Saint Clare Aflame; a poem for her feast

 This came to me three years ago for the Feast of St. Clare... 

Saint Clare Aflame

There came at last

the night when,

with Bishop’s blessing,

she drew back the great bolt

and, with sudden strength 

unknown before,

cast open wide 

the ancient oaken doors 

and left the heavy house

of her fathers behind.

Breathing deep the cool free 

Assisi air,

her sparkling eyes, now

a mirror of the canopy 

of shining sisters overhead.

Veiling herself in night, 

and without a backward glance,

she fled to the forested friars

who met this already bright one 

with their lamps lit at woodland edge.

So they beckoned her 

to the little house of the Mother,

where she once again 

affirmed the divinely kindled desire 

of her heart’s longing,

and threw herself into the flames of faith,

a furnace so incandescent 

that hair, and clothing, and even name, 

are burned away.

And so the robe of blessing was bestowed,

and the promises that bind the hearts 

of those who know

true freedom made.

He was there, of course, 

to receive her sacred vows,

as his first sister, 

and a daughter of his prophesying too,

Francis of the dancing fire, 

whose sparking words first

heard through her high window 

open to the world below

found a home in the dry 

kindling of her heart

and became a raging firestorm 

so strong that,

castle walls and binding ties 

could not hold her captive any longer,

but allowed her leap 

into the arms of love itself 

upon that quiet woodland night.

Finding within that 

merry band of brothers 

a garden where

her seed soul spark could 

grow and bloom unhindered 

and unquenched.

What psalms were sung 

and candles kindled through that night 

within that little portion that the Lady 

had allotted them 

who served her Son and Lord anew!

What rejoicing did the Angels make 

drawing even the animals 

to witness this new beginning 

as, unseen but felt, 

the fiery Dove descended 

and warmed with hidden wingbeat 

the heat of grace within this gracious one

now sharing in the lot of those whose

only riches are the gifts of holy love.

So Francis looked 

upon this little plant

newly sown in sacred fire 

and smiling saw within 

the power of her poverty, 

the fire that would,

in time, spread undimmed 

to countless sisters

who would come 

hearing of her wild wonders,

she to whom

Kings and Lords 

would bow

humbled by the humility 

of one who dared to trust, 

as he had trust himself, 

in Heaven’s promise 

to uphold all those 

who dance across 

the rose red coals 

of passion 

so light,

so empty, 

they go unburned 

but incandesce

themselves 

and become

ah!

Fire.

May the great miracle worker and woman of prayer who incarnates the feminine side of the Franciscan charism intercede for us all today!

St Clare’s Day 2018

Shadows: a reflection

                     Shadows?

You

say you

feel

your life

is

simply

a

shadow

cast upon 

the

wall of

time,

without meaning

or purpose,

a

random occurrence

without form,

just

function?

But ask yourself

are you seeing 

truly?

So,

look deeper brother,

look deeper sister,

what is a 

shadow 

but

a revelation

of where the 

light

is 

already 

resting?

Your body,

stardust,

forged in the heart

of a 

fire aeons

old.

Not one 

atom of 

your existence

lives 

now

that did 

not also

then

see

the vast 

distances 

of space,

did not

fall through

the long generations 

of

ancestors,

or pass 

through 

many shapes,

on its journey

to bestow 

the form

your senses

perceive as

solid,

a form 

called 

to dwell 

and 

dance 

with 

Divine breath 

in its 

making of 

your marvel 

and your

shadow

until its covenant,

dissolved by

death,

liberates 

love.

Look deeper brother.

Look deeper sister.

You see 

out of infinite 

possibility

you exist.

You.

Here.

Now.

For now 

would be

incomplete 

without

you;

your reason for 

being

passing beyond 

all causes

to the One 

who 

intended 

you

and made you

necessary,

whose love 

attends 

your being,

moment 

by 

moment,

in-breathing love

lest you fall 

away 

into

nothingness.

No 

shadow 

you,

but a 

place 

of 

graced luminosity

so bright

that dazzled by 

your own 

form

your inner eye 

sees, 

for now, 

only 

darkness

describing

a point

of light 

so bright

that Divine Love

dims vision

until 

you are 

ready

to turn

from 

shaped shadows

and face

fully

the brightness

of 

your own

blessed

being.

Moon Memories

 For Sister Moon who rose so beautiful and full last night...

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 too,

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

daytime ghost

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.

