Breathing Easter;

Breathing Easter 

There 

is a 

moment

of perfect

stillness

between 

the 

in-breath

and the 

out-breath;

small,

silent,

vulnerable,

and so often

missed;

but, 

when we 

attend,

always 

infinite 

in 

depth.

It dwells

where

the now,

radiant and

eternal,

is touched

as transformation,

as grace;

for there

the

Risen One

is revealed

in the 

burning

bush 

of our breath,

of our being.

Just

as a garden,

emerging

frost tipped

from night's

entombment,

knows 

the delight

of dawn's 

first touch

and yields 

to the 

daily

moment

of resurrection

with the

inhalation

of light,

with the 

exhalation

of

birdsong.

Pic of Easter Sunday Dawn at Ards Friary 2019

The Unknown Joy of Mary

 The Unknown Joy of Mary

It is often asked where the risen Christ was when first Mary of Magdala and then the other women and later the Apostles got to the garden... Mystics and Mothers (who are often the same thing) have always known the answer...

After all where would any Son who had put his mother through so much go to first but to her...

The following lines by Catherine Doherty express this hidden and unknown joy of Mary, a very ancient tradition of the Church, perfectly... May it be your meditation this Easter morning...

May the light of the Risen One and His Holy Mother full your hearts and lives and homes today and always +

Mary's Reunion.

The stone rolled off,

And no one saw it.

Her heart was jubilant

And full of ecstasy.

She knew that a sea of joy

Would flow out of the sea of sorrow;

Although it would 

Recede to sorrow again

 

She could remember

Being born in the midst of

God the Father,

And being created

Before creation.

Did She truly watch

Light come out of darkness?

Did she see shores

Come into being?

It seemed you could play

See-saw on a wave!!

 

She never moved.

Quietly and closed in a room,

She sat behind a door

That no one dared to open,

And looked upon the streets

Of her beloved Jerusalem,

Watching the crowds

Hurrying hither and yon;

Watching, and not seeing at all;

For the sea of sorrow

Was receding

Into the desert

Where seas go;

And she was playing

See-saw on a wave

Made by God.

 

He touched death

For an instant – 

Abolished it forever,

And it became

An angel of surpassing beauty;

For whom men of faith

Would wait with bated breath;

Death hasn’t icy fingers at all

They are warm – 

The fingers of the angel of love.

The ice, the cold, the decay

That is for men of earth to see;

For their eyes are not conditioned

To the resplendent state of the

Soul.

 

She knew

He was not dead forever;

Not one bone would decay.

He slept, quietly, obediently,

In the tomb;

For He was obedient

Even after death.

 

But when they rolled

The stone before the tomb

He was free to roam;

To come, to go

To be

Where all those years

He could not be

Or could show Himself.

 

Out of the tomb

To hell,

To bring joyous news;

Then, like a man

Would visit

In a pilgrimage of love,

The places that made His heart

Beat faster

As a man.

When She had held His cold-warm

Body

She trembled

With the joy of it – 

Knowing He would come

To visit Her first

The Magdalene would be the next

To see Him. 

 

So She sat alone

With the door closed – 

They thought to grieve

But no! To wait.

Who was there to see

Or hear what passed?

Who was there to know

The glory

Of music born in that room?

The Music of His voice and Hers

Mingling as voices

Never did before.

 

"Share in one of my unknown joys.”

 

“He came to Me

In my chamber,

My Son!

My Lover!

And overflowing rapture

Condensed in utter ecstasy

Filled Me again.

“It was as if

I had conceived anew,

For all my being

Felt His coming.

The room pulsated

With the beat 

Of angels’ wings

But even the seraph’s eyes

Were sealed.

Not even they

Could look then

Upon the Mother and the Son

And so they chanted

Alleluias.

 

“Did you know that I,

The first stigmatic,

Had the wounds?

It happened simply,

Perhaps He was two or three,

Perhaps, I am not sure.

It is hard 

for one who encompasses

eternity

to think in time.

One day He was playing

At My feet,

And suddenly

Like a little swallow

He kissed each foot.

The wounds began to throb.

 

“At seven or eight

He kissed each palm,

Lingeringly.

And I knew

The feel of nails.

 

“He came once

In early spring,

On a shiny sunny day.

His hands were full of flowers.

He sat on a small stool

And wove a crown for Me.

I knew the weight 

Of thorns

Upon my head.

