Forest Faith

 Forest Faith

When the edges of my mind fray,

and the golden sacred thread 

seems pulled, gathered, caught 

upon the briar of my broken being,

and my hearthome holds too much

behind its ancient doors 

so there is no breathing space at all,

I take myself to the woods.

For there I become not young,

but small again and feel the rising 

ocean tides of sap lull me at last

into the deep greening rest of soul 

only the old tall ones know 

the sky touchers, earth drinkers 

we call in our dull infant speech, so simply, Trees.

So I place my foot upon the winding path

and dew the way with tears 

and sometimes even blood,

until their windleaf song sounds soul deep, and slows and halts me long enough 

to feel their verdant canopy of calm,

and I greet them then,

as the keepers of the way they are;

the blessed Beech and noble Holly,

the Oak and Ash and Thorn, 

grey brown brothers and sisters 

of the branching dance of being. 

Their familiar oldness a reminder 

of my passing place 

in all this; they leaflean down 

to teach me once again 

the way of prayer as being 

and being as prayer,

allowing the holy breath to play along my spine as within their trunked tallness

while standing through the shifting seasons

they grow slowly, imperceptibly, always,

until flower and fruiting follow in their turn,

then the seeming fall, 

asleep asunder for awhile,

as my life now flutters, cast upon the winds

lost in wildness, a wintered leaf, 

dry and brittle, 

but here in their stately shadows

daring to read the scripture of their state, 

and hear their prophecy proclaimed in stillness; that old roots dig deep 

and deeper still, 

that branches bend so not to break and 

that there is a joy in storms when yielded to.

So for a while I breathe the sylvan air 

and greet the great and green,

these guardians of natural grace,

and then when I have walked long enough to become reminded, rewilded and 

rehomed in heart, I bow in thanks 

and leave the woods to plant their sainted seeds throughout my world and life;

to feel a forest grow within

and make the faith feathered one

a home.

Homily for the Easter Vigil 2019

Homily for the Easter Vigil 2019

It begins with fire… a spark is struck and an explosion of light transfigures darkness…

It begins with a flame… courageous, strong, held aloft and carried into a dark and empty space

It begins with light… a point of luminescence that is shared and spreads without ever dimming or becoming less…

A light that is the light of all but kindled in the heart of each and every person…

A light that the darkness now discovers it can never overcome…

It begins with a cry an invocation of light called with hope into a darkness that seems to be the death of all things

Lumen Christi we cry and we hold our flame aloft…

Lumen Christi we cry before the forces of sin, and darkness and death…

Lumen Christi we cry and we watch in awe as sin is forgiven, darkness is swallowed by light and death touches life itself and so becomes no more…

This is our faith and this is why we gather all over this world on this holiest of nights to vigil from darkness to light, from dusk to dawn, from death to life

Keeping our watch as a vast flaming tide of faith catches fire and flows across the face of the earth as the people of God sing the song of resurrection…

Tonight, we exult with joy over a victory, not just promised but already given, as we see the ancient enemy thrown down and the cosmos healed and renewed in the light of the Risen One stepping from His tomb; his wounded and glorified feet gentle upon the soft grass of the garden as Mother Earth thrills to know that the seed buried within her not three days hence held within itself the gift of a new and eternal spring for all creation.

A new beginning for all that was, and all that is and all that will be…

For from this moment all is new and the One before whom the first seven days of creation unfolded in power and majesty is now become the eighth day Himself, the beginning and the ending, the alpha and the omega the origin and the completion of all things…

Now the great cry of resurrection is heard as the call of the Good Shepherd to all of creation to come home to the house of the Father!

The doors and gates of sin that we erected in our error and pride have been knocked down and the empty Cross stands as the key that gains us entry into Love for all eternity…

Now the lord Adam and the lady Eve and all their generations are loosed from the limbo of the ages and hear their Son and Lord call them home at last…

Now Peter is called from his tears to look into the eyes of love and become the rock the foundation stone of faith…

Now the Apostles will be woken from their grief and fear to become sparks of the flame of love that will over run the whole world…

Now even Judas is looked upon in love if only he can open his pride sealed eyes…

Now the mourning of the women will become the joy of the comforted…

Now the faith of the Mother is fulfilled at last and the Son embraces her in a moment so sacred so profound that even angels are rendered silent before the sight…

And down the ages the flame comes….

