Seeking the Grail

 Seeking the Grail

Would you offer

the heart chalice

upon the altar 

of your being?

Beware then,

for the path 

to the chapel

is perilous 

and the way long.

First, the precious

metal of your mind,

thrice purified as gold,

will be forged anew

in the fire of faith,

must be then

hollowed to be hallowed,

beaten thin to be 

blessed by blood’s filling.

O my soul, remember

remember, remember,

the quest for the grail 

is all within you,

a space, 

an emptiness,

a cup of being 

to be filled 

to overflowing,

once you 

first find it 

beneath the ruins 

of your fallen life,

behind the trials of time.

Go then.

Hear again 

the soul song

calling you to the 

hidden chamber

at the centre, 

Go with grace

to the heart, 

to the fulcrum,

to the white stone,

from which 

the fountain

flows.

There, let fall 

the sword from 

your clenched hand.

You have carried

it long enough.

How much of 

your own blood 

it has drawn.

Then, drop

the armour,

the false clothes 

of shame,

bathe again 

in blessedness,

and receive 

the longed for 

anointing 

of your wounds

from the healers 

who await

your waking, 

your walking

into wonder.

Only then;

blessed, 

bathed, 

bandaged,

and bearing 

your life wounds

as stars, 

will you be able

at last,

to hear the 

sacred summons

of the

Fisher King,

and pass 

unburnt 

the flaming sword,

entering the garden

to become 

at last

the cup,

the grail,

the chalice,

you have sought 

for all along.

There in 

the emptiness

of death

discovering 

the One

who is 

the call, 

the quest,

the master

of the mysteries,

and the end

of all 

our longing.

A meditation poem on the mystery of becoming the “grail” the vessel of Divine Presence, a path to which all are called most especially in this Lenten season.

(Pic is Galahad’s vision of the Grail by William Morris)

O Rising Sun, O Oriens: A meditation on the fifth of the Great O Antiphons of Advent

O Rising Sun!

On the day of the deepest dark

we call you!

Come to us O promised light!

Gazing upon the eastern edge

of the world

we thrill,

as from our long benighted being

the first dayspring spark is cast,

and a red dawn heralds

a conqueror’s coming!

O Rising Sun!

You who are light from light,

scatter upon us

the uncreated light by which our dull eyes

may even now behold

the dawn of your presence!

Illume us as lanterns,

kindle us as fires,

breathe your flame upon us as beacons

in a world so cold

and a winter of the heart so dark

we oft forget the dawn that has come,

is come,

will come again,

needing our annual remembering

to rekindle our rebirth in you

O Son!

O Rising Sun!

We long for your dawn

down the dark and ancient ways of ancestry

Feeling in our old yearning

the gathering of ghostly generations

who followed their deepest knowing,

that map,

long inscribed upon the centre

of our being

but written in a sacred script

unknown to eyes lost to Eden’s light.

For they,

So desperate for the

warming of a presence

they remembered

but did not know

wrought stone,

and marked ways,

and offered song,

and told story,

and gathered green,

and even spent

blood,

to charm back an earthly sun

while truly seeking

for the Divine Son

who would warm

the winter of our heart

and make of Himself

the sacrifice that brings the light back

for an eternal day  

O Rising Sun!

We call you by our evening invocation!

Kindling our vesper candles and vigil lights,

wrapping the wreath of time

in flames of rose and purple,

we sing now the soul song of

the Lady of the Light.

She whose heart blessed beacon

shone so bright in love,

it drew you from

the realms of everlasting day

to that sealed chamber in which,

with quickening touch,

you, the dayspring and the morning star

both

bestowed your spark of glory

and found your home,

issuing forth

as Word and Light

to bestow the blessing

of a dawn from our Midwinter night,

that re-orients us to righteousness,

and reveals the Light beyond all night

Bethlehem born and blazing

as the true and victorious

Son.

"O Rising Sun!

Splendour of light eternal and sun of righteousness:

Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death!"

Celtic Christianity: a brief essay

Celtic Christianity:

For the Feast of the All Saints of Ireland here is an essay on Celtic Christianity!
I was invited to write this by Sr. Stan Kennedy for inclusion in her 2015 Book: To Live from the Heart.

