pure. But the struggle can be painful.

Mine is with sin, of course, but not just with sin. It is with my own fear, my own depression, my own perfectionism and anxiety, my obsession over things I need to leave in the hands of my Father. I fail not because I rebel but because I am weak. And I know that he is the Great Physician. And so I just keep coming to him, as honestly and persistently as I can, even when I don't know the answers and especially then. Even when I am utterly lost and do not find peace in knowing he is good, even when I am utterly exhausted and alone, I come to him. With his grace, I will not stop. The day I do, I will lose everything and be left to my own misery (though I pray his grace would seek me out even then). I know that, regardless of anything else I might need, I need him. And so, hypocrite or not, I seek him. Just as he takes prostitutes, he will take hypocrites with open arms if the hypocrite is only humble and asks for help.