One of Those Times

This is one of those times when I am forcing myself to write something in this blog, because I am in a period of Ignatian "desolation." We all know, or should know, that the spiritual life goes in consolations and desolations, and there is no telling how long either one will last. We can't of ourselves bring one state or the other on, or force it to depart. It just is.

God uses these times to work silently within us, or that is my firm belief. In consolation I know all is right with the world and me. In desolation, I know that nothing is right in the world and especially in me. This is the time when most people turn from the spiritual life and say "enough of this nonsense, I'm getting nowhere, I quit."

Well, having been through that at least...oh....six times before, I know better at this point in my life than to walk away at what can/could/might be a pivotal time in my spiritual life. The evil one tempts me with "oh give up, you're such a failure
God laughs at your prayers." I respond very strongly to that, and invoke the name of Christ to make the evil one go right back to hell.

That doesn't make the desolation one bit easier, but at least it shuts up that negative voice. If I can stay docile to the spirit I will be okay. Today though, I realized I was very angry at God, so spent two hours at St. Vincent's expressing it in great detail to God. It made me feel better, and in a way, feel closer to God than when I was just holding it in. My spiritual director told me once that sometimes you have to let it out, so I did. And, I left there feeling more in the care of God than when I went in.

My point? Don't let the evil one win when God sends the desolation into your spiritual life. It will surely come, and if you've been at this more than a year, then you already know that. That's the best I can say.

And now for Poetry I did not write.
John Donne
A Litany

VIII.

THE PROPHETS.

Thy eagle-sighted prophets too,
—Which were Thy Church's organs, and did sound
That harmony which made of two
One law, and did unite, but not confound ;
Those heavenly poets which did see
Thy will, and it express
In rhythmic feet—in common pray for me,
That I by them excuse not my excess
In seeking secrets, or poeticness.

I Hardly Have the Heart to Write

Of course, if you know me, you know that when I'm the most disheartened, I'm the most likely to write. Israel and Gaza bombing each other into ... what, further bombing? Bin Laden says Jihad. Iranian president says Israel must go. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

If ever in history the world has needed Jesus Christ, and him crucified, it is right now. We can contemplate until the cows come home and it's not going to do one bit of good for the dire situation the world is in, right now. With the vocation of intercession upon me I am hard pressed to find time to worry about how my introversion affects my life. At any one moment there is enough violence going on in the world that if we were to perceive it all in an instant, it would overwhelm us, and probably kill us. Does this mean that I promote the active life as opposed to the contemplative life? No way!

What it means is we should stop worrying about ourselves and whether or not our introversion gets hurt and start praying to God non-stop for this world. The world needs our prayers, and contemplatives need to be giving those prayers, not just for ourselves and our tiny part of the world, but for the entire planet. God looks upon the planetary scale. Can we pray on the planetary scale? I think we can. I think that with the Holy Spirit praying within us we can pray some small change into the physical world.

One side says it's the fault of the Gays.
Another side says it's the fault of Abortion.
Another side yet, says it's the Arabs.
Another side says it's the Jews.
Still yet another side says it's all of the above.

Ach! What a world.

Poetry time.
John Donne

VII.

THE PATRIARCHS.

And let Thy patriarchs' desire,
—Those great grandfathers of Thy Church, which saw
More in the cloud than we in fire,
Whom nature clear'd more, than us grace and law,
And now in heaven still pray, that we
May use our new helps right—
Be satisfied, and fructify in me ;
Let not my mind be blinder by more light,
Nor faith by reason added lose her sight.

Ode or Something

"I can't take it anymore."

They cry out from the whining caves of self. When the pain
of self loathing, or the pain of self is just too much to bear.

"I can't take it anymore."

They cry out from the pain of joints filled with the waters of
misery, hips and knees and shoulders, moving, squeaking

"I can't take it anymore."

The boundless nothingness that seems to surround us to
swallow our prayers into a dark abyss of no-thing -- God

"I can't take it anymore."

It is a prayer we utter to keep from falling in to the abyss
of faithlessness where the no-thing that is God, becomes a
nothing that was our faith in God.