Celtic Christianity

The interplay of culture and faith has always produced unique ways of being Christian,

(or Buddhist, or Hindu, or Muslim), When a faith encounters a new culture there are two possibilities – domination, which leads to resistance, fear or even violence; or fusion, which leads to a comfortable inter-being in which the best of what was is nourished by the best of what is. In the Christian tradition, this second way of being has over the centuries led to the beauty of the various Rites of the Church. Each is distinct in language, history and ritual yet all are one Church in confessing one Lord, one faith, one baptism. Unity in diversity is the very mark of the Church in its

catholicity, in its universality.

In the faith communities that grew up in Europe at its westernmost edge between the fourth and tenth centuries this accommodation to native culture, and yet illumination and completion of it by the Christian message, was undertaken in a way never seen before in the history of the Church. A faith community emerged, which though seeing itself as part of the larger Christian Church nevertheless had a unique way of being and a distinctive vision of itself, of the world and of God; a vision that is characterized today as ‘Celtic’. Much of this has been lost in successive waves of invasion and ideology but the traces that remain whisper to the sacred places in many people’s hearts and offer a glimpse of a way of relating to faith and to the Church that seems to ground them in this world and the next in a way both fully human and fully in communion with creation.

The ‘Celtic Christians’ in essence inherited an older form of Christianity from the deserts of Egypt, Lebanon, Syria and perhaps even as far away as Ethiopia. Theirs was a monastic Church, founded by monk missionaries who carried the disciplines and teachings of a contemplative form of life that both completed and transformed beautifully the ‘pagan’ understandings of the pre-Christian Celts. Perhaps it was this origin in a monastic and contemplative way of being that led to the ready fusion of old and new, for the Christianization of the Celtic tribes and lands, particularly Ireland,

happened quickly, and largely without violence or persecution.

To a people who worshipped a pantheon of deities and saw the presence of the divine in every aspect of nature, the revelation of Christ and the Trinity offered a Hero and a High King as well as a God who was, at one and the same time, utterly transcendent of and gloriously immanent in his creation, so it took little to bring the pantheistic pre-Christian Celts to a more subtle understanding of a pan-en-theistic faith, especially when the transition nourished their longing and hope for an afterlife that could be gained without the sacrifice of lives in war, one open to all genders and classes of people regardless of their rank or tribe. Awareness of the presence of the divine in and through the beauty of nature is a mark of this particular expression of Christianity: to such adegree that whilst it is present, and always has been, in the Judaeo-Christian tradition, it had never been so poetically and beautifully expressed before, and would not be again until the Franciscan School in the 1200's.

So what were these ways of being Christian that were manifested in such a unique way in the Celtic forms of Christianity? The early Celtic Church often built on the foundations of monastic communities, each led by an elder known for their holiness and wisdom. The parallel of this structure to the tribal/clan system of the indigenous peoples under a chief meant that there was an immediate understanding, as the two systems seemed to share a common way of life despite their different origins. Loyalty to Clan and to Chief and through him to the High King beautifully paralleled the monks’ obedience to the Elder and above all to Christ, the High King of High Kings. A people raised on the sagas of the Fianna and the Red Branch Knights saw the sacrifice of one’s life to an ideal, and especially to the service of a king, as noble and to be admired. Leaving home and family to serve the Gospel became attractive, even to those of royal and noble blood. This can be seen in the stories of

Colm Cille (Columba) and Brigid. The so-called ‘green martyrdom’ of trusting in the providence of God called forth great missionaries like Brendan and Columbanus, who brought the Celtic expression of the Christian faith to parts of northern Europe and perhaps, in the case of Brendan, a good deal further! Rowing out from land into the ocean currents, they simply went wherever wind and wave, fellow servants of the High King of Heaven, brought them and there lived their life of prayer and praise.

Despite the lush greenness of much of the Celtic territories the spirituality of their monastics was influenced greatly by the fathers and mothers of Christian monasticism who had flourished in the deserts of Egypt and the Lebanon; large monastic complexes – often called ‘Disearts’ for the perceived extremity of the observance – often vied with each other in their pride in the monks and nuns who fasted the most or kept the most vigils, or whose elders worked the most miracles. This ‘boasting in God’ was not meant as a source of vainglory or pride: it came from the bardic culture that esteemed its heroes and heroines and commemorated their deeds to inspire the spiritual practice of others. The bardic culture of long epic poems and sagas created an educated class who,