Our Lady of Fatima

Today is the 104th anniversary of the first apparition of Our Lady at Fatima to the three shepherd children Lucia, Jacinta and Franceso which culminated in the miracle of the sun in October 1917 witnessed by thousands. All over the world today is a day of celebration and thanksgiving as we remember that our heavenly mother never abandons us but returns again and again to show that she is beside each of us guiding us home and protecting us from evil. The Holy Father Pope Francis when in Fatima celebrated the presence of Our Lady who calls her children to true peace in her Son. 

She is the Woman wrapped in the Sun who points the way to the Son! 

She is the Woman of Peace calling all to the Gospel way of conversion and joy! 

She is our Queen and Mother always! 

Our Lady of Fatima, Queen of the Rosary, pray for us always that we be made worthy of the promises of Christ +

O my Jesus forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls to Heaven, especially those most in need of thy mercy! Amen. 

(Pic1 is of the Shrine of Our Lady of Fatima in Church St. Friary Dublin with thanks to @bridestreetchurch for pics 2,3. Pic 4 is of a very special crucifix that was sent as a profession gift many years ago, blessed by Sr. Lucia, one of the Fatima Visionaries.)

Holy Wonder

Holy Wonder

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the edge

places,

where sky 

and sea 

meet,

kiss,

and yield 

to 

each other 

their

horizon's touch

in shades 

of blue

and green

and grey;

gifting you 

with grace 

to be lost in

awe;

loose at last 

from

all your

wandering 

thoughts.

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the wild 

places;

the untamed 

lands, 

where eden's 

song

echoes still 

between the rocks, 

behind the trees, 

beneath the waves,

in the sighing 

of 

the breeze;

there, hear again 

the song of 

longing 

in your own 

heart,

your part 

in 

creation's chorus,

as loud as 

thunder,

as soft as snow 

falling 

on snow.

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the slow 

places 

where 

darkness 

becomes 

light 

as day 

emerges 

from

dawn, 

and dusk 

from 

day. 

Sit with 

the 

gentle 

shifting 

of the 

light, 

see the 

stability 

of its 

circadian 

dance. 

Watch 

moonrises 

and 

sunsets,

set your 

soul 

aflame again 

with 

star fire,

entering deeply 

into the

rainbowed 

covenant

of dawn.

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the ancient 

places,

and there, 

rest 

in the 

inner knowing

of your 

youth;

however 

old 

you call 

yourself,

tree 

and stone 

and sky

long lived 

before you

and

will live long 

after 

you leave.

If you would 

be holy;

begin 

with wonder.

Go to 

the inner 

places

of your own

being;

bow down

before the 

flame of 

presence

dwelling 

divinely

in your 

soul.

Come 

to the 

knowing

of 

your true name

within 

the Name;

with each 

breath

be breathed 

into the 

fullness 

of 

being

in awe, 

in delight,

in the 

graced 

gratitude

of love.

If you would 

be holy,

always 

begin 

with 

wonder.

The Path of Pebbles

The Path of  Pebbles

At dawn

each day 

begin

again

by

lifting 

the pebble 

of the 

moment.

Hold it 

with the

full awareness 

of your

senses.

Warm it 

with 

your breath,

as you smooth 

its surface

with 

compassion's

touch.

Then,

as dusk 

descends,

place it 

gently

on the 

cairn of 

experience.

Let it 

settle

there

until,

silently,

the 

deep 

rich 

moss

of Wisdom

grows,

and

Divine Love

enters,

building anew

the 

temple

of your 

being.

Cocoon; a meditation on metamorphosis

 Cocoon

Do not expect cocooning 

To be easy.

It is not a time of rest

But of rebirth.

They used to think 

That the Caterpillar 

Merely slept there,

Awaiting the wonder of wings.

This is not true.

To cocoon means 

The breaking down of self,

Of letting go of all 

that may be considered 

Caterpillar.

Yielding to the chrysalis call.

Dropping all that is old identity, 

All that is desire,

All that is hungry, 

All that is eating, eating, eating,

Endlessly.

When the moment comes, called

To go to the cool dark underleaf, underlog place,

To spin the silk of silent self,

The Caterpillar dissolves,

Touches the point of nothingness

Of being;

Become now

Neither Caterpillar

Nor Butterfly

Become simply, potential,

Until new form is found,

Until the selfmade tomb is too tight

And Butterfly is birthed, 

bursting blessing, beauty.

