Encountering the Crucified One: The Beginnings of Franciscan Christology as seen in three encounters of St. Francis with Jesus as depicted in the Legenda Major of St. Bonaventure

In this short article it is my intention to indicate the beginning of certain themes that will influence the future development of Franciscan Christology. We find them present, though in seed form as it were, in the conversion narrative of St. Francis as given in Bonaventure’s Legenda Major. 

To do this I will look at the three fundamental encounters with Christ that Francis has en route to his full conversion and embracing of a life of evangelical mendicancy. The first, his dream of a house filled with arms and knightly apparel while already on the road to battle; the second, his encounter with Christ under the guise of a leper; and, thirdly, the encounter with Christ through the crucifix of San Damiano.

In all three of these events we will see the seminal beginnings of elements and themes of an implicit Christology which will inform the life of Francis and the Franciscan movement through the ages. We will see that each of these events is characterised by an encounter with a hidden Christ who, when manifested or recognised through contemplative awareness, is then responded to by action and affective movement on the part of Francis. Thereby situating from the very beginning of the Franciscan vision the understanding that we must discern an apprehension of who Christ is, and how we are called into the fullness of life by Him, at the nexus of both contemplation of, and action on behalf of, the same Christ we encounter.

The first encounter: The Knightly Dream:

Bonaventure situates the first of the acts that we will look into at the very outset of Francis’ conversion. Post a period of illness that could “enlighten spiritual awareness” (LM 1:2) he tells us that Francis at this time is still in a state of ignorance as to both his future and the ability to discern God’s plan for himself. After charitably clothing a poor knight that he meets in the town he receives the first part of the knightly dream being shown “a large and splendid palace with military arms emblazoned with the insignia of Christ’s cross.” ( LM 1:3) The figure of Christ is present through the symbol of the cross. He is at one and the same time both the centre of the dream in its primary symbol and its hidden heart, just as surely as the meaning of the dream is hidden from Francis. Upon waking, Francis, whom Bonaventure tells us is not yet skilled in interpreting the symbolic schema of dreams, attempts to bring about its fulfilment by taking up arms. This course of action is summarily stopped by the second dream of the cycle wherein he is asked,

“Who can do more for you a Lord or a servant, a rich person or one who is poor?” (LM 1:3)

This time Francis recognises that the dream is inviting him into mystery. He realises that he has interpreted his future course incorrectly and asks,

“Lord what do you want me to do?” (LM 1:3)

When the Lord answers that he is to return to his town and there await a spiritual outcome he obeys immediately, the fruit of this actioned obedience being a spirit of care free joy. This care free joy is seen as the fruit of true obedience throughout the monastic tradition but is especially a fruit of it in the Franciscan vision of religious life.

Already in this encounter with the “hidden Christ” of the dream, aspects of just who Christ is for Francis, (and later the Franciscan movement), can be seen. He is firstly the one who calls us to joy. Joy that is revealed and accessed through conformity of our will to His will in obedience. Just as Christ conformed His will to that of the Father, so the follower of Christ, (and of Francis), will have to walk that path of obedience. For Francis setting out on the path of obedience is both a contemplative act, in the surrendering of the will to the hidden Christ of the dream, (“Lord what do you want me to do?”), and an affective action of instant obedience that frees him and brings a state of spiritual joy.

The second encounter: The Leper on the road.

Setting the scene of the second encounter Bonaventure tells us that Francis is still seeking the discernment of God’s will for himself while slowly separating himself from the “pressure of public business” (LM 1:4) We already see in Francis the beginnings of an oscillation between contemplative withdrawal and the call to the market place of action that will only find its balance in the later Spirit filled discernment of Sylvester and Clare. Francis is described now as a man in whom the heavenly flame has been kindled through the practice of fervent prayer, and it is in this spirit that he will meet the leper on the road. Recalling the earlier images of knightly aspirations Bonaventure begins the story by seeing Francis as a Knight intent on the conquering of himself for Christ and the encounter with the leper as one of the trials of chivalry that the great heroes of the romances would go through. Francis is even pictured on his horse, like a spiritual Galahad riding into battle. To begin we are told that even seeing the Leper in the distance struck him with “not a little horror” (LM 1:5) but that Francis overcame his feelings of repugnance and humbling himself by descending from the horse he gives the leper both the alms he seeks and a kiss. On resuming his seat he finds the Leper vanished, (to all of Bonaventure’s medieval primary audience this would have at once indicated that the Leper was either an Angel or even Christ Himself), and so Francis immediately begins to sing the praises of the Lord.

In this encounter with the Christ who hides beneath the guise of the poor and the marginalised, (the Christ of Matthew’s judgement scene), we see another seminal layer of Franciscan Christology laid down, wherein the contemplative withdrawal of the follower of Francis should go hand in hand with a growing awareness of the presence of Christ in all people and especially in the poor and particularly those exiled to the edges of society. Francis finds a silent Leper Christ. One who always assumes the lowest place and whose taking on of leprosy as His “disguise” issues a challenge to find the Lord God in the lowest place. Indeed, as this event happens while Francis is still trying to discern his own vocation, we can say that it is only in the letting go of our own privilege and ego, (dismounting from our horse as it were), that we become open enough to the revelation of the hidden silent Christ so that our purpose may be revealed to us. Bonaventure expressly demonstrates this movement as being essential in the following of Christ as in the very next paragraph he links the encounter with Christ as Leper to the vision Francis has of the crucified Jesus and the appropriation that Francis makes to himself, (an appropriation that we are all called to make), of the Gospel text to deny ourselves, take up our Cross and follow Christ.