The light born by saints and sinners alike for only sinners can became saints…

The fire of Easter borne through days of joy and days of sorrow, through days of peace and days of persecution, through great and glad gatherings and lonely lives lived in isolation and pain…  

In every succeeding age the great of this world proclaim it quenched, the so called wise proclaim it stifled and lost, and yet always, always, it rises again, renews itself again, and from the long banked hearth it flames forth from One who can never die and whose five fiery coals kindle the Church as the harvest of the world eternally governed not by earthly power or wisdom but by the weakness and folly of the Cross…

The fire comes to us too who gather here this night on the holy land of Ards…

It crackles beneath our feet and drums in the heart of our being, gifted to us by Ancestors who saw their own story assume meaning in His greater story, who found hope in His fire and love in His light…

It comes to us pure even of those who along the way corrupted its cry of compassion and peace and hurt so many… and it comes to us to use us to purify the past by becoming fire ourselves… by becoming places of resurrection, tombs that become gardens liberating the Christ life to love through us, with us, and in us the whole of creation and so reach out to the wounded, the poor, the downtrodden, the abused that they might hear their own hope sound anew in our Alleluias!

    

We saw this fire work its wonders this past week when in a country where so many thought the faith dying if not dead already, a burning building brought blessing… not in the flames that consumed a mere building but in the sparks suddenly kindled by that sight that gathered a people and brought them to their knees before their mother singing the hymns of their ancestors and resolving to find again the faith that would raise to the Mother of God such a tribute… The same fiery faith that sent a priest into the burning nave to rescue the Blessed Sacrament and the ancient relics, remembrances of His love for us and give a benediction to the city that burned hotter than any earthly flame…

So do not doubt the power of this resurrection flame… in every age it has burned and we are still dazzled by the light of Easter dawn when even Brother Sun

dances with joy!

A Christian fears no doubt, no danger, no darkness!

For all is aflame with love this night, and fire dances over our heads as we sing our Alleluias to the Rising Son!

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)

The Hunter's Moon

The Hunter’s Moon

Seeking the graced sight

of the Hunter’s Moon,

I left the bright lights

of the house behind me,

and, bundling myself

against the cold,

I took the wooded path

to the place

where I could watch her rise,

fierce and cold against

the purple dark sky.

There I blessed her

for blessing me in turn

with such light:

pure and cold and bright,

gilding the sea golden beneath her

as she rose;

my silver sister of the sky above:

the Lady’s lamp,

a guide for all who wander

and wonder in turn.

Finally, when the cold bit

into my already aching bones

too much,

leaving moon to her meditations,

I left for home.

Trudging darkly along

the wooded path

discerning its grey

pebble skinned presence

barely a step or two ahead

I was gifted

with the sudden

awareness of unaloneness

and paused

in the pitch dark

not sure of what old sense

had been alerted, nor why.

Then, carefully kindling

the little lamp I carried

I sudden saw twelve sets of eyes

gaze glowing from off the path

and realized in front of me,

our holy herd of deer.

Down from the rutting hills

they had come silent as the dusk

that surrounded us, perhaps,

to pay their own homage to the lady

high above us all.

Horse high and seeming huge they were,

I heard now their breathing,

their antlers broad between the branches,

utterly still they stood and stared

as we regarded each other,

“Well met by moonlight”, I thought,

as I, awestruck in stillness also

bowed deeply to these

old ones of the woods,

the first Lords and Ladies

of these sainted lands.

Then, stepping back into the dark

I left them to their silent vigil

and made for home,

my heart elated by that moonlit magic

recalling eden’s evenings

when all were one

before Him.  

Later, making tea,

I wondered how often

on our grey and often seeming

daily darkened path

we have, all about us beings

carrying such, and even

greater blessings,

but never notice, shut in

as we are, behind

our curtained glass,

sitting lost before

our flickering screens,

while they,

keep their ancient vigil too,

waiting for us to touch

stillness long enough,

deep enough, to discern their

moonlit presence

and, at last, know ourselves to be,

with them, one

before the One, from whom

the light and dark

and deer arise.

 

Sat Oct 26^th 2018

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.

---

[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

Hearing Confessions: Hearing Grace

Over the last three days I have had the privilege of hearing around 12 hours of Confessions... musing on the grace of this wonderful sacrament led me back to this reflection from last year...

Once again I am struck by the extraordinary nature of this Divine gift...
Old and young, they came....
Old ladies and men seeking more chat than Sacrament....
Young people needing counsel as well as Confession...
The long lost who at last have found their way home, only to discover that they had never actually left the house of Divine Love, nor could they...
The broken relationship...
The stressed out Mum or Dad...
The one making life decisions and unsure what is real and what is illusion...
The random walker in the woods who on passing the church receives a nudge from their Guardian Angel and thinks why not?