A journey through stillness 

into freedom,

Into flight,

No one who knew the Caterpillar

Would know it in the Butterfly,

No one who knows the Butterfly 

Would see in it 

Even the memory

Of Caterpillar,

Yet within there is

A continuity of being

A new recipe out of old ingredients

A life remade, a seed flowered, a potency fulfilled,

There is pain in this

I am sure.

How could there not be?

There is always pain 

In surrender,

In transformation,

In new life, new birth

Death before resurrection,

Letting go, before letting be

This is the divine order of things

This is why there hides

Even here, even now,

In all your old Caterpillar desiring,

In the hunger at the core of your being,

The promise of Butterfly

If you would but surrender 

To the call

Of the cocoon.

If you would know, 

even for a day,

The wonder of wings

The freedom of flight.

8th May 2020 

Pic without attribution on the web

The Blessing of Blossom

 The Blessing of Blossom

Often,

Grace comes 

unlooked for

but 

needed;

falling on our souls

gently

Like cherry blossom 

petals

shook free 

by 

sudden 

Spring storm,

and confetti cast 

upon 

the stone grey

of 

sky and path.

Reminding

rehearting

you

in a single 

gift gust

that 

joy

is

always present

where heaven

is 

wed to

earth

by Love's

light.

Walking through Cherry blossom blizzards these days. 

The unseen, seen in the floating path of a petal. In beauty we behold the Beautiful and Divine Joy arises.

I firmly believe that a cherry tree, heavy laden with bee filled blossom, is a celebration created by Divine Generosity of the covenant between Earth and Heaven; that no matter how hard and long the Winter, Spring will always come...

Light: A meditation poem for Easter Monday

 A meditation poem for Easter Monday:

Light

Today

I choose

to stand 

in the light 

of the 

Resurrection;

to recognise 

the luminosity

of Divine Presence

at the heart 

of every being;

to see,

to hear,

to touch,

to taste,

the 

eternal alleluia

that exists 

in the centre 

of it all,

perfuming 

all creation

with the 

dew dawn

scent 

of the 

garden

that 

first felt

His quickening,

His blessed breath,

His first footsteps

of return

and trembled 

at His 

healing touch,

consecrating 

Mother earth

again anew

as holy.

Today 

I choose

to recognise

the light of 

that morning's

divine dawn 

in

every sunbeam,

moon beam,

in the glint 

upon 

the water's 

edge,

glitter fire's 

spark

ensouled 

within 

your eye,

in the iridescent 

sheen

of a crow's 

dark clothes 

and the flicker of 

a rainbow 

revealed in 

fish scales 

and finch flight.

Today

I choose 

to live

in the

bright

green field

of His Love,

to walk

in the scarlet tread

of our Fisherking's

steps

finding in you

and in all

I meet

upon the road

the burning

heart,

the broken bread

of presence,

peace,

and ever beginning

Love.

Today,

I choose

to live 

the exultation

of Easter;

to stand 

against 

all that betrays 

the blessing

sung once, 

over and in 

all that is 

in the first 

moment 

of creation,

sung twice 

in the 

moment 

of His

return,

a refrain of 

resurrection

sounding the 

depths,

vibrating in the 

air, 

in birdsong, 

and breeze, 

and breath,

and being,

revealed in His

making, 

and unmaking,

and remaking

of all

as,

Ah,

an Alleluia!

Pic is of one of the great windows of Glastonbury Abbey.

Meditation for Holy Saturday

                           Meditation for Holy Saturday: 

There is no rest for Christ. 

The Word works always... though His body lies in death still He descends into the world of the dead and breaks the power of Hell forever... He harrows hades... and lifts into the fullness of Heaven all those who lay in limbo until the gates were broken down...

There is no place or power of darkness that will not flee before His light...

A beautiful meditation poem (one of my favourites) on the moment Christ appears in the world of the dead follows... 

Limbo 

by Sister Mary Ada, OSJ

The ancient grayness shifted

Suddenly and thinned

Like mist upon the moors

Before a wind.

An old, old prophet lifted

A shining face and said:

“He will be coming soon.

The Son of God is dead;

He died this afternoon.”

A murmurous excitement stirred

All souls.

They wondered if they dreamed –

Save one old man who seemed

Not even to have heard.

And Moses, standing,

Hushed them all to ask

If any had a welcome song prepared.

If not, would David take the task?

And if they cared

Could not the three young children sing

The Benedicite, the canticle of praise

They made when God kept them from perishing

In the fiery blaze?