This leads us beautifully to the third and final encounter we will consider.

The third encounter: The Christ of San Damiano

We find this encounter at the beginning of the second chapter of the Legenda. Here Christ is not hidden anymore, though His purpose and command are at first misunderstood by Francis. In the crucifix of San Damiano Francis continues his deepening dialogue with the Lord, “who became humbler even to accepting death.” He is “led by the Spirit” and enters the church to pray, and there beholds the crucifix. While the Christus figure of the San Damiano Cross is depicted as alive and triumphant He still bares the bleeding wounds and the loin cloth of the moment of crucifixion and death. Like the Fisher King of the Arthurian legends wounded and yet a healer, (a figure that Francis would probably have been familiar with), Christ is represented on the Cross both in His eternal divinity as the Lord of History and the impassable Logos, and at one and the same time, in His humanity as the suffering servant of Isaiah who silently endures. Here on the Cross of San Damiano Jesus is the Lamb of revelation, dead yet alive upon the Altar. In the triune perfection of the call that issues from the Cross telling him to, “go and repair my house, which as you see, is all being destroyed.” (LM 2:1) Francis once again moves from contemplation of the Crucified to action. Action which, though at first is misguided in its literal interpretation of the command, eventually bears fruit in not just rebuilt churches, but in the service of a universal Church who, in its chief shepherd, will recognise him as the one who will help in holding up the sinking edifice of the faith.

So we may see the unfolding conversion of Francis characterised by a growing realisation of just who Christ is. We are the witnesses, through Bonaventure, of the beginnings of a life lived for God alone. A life which, in its distinctive character and expression, will set the foundations of a Franciscan Christology that, arising from these charismatic and contemplative insights of Francis, will centre the movement on relationship with the Christ who is both near in the poor and the marginalised, and far above us as the hidden Lord of the castle of our knightly desires. He is revealed as the One whose sacramental presence will be venerated beneath the veils of leprosy and isolation just as truly as beneath those of bread and wine. Above all else, He is the crucified who calls us to share in His mission of reconciliation and peace, eternally suffering and dying, rising and reigning. It will be on these foundation stones that the vast work of Franciscan Christology will be built, always calling us back to the contemplation of our own moments of encounter with Christ, hidden or revealed, so as to lead us through Him, with Him and in Him to the building of the Kingdom within us and then within the world.

Br. Richard Hendrick OFM Cap

(Originally written as an essay for the Franciscan Formation Studies Course in Canterbury 2013)

Picture credits: Pics 1 & 3 Piero Cassentini, Pics 2 & 4 uncredited)

Assumption Eve Medicine

 

 

Assumption Eve Medicine

 

For two months turning

the old women,

they who have the knowing,

have watched their charges carefully.

Picked at the height of their power

on the short night, after the long day;

the feast of fire,

that vigils the Baptist’s coming,

when lads and ladies leap

like hares over flames

and look with longing for love,

as children sing the old songs

filled with mystic meaning;

that night they were gathered

as grace and gift

beneath the light of sister Moon,

the Lady’s lamp and plucked

from garden and from forest glade,

by woman’s hands alone.

Now, they, the herbs for healing,

hang in blessed bunches

over the hearth of home,

or kept in kitchens

above the range,

or bound in byres

where the warming breath

of the queen kine keeps them

charmed and waiting

to release their medicine,

the healing pulse

of sister Mother Earth

and Brother Sun’s distilled light

mixed, and married, and greened,

in root, and shoot,

and leaf, and flower.

So they, the healing herbs,

have rested until tonight

when as dusk comes on

and begins to breathe her

autumnal quickening,

these wise ones take them down

and bring them now

to the old places of prayer

to the abbeys and chapels,

to the candled shrines

of the sainted ones,

who themselves bore

the fruit of blessing

and were heaven’s healing,

the salve of souls,

upon the earth.

There they find

the Lady’s chapel,

and lay their leafy burdens

beneath the linen cloths

upon the Altar, there to await

Assumption’s dawn,

and as the Mass bells ring

to have the holy words

said over them that render

them thrice blessed again,

and ready to release their

gentle healing gifts,

blessed once in very being

from first beginning’s breathing,

blessed twice in the burning

touch of Love’s own resurrection light

when all was made anew,

blessed thrice by the Lady’s prayers,

she who is the stock from which

all healing blooms,

and in her gathering home raised all

that grows green upon this good earth

to become heaven’s healing help again;

Eden’s elixir restored in her

and birthed anew as grace,

just as these sainted herbs

ground upon the mortar’s stone

will give their essence up,

and become the holy way

by which their medicine

blesses bodies and anoints

our souls to ready us

in our own time,

for Heaven’s

homing.

Vigil of the Assumption 14th August 2018.

In many places it was the ancient custom for women to gather herbs around the feast of St. John the Baptist (Midsummer) and then bring them to the Churches for blessing on the feast of the Assumption before they were made into medicine for the Winter ahead. The herbs were placed beneath the Altar Cloths and around the Sanctuary before the dawn Mass there to be offered to the Lord, through Mary’s hands, she who is the “first fruits” of His saving love, so as to receive her special prayers of healing and be blessed in their medicinal use in the year ahead.