along with the druids, were among the first Christian converts; they aided in the exchange of ideas, links between cultures and cultivation of wisdom that led to the Celtic monasteries’ reputation as bastions of learning and contemplative practice when the rest of Europe was falling into the chaos of the so-called “Dark Ages”. In Celtic monasticism the fusion of desert spirituality with a holistic understanding of creation and humanity’s place in it saw redemption as bringing

about such a healing of the person that a new and holy unity with creation was the result. Through the ancient remedies of prayer, meditation, fasting, vigils and charity, the monastic began to experience that oneness with nature that Adamic humanity first knew. We have many stories of the Celtic saints and their animal companions: Kevin and the otter, Colm Cille and his horse, Gobnait and her bees, among so many others, show a marvellous intimacy with our fellow creatures in which we all serve the Lord of Creation according to our capacity and gifts.

The visible creation can be a door to the unseen world too. For the Celts, a liminal and animistic people, the nearness of the supernatural, the world of angels, demons and elemental powers carried over from pre-Christian days, was actively completed by the sacramental view of nature that is at the very heart of the Christian contemplative tradition in which all that exists is a word from the Word of God, and creation itself the universal testament to all peoples of all times of Divine Beauty and its nearness to us in every breath.

In the Celtic, domestic form of spirituality every household act, no matter how small, could be performed mindfully in the presence of the divine and

thus assume a cosmological and redemptive purpose and meaning. The blessing prayers and poems that come down to us from places like Donegal and Kerry

and especially from the Hebrides hold an immense lexicon of benedictions for every activity and task of the day and important moment in life. The making of bread, the laying of the fire, the opening of the hall door, the kindling of the evening lights all had their blessing prayer and ritual (usually performed by women in the home and by men on the land), and each had its patron saint or angel. The domestic scene, an expression of the Church in its own right, mirrored and deepened the life of the larger Church, nurturing the sense of belonging and being part of the redemptive mission of Christ through his Church.

With the turning of the year the old festivals found their fulfilment in the liturgical calendar. For example, the honouring of the ancestors at Samhain has its counterpart in the feasts of All Souls and All Saints in which the ancestors were no longer to be feared or placated but to be assisted by the prayers of the living. The old grave offerings became the blessed salt and bread left in the hearth overnight and consumed the next day. The Fires of Lughnasa became the bonfires of St John’s Eve and the dancing around them continued, as did pilgrimages to holy wells and trees and mountains, places now sanctified by the observances of the saints and the miracles they wrought. “Cuimhnionn an tir na Manach,” the people would say ever after: “the land remembers the monks”. So the people would gather to celebrate the goings in and goings out of life; the births, the marriages and the deaths, sanctifying them by their association with the saints of old in ruins and caves

soaked in centuries of prayer.

Today, this unique spirituality and way of being Christian appeals to a generation that achingly feels its distance from the earth and her seasons, that is stressed and distressed by the pace of life and by separation from its inner rhythms. In the wave of mindfulness and meditation programmes and classes that has swept across the Western world we can detect a hunger for the wisdom of the old ways and old paths. Perhaps we need to return to the pace of the ancestors who lived with a foot in both worlds, and in domestic familiar intimacy with God; to return to a pace slow enough for us to discern the language of praise and beauty that issues from every tree and rock and rivulet of water, to realign humanity with its ancient purpose and meaning as the Celtic Christian understood it.

It would be no small thing if this wisdom was recovered and renewed for the next generation. A humble affinity with nature and a sense of our place in the cosmic context of creation and redemption would allow us to recover ourselves as pilgrims

passing reverently through this world with one eye always on eternity and a heart and soul on fire for the High King of Heaven who blesses every place, every moment and every breath.

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

Transitus: Passing as a Pilgrim with St. Francis.

This evening, after sundown, in friaries and convents and chapels and hermitages all over the world Franciscans come together to mark the Tranistus, the passing to the Lord, of our holy father Brother Francis. In the year 1226, worn our by his labours and knowing his end was coming close Francis asked the brothers to bring him to the little chapel of Our Lady of the Angels, just outside Assisi so that he could pass to the Lord under the watchful care of the Blessed Mother to whom he had entrusted his life and the Order he was leaving behind. Commemorating this event we franciscans gather every year and in song, chant, reading and reflection meditate upon the way of his passing and the teaching it brings. Last year I was asked to preach at one of these gatherings and a number of people asked me to publish the homily I gave on that occasion. I never got around to it but as the feast comes round again it offer the opportunity to make good my promise! So here it is... may it bring benefit and blessing so that inspired by Brother Francis we will all be a little more ready for our own Transitus whenever it comes...

