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.

Moon Memories

Moon Memories:

Once,

The moon followed

me home,

I know,

because I watched her

out the back window of the car.

Occasionally slipping

behind trees or buildings

like a secret agent,

she kept up with us

effortlessly,

as I strained against

the straps of my seat

to meet her gaze.

I felt her interest

and her smile,

happy to have made

a new friend.

Once,

not afraid of the night,

but of the day

that would follow,

I was invited

by my Mother

to gaze on the Moon

outside our house,

and greet her as

Our Lady’s lamp

protecting all,

guiding all home,

wisdom

passed down

from her Father,

whom I had never met,

but always felt

I knew.

He loved the Moon

she said.

There is hereditary

of the heart,

as well as of the blood,

it seems.

To this day

I miss her calls

that would begin always

with,

Have you seen the Moon

tonight?

For I cannot look up

at the Moon

without looking

within

too.

Once,

I spent the night

in a wood made pure

silver

by her presence,

and felt the life in every thing

stir and sing

and dance

in a wild celebration

that is hidden from

the day.

I sat stone still

and watched

Foxes play

about me

and a Badger

pass by like an ancient sage

busy on his own quest,

and I believed

in magic again

by her light.

Once,

I remember her

appearing during the

long drawn out days

of dry schooling,

and seeing her

still serenity

so far above

the awfulness

of that age

made me breathe out

a breath

I did not even know

I had been holding

on to for years.

She felt like a friend

checking in.

We greeted each other

then,

as we do to this day,

each noticing the other

in the blessed acceptance

of being.

Once,

Sick and fevered I rose

gasping in the middle

of a winter’s night

and pulled back the curtain

to find her shining

over snow so newly fallen

that not a flake

had been disturbed

but glowed in her gaze

cascading in curves

over a street I knew

but saw again

for the first time

now softened

by snowlight’s reflection

of her blessed touch.

I looked and looked

at this gracious gift

of enchantment’s echo

until I felt I was being

looked at in turn

and blessed too.

In the morning,

I woke

well.

Once,

I walked the pier

between my parents

on the night before

I left to follow

the path.

We watched her rise

together,

in silence

and listened to a mandolin

playing in the distance.

We did not have to speak,

the Moon sang for us,

soul songs only we could hear.

Always remember this night,

they said later.

As if I could

do anything

else?

Once,

Feeling bereft and lost

I caught sight of her

rising over a strange city

(Though I remember her,

and the feelings,

but not the city it was.)

and I did not feel lost

anymore

How could you be lost

when you are always

under her graced gaze?.

How could you be alone

when everyone you know

and love is beneath her blessing

too?

I asked myself.

Once,

I saw her,

loom so large

as to almost

be alarming,

bedecked in harvest

gold and heavy seeming,

she lit the land beneath

so beautifully

that the cattle on the hills

cried out to her,

and the birds began their chorus

for a dawn

that was yet hours away.

I danced in her light

that night,

beneath the trees,

a slow sandaled

shuffle of monkish sort,

and bowed deeply

as she passed.

How could you not?

When all around

and within

was

psalming

celebration

of her compline

completeness.

Once,

I watched her rise

sickle sharp

over Assisi.

As though making manifest

the unseen divine smile

hanging in the air

over this holy place

where joy was married

to peace in the song

of brother-sisterhood.

I smiled back and felt

the saint smile too

behind it all

and wondered what

his long silent nights

of prayer

must have been like

measured only by her dance

across the sky

slowly revealing her face

to him,

as grace comes gently

to fill us

only as we empty

and so seem

to disappear

into divine darkness

just like

her.

Candlemas Feb 2^nd 2018

The Wild Nativity

The Wild Nativity.