The Ritual of the Church still provides for such blessings should they be requested.

 

(Pics in this post found as random uncredited images on the web)

 

 

Clare: the burning one!

Clare

There came at last
the night when,
with Bishop’s blessing,
she drew back the great bolt
and, with sudden strength
unknown before,
cast open wide
the ancient oaken doors
and left it all behind.
Breathing the cool free
air of night
her sparkling eyes, now
a mirror of the canopy
of shining sisters overhead.
Veiling herself in night,
and without a backward glance,
she fled to the forested friars
who met this already bright one
with their lamps lit at woodland edge.
So theu beckoned her
to the little house of the Mother,
where she once again
affirmed the divinely kindled desire
of her heart’s longing,
and threw herself into the flames of faith,
a furnace so incandescent
that hair, and clothing, and even name,
are burned away.
And so the robe of blessing was bestowed
and the promises that bind the hearts
of those who know
true freedom made.
He was there, of course,
to receive her sacred vows,
as his first sister,
and a daughter of his prophesying too,
Francis of the dancing fire,
whose sparking words first
heard through her window
open to the world below
found a home in the dry
kindling of her heart
and became a raging firestorm
so strong that,
castle walls and binding ties
could not hold her captive any longer,
but allowed her
leap into the arms of love itself
upon that quiet woodland night
and find within that
merry band of brothers
a garden where
her seed soul spark could
grow and bloom unhindered
and unquenched.
What psalms were sung
and candles kindled through that night
within that little portion that the Lady
had allotted them
who served her Son and Lord anew!
What rejoicing did the Angels make
drawing even the animals
to witness this new beginning
as, unseen but felt,
the fiery Dove descended
and warmed with hidden wingbeat
the heat of grace within this gracious one
now sharing in the lot of those whose
only riches are the gifts of holy love.
So Francis looked
upon this little plant
newly sown in sacred fire
and smiling saw within
the power of her poverty,
the fire that would,
in time, spread undimmed
to countless sisters
who would come
hearing of her wild wonders,
she to whom
Kings and Lords
would bow
humbled by the humility
of one who dared to trust,
as he had trust himself,
in heaven’s promise
to uphold all those
who dance across
the rose red coals
of passion
so light,
so empty,
they can not
be burned
but incandesce
themselves
and become
ah!
Fire.

St Clare’s Day 2018

Donegal Dance

Donegal Dance

After what had seemed a very long day

of talking, and visiting, and listening

to the secret woes of, oh, so many,

we had arrived at the last,

to the old farm on an ancient hill,

above a half forgotten valley,

that seemed to dwell in its own time,

to travel its own long seasoned path.

A few thorn trees broke the wind

before the whitewashed walls.

A cow watched us deliberately

conferring with the few scraggly chickens

about these strange visitors; a welcome distraction,

perhaps.

They greeted us at the door then, the old couple.

Dressed in Sunday best, they stood as much to attention

as their work bent spines allowed.

Smiling with heavy, creased, but still bright eyes.

We knew then the far away neighbours had warned them

we were near; two friars travelling from house to house.

the annual days of the parish mission come again.

They beckoned us in to two soft chairs

drawn up beside the fire, there we settled into cushions

shaped by long quiet night’s sitting for them, not us,

as they sat on hard, straight, kitchen chairs

pulled from dark corners.

Then we talked, as you do, always

observing the ancient Irish liturgy of visiting:

The Weather?

“All right for now, but sure it will change.”

Health?

“Good days and bad days, neither of us as young as we were.”

The Children?

“Well, they are busy, they can’t make it here as often as they would like.”

The land?

“Enough for us, but we will be the last to farm it,

there’s no love for it in the young ones.

It’s a hard life, but a good one.”

We listened while scanning all the while this

place caught out of time, yet redolent of deeper, quieter life.

 “You’ll stay for the tea Fathers?”

The old farmer said suddenly

It was, on reflection,

more statement than question.

For his wife was already on her feet

and heading for the kitchen.

To this day I am glad we said yes

for the miracle that came of it then

and was ours alone to witness in the holiness of home.

Though at the time the glance between us brothers

told of a different mutual desire for return and rest.

“It was ever such”, the Brother reminded me, later when we left,

speaking only after we had passed a while of silent awe at what we had witnessed there,

“God’s revelations are never expected,

Moses was not looking for a burning bush that desert day.

The Shepherds did not expect Angels overhead that night.”

“He is the God of surprises after all.”

Perhaps the Farmer did not want or need to continue chatting then,

the old man rose and joined his wife in the small scrubbed kitchen,

while we stretched our sandaled feet before the fire

and stared across the hearth to where

the door half open let us watch the dance begin,

as these two souls, long made one,

in daily sacrament of living, prepared the liturgy of tea.

Without a word and each always aware of their partner’s presence

revolved around each other as stars and planets do

in orbits long settled since the foundation of being,

so they spun and weaved, the one always in right relation to the other,

passing by at just the right moment to receive from outstretched hand

the bread, the butter, the jam, the cheese,

each always, and without asking, just where the other needed them to be,

as their silent waltz produced a table set and ready for us all

to gather, seen and unseen, together.