Homily for the Transitus of Our Holy Father, Brother Francis of Assisi

We have entered into sacred time, into that storied time where past becomes present, as, once again, we stand at that sacred point between life and death, between this world and the next, and, in the eternity that is God, we turn our minds and hearts to that little cell outside the tumbledown chapel of St. Mary of the Angels as Brother Sun sets and Sisters Moon and Stars rise in the heavens, clear precious and fair. There the birds quieten their vesper singing and we take our place with all the followers of the “Poverello”, the little poor man of Assisi, who gather from all of time and space around him as he breathes slowly, gently towards his end… and as we vigil with his brothers and with all of creation we realise that we have forgotten how to die…

Does that sound strange? After all, die we shall. It is the one definite point in our existence. We have been born, we shall die.

But…

Tied up in life and in all of it’s vicissitudes we can begin to believe the great myth of human ego that this earthly life lasts for ever… and then, when Sister Death draws near to us, as she will to all of us, we are lost in panic, lost in pain, we are simply lost… and we hold out against her not knowing that her gentle purpose is simply to bring us home again…

And so we forget how to die…

St. Francis remembered how to die…

He knew that if we would face the embrace of our sister when it finally comes we must do so with love, yielding to her, being ushered by her into the Divine Presence; and for this to happen then in such a gentle way we must practice dying…

We must die, every day… just a little…

We must die to our self, die to our false self, die to every part of us that is not us but is the accretion of property and wealth for their own sake…

We must die to the use of others rather than to the love of others; die to the holding onto power so as to dominate and even and especially die to the belief that I am at the centre of all things and that I am in some way owed my existence, my success, even my life…

Francis…the little poor man now lying bare upon the bare earth, has long since died to each of these…

He has died to the rich home and sumptuous clothes of his youth and even to the joy a young man takes in his own vigour and power…

He has died to the rich young man, who was the toast of Assisi and the centre of attention who was named “Master of the Revels”…

He has died to his family’s longing to see him raise their profile and their fortune…

He has died to the noble knight whose armour was really forged from the ambition of his father and the myths that filled the head of a young boy who believed war could ever be noble…

He has died to a Mother’s love and favour…

He has died to the pride that saw only the sores of the lepers but never their souls…

He has died to the embarrassment of the Poor Man who begs for his living from door to door…

He has died to the rejection of some and the adulation of many…

He has died to the opinion of Bishops and Princes, Popes and Kings…

He has died to the fear that the brotherhood would not listen… and would not follow…

He has died to the desire to be a martyr…

He has died to the fear of suffering and pain…

He has died to his own flesh, to the world, to the devil…

He has died to his own will…

He has died upon the Cross with Christ…

And in so doing he has remembered how to die, and now with the last great effort of his being he teaches his brothers and sisters, present and absent and all those who will come after him how to die so that one may truly live…

Yes, he has died so completely, as only the saints truly die in life, that as Death approaches he recognises her and smiles at her knowing that she is only the shrouded sister whose touch brings entrance into the only real life there is…

His body is now only a mere shell that holds a heavenly treasure of mind and heart and soul so converted by grace, so consumed by Holy Spirit fire, that it can barely contain it anymore. It already shines radiantly from those five crimson stars seraph-sealed upon his body, when the deepest desire of his life to be one with the One who is love was fulfilled upon Alverna’s height…

And so, he who preached joy to men and beasts, to wolves and women, to birds and children and saw with Eden sight what seeds of the new creation are already planted in their souls, now gives to us his last and best sermon, and teaches a world that grasps greedily on to life and so fears the reaper and the quiet and the last stilling breath, simply how to die… so that one might truly live…

Absolved and blessed, and blessing others too he has heard the Gospel with ears now straining for Heaven’s summons and breathing deeply he looks with dim eyes beyond into silence…

And then…

He sings…

This poor man now blinded by tears and weak with sickness borne for humanity’s boon…

He sings…

And the brothers who had gathered sombrely and sadly, now with smiles newly rekindled begin to chant with him the song of his illumined heart the canticle of Sir Brother Son… a song a lifetime of grace in the making…

He, Francis, sings…

And for a moment, just for a moment, the Troubadour of peace, the Herald of the Great King, the one who charmed the birds and the beasts and the fierce men of war into silence and peace with his songs is amongst them once again…