We have our prophecies too
you know,
we tell our own tales,
and so we knew
to gather there
that night,
ambassadors of our
varied kinds all.
Before old Joseph
came back
with supplies from the inn.
We were there,
hidden in the hay,
up amongst the old beams,
resting by the manger
or drawn there
by the new star
that rose that night
pure and shining
like a snowflake
in its light.
We were there.
We had felt the
old pull of Eden
in our furred and feathered hearts
and felt his long forgotten nearness
once again who walked with us
once in evening light.
Old rivalries forgotten,
or at least put aside tonight,
we sat peacefully
in storied rank
half hidden in the shadows,
lost in awe at her,
settled
so still
in the straw,
her eyes closed
as though present
to a mystery
within.
We were there
waiting for Him
with her.
Let us prepare
His place we said...
Wren moved first,
to pluck her own breast
scattering the softest down
amongst the rough straw
and sparrows followed
weaving moss and herbs
as mattress
as Owl, and old Crow
and Hawk directed.
"I will keep him warm",
said Robin,
reddening his breast
while fanning flame alight.
"We will sing to him
when at last He comes"
said the little ones,
four footed and furred
and long tailed too,
piping in their tiny voices
choiring high as mouse
and vole, rabbit
and hedgehog all
assembled there,
followed by fox's clear tenor
and Badger's earthy baritone
to sing their
benediction of
wild welcome.
And then he came.
How? As sun shines sudden through a cloud breaking blindingly!
How? As the first rays of dawn mark that moment when night becomes a new day.
How? As a scenting nose is suddenly aware of a change in the air.
He came.
More than that we will not say.
Ours alone was that privilege to see and we will guard it down the ages...
And Mary looked upon us with love
and thanked us all
and in her smile and words
we heard old Eve laugh
at last again.
And then there was noise,
and people,
so many people,
and we withdrew
as we always do
to the shadows
again.
But not before He smiled at us
a smile of long recognition
graced and grateful
both.
After the shepherds left,
and their piping drumming din
went off amongst the crowds.
After Bethlehem finally became still.
After old Joseph nodded off
to his Angeled dreams.
We were there
and came forth again
from the shadows
to dwell with them,
our new Adam and Eve,
and heard then
our Gospel
preached to us,
who are already
of His kingdom
and always were.
We made our covenant
with Him then,
to be the first apostles
of His love
and in
our being blessed
and shared with you
to remind you
of the innocence
you lost
and He renews
if you would but follow
our
wild way to
Eden's light
again.
We have been
forgotten now
as shepherds, kings
and crowds
followed,
but not by Him,
who from his mother's arms
smiled past them all at us
hiding in the shadows
there.
And we would later
meet Him
in the desert
and the garden,
there
we will be with Him
again,
for we have
our prophecies too
you know,
and tell our tales
too,
whispering
to each other
across the woods
and hills,
on this night
each year
as you toll your bells
and sing,
we look to the skies
and
remember;
we
were
there.

Christmas Blessings to you and yours this Holy Night +

(Pic is of The Christmas Star by Lynn Bywaters)

On the Edge of Waiting: A Meditation Poem for Christmas Eve, Eve.

On the Edge of Waiting.
(A Meditation Poem for Christmas Eve, Eve)

Shhh...
Come away a moment,
my friend.
Come away
from the lights,
and the crowds,
and the shops,
and the noise,
and the pressure,
and the worrries,
and the old wounds that
winter us
before our time.
Come and sit with me here.
Rest.
Just for a moment.
Let me share with you once again
what we forget in our festive
frenzy:
He is coming…
Down the long ages of despair
He comes as Hope.
Down the rough road of doubt
He comes as Faith.
Down the broken byways
of the
human heart
He comes as Love.
He is coming…
Sit with me on the edge of waiting…
Sit in sacred stillness…
Breathe the deep breath of
blessing.
You do not have to do anything.
He is coming…
Whether you are ready or not
Aware or not,
Able or not,
Present or not,
Believing or not,
He is coming…
As the sun rises,
as the moon shines,
as the tides turn,
as the stars dance,
He is coming…
So do not worry.
Let the tyranny of
tension
fall from you…
You never needed to carry it.
Let the false face of
righteous readiness to defend,
dissolve.
You never needed to wear it.
How could you ever be ready
for this?
For the first proclamation of the
Kingdom to be heard in a baby’s
cry.
Nothing is asked of you
but
to be here and now
who you are.
Truly.
Fully.
Broken?
Yes.
Weak?
Yes.
Called?
Oh yes.
He is coming…
And He is calling you to come to Him.
As He always does.
As He always will.
So, how will you greet Him,
the One who is coming?
The One who calls you,
to His crib.
(Yes, you.)
Will you prepare a place for Him?
Will you open the cave of your heart to Him?
Will you place Him in the sanctuary of your soul?
Will you lay Him upon the rough straw of your life?
Will you swaddle Him with your silence?
Will you offer Him the gentle warmth of animal breath?
Will you offer Him your love?
Or not.
He is coming…
Do not miss the moment
Of Mystery’s
mangered birth
by succumbing to
Bethlehem busyness.
No.
Become as still as a shepherd watching the flock of slumbering sheep.
Become as still as a sage watching the long dance of the stars.
Become as still as Joseph hearing Angels on the edge of dreams.
Become as still as she who is the stillpoint of love’s longing, filled with light,
and whose silence
brought forth the
Word of Love.
Be still and you will know
He is coming…
Always…
In stillness,
on the edge of waiting…
He is coming for you…
He is coming to you…
Always.
He is coming in Love.