We sat breathless and blessed just watching,

knowing we were witnesses of a secret communion

made all the more sacred for its being born of ordinary duty.

Danced daily for long years in that place,

Danced in a Spring surrounded by chattering Children

Danced in a Winter filled with worries and woes,

Danced in love and long and lazy Summer nights

Danced now in the Autumn of long burnished gold,

Danced under the stars of Heaven

Danced with the powers of Heaven

Danced with the Divine Dancer

who is the space and music both,

between all souls who dance the daily dance of love.

Once, at the end of a long day,

through a half open door, in an old cottage,

on a half-remembered hilltop in Donegal.

I sat in silence and witnessed the cosmic dance

of love incarnate take place

in an old but well scrubbed kitchen

where brown bread was broken

and we ate beneath

the glowing lamp

of the Sacred Heart.

(Pic not mine, found on Pinterest)

Portiuncula: For the Feast of St. Mary of the Angels

Portiuncula

All quiet he came, barefoot,
and brown as the leaves that
fell at his feet like blessings.
A wanderer in the woods;
this day, he had woken weary
and in his sitting stillness
felt the call to journey
further into wonder.
He had followed the bird songs
and slanted sun beams as signs,
listening with love to the lay
that seemed always to sing out
from every stone and leaf,
from every bird and beast,
calling him along the way,
until at last, and suddenly,
he stepped into that clearing
and saw so bright
in sudden Sun's appearing
the grey green mossy walls,
the tumbled stone,
the ruined chapel,
long forgotten by all
but Angels and Animals,
who often find in our withdrawal
a safer sanctuary
to keep their innocent vigil,
and psalm together in a harmony
our sin discordant voices can
no longer sing.
He stood there a moment,
as still as one who sees beyond
and knows himself a servant
of the flame that burns the bush
but consumes it not;
slowly understanding his draw to this place
within the deeper call, echoing resounding
once more in soul's song:
to rebuild the ruins,
firm the foundations,
and raise the roof of grace.
Kneeling now, he gently bows
and touches his forehead to the ground,
the holy cross is graven once again
upon his heart, and then he reaches
for a stone, long fallen from its place,
and kissing it with reverence for the gift
of the Mother it makes of itself,
he places it upon another,
and begins again to build the church of God.
That night, as lady Moon
crowned the new set stones with silver,
he lit the long dark lamps
before the face of one his heart
called Queen and Mother both,
and realised with joy
to whom this holy place belonged.
Standing he sings alone his nightly songs:
psalms, and hymns, and lovers lauds
to the Lady of his soul and then he sleeps,
this troubadour in his tumbledown temple.
Until in deepest dark he wakes with wonder
to find a new light all about him,
fairer than moonlight, gentler than stars,
emerging from these old sacred stones,
as all around the gathered sit
in serried rank, birds and beasts alike,
all watching for their
Lady's smile upon her lately sleeping servant.
Now roused he hears the heralds of heaven
sing their own music, alike to his
but deeper, greater, older, sweeter,
lifting his troubadour tunes
into the great song of heaven's hearing.
Lost in love and light he listens,
caught up in creation's hymn,
whose crowning Queen he knows
here now in her sanctuary by sight,
and sits where he,
her knight errant of the road,
had lately slept his labours off.
The music, never silenced, fades, a little,
and beckoning him to her side
she whispers words of such blessing
he cannot believe;
to his care this place is given,
his little portion it will be,
and to his brothers yet to come
also a reminder, an anchor
a place of refuge and renewal,
of beginning blessing,
and the promise of an ending
in the embrace of she who gathers
these poor scared sparrows
neath her mother's mantle
to gift them to her Son.
Then reaching forth,
the Lady touched his tired eyes,
and seeing now with heaven's gaze,
the ages fall about him
telling the tale of all the Friars who follow;
the Sisters too, will have here their birth beginning,
until an even greater forest grows
about this blessed place, planted in peace
and bearing joy as fruit,
born from the seed of Gospeled faith,
sheltering with blessed branch all beings
who seek the shade of pardon and long for peace.
He weeps then, this rebuilder of blessing,
long and loud is his lament,
his mourning for the early days misspent,
 declaring his deeds, he seeks
her departure from one so stained,
yet she, the Lady, smiles all the more,
lifts him up, calls him son,
as much her building
as the stony walls about them both.
Then with a swell of Angel song she leaves,
or at least is seen no more,
and the little brother
does the only thing he can,
as, with makeshift trowel in hand,
and weeping still,
he picks up another stone
from off the floor.

Today is the feast of Our Lady of the Angels of the Portiuncula, a foundational feast for all Franciscans throughout the world. It was at the little forest chapel, rebuilt with his own hands, that Francis founded the Order, dedicating it to Our Lady of the Angels, there he received the vows of the brothers and of St. Clare, spent much time in meditation and finally breathed out his soul to God... The little chapel remains the heart place of the Franciscan soul and is a place of blessing to this day.

The "pardon of Assisi" the plenary indulgence granted to St. Francis to honour this feast and title of Our Lady may be obtained by visiting any public church until midnight tonight, praying the Creed and the Our Father for the intentions of the Pope and receiving Sacramental Confession and Holy Communion within 7 days before or after the feast.

Some practical advice from our elder brothers on Meditation

Over the years of being taught the ways of meditative prayer by our brothers many of them have shared a word of advice or teaching along the way… a few of them are recorded below, may they help you in your practice as they have helped me over the years.