A breath of spring surprised them,

Stilling Moses’ words.

No one could speak, remembering

The first fresh flowers,

The little singing birds.

Still others thought of fields new ploughed

Or apple trees

All blossom-boughed.

Or some, the way a dried bed fills

With water

Laughing down green hills.

The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam

On bright blue seas.

The one old man who had not stirred

Remembered home.

And there He was

Splendid as the morning sun and fair

As only God is fair.

And they, confused with joy,

Knelt to adore

Seeing that He wore

Five crimson stars

He never had before.

No canticle at all was sung

None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song,

A silent man alone

Of all that throng

Found tongue –

Not any other.

Close to His heart

When the embrace was done,

Old Joseph said,

“How is Your Mother,

How is Your Mother, Son?”

Meditation for Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

 Meditation for the Fifth Friday of Lent:

Why the Cross?

Why of all the possible modes of execution was the Cross chosen?

The ancient fathers of the Church list a number of reasons. Here are a few of them:

Crucifixion was reserved for the worst criminals and was considered the worst punishment... In absolute humiity Christ takes on the worst of what Humanity can offer so as to raise us up to the best...

Sin and death entered the world through what hung from a tree... so it was conquered and banished by He who hung from the tree of the Cross.

Christ is nailed between heaven and earth. His arms open wide in the embrace of inifinite Divine Love. He restores the ancient communion between heaven and earth forever in His own death.

The Vertical axis of the Cross represents the Eternal Now of God piercing for ever the horizontal axis of time, thus in the incarnation of Christ and through His passion and death, we have access to the eternal loving NOW of God forever... 

At the centre of this piercing we have the pierced heart of Christ from which flows the streams of Sacramental Grace that we call the Church...

This is the Atonement, literally the "At-One-Ment", that Christ accomplished through His death on the Cross...the rebalancing and healing of the ancient wound of sin that separated Humanity from God and threw the whole cosmos out of balance...now healed by Christ through the Cross it becomes our way home again. As St. Augustine says, "He descended so that we could ascend with Him."

Wherever you are today pause a moment and simply consider the Cross.

Pax +

Equinox: a meditation poem

Equinox: 

Now

the point of 

pause

is reached

at last;

our sacred place 

of celestial

rest,

when the balance 

turns

towards 

the light, 

and we

gather

in our 

Springtime

flowering

to

celebrate 

that

moment

when

battle's

scales

tipped for ever

to the

Light,

as eternity 

kissed

time

and 

womb woke 

it

from its

long

sleep

of

slumbering

sin

to a blessed 

beauty 

longed 

for

and found

only

in she 

who

is the

vernal

greening 

of

our human

story,

and

with her 

soul assent 

gained 

for us

our 

Easter

ever 

after.

It’s good to remember in these crazy times that we are still part of the deep rhythms of the cosmos; that we still rest secure in the eternal embrace of Divine Love.

The days of the Spring Equinox were traditionally a time of rejoicing for the coming of the light and in the Christian tradition we celebrate the Annunciation, the entry into our world of the Divine Light, incarnate through Mary, marked at the end of the festival. (March 25th) 

However worried and anxious or even ill you may be remember the Light is growing and the darkness can never overpower it.

Equinox blessings to one and all+

(Pic found unattributed online but I truly love how Our Lady seems to be smiling due to her new “crown”)

Meditation for Friday of the Third Week of Lent

Meditation for the Friday of the

 

Third Week of Lent:

Centre and Cross 

All 

things tend 

towards 

the 

Cross,

knowing 

or 

unknowing,

yielding 

or 

unyielding.

The sacred centre 

calls;

its eternal weight 

beckoning our 

soul sight 

thither

until we finally 

look 

upon the

One 

we have 

pierced

and are 

pierced 

ourselves,

in turn,

nailed to the 

tree truth 

of our 

broken being,

and 

in that very 

moment 

born anew

in blessedness 

where

we know 

ourselves 

both

whole and holy 

in 

His sight

once 

more.

Nesting Season:

In gratitude for the brighter days of Spring and the hatching of hope they bring...

 Nesting Season

There is always 

a choice.

Perhaps in these 

strange moments

it is a simple one;

to dwell on 

what has been taken away

or to dwell in

what we have been given;

to build our nests anew

weaving safe and soft

a chance to breathe,

with all the terrible 

possibility that brings;

to reflect,

to wonder,

to sit anew 

in the secret depths 

of those actions 

of holy ordinariness;

eating, 

drinking, 

walking, 

sleeping, 

cleaning,

being with, 

being alone,

simply being. 