(I wrote this last year and just discovered it has been shared over 1000 times on FB! As it seems to be something we all need to hear I'm posting it again. May its words continue to bless all who read it... Happy Christmas Eve, Eve to all)
Brother Richard

O Key of David: A meditation on the fourth of the Great O Antiphons of Advent

O Key of David!

Opener of the way between the worlds
Come and open our tight locked hearts!
O you who make of your very self
both the door and the key
make straight our path to you this night
and from the long winding of the ages
order us aright and
set our feet upon the way of peace
who long since left the path,
and stumble blind in darkness
of our own making!

O Key of David!

You who unlock the ancient temple treasury of Israel
come and liberate its golden light
to illumine the darkness of the whole world!
Open the minds
of all who seek truth and beauty
to find their source and summit
in your mangered birth.
Temper our being,
O Sceptered smith
of the heavens
by the hammer
of your divinity
until we are fit vessels for your sacred meal,
tabernacles of your spirit,
alloys rendered pure again
and fit for the King’s own
birthday feast.

O Key of David!

Open the long barred doors of Heaven as you descend!
Claim again the authority of divinity over humanity,
and humanity in divinity over creation.
Release the locks of longing
holding the doors of limbo shut
and quicken again the hearts
of patriarchs and prophets,
of the ancient fathers and mothers
of all times and places
who have kept faith with the promise
of a freedom scarce imagined,
yet desired of all the ages.

O Key of David!

Unlock in us the song of heaven
that sin strangled into silence
so long ago!
Let ours be the song
of the Woman
whose faith drew you down
upon the earth
she, the thrice holy one,
in whom the gift of grace
shone so bright
that even the shadow of
death
was put to flight,
and you who are
life unbounded
and eternal,
key and door both,
dwelt sealed in her
three seasons long,
so as to unlock for all
and forever
the way to
the eternal
Spring.

"O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel;
you open and no one can shut;
you shut and no one can open:
Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death!"

O Adonai! A meditation on the second of the Great O Antiphons of Advent

O Adonai!
We cry to you across the endless ages!
We call you by the name for the Name,
that only the One beyond all names may bear, O Hashem!
We seek from you our own exodus
from the cold and hard world
we have built within ourselves,
and hurt so many others by.

O Adonai!
We yearn for your deliverance!
Free us from the slavery to that false self
that is but a shadow of our souls
Let us put off the sandals that insulate us
from the deep throbbing heart of Mother Earth
and step into your Holy Presence
which is everywhere,
and there,
bow down before
the wonder of it all.
O Adonai!
Send to us the Angel of the Burning Bush!
May he call out to us,
so lost in our own thoughts
and worries
and dreams
that we may
at last
remember
the holiness of the ground
we stand on in every place
and at every time
for our where and when
rests always in
your divine
Now.
O Adonai!
Draw us to yourself, O Holy One!
Lead us on that pilgrim path
from the depths of our selfishness
to the heights of the mountain of compassion
and emptiness.
Bid us enter into the cloud,
that dissembles thought
and pierces the proud heart
so to open the soul to the
truest of loves.
O Adonai!
Let us hear the thunder in the void!
There at the summit and centre of our souls
inscribe your new Law of Love
upon the tablets of our hearts
in letters of divine fire!
O Adonai!
At hour of sunset
and star rise we call to you!
Hear the chant of your Church,
echoing the long and faithful love
of Abraham, and Isaac and their storied
generations.
Listen to these ancient invocations!
Look not on us,
nor on our readiness,
Look instead on she who is,
the Lady of Israel,
the Daughter of Zion,
the Queen of Heaven!
She who is
our burning bush ,
always aflame
but ever unconsumed,
who holds within her
sacred womb the mystery
of the Name made flesh!
Hear us sing her new song of deliverance
Hear the mystery magnified in woman
who in that holiest of births
brings about
our deliverer,
and invites
our exodus
home.
O Adonai!
"Magnificat anima mea Dominum!"
We cry with her,
and in her holy
burning words
we hear the song of her people,
our ancestors of spirit,
echoed anew:
"Ashira L’Adonai ki ga’oh ga’ah!"
And so we sing
with all the generations
this Advent night!
"O Adonai,
and leader of the House of Israel,
who appeared to Moses
in the fire of the burning bush
and gave him the law on Sinai:
Come and redeem us
with an outstretched arm!"