1.)    Be regular in your practice; so far as is possible practice at the same time and in the same place each day. You are a creature of habit. Let abiding in a state of prayer become habitual.

2.)    At the start meditate for twenty minutes, twice a day. If this is too much begin with ten minutes. Better ten with attention than twenty with struggle.

3.)    Begin with a formal gesture of invocation and intention.

4.)    Call on the heavenly helpers to assist you in your prayer. Your Guardian Angel, patron saints, holy ancestors and above all the Blessed Virgin want to assist you in your prayer, but they await your invitation.

5.)    End with a moment of thanksgiving.

6.)    Still yourself by noticing your senses and your breath. They are the gateways to the present moment.

7.)    Use a short phrase or word to anchor yourself in the moment of prayer. The “prayer word” both unites us to God and gives the conceptual brain something to attend to until the thoughts quieten.

8.)    The prayer word or phrase should be in a language other than the one you speak daily as this will prevent associative ideas from arising and getting in the way.

9.)    Attend to physical needs first, or you will just spend your time thinking about your needs.

10.)                        Do not eat just before meditation. Your body is limited in its energy, eating before hand draws necessary energy for the meditation to digestion instead.

11.)                        Sit relaxed but straight, let your breath be open and gentle without altering the rhythm in any way. As you become still it will slow and deepen by itself.

12.)                        Surrender all thoughts, images, sensations, concepts as they arise. Simply notice them but do not grasp them. Remain instead in simple attention attuned towards meeting the Divine Presence in this moment, in this breath.

13.)                        Do not force anything.

14.)                        Do not expect anything.

15.)                        Try and meditate early in the morning as the sun rises and in the evening as it sets. In this way you will be united with the natural rhythm of the cosmos and its Divine order.

16.)                        You are just sitting, to sit. You are not owed anything. Anything you receive is a grace. Your job is just to show up, attend and be open.

17.)                        The distractions are part of the process. With each return from the distraction your faculty of attention will become stronger and your ability to maintain a centred awareness of the Divine Presence will grow.

18.)                        Remember God is already present within you and around you. You are simply tuning into His presence.

19.)                        There is nothing you can do to make God more present. There is much you can do to become more present to God.

20.)                        Rest. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.

21.)                        In the end this is not your work. You are being worked upon and within. You must simply turn up, abide past the distractions and attend to Love’s gaze.

22.)                        Just close your eyes and get out of God’s way.

Sacred Heart:

I remember still, with the sharp light 

of a child's knowing of newness, 

my Gran's bedroom. 

Spartan, yet equipped with things 

of a quality we do not have 

in many places now.

Long used. Loved. Meant to last.

Her carved bed seemed enormous to us 

as we flung ourselves onto its satin spread, 

sliding across it to thump, 

giggling, on the hard floor.

A mirror, a brush, a comb, all laid out 

upon the dresser as carefully 

as a surgeon's tools, 

heavy and cold to the touch,

but glowing with the warm barley sugar 

inner light of polished tortoise shell.

An old clock that worked, sometimes, 

its numerals glowing in the dark 

a faded ghost green. 

And there, upon the dresser too 

he stood, in stone stillness. 

Flaking slightly, but still royal 

in his red robe revealing the love 

that is at the heart of all things. 

and seeming huge to my small hands.

I would climb into the bed beside her 

as she whispered her prayers 

in his direction;

she would hand him to me then 

and he would sit comfortably 

upon my knees,

as I, entranced, traced the thorns 

entwining his poor heart, 

and tried to pull them out;

feeling his heart a flame, 

a fire for me, for her, for all!

I would whisper to him then,

my childish news and secrets

and I remember (can you believe it?)

sometimes, he whispered back

words of such love

they exist now only as 

scattered shards of light 

within my own heart's memories,

there and then I promised, I would 

one day, pull out those thorns.

Gran smiled when I told her this

"Maybe you will", she said toothlessly,

the liturgy of dentures coming after prayers

in the morning's ritual,

"But maybe you'll put another thorn or two 

in there too; don't worry, we all do from time to time, but never forget He loves you still!" she said, smiling sadly at my stricken face.

Then I kissed him hard as children do

and made the foolish promise

of a child to ease his heart a little.

A promise I confess I have yet to fulfil,

though no shortage of thorns 

have I added to his crown.

Devotions done she restored him to his place upon the dresser,

and I,  sliding off the bed,

now thought only of the day before us: 

of buses into town, bookshops, 

and Bewley's cafe!

Then we went downstairs 

to breakfast on tea and toast,

always, me going first,

she coming behind,

her breath, 

her voice as one, 

whistling upon each step,

the background music

of her life;

"Sacred Heart of Jesus,

I place all my trust 

in Thee."

Christian Contemplation and the Eucharist: Dwelling in Real Presence; Becoming the Real Presence

Christian Contemplation and the Eucharist: 

Dwelling in the Real Presence; Becoming the Real Presence

What is the goal of the Christian journey? Salvation? Justification?

Heaven? The Kingdom of God? Righteousness? The early Christians

had a word that included all of these meanings and also went far beyond.

They said the goal of the Christian Life was “Theosis”. It’s a Greek word,

meaning to become as alike to God as it is possible for us to become, literally to be divinised.