Taking the time

to watch the earth 

reset and heal,

to allow our inner

sky to clear of

all our worry weather,

often as grey 

and insubstantial 

as clouds,

until the 

one thing necessary

shines through

at last,

and we see

the present moment,

sky blue,

and fragile

as a blackbird’s egg,

nesting secure 

in the heart,

deep within 

the brambled hedge 

of our thorn tangled 

thoughts, 

awaiting the stillness 

of a spring morning 

when we grant ourselves 

new greening,

awaiting the sunbeam 

of divine attention 

to warm it to life,

awaiting our 

sitting breath,

faith feathered 

and yielding,

to hatch within us

a new way.

"Brother Thanks-be-to-God": St. Felix of Cantalice, the first saint of the Capuchins

Today, the eighteenth of May, is the feast of the first canonised saint of the Capuchin friars!

So I would like to share a little of his story with you...

(the following is a collation from various sources)

Felix was born to a family of farmers and so knew hard work from a very early age. He was known for his great physical strength, always an advantage on a farm in those days, and he was even a very good wrestler! From childhood he was known for his piety listening avidly to the stories his parents would tell him of the Desert Fathers, the first Christian Monks, and their deep ascetic mysticism. Wanting to dedicate himself to God he wasnt sure where to go until an Angel appeared to him in a dream and told him to go to the local Capuchin Friary and become a friar! Twice he journeyed to the friary and twice he couldn't find the Guardian and so came home again! The Angels must have been patient as he was told a third time to go and on this occasion he did meet one of the Superiors. He brought him before the Crucifix in the Church and told him to pray while he would go and fetch the Guardian to speak to him. The friar left and promplty forgot all about him until returning to the Church that evening he found Felix lost in prayer in the same position that he had left him in hours before. That was enough for the friars and they accepted him immediately.

Felix had hoped that in the Capuchins he would be sent to one of the mountain hermitages to pursue a life of prayer and contemplation but this was not to be! Instead he was sent to Rome where he became the chief Questor (official beggar) for the friars. He would begin his day at the crack of Dawn in prayer, and meditation and by assisting at Mass and then make his alms route around the city begging for the needs of the poor and the friary. He often laughed at the sense of Hunour that God must have, when asked why he thought this was so he would tell people that on becoming a friar he had renounced even touching bread and wine ever again as a penance, but the first job he was given as a Questor was to beg for bread and wine!

As he travelled around the streets of Rome he became a familiar and much loved figure to two generations of Romans. He was soon nicknamed Fra Deo Gratias, "Brother Thanks be to God" because this was his customary greeting and response to all circumstances. When asked once by a Roman society lady what his philosophy of life was he responded, "Eyes on the Ground, Hand on the Rosary, Heart on God".

He aimed to make every moment a living prayer and to recognise in every person, regardless of their station in life a brother or sister in the Lord. He was friends with St. Philip Neri and St. Charles Borromeo, he advised princes and cardinals, dukes and duchesses and never refused any person who was in need. He would bless bread and fruit to be sent to the sick who would eat it and then recover. Felix always attributed these miracles to the intecession of the Blessed Virgin for whom he had a particular love. He would make up songs and rhymes about her which he then taught the children to sing. On one occasion the Pope, who had been a franciscan before his election, asked for a piece of bread from Brother Felix. He immediately sent him a piece of mouldy black bread as a reminder that he was still a friar and should live like one despite his papal election. At a time when the Capuchins were still a young reform of the Franciscan order it was the holiness and fame of Brother Felix that won for them papal approval.




Nights were times of prayer and meditation for Felix when he would spend hours before the Blessed Sacrament in prayer of adoration and petition. During this time he was gifted with many visions and on one occasion one of the other brothers saw the Blessed Virgin appear and place the Child Jesus in his arms, a sign of his incredible purity of heart and devotion. Eventually worn out after so many years of unrelenting service he became sick, collapsing in front of the brothers to whom he wryly announced, "This little donkey has fallen and won't be getting up again!" At his deathbed he suddenly sat up and a light was seen to shine from his face. One of the brothers asked him, "Felix, what do you see?" "I see the Blessed Virgin surrounded by throngs of Angels!", he replied. Holy Communion was quickly brought to him and as the Host was brought into the room he sang the hymn "O Sacrum Convivium" in a loud voice, then received the Body of the Lord and gave up his spirit. As he passed away the bells in some of the nearby churches rang by themselves and some of the children of Rome ran through the streets shouting, "The saint is dead, the saint is dead" All of Rome turned out for the funeral of the little brother who had laboured amongst them for so long. Canonised as St. Felix of Cantalice he became the first of the Capuchin branch of the Franciscan Order to be canonised and remains in his joyful simplicity and deeply contemplative spirit and model for every Capuchin since.