November: The Month of the Dead

For the Feast of "All Hallows"or All Saints:
A little article I wrote some years ago on the Month of November as a special time of remembering those who have gone before us and the Spiritual Practices associated with it...
Read on..


"It is a holy and wholsome thought to pray for the dead that they might be loosed from their sins"
2Mac, 12:46

A few people from different Religious traditions have asked me about the customs associated with Hallowe’en and the month of November in my tradition so this article will hopefully answer most of the questions.
In the Catholic Tradition the whole month of November is dedicated to praying for and remembering the dead. We begin with Hallowe'en, the eve of the feast of All Hallows or Saints on the 31st of October this falls on the old Celtic Feast of Samhain which again was to do with remembrance of the dead and was seen as the time when the veils that separated the worlds of the living and the dead were at their thinnest. This feast was subsumed into the Christian Calendar from very early on as entirely commensurate in essence with Christian theology and practice. Prayers and Rituals were offered for the departed, and often a candle or light was kindled specially in the home or at the graves of the deceased as a way of remembering those who had gone before. This continues right up to the present day. In my Grandmother’s time the custom was to clean the house and sweep out the hearth and leave bread and salt in a dish as the ancestors would come and visit the house and bless it on this night.
The feast of All Saints, Nov 1st issues in the month properly with its remembrance of all the saints of all times and places. All those Men and Women who have lived lives based on compassion and goodness and who have been gathered together in the kingdom of heaven. On this feast we celebrate not just the Canonised Saints but also the “common or garden” saints, as one old priest I knew used to put it… all those who though appearing to live "ordinary" lives, (there's actually no such thing!), were transformed by grace and love to live extraordinary lives that brought peace and compassion to the world.
The feast stresses that sanctity is the destiny of every human being and that it is within reach of all of us. In the churches Solemn Masses and blessings with the relics and icons of the saints are offered and we give thanks for the lives of all holy men and women of all times and places...
The second of November is dedicated to the feast of All Souls, here we remember all of those souls who, though departed from this life, are still “in via”, on the way to God. On this day we remember those souls who are completing their journey to heavenly life through the state of Purgatory. We call them the Holy Souls, for their salvation is assured and they in turn can pray for and help the living but we also call them Poor Souls for they are dependent on our prayer, penance and acts of charity.
Prayer for the Holy Souls is considered an important way of offering Spiritual Alms and so, on this day, every priest may offer three Masses and the Office of the Dead are prayed by priests and Monks and Nuns. The faithful attend Mass, light blessed candles and visit the graveyards throughout this month. One beautiful custom, which as far as I know is only found in Ireland, relates the prayers for the dead to the falling of the leaves off the trees in that if a leaf falls from a tree in front of your face it was taken to be a message from one of the Holy Souls asking for prayer.
In the Christian tradition, Ghosts in the proper sense, (not poltergeists or mere psychic impressions), are known to be Souls in purgatory who appear to ask for Spiritual Help via prayer so as to complete their purgatory and move on to heavenly life. The faithful also record the names of their departed loved ones on the “November Dead Lists” and these lists are placed upon the Altar and Mass is offered for those whose names are recorded daily throughout the month. Special services of remembrance of all those who have died in the past year are held in most churches with their families being invited to come back and light a candle for the deceased. The candle is then given as a gift of remembrance to the family that they can bring home and light to remember their loved one. People often fast from meat and or alcohol and add extra prayers and daily attendance at Mass for the Holy Souls as well. Perhaps these or some other practice or prayer may be something you would like to take on for this month of remembrance?