Sanctity or holiness in the Christian tradition is the journey of the person towards this theosis, allowing the Sanctifier, the Holy Spirit, to gradually heal and transform

us so that on every level of our being, body, mind, heart and soul we approach what God wants us to become: saints. As far as the Christian tradition is concerned the

goal God has for each of us is simply this, to undergo theosis; to be remade into the image of Christ, to become a saint. As St. John says,

“We shall become like Him, for we shall see Him as He really is”

 (1 John 3:2).

This gradual journeying of the human being back to God is made possible through the Incarnation of Jesus. His entry into our world opened the path and the possibility for human beings to journey with and through Him back to God. As St. Bonaventure says: “He descended so that we could ascend.” And He did this through living a

human life and dying a human death.

Or as St. Augustine poetically put it,

“Divine Wisdom has assumed humanity and come close to human beings

by means of what is closest to us.” [1]

If this is true then how do we begin to approach this mystery? How do we start the journey? In the tradition of the Church we have a marvellous wealth of wisdom

that allows us to see how the sacraments and the life of prayer relate to each other in this path of transformation that we have to walk. Both are necessary and both inform the deeper practice of the other.

What are We?

However first we have to understand just what we are as human beings. We need to get to know the raw material that will make this journey. Again the early Christian writers can help us out here.

Over the first thousand years of the Church’s

existence these experts in contemplative being delved so deeply into scripture and

contemplation and inner observation that they evolved a marvellous spiritual anthropology that allows us to see how prayer, contemplation and the Eucharist are interrelated and are necessary for this journey.

To the Fathers of the Church, human beings are often described as fourfold creatures. We are made up of body, (soma), mind, (psyche), soul (nous) and most importantly of

all spirit (pneuma). Now the words soul and spirit have become somewhat mixed up nowadays but to the contemplative they have very different

connotations. The soul is the seat of the human personality. It is your “you” the place where your memory, will, imagination and capacity for emotion

and relating are present. The spirit however is quite different. It is the place where God dwells within the human being, the pure point of His presence. It is distinct from us but present in us. As such it is an unfallen place and always pure, while the previous three (body, mind and soul) are fallen, and in need of the

redemption that only Christ can bring.

The best way to imagine it is to see it as St. Paul

describes it, we are earthen vessels carrying a heavenly treasure (cf 2 Corinthians 4:7). If human beings had never fallen then the soul would have

been in perfect communion with the spirit and had perfect governance over the mind and the body.

The spirit as place and point of Divine Presence holding us in being is present in every human person. Christ is “the Light who enlightens all people”[2], but sadly

many are unaware of the divine presence dwelling within. Prayer, repentance and sacramental grace gradually restore the harmony and order of being that was meant

to be there from the beginning. This is the path of re-ascending with Christ that the Christian aspires to. We begin that path through the practice of

prayer.

What is Prayer?

But what do we mean by prayer? Let’s take a brief look at what Jesus says to His followers about it in one important Gospel passage.

"And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they

love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street

corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have

received their reward in full.”

"But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close

your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and

your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.”

(Mt 6:5-6)

Now, let us consider whom Jesus was addressing these words to. In speaking to the ordinary people of the Palestine of His day He was addressing mostly those who were poor. They would have lived in a one room dwelling. So where was this inner

room he was speaking of? In fact the phrase “inner room” was a well known image used by the rabbis of the day to illustrate the inner room of the heart, the inner place of the spirit. The image of the closing of the door was often used to indicate a turning inwards to a time of silence and stillness. All this would have been quite familiar to those of his followers who had heard the teachings of the rabbis.

However Jesus adds something new to this image. He tells us that when we do become still and silent and enter into the inner place of the heart then we will find that the Father is already present there. Again we have, from Jesus’ own mouth, the teaching that God is already present at the heart of the human being. To be there consciously in that place, the holy of holies of the human being and rest in the presence of the Father is at the heart of this teaching. Jesus is essentially

teaching his disciples the beginning of contemplative prayer. This is a form of prayer that is to be of few words, grounded in the truth of our own sinfulness but resting always on the promise of the divine presence within. Down the ages this form of prayer will be characterised by an interior intimacy, by silence and by attentive listening.

As the great St. Teresa of Avila said;

“prayer is simply conversing with someone whom I already know loves me.”[3]

One of the great stories from the Scriptures that illustrates this intimate practice of prayer is that of Elijah in the cave. It was used so extensively by the

desert fathers as a teaching tool that it must have been handed down in

the early Christian communities as an image of true prayer. In the book of the Kings we learn that Elijah has been persecuted for his fidelity to the covenant of God and so, at the end of his tether, he takes off into the desert to simply lie down and die. He has had enough, he is lost in desolation and dryness. An angel appears twice and feeds him that he might have strength for the journey into the desert and off he

trots until he comes to the cave where he dwells in prayer until he is told that the Lord is about to reveal Himself to him. Let’s look at what happens next:

“The LORD said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain in the

presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.’ Then a

great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and

shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in

the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the

LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a

fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a

gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over

his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.

Then a voice said to him, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’”

(1 Kings 19: 11-13).