 

“In May, in your land,

Children repeat His gesture.

It brings back the memory

Of thorns, sweet, deep, sharp.

 

“He was a suckling at My breast.

One night,

Somehow, His face fell

From My nipples;

And His warm mouth touched my side.

Was it a kiss?

Was it a lance?

From that blest night

The pain was there

Never to go.

 

“So you must know 

My unknown joy,

The rendezvous We held – 

My Son and I – 

The night they thought

They had sealed His tomb

So tight.

Where do you think

He went?

He went to the place

He loves most in Palestine – 

The room of His Mother.

 

“Wonders will never cease!!

The room was aflame;

For where My Son is,

There is My spouse,

The Crimson Dove

Who holds Me tight.

The angels’ wings

Made melody of strings

As they chanted their 

Alleluias

In a circle of bliss,

And He sat at My feet

And I looked into His eyes – 

Above to below.

 

“The Crimson Dove

Brought the flame of love;

And the Father was there

Unseen, jubilant, joyous,

Taking delight in His Son.

And as He did,

The Crimson Dove grew,

And a flame covered the earth.

Alleluia

Alleluia

Alleluia.

 

“The stone was still tight

On the tomb of My child 

Who was with Me.

 

“I give you the Paschal gift.

Put out your hands

And take it to your heart

This is the night of joy!

Alleluia!

I am an 

Alleluia

In the flesh

Tonight.”

Lines taken from The Unknown Mysteries of Mary by Catherine deHueck Doherty.

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?”

The Tipping Point: a poem for Good Friday night.

 A meditation poem for Good Friday night:

The Tipping Point.

The tipping point 

is now reached 

at last.

The ancient scales 

of justice, 

long fixed,

creak stiffly and tilt

mercywards,

weighed anew,

re-balanced

by wooden thorns

and three iron nails,

stirred

by that last shattering cry

of consummation,

more of a breath 

than a shout

by then,

delivered into winds 

suddenly woven

from calvary's calm;

as though inspired by 

His exhalation to wake 

all who weep,

or sleep,

or wander,

now drawn to new ways,

all while rocks crack 

beneath 

the sacred strain

of holding Him who 

holds them in themselves,

and a once sure crowd 

feels the fear of sudden clarity too late, 

too late.

What of His fled followers?

Did they feel it too?

The sad shuddering 

of the earth's molten heart 

boiling and breaking 

in grief, 

those who hid themselves 

like Adam from an 

all seeing eye

of love, 

like children who,

thinking to 

conceal their faces,

close their own eyes.

Yes, these, 

who would soon return,

almost all,

and be gathered 

again

around 

she who was 

His parting gift,

who had first gifted Him 

with all He human had.

She the solid earth healing

his broken fisherman foundation

until solidity returns

thrice assured.

Now He seems to return

to rest

upon her lap,

but Soul journeys still 

in realms long lost to us

He routs rage 

and restores

right.

His light harrows Hell 

where revealed now

as Word,

and Lord,

and King,

He claims His dowry,

the seeming dead 

of all the ages,

freeing and raising

before being risen

Himself,

while His body,

salved,

shrouded,

and entombed

waits for wedding kiss

of resurrection

dawn.

(stained glass of the Passion from Ards Friary)

The Seven Sayings: A meditation poem for Good Friday

 The Seven Sayings:

These are the seven sayings

that made the world aright,

breathed upon the wind

by the Lord of light,

as from his wooden throne

they conquer broken hearts,

and spoke by Him alone 

then healing sundered parts.

The first it was forgiveness

offered to us all,

who would pierce the God-man

with a bloody awl.

The second was a promise

offered to a thief,

who then gainéd heaven

by his new belief.

The third it was in parting

His mother to behold,

to all of us then given

as queen to love and hold.

The fourth it was a great cry

from His broken heart,

yearning for His Father

while torn by sin apart.

The fifth it was a thirsting

for the souls of all,

dying for their living

healing then their fall.

The sixth it was a whisper

that thundered in the sky

bringing to completion

His quest to live and die.

The seventh was a yielding

of His final breath,

rendering now His spirit,

Life now touching death.

These are the seven sayings

that made the world aright

breathed upon the wind

by the Lord of light

as from his wooden throne

they conquer broken hearts,

are spoke by Him alone

then healing sundered parts.