St. Felix pray for us!

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!

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

Ordinary Miracles

Ordinary Miracles.


Today I am so tired
I have no space in me for big.
I must return
to the small ordinary miracles;
to the way the cup and the bowl
laid upon this table,
once earth themselves,
now,
after fire's touch,
are something else
entirely,
and give themselves
freely
with the simple symmetry
of their curved line
to the holding of emptiness
or fullness.
Or I will drink tea,
and follow it's warmth and healing touch
within and without,
and mingle my breath
with its vapour and touch
the journey of its essence
from far away lands
to here, to now, to me.
Or spend time simply remembering
that between the covers
of the books upon my shelves
are held
minds, lives, worlds, stories, wisdom
that will all last longer
than this little body of mine.
Or marvel at the striped stones
upon the shore that tell deep time,
layer by layer and recall
wild days of disaster and dancing
in their still sea vigil,
slowly loosing their grains
and building beaches for
children's hands to make sand castles
with until the next tide sets them
swimming again.
Or just knowing that already
I have seen a seed
become a tree
become a log
become a fire
become dust
and
become soil for seed's planting.
Or watch the sky
and know that the blue is
still behind the clouds
and the stars still shine
even in the day.
Or simply sit
with the slow rhythm of breath
knowing its biology as blessing,
its divine anchoring
as presence and prayer.
Today, I am so tired
I have no space in me for big
questions, queries, feelings,
problems, pains, plans,
whether mine or others,
so I will just sit
with the small ordinary miracles of being;
breathing, watching, touching, tasting
the now,
and in the now knowing
the love from which all that is, is.
I will dwell there, today,
in the wonder of it all,
in the wildness of
the small ordinary miracles
of being.

An old one but after a weekend teaching I'm feeling this one today...
May it bless +

BR

Talk for the World Meeting of Families: The Family & Digital Technology: Making Space for Prayer

The Family and Digital Technology: Making Space for Prayer

Talk for the World Meeting of Families 2018: Brother Richard Hendrick

Some years ago I came across a concept which may serve to illustrate beautifully the changed circumstances our families find themselves in as they strive nowadays to be places of love, meaning, communion, prayer and faith. The concept I refer to is that of the “Transparent Home”.

Let me explain.

I am a child of Ireland of the 1970’s and 80’s…

However, in those far off distant days there were two primary arbitrators between me and the world. They were called Mum and Dad. If they didn’t like the behaviour I was engaged in, or the people I was hanging around with they would appear at the door and I would be told, “Richard! In!” and in I went… mumbling and grumbling along the way, but often somewhat relieved as well. Once in the house they continued to be the guardians of reality.

What do I mean by this?

Well, there was one TV in the Living Room. We gathered as a family to watch it. If something unsuitable appeared it was switched off or we were sent out of the room or up to bed. I always found my Father required a cup of tea just as things were really getting interesting on Dallas. There was no remote control. We were the remote control. There was one phone in the house, it was in the hall and later in the kitchen and if we were on it, it was amazing how often Mum would need to drift through the kitchen asking on her way, who it was we were speaking to? There were a few radios of course scattered around but that was it. Reading was actively encouraged and trips to the library and bookshops were common.

You see, the house was opaque to the world, and so it was, thankfully, a safe refuge from which to slowly venture into it, or to return to when things out there were overwhelming or even dangerous. We were gradually introduced to the outside world via Parents, Teachers, Clergy and Elders at a pace that was slow, allowed for self reflection and began locally before stretching out to the world at large.

Now what about today… 

Today, our homes, and indeed our families are transparent. You can call the young person in from the street but now the street, indeed the whole world comes in too via the ubiquitous smart phone, tablet and laptop. The Young Person exists in an always on, always available network of media that demands the same level of availability from them. It allows no time for reflection and encourages the externalisation of self-esteem, which often invites the young person into the living of a reactive rather than a proactive/reflective life that leads in turn to heightened emotionalism and the need to always be on the crest of a wave, seeking the next high, the next “like”.