“Laudato si mi Signor!” Be Praised my Lord… each verse rises as his farewell benediction… exulting one last time in the beauty that speaks more eloquently than any missive or word of sacred writ could ever do of the Love that holds all things in being and now calls back to itself Francis, its little one and its servant, first sent into the world to remind it of its beauty, its original blessing, its redemption and final calling into a communion of love in the Christ who is Love…

And so he surrenders himself to Love… singing as he goes upon his last journey, this pilgrim brother whose songs filled the roads for too short a time… and in his going he teaches us how to die…

How to leave behind all that would hold us back…

How to come empty handed before the One who fills us with His Song of Love holding back nothing of ourselves for ourselves so that the One who gave Himself totally for us may receive us totally…

Then… comes a moment of silence and stillness… the brothers stand in quiet reverence… the song seems to cease…  

And, barely above a whisper, his last words sound, “Welcome my sister death.”

The echo of his last breath, his last song, has barely passed and then from hills and valley and woods all about, in twilight star speckled skies, a mighty rush of wings is heard as the larks, those truest of his disciples, who own nothing more than their song, rise like arrows into the air, as brothers flocking together in the moon light and star light and sing his soul skywards…

His passing is complete…

He lived and died a little every day… and so in dying shows us how to live… that we too would remember to die a little every day until we may greet our Sister Death with only our own soul song to sing…and with empty hands but full heart enter into Life…enter into Love…

Let us begin again, for up until now we have done nothing...
Let us begin to die... so that we may live.

Amen.

 

An Icon of the Franciscan Contemplative Journey

I love this image of the Christ of the Cross of San Damiano surrounded by our Capuchin saints and martyrs. It was created to celebrate the recent beatification of the many brothers who were martyred during the Spanish persecution of the Church and the Civil War. Sadly I don't have the name of the artist..but if anyone out there knows then please let me know and I will duly credit them.

It is a profoundly theological image which, though modern, uses medieval imagery to depict our sainted brothers in the act of contemplating the Christ of the Cross of San Damiano. This is the Cross before which St. Francis had the vision of the Crucified who told him to, "Go and Rebuild my Church, which as you see is falling into ruin!", thus beginning the Franciscan Movement. 

Depiction of the moment of the Vision of the Christ of San Damiano

The Cross of San Damiano is unusal as it represents not a a suffering or dying Christ but one who is the Eternal Logos (The Word of God) and the Crucified and Risen Christ in the One Eternal Now as depicted by the Divine Mandorla. (The Full Divine Halo that surrounds Christ and indicates the fullness of His Divinity and the point of contact between the Divine annd Creation.) His place within the Trinity is seen in the trifold knot of His Robe and His vivifying of all creation is seen in the concave abdomen which shows Him breathing life into all creation.

Modern version of the Full San Damiano Crucifix

As for the friars who surround Him they rest within the light of the Mandorla (the Divine Uncreated Light) to show they have completed the Spiritual journey of their vocation to Franciscan brotherhood in the living of the Gospel. The four stars illustrate the four Gospels by which the fullness of the Revelation of the Christ is received and meditated upon by the brothers. A perfect meditation on the Franciscan Contemplative journey in iconographic symbolism!

Relics of some of the Capuchin Saints of the Spanish Persecution

A meditation and blessing for New Year's Eve

What of last year?

Be not afraid

to

let it go.

All of it;

the joys and the sorrows,

the burdens and the blessings.

Put them down gently 

and,

with reverence,

place them 

into the wounded hands

of Divine Mercy 

and then receive back

from

the source of all Love

the only real gift

that you may bring 

into 

the New Year;

wisdom

What of the New Year?

Be not afraid...

but, 

enter it with joy.

Welcome all of the gifts 

it waits to bestow, 

knowing that, 

when you rest secure in the infinite love that dwells in the wounded heart of Divine Mercy, 

then all 

becomes grace;

the joys and the sorrows, 

the burdens and the blessings,

and you will receive back 

from the source of all Love

the only real gift

that any year can bring;

wisdom.

Tonight, 

however you choose to spend it, alone or with others, 

in quiet introspection 

or in loud celebration, 

in the moment 

between 

last year 

and new year, 

breathe deep, 

pause,

and know that in places 

all over the world 

you are being held in prayer 

Blessings of wisdom on your New Year!