It is a beautiful and powerful story of the Lord renewing the call of his prophet but, more than that, the story was also seen by the Fathers as an indication of

the place the Eucharist plays in the contemplative path. It is only after he has been fed the “bread of angels” that Elijah has the strength for the journey

into the desert of prayer, where after descending into the cave of the heart, he is then able to still his emotional turmoil enough that he can come to such a calmness

that he is able to discern the presence of the Spirit of God whose voice comes like a gentle breeze. In the story of Elijah and the cave we have traced out for us

the whole Eucharistic – contemplative relationship. Here we see revealed the Eucharist as the fuel for our contemplative journey while being, at one and the

same time, the very goal of that journey; namely intimate communion with Jesus Christ and through Him with the Father and the Spirit.

Now it is also worth noting that the Hebrew phrase for this inner voice that Elijah hears may be translated a number of ways. In Hebrew it is

“qôl d’mâmâh daqâh” (1 Kings 19:12) which literally translates as: “a voice of murmuring silence” or “a breath-filled voice” or even “a gentle breeze”.

Like many of the ancient languages Hebrew is a fluid and poetic. To the Fathers all of

these senses were important as they united in themselves the presence and revelation of the Holy Spirit as “ruah” The living-breath-Spirit-wind of God. The importance of this is that it identifies the Spirit who pours out on the Church the streams of

Sacramental Grace as the same Spirit who reveals to us the inner presence of the Lord in our own spirit through the gift of prayer.

The Eucharist and Contemplative Prayer

So then, from the beginning of the Church the path of Contemplative Prayer and the Eucharist are intimately connected — the one inviting a deeper

participation in the other as the Catechism teaches:

“Entering into contemplative prayer is like entering into the

Eucharistic liturgy: we "gather up:" the heart, recollect our

whole being under the prompting of the Holy Spirit, abide

in the dwelling place of the Lord which we are, awaken our

faith in order to enter into the presence of him who awaits

us. We let our masks fall and turn our hearts back to the

Lord who loves us, so as to hand ourselves over to him as

an offering to be purified and transformed.” (Catechism of

the Catholic Church §2711)

This beautiful paragraph builds marvelously on what we have just said (and traces every one of the steps that Elijah takes!). In a way, our participation

in the Eucharist invites us again and again to trace the contemplative path, and our taking a contemplative stance when celebrating the Eucharist allows us to deepen our levels of understanding of and participation in this great mystery.

St. Bonaventure reaffirms the importance of having this contemplative

understanding of the Eucharist so as to be enabled to participate as fully as

possible in this great mystery of love:

“Whoever draws worthily near to the Eucharist obtains a quadruple grace. This

sacrament instills the strength to operate; raises one to contemplation; disposes one

towards knowledge of divine reality; animates and ignites contempt for the world

and the desire for heavenly and eternal things, as it was said of Elijah who, with the force of that food walked up to the mountain of God, saw divine secrets and stopped at the entrance to the cave.”[4]

According to Bonaventure the Eucharist becomes our “contemplative viaticum”, which strengthens us on the way, while also deepening our gifts of prayer and

contemplation. There is simply no escaping the reciprocal relationship of contemplation and the Eucharist for the fathers, mothers, saints and mystics of the Church. So what happens to us then when we take a contemplative stance and begin the path of meditative prayer? How will it effect our participation in the Eucharist?

Well one of the first things it does is to invite us to see deeply the mystery that we celebrate. We begin to understand that what we are present at is the representation

of the supreme moment of human history. There is an old proverb that you will still hear in Italy from time to time. “At the table no one grows old.” It was co-opted some years ago into a marketing campaign for one of those olive oil butter substitute spreads. In the TV version of the advertisement we see a beautiful Mediterranean

family busily spreading branded olive oil over their bread as the dulcet tones of the announcer claim that at THIS table no one grows old … presumably because of the youth preserving qualities of olive oil. However what many of us probably don’t know is that the marketing people got it wrong! The table referred to in the old proverb is the table of the Eucharist, the Altar. And the claim that at

this table no-one grows old was based on the faith of the early Christians that the celebration of the Mass was a moment when we step into the eternal now of God’s

presence so fully that we are no longer governed by time. We are literally outside of time as “chronos” while celebrating the Eucharist.

Now I’m sure you, like me, have been bored so often at some Masses as the preacher drones on that you have looked at your watch frequently and felt that no time was passing at all! But this isn’t what is meant here. Rather there is the understanding that in some mysterious way we are participating in an eternal moment: a nodal point of history where the eternal NOW of God intersects human history in the crucifixion of Christ. Jesus being fully God and fully human is the centre of this nodal point. Indeed it would be better to say that He is the centrepoint of all history in that our story finds its origins, its ongoing existence, and its fulfilment in Him. This means that our prayer life, our desire to have relationship with God and to communicate with Him on ever deeper levels of love —what we call the contemplative path in Christianity —

must always relate to and be centred upon the person of Jesus. And if we centre our prayer life on Jesus as the one who reveals the Father’s face then we will also

centre our life on the table where no one grows old, on the Mass. For this is the place in time where we come face to face with the ultimate eternal act of divine compassion, the sacrifice of Jesus as the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the

World. The fathers saw this as the moment when the old pagan understanding of time as the destroyer, Chronos  that eats up our lives by the minute is conquered by the

intersection of the eternal dimension, the Kairos of Christ. The time of the new and perpetual jubilee arrives with the incarnation of Jesus and His announcing of the Kingdom and it remains forever open to us through His death and resurrection. We

encounter these salvific moments that are at once historical and eternal in every celebration of the Mass. However, often we are too busy or distracted to be present to these extraordinary events. Perhaps as Church we have spent so long talking about the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist that we have forgotten that we must work on our side to be really present to Him!