On this blessed Friday

may we make our way

to the skull topped hill

there to see and pray,

to gaze upon the God-man,

to hear these words of grace,

to adore the saviour

who then took our place,

and by these sacred sayings,

these blessed words of power,

unmade the serpent's wounding

in that fateful hour.

So glory let us give Him

and always let us praise

who by His seven sayings

did our sins erase,

and ever let us speak them

aloud for all to hear

for by their very sounding

His mercy draweth near.

Art by Salvador Dali based on the vision of St. John of the Cross.

Gethsemane’s Agony: A meditation poem for Holy Thursday Night

 Gethsemane’s Agony

Once again, a garden; 

where silence settles slowly like dust,

falling over the ancient olive branches 

twisted in terror at 

what their knotted faces had to watch;

so becoming old witnesses, rooted in righteousness, 

while mere men slept against their sides unheeding. 

Grasses, mob trampled moments ago, begin to rise

stretching towards sky in supplication 

for celestial comforters;

or, broken stemmed, lie down in the 

wake of wildness now passed, 

prostrate in prayer.

The old rock is stunned into a stillness 

it may never recover from;

feeling bloody sweat running over its surface yet, 

it yearns for ancient days of volcanic years to 

mould itself into a vessel for love’s libation,

but hears instead the drip

of crimson dew upon the ground,

as Mother Earth receives her secret 

holy communion too,

shuddering as, at its taste, eden memory stirs 

in her long wildered garden soul.

The after glare of torches, shouts and swords 

fades into the city below while

Moon rises gently, 

bestowing her kiss of reparation 

on this place

with softest light.

Slowly, in silent reverence,

angels and animals appear 

and sit together 

beneath the

blessed branches,

a sundered union sealed,

as witnesses

of the Garden’s 

holy agony.

Holy (Mandy) Thursday: the day of the gifts of Presence

 Holy (Maundy) Thursday: The day of the gifts of Presence.

As sister Moon rises this evening the Easter Triduum begins... The three days that are "One Great Day"...one continuous action of Divine Love...

We begin with the day of the gifts: 

Three parting gifts are given by the Lord to His followers today and each of them are usually celebrated in our evening Mass of the Lord's Supper. Each of them is a way of meeting the Lord's real presence and each a sign of love and a transforming grace that when met changes the person and invites them into a deeper communion of Love with God in the other person. While this year our celebrations are constrained and even absent in many places due to the virus we are still, wherever we are, in the presence of Love; the presence of God and in our caring for each other by staying apart in these days, even though it breaks our hearts to do so, we can be sure we are fulfilling the great commandment of love...

What are these gifts we celebrate today?

They are the gift of the Holy Eucharist, the gift of the Sacramental Priesthood and the gift of the New Commandment of Love (Mandatum Novum), from which the day takes its name.

In the Commandment of Love the old law is fulfilled, completed and superseded and the operating philosophy, theology and methodology of the Church is given. Our God is the One who bows low and serves His people; loving them back into wholeness... The example He gives we are to follow. We have no part with Christ if we do not bow low too and find the Divine Presence in each other. In the taking off of the outer garment He removes all that would separate us from Himself, in the wearing of the apron He becomes the servant and the lamb, in the washing of the feet He prepares us for the journey into the depths of Love...

In the Sacramental Priesthood He establishes an eternal conduit of sacrificial grace in which the eternal salvific events about to unfold may be touched in time by each succeeding generation. In the emptying of self that the priest is called to, especially in the sacramental moment, He is present and His people touch His power and love and mercy. His priesthood is a servant, sacrificial priesthood and His priests are called to follow the lamb to the altar and to calvary...

In the Holy Eucharist He gives Love's greatest gift; Love itself remains incarnate and eternal with His people for all time. In this unspeakabale and awe inspiring gift of Divine generosity He demonstrates the sheer immensity of Divine Love and its longing to be with, to be in communion with us... He becomes our food, our medicine, our soul spouse and the furnace in which we are purified and become what we were always meant to be... And he does all this for us who are about to betray, run away and crucify Him... and He does it now today too... in this moment and in every succeeding moment... calling out to us from the priesthood, from the altar, from the Blessed Sacrament, "A new commandment I leave unto you; that you love one another as I have loved you!"

The picture is of the Chapel of the Upper Room in Jerusalem, the ancient site of the Lord’s Supper and the place wherein these gifts were first made manifest by Divine Love.