One of the oldest prayers for the dead is the “De Profundis” Psalm 129 which goes like this:

Out of the depths we have cried to thee O Lord,
Lord hear our voice
Let thine ears be attentive to the voice of our supplication.
If thou O Lord would mark our guilt; Lord who would endure it?
But with thee there is found forgiveness:
For this we revere thee.
My soul is waiting for the Lord,
I count on His word.
My soul is longing for the Lord
More than watchman for daybreak
Let the watchman count on daybreak and Israel on the Lord
Because with the Lord there is mercy and fullness of redemption,
Israel indeed He will redeem from all its iniquity
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit
As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be world without end.
Amen
O Lord hear my prayer
And let my cry come unto you
Let us pray,
O God the creator and redeemer of all the faithful, grant to the souls of thy servants the remission of all their sins, that through theses pious supplications they may obtain the pardon which they have always desired.
We ask this through Christ Our Lord.
Amen

Homily for the Easter Vigil 2017

Homily for the Easter Vigil: 

We have kept vigil… we  have waited with hope… we vigil with all of Christianity…with all of the cosmos who since that first Good Friday have entered into the Divine Space where these sacred events always exist, at once both human and divine, in time and in eternity.

We have walked their ancient paths, worn by countless generations of faith-filled ancestors all over the world, and we have arrived at that upper room where the Disciples and Apostles gather to wait… For what they do not know… they are simply called to wait… sustained by a silent Mother in their midst who believes as only a mother can believe that the story of her broken boy is not yet over…cannot yet be over… must not yet be over… She a single, silent point of illumined faith in a world of darkness and pain… a star shining in the night dark in despair…

Let us go to that place now and be with them a while, entering in spirit that room of darkened windows and locked doors… where, since yesterday afternoon, they have descended into that quiet that enters the human heart when, hoping against hope, we wait…

We wait…

We wait… when waiting itself seems a vain act, a hopeless effort of a heart and mind too broken to take in the awful reality of what has just happened…

The world would call it denial… it would see in it a people who are broken by their own betrayal of the One they claimed they loved and who now cannot accept the consequences of that betrayal…and so they leave us alone… their work is done… our work is done…we betrayed Him… they crucified Him… no matter who did what… who held the nails… who held the scourge… who placed the crown of thorns upon His head… He is dead… That is all… And so they leave them at the tomb… leave them to crawl back to the upper room of vigiling… of waiting… of silence…

We look around the room… and remember…Can it really be only a few days since He was here, speaking, teaching, loving? We see the bowl of water, the towel, we see the empty plate and cup, we remember His call to love and we remember his prediction of betrayal and how, just for a moment, almost none of them, none of us, could meet His eyes…

We try and stop remembering…instead we wait with them… not really sure of what we are waiting for… there is simply a silent insistence to be here… to gather… to wait… and sometimes… when we think no-one is watching or listening to weep… to weep for what we saw… those of us who stayed and walked behind Him in the crowd; to weep for what we didn’t see, those of us who fled to rooms and hills and hidden places where, though we did not see it all we felt it all… heard it all…

Sometimes it is harder to feel and to hear than it is to see… especially when the mocking voice arises from the silence of our hearts and sneeringly delivers us to the edge of despair as we look back and watch our brave words crumble into cowardice…

And so we wait… we wait as people have always waited at sickbeds and deathbeds, at moments of birth and moments of breaking, at moments of making and unmaking, we wait with the Earth our mother, and the sun and the stars our elder sisters and brothers; those powers who stopped in their tracks and hid their faces and broke open in horror at what their human brothers and sisters had done… at what we had done…

We wait as armies await the dawn hoping for the cry of a new day and a new hope… and slowly, hesitatingly, we remember…

Did He not say that this would happen? Did He not speak to us of a handing over… of a death that had to be faced… of an hour that had to come… Did He not berate us for not understanding… for not believing… Did He not in this very room…only a few hours ago tell us, as He broke the bread and blessed the Cup, that He would be taken from us but that He would return… and that then He would always be with us…