Fostering a Contemplative Stance

The Contemplative Christian seeks to live always in the awareness of this eternal dimension, this interpenetration of time and eternity. We live in

incarnational awareness with the understanding that all of creation has been rendered holy once again by the entry of Jesus into our world.

So, in building contemplative moments into our days, moments of prayerful pausing that allow us to come face to face with this mystery, or as St. Clare puts it,

“to place our minds before the mirror of eternity”[5]

we create a chain of experience that enables us to begin to live in the presence of the

Lord here and now to be really present to the One who is always present to us

Practices that help are as old as Christianity: Lectio Divina, the praying of the psalms, the Jesus Prayer, the Rosary, the Divine Office, Centering Prayer, Practice of the Presence of God, the Sacrament of the Present Moment etc ...

All of these methods and many others have at their core the goal of uniting the person with the presence of God who is present to them. They allow us to journey like Elijah into the cave of the heart, there to wait, to abide in stillness until the storms of emotions, stresses, and thoughts have abated and we are calm enough to discern the voice of God within.

The Mass is of course at a completely different level of “practice” but our participation in it may be deepened by applying to it some of the techniques that come from the prayer practices that we have mentioned above. Bringing times of stillness and quiet into our celebration of the sacred liturgy are the most important. These times allow us a moment or two for the words of the liturgy and the scriptures of the day to anchor themselves in our minds so that we may have fuel for our prayerful pauses later that day. How often have you left a celebration of Mass unable to

remember the readings that you have just heard? It happens to me so often!

Following on from silence and stillness, the next most important practice to bring to our celebration of the Mass is that of posture. We forget at times that we are embodied! We are a psycho-biological entity that has a sacramental

world view: in other words our bodies, and what they are

doing are just as important to how we pray as are our thoughts and feelings. Indeed our thoughts and feelings will often be much better and more deeply centred if our

posture is appropriate to what we are saying or thinking. There is a body-language of prayer, commented on by the monastics of the Church from the days of the desert

fathers. Moving from standing to sitting to kneeling to bowing to prostrating reminds us of the truths we are celebrating and takes us out of a “spectator mentality” so

often present in today’s liturgy. Where the body goes the mind and heart will follow.

Arising then from our encounter with this eternal salvific moment in the Mass we are in turn driven to deepen our prayer life such that we become ever more aware of our need to be healed, to make this transformative journey into theosis.

We become aware of our own soul-sickness, our sinfulness, though without anxiety or fear; and at the same time we see that the perfect remedy for that sickness has been provided in the Holy Eucharist. It is no wonder then that one of the earliest images by which the Church described itself was as the “ field hospital of humanity”: the place where those who know they are sick come to in order to be healed.

It is interesting to not that the saints assure us that the self-knowledge that arises through prayer would be too much for us if we didn’t know that God has already

provided the means by which we may be healed. To the earliest monks and nuns daily

Communion was encouraged as an inoculation

against sin.  As St. Ambrose wrote:

“Anyone who

is wounded looks for healing. For us it is a

wound to be liable to sin. Our healing lies in the

adorable heavenly Sacrament.”[6]

St. Therese of Lisieux, a modern Doctor of the Church, writes in her letters that nothing should prevent us from receiving the Lord, not even our

sin. She goes on in one famous letter to teach that once we have repented in heart and have the resolution to go to confession as soon as is

possible we should be confident of the Lord’s mercy and go to receive the medicine that He has provided for our healing. After all, we are supposed to realise that the Eucharist is the medicine for sick sinners not the reward for perfect saints. Otherwise the Lord would have waited until we enter the heavenly life to

provide it. Of course we must co-operate with the grace offered in this deepest communion with the Lord that the Eucharist offers.

Sometimes we forget that the Lord gave of himself in Communion to all of the Apostles just before they would abandon and betray Him. He does that for us as well. Our prayer therefore should be that if we fall we will have the grace to

respond to His call to repentance like Peter and not fall into despair like Judas.

So then, descending into the cave of the heart through building a practice of meditative prayer so as to hear the still, small voice of the Spirit is

the perfect preparation for participating in a deeper way in the celebration of the Eucharist. As the Holy Spirit reveals to us our need to be healed and renewed in the image and likeness of God we approach the Eucharist to receive this

inner healing, we recognise that Jesus wants us to come to Him, to be fed, healed and restored to enter into the fullness of our destiny as saints, to

walk the path of theosis. The Eucharist will deepen our prayer life and our prayer life will deepen our celebration of the Eucharist, and in

this mutuality of experience the seeds of our future destiny are sown, watered and cared for, until that day when we shall see Him face to face and, please God, take our place at the eternal banquet of the Kingdom of Heaven.

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[1] St. Augustine, Sermon Denis 16:1

[2] Cf: John 1:4-9

[3] St. Teresa of Avila, Autobiography, ch 8:2

[4] St. Bonaventure: On the Most Holy Body of Christ, 12-13.

[5] St. Clare, Third Letter to St. Agnes of Prague, v 12

[6] http://thebyzantineanglocatholic.blogspot.ie/2007/10/eucharistic-quotes-patristic.html