No one but God will ever know the dance of grace that takes place in and through the Sacrament of Reconciliation... those who come arrive for all kinds of reasons... and often we discover the real reasons together as hearts open, tears fall, and grace rushes into the gap between who we are at our lowest and who we may be at our best... And then the final extraordinary glimpse of the vision that Divine Love has for us when absolution is given, freedom received, heart is salved and wounds are healed and we realise that we never needed to carry these burdens at all... All that was asked of us was to let them drop one by one into the transforming furnace of Divine Love blazing eternally in His Sacred Heart... And this is a miracle beyond miracles that takes place in Confessionals and in sanctuaries every day, yes, but also in shops and on the street and in parks and at festivals and funerals and weddings and in pubs and on pavements and in prisons and beside hospital beds and in the strident voices of the young and in the whispered voice of the dying... when someone looks at you with that look and says, "Would you mind hearing my Confession?"

But if I could ask one thing of you... Please pray for us who are called to this ministry of Divine Encounter for we see and hear it all and carry within us not only knowledge of our own sins and darkness (which is tough enough for any person) but also the direct knowledge of the gaping wound at the heart of all humanity, and while, thank God, it is not our job to heal it, or judge it, it is our sacred duty to be the instrument through which He pours His healing and unconditional love into it...while we seek always that healing for ourselves too...
The best description of the Sacrament I ever heard was from an old friar who described it as "two sinners having a conversation in the presence of God, and remember where God is present everyone leaves healed."
Call it what you will: The Sacrament of Reconciliation, of Confession, of Penance, of Soul Beauty... maybe in these days He is calling you to such an encounter too... Lay down your burdens... and realise you never had to carry them at all.



Pic is of Pope Francis making his Confession in Rome

Storm Fallen Cedar

Storm Fallen Cedar

It was the storm

that took her

at the last;

while we nestled

deeper in our beds,

unsleeping,

but grateful all the same

for the simple joy

of shelter.

In the smallest hours

Heaven opened

overhead

and poured upon us

an onslaught of

wild wind,

with rain so cold

it was almost snow

in its sharpness.

Just before the dawn

it peaked in power,

finally enough,

as it

whipped

like a scourge

against her long aged, grey,

elephantine skin

and, though her sisters

held their vigil nearby,

she gently gave way,

and fell,

prostrate upon the earth

from which she came,

embraced by the sacred soil

of our little

graveyard.

Was she tired

of her long watch upon the hill?

Holding her gaze

over the forest, the family

and now the friars,

for three hundred

of our human years

(Whatever kind of reckoning

Trees make of time

I do not know,

and they do not tell

in our tongue at least.)

So much had passed

beneath her branches

famines, feasts, families

and finally, friars, all played

their part

measuring her time,

each in their own way.

That morning,

emerging into light,

we heard the news

in shock;

the ripple of her passing

echoing

in awe and prayer both,

a sadness felt in brother, bird, and beast

for those still enough to hear.

Today,

I made my pilgrimage

to pay my respects

as she lies in state,

our sacred sister,

eldress of this land.

Finding her broken body

dissolving already,

her ancient green soul

flown.

Her long hidden heartwood

now exposed,

still raw and soft yet,

open to the breeze,

that touched her broken branches

with the sacred sprinkling

of the rain.

So often before

I had blessed her,

and given her my brother’s bow

in passing by,

and so been blessed in turn

by her simple stately

being.

My hands, resting upon her trunk,

felt the difference

today.

No pulse,

no inner warmth,

no great deep

breathing in her

root,

trunk,

branch,

bark.

It brought sadness too,

but also the joy of knowing

that in every death

something withdraws,

is freed,

leaves.

For all that live

sing their own soul song

arising from Divine love,

and in someway,

at the end will

return their essence

as gift borrowed for a while,

until the new creation

allows resurrection seed

to finally fully bloom

in all beings.

I was not the first

to grieve her though,

For all around the tracks

and trails of those she sheltered showed;

the fleet of foot, feathered, furred

they too had felt her passing,

and it seemed had held their funeral rites

ever before us.

And then,

I looked up from my troubled thoughts

and found my gaze held

by a Stag who watched,

wary and wonderful and wild,

from the forest’s edge.

Both of us, in our own way,

guardians of this land.

Both of us mourning

the passing of our eldress,

each in our own way.

Both of us simply there

in the brotherhood of all being.

And I think, in that moment

we were blessed,

and blessed each other too,

in our common grief and trust

that all that live upon this earth will die,

and all that dies will live again in Love.

Then, bowing gently, we withdrew

to forest and to friary each,

aware of other 

and of something

beyond other, 

I, for my part, call grace,

(Whatever kind of reckoning

Deer make of grace

I do not know,

and they do not tell

in our tongue at least.),

grace that had led us both

to be there

at that time, together,

in mourning,

for our storm fallen sister,

the great and ancient being

we simply call

Tree.