We hear His words in our hearts…

At first… they are weak sounding… against the so new and so near sight of blood, and nails, and spear, and… blood… so much blood, poured out upon the earth They are weak against the memory of His groans and words in the midst of agony upon the Cross…

But the words sound themselves in our hearts and with each one we shudder at the remembrance…

“Father forgive them they know not what they do”…

“Today you will be with me in paradise”…

“Mother behold your son”…

“Son behold your mother”…

“My God, My God Why have you forsaken me”…

“I thirst”…  

“Father…Into your hands I commend my spirit”…

And as they sound we remember that last groan… that almost silent word… more of a breath… a gasp, fighting its way to the surface to be heard…

“Kaaaah laaahhh”… “It is accomplished!”…

and somewhere deep in our memory awakens the knowing that this is the word the High Priest utters in the temple as the last Passover Lamb is slaughtered… Kahlah… it is accomplished…

and we are stilled…

and we think…

the lamb…

the blood of the Passover Lamb…

the blood daubed on door post and lintel that says in this place death has no power…

And we remember a man… John…worn thin and brown by prayer and desert sun both, and his arm, wiry and long, as it pointed across the river and his voice crying aloud, “Behold the Lamb!”… and we, they, all of us through all time begin to hope…begin to yearn… begin to pray… begin to think… maybe…just maybe…

For yes, He was truly the long-awaited Lamb and the true High Priest and even the Altar of Sacrifice itself and in that whispered moan of Kahlah as He yielded up His spirit He accomplished all that He had been sent to do, all that He had freely chosen…

In emptying Himself of Glory He descended into the darkness of a sin conquered world and became its liberator, its conqueror, its saviour, its light. And we who know that darkness, who know its pull and hear its siren call daily, know also that we are made for that light, long for that light, long for that love, long in the deepest places of our hearts for new beginning and the grace of an inward dawn that never yields to the night of self or death or sin again…

And this is what we vigil for… this is how we can endure the memory of the scourge, the crown, the nails, the cross, the spear… because we know how the story ended! Not in the dark despair of a Friday night, at the sealed dry rock of a tomb, but in the dawn light of a Spring garden on a Sunday morning where resurrection was announced by birds greeting the new day in song…

For in that divine breathing forth, that cry of Kahlah…

Life itself went forth to meet death,

Light itself went forth to meet darkness,

Love itself went forth to meet hate, and…

death was made the door of life,

darkness was dispelled and illumined, and

hate was defeated and cast down by Love

and breath born creation was in-spired again, created anew as in the Saviour’s expiration it received the breath of God…the Divine kiss of life saving a sin drowned cosmos and so could begin to breathe anew…

And this happened…this happened… and it is happening now… here in this place… not again, but always!

For in the eternal now of God this waiting in the darkness of sorrow, always becomes, when transcended with faith, a vigil of light and hope, always becomes a resurrection moment as we touch the power of the Risen One and His grace…

And this is how by Fire, and Story, and Water, and Bread, and Wine we pass through thousands of years of waiting and longing in a single night, and with hearts made new and candles kindled, we become who we really are: the anointed sons and daughters of God who know that the despair of the upper room on that Saturday will surely, surely, yield to Easter joy and light.

This is why we are able to not just tell the story but to become the story for a world that longs to hear it, needs to hear it, was made to hear it… and when we become that story in the Risen One, when we allow Him to once more be the Word made Flesh in us then, only then, does the marvel of Easter take place:

Christ will rise in your heart, in my heart.

Christ will work in us and through us.

Christ will pour out His blood upon us and breathe His Spirit into us and illumine us with His light and with His love…

And, when the moment comes for us to enter into His Kingdom, we will hear Him say, as He looks upon us all, “Kahlah!” “It is accomplished!”, and we will know ourselves to truly be His New Creation, His Victory Song, His Easter People who sing His Alleluia Cry…

This is why we vigil and this will be why we vigil to the end of time…

Yes…we have touched darkness…and will touch it again… earthly and fallible and fallen as we are…

We have seen how quickly our “Hosannas!” turn to cries of “Crucify!” and we know our sin, but we know our Saviour too and know that no darkness, however powerful it seems will stand against His Resurrection light!