It is a way of life that is exhausting, anxiety inducing and doomed to futility as we seek the perfect life that others seem to be having out there somewhere. Not for nothing do all of the great spiritual traditions teach that “comparison is the thief of joy”. In this new model the arbitrators of reality are no longer the adults and elders that bestow a wider, deeper, wisdom based narrative based on love, faith, prayer and communion, but are instead the often anonymous forced of so called social media that as we have seen on both a national and international scale are open to manipulation from market forces and perhaps even more decidedly negative ones too.

So what can we do, we who gather here at the call of our Holy Father and the World Meeting of Families to help young people and families in the midst of these sudden and sometimes dangerous changes?

Well, we first need to admit where we are and be present to reality as it is. We cannot go back, nor would we want to. We are well aware that the bucolic force of nostalgia only serves to isolate us further from the world. God is in the Now and so we must be too. We must praise and promote the positive changes that have occurred! Greater social connectivity and the possibilities for evangelisation and outreach inherent in new forms of media must be strengthened and become a ripe field for the harvest of the Gospel. But skills so as to manage these new ways of being must be taught and I propose that like the Scribes of the Kingdom, who bring forth things both new and old, our own Christian Contemplative Tradition has wonderful tools that can assist the young person and the family in their navigation of this changed world. The practices of Stillness, Silence, Reflection, Meditative forms of prayer that are at the heart of our tradition must be taught and above all lived again in the home and in the heart of the family. 

Thankfully such programmes that teach these practices exist and are part of our Church life today. Groups such as the World Community of Christian Meditation, Contemplative Outreach and the Sanctuary Centre in Dublin all offer courses aimed at introducing these ancient skills in new ways to the people of today. We need to recognise the importance of these practices as life-saving, indeed soul-saving tools that will allow us to negotiate the transparent homes and lives we are all living today so that at our centre we are still enough to hear the quiet breeze of the Spirit inviting us into this world as sons and daughters of the Kingdom, so as to create in the digital desert spaces of today oases of the spirit where the real presence of God may be found by those lost in the often overloading storms of life, both real and virtual today.

To finish I’d like to offer you three simple practices that can revolutionise our way of interacting with each other online:

The first is what has become known as the “3P method”. The three P’s are Pause, Pray and only then Post! They offer us a way of being present online in a reflective rather than reactive way. Something catches us online and we immediately feel we need to comment, to make our opinion known, to teach the other a lesson! All of these responses may simply be our ego igniting and may not be spiritually healthy for us or to those we are responding to. So take the fingers off the keys, pause and breathe; pray for the grace of the Holy Spirit to be present in your words and then see if you need to post. It is amazing how often when one has practiced the first two P’s the need to carry through to Post disappears. The three P’s: Pause, Pray, and only then Post!

The second is all about our use of time and intention. How do you wake up? Most people, and especially most young people will tell you that the first thing they do when they awake is to reach for the phone. Barely awake they are catapaulted into the virtual world and all the bad news present there. They are taken away from the present moment and taken away from the presence of those who are with them, and even from the awareness of the presence of God. So practice 2 is a simple consecration of the first moments of the day to being present to God, to those you live with and to yourself. It is the ancient practice of the Morning Offering made new for today.

Try it! You’ll be amazed at the positive difference it makes to you and to others around you. As one old friar used to say its going from your first thought being, “Good God it’s morning!” to “Good morning God!”

The third practice and the final one I will leave you with today is the practice of the bells! All monastic traditions have used bells to mark the passing of the day and as a call to awareness, mindfulness and attentiveness to the Divine Presence. Well you have a device that summons you with multiple bells throughout the day always with you; your phone! Why not set and hourly, (or more), reminder to take a moment to breathe, pray and become present to the real world around you, to the needs of your brothers and sisters, to the beauty of creation, to God. No one else need know what’s going on… they’ll just think you’re very popular with all the texts you’re getting!

So there we are, three small, gentle practices that have deep roots in our own Contemplative Tradition that can really help us negotiate the opportunities and challenges of new technology and ways of communicating that we enjoy today so that we do not lose ourselves in the process. Our homes and even our monasteries may have transparent walls these days but with the wisdom of the ancient practices we can grow in reflective discernment and begin to truly choose just who and what we want to be transparent to.

Thank you for your attention today!