No need for shame, or guilt, or fear, this Holiest of Nights, for they are the fruits of Adam’s turning away…now the new Adam appears, and with Him who is both God and Man we are returned not merely to Eden, but to Heaven itself, there to gaze upon the face of God forever and to hear our names called as children of the Most High…

Yesterday we kissed the Cross,

This evening we have vigilled from darkness to light

Tomorrow and forever…we are an Easter people for we know that above all, beyond all, behind all:

Christ has died,

Christ is risen,

Christ will come again!

May the Lord bless you and yours this Easter Night: The Father, The Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen!

St. John's Eve: A poetic contemplative reflection

St. John’s Eve

Now, as Vespers sings itself to dusk’s silent sitting.
The beacons begin to burn.
Men watching for the moment
of Moon’s waning
in twilight midsummer sky
of a Sun too lazy to truly set,
to kindle flame for the Forerunner;
John.
He whose element is fire.
Both lamps now hanging in cloth of such deep blue
that the world seems enfolded in the mantle of she
who midwifed his birth,
even as she joined her magnificat
to old Elizabeth’s pangs and doubting Zechariah’s silence
beneath the shining stars of desert sky.

Now, as Matins touches midnight of Monks long vigiling
the herbs are gathered.
Women seeking the helpers and the healers
in wood, and dell, and garden bed
where, blessed by dew and moonlight
and the long warmth of Sun’s summer
the Yarrow and the Bracken,
the Fennel and the Rue,
the Rosemary and the Foxglove and
always the Elder and
the great yellow flower of the Forerunner
willingly give up their essence on the night
that marks the first whisper
of the Word’s healing breath,
breathed through the one who is His healing herald Voice;
John.
Dried, and hung, and laid upon the Lady Altar
to become more than they are
they will bestow divine healing.
Twice gifted and graced by
Summer’s picking
and Autumn’s
Assumption blessing, they
reveal the medicine present always beneath.

Now, as Lauds’ psalms sun skywards
the pots and pans and ancient drums are beaten.
The children sing the old songs and rhymes
long lost to meaning,
as young men and women harelike
leap heedless across the
dying flames together.
Recalling he who leapt with joy,
filled with fire, even in womb’s waters
so near was the One who first kindled flame
and rendered the rivers holy and made the wells
vessels of new birth.

Now, as Mass bell tolls dawn’s daily resurrection
monks and men, and women, and children all
hear the summons of the Sanctifier and His herald
loud upon morning’s breeze
as embers die down, and herbs are hung up.
Beneath the vaulted stone they gather
to join their voices to praise that vastness veiled
in simple bread and wine,
and hear again the word first spoken by
the herald,
the lamp,
the flame,
the leaper,
the prophet,
the angel,
the voice,
the Baptist
whose birth they have
blessed anew
“Behold the Lamb of God!”

The Inner Mysteries of the Feast of the Visitation: A contemplative breathing...

The Inner Mysteries of the Feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary to her cousin Elizabeth...

A Contemplative Breathing...

There are so many mysteries to be meditated upon in this most beautiful of feasts where the Divine Mysteries are revealed in the most earthly and earthy of moments and places. Two women, blood cousins, elder and younger meet across the generations in the wilderness of the hill country and in the common holding of the mysterious gift of new life, and so much is gifted to us in their meeting…

For the Visitation is the feast of Mary as the Apostle of love as Charity;

Charity: the love that goes out, that actively seeks the other who is in need and feels the need of the other as its own need. In its ministering to the other in love becomes love even more so in itself… Mary, full of grace, full of the life of God, has only just heard her own call and yet responds immediately to the impulse to care for another… She leaves immediately and with great haste we are told, for love as charity brooks no delay. She will give the first three months of her own flowering to tending the garden of her cousin Elizabeth and helping her prepare for the birth of John… She thinks not of herself or even of the enormity of the miracle that has just been accomplished in her. In the need of her cousin for support she hears the call of God just as surely as she heard it in the words of the Archangel.

May Mary call us from our own self absorption to the Charity that generates life.

For the Visitation is the feast of the call to Spiritual Midwifery:

Mary as midwife to her Cousin… What a beautiful picture… The Archangel tells her that her cousin is six months into her journey towards birth and the scripture tells us that Mary stayed with Elizabeth for three months. Could we possibly believe that Mary left Elizabeth alone for the birth of John? Of course not…for in her midwifery of Eilzabeth she is midwifing the mystery of the birth of the Old Testament Covenant into its new life its fulfilment in the one, John, who holds in himself both the lineages of the prophets and the priesthood, and who on Jordan’s banks will lay them down in homage before the Lamb from whom they first came on Sinai’s height to Moses.

May Mary midwife the birth in us of our own calling to birth Christ in our own life and in each moment.

For the Visitation is the feast of the mysteries of Woman…

In Mary coming to Elizabeth to care for her and serve her, God in Mary is coming to one who represents all of the mysteries of womanhood… Elizabeth had traversed all of the stages of life, she had been a girl, a young woman, a single young woman who held royal and priestly lineages in her descent and yet lived the life of a poor woman in a land oppressed by foreign occupation where it was dangerous to be a woman alone, where it was simply dangerous to be a woman at all… She had been shamed and excluded by her own people and even by other women for not fitting in, for not becoming what she was supposed to be. She had been labelled as barren, seen as cursed and as even carrying the possibility of cursing others. In Zechariah she knew the pain of loving someone but not being able to give them what they truly want… All of this pain she knew. Yet she never doubted the love of God for her or that His love would eventually bloom in her in a surprising way… Zechariah, the man and the priest doubts the Angel’s word and is struck dumb… Elizabeth, the woman, believes and bears the word of prophecy recognising in Mary the One who is blessed among women and then asks astonished “Who am I that the Mother of my Lord would come to visit me?” Who are you Elizabeth? You are Woman and God will always want to be with you and your heart that believes past man’s un-believing and He comes to you in His Mother, clothing Himself in Woman as His vestment, to reveal to you His love for you so that you may remember for ever His nearness to you in your very womanhood in every generation.

May Mary draw near to all Women and open their eyes to their intimate place in the Divine Mysteries.

For the Visitation is the feast of the mysteries of Motherhood:

In the holy encounter of Mary and Elizabeth we are reminded that all of the life that flows through the veins of humanity begins in the womb of women as they co-operate with God in the creation of life… so important is this lesson that the Divine Word Himself decrees He will incarnate only through a Mother’s yes. There is no apostle, no prophet, no saint, and we can even say in awe, no Christ, who did not come from Woman. Mary journeys through the wilderness of the high country, the hill country, the place of fear and wildness and in her Divine Motherhood she tames it. And mother Earth, long sundered from Man, finds that God walks in her garden again in Mary as mother. In her silent journeying there and back again she allows the silence of motherhood, the silent and intimate communion of Mother and child to prepare the way of the Word. She is with the Wild and the Wild receives its new Eve who carries the new Adam in awe and reverence and enfolds her contemplation in the silence of sunrises, sunsets, moonlight and star light as she travels. For everything that we will receive from Christ as a Man He received from Mary and everything that we receive from Christ as God we receive through Mary… For her mother’s yes will be just as present in the temple, in Cana, on the roads of Palestine, and on Golgotha’s height as it is in this silent journey… 

May Mary call us to reverence and respect for the mysteries of the Mother…

For the Visitation is the first feast of the Holy Eucharist:

Does this astonish you that this feast would hold in itself the echo of the greatest of God’s gifts to humanity? Mary is the first tabernacle of the Lord and she bears Christ within her in the most holy of communions as she travels. Elizabeth then becomes the first Eucharistic adorer as her wise faith beholds the inner mystery beyond the veils of sense and in her adoration receives the gift of not just her own hallowing but the hallowing of the new life that joyously jumps within her. So too when we dwell in communion with the Bread of Life is the new life of His grace quickened in us and the word of prophecy born, as contemplation begets the call to action and from silence psalm erupts in magnifying praise. And from praise we fall back into silence in the  heart-knowing know that every moment of Holy Communion begins from Mary's yes to the Divine Mystery of Love.

May Mary call us to the mystery that lies behind the veils of sense and into ever deeper communion with the One who is our Eucharistic Lord.