"I can't take it anymore."

Introverted, extroverted, perverted, adverted, alerted
Twitter-pated, addlepated, G-Rated and R-Rated

"I can't take it anymore."

A nun cries out in church one day, and her sisters rush to her side
she cries, they comfort, and understand that to cry

"I can't take it anymore." is a prayer.

It is my prayer.

Saturday's are for Reading

The other day Fr. Michael piled me high with books to read and take notes from for the formation program I am currently working on. Not a single book is boring, and I've sampled every one of them. The rainy day lends itself to a quiet contemplative atmosphere, so I'm going to use it without guilt to read, read and read some more.

I probably should apologize for using the F word in my last post, but ya know, sometimes a good old Anglo-Saxon word is the only word to say it. The word itself is as old as Anglo-Saxons. If you were offended I am sorry.

As for the future I see bright skies shining through a rainy day. The joy that is ours because we are redeemed (and I can hear Joe now saying, "that man is too serious") must always win out over weather, depression, anger, etc. et. al., ad nauseum.

I pray for you all, I love you all. And now poetry I did not write for you all.

John Donne
A Litany
VI.

THE ANGELS.

And since this life our nonage is,
And we in wardship to Thine angels be,
Native in heaven's fair palaces
Where we shall be but denizen'd by Thee ;
As th' earth conceiving by the sun,
Yields fair diversity,
Yet never knows what course that light doth run ;
So let me study that mine actions be
Worthy their sight, though blind in how they see.

Thursday: A Day

Today was a very nice day that ended with a decided yuck! Details are not important. I prayed the rosary, dealt with the yuck, found I had the strength to deal with the situation and now am emotionally exhausted by my daily trials and tribulations with my niece. It would all be fine if she would just start treating me like a person worthy of speaking to, instead of like they dirt under her feet.

You see, I've not had children. I wasn't supposed to ever have to raise children, but hey, when your brother and ex sister in law are so fucked up they can't even run their own lives, then hey, ya' gotta do what ya' gotta do. What I have to do is continually turn to God and realize that I put up with the equivalent of a mountain of abuse, and then I will snap, have a fit, yell, and then cry while I say a rosary and feel like puke for having lost my cool.

After all, I'm only human. I think sometimes I forget to pray for myself. So, I'm asking anyone who reads this, all three of you, to pray for me at least once a day. I'm still a happy man, I am still in possession of the Joy that is mine by virtue of my salvation, as Thomas Aquinas put it.

Poetry time.
John Donne
A Litany

V.

THE VIRGIN MARY.

For that fair blessed mother-maid,
Whose flesh redeem'd us, that she-cherubin,
Which unlock'd paradise, and made
One claim for innocence, and disseizèd sin,
Whose womb was a strange heaven, for there
God clothed Himself, and grew,
Our zealous thanks we pour. As her deeds were
Our helps, so are her prayers ; nor can she sue
In vain, who hath such titles unto you.

The Cistercian Way

I heartily recommend The Cistercian Way, by Andre Louf, to anyone who wants a good introduction into what this charism is all about. I say introduction because no book can ever encapsulate a charism. As part of the process of writing a formation program for our group, I have begun to re-read this book which first opened my eyes to this way of life.

The following quote should help you understand why I think this book is mandatory reading for all people interested in monastic spirituality.

The monastic life is one answer to [the] spiritual quest. It is a valid alternative even to those who do not wish to undertake it.

You have to admit that there is something in that statement which validates our Lay Cistercian calling. We do not exist in a vacuum, apart from the mainstream of monastic associations. While it is easier to define what we are not than what we are, it is statements like the one above that help us, the laity, to put down spiritual roots in the fertile soil of monastic tradition.

As regards certain amounts of resistance from the rank and file of the Cistercian monks and nuns, I offer this quote.

A new and unusual way of life in the community could hardly be unanimously welcomes and approved right from its first appearance.

Of course not. And, admittedly Dom Andre was referring to the hermits as compared to the cenobites. He was not talking about Lay Cistercians, yet the quote does speak a truth regarding our Lay Cistercian charism. The entire reason for writing a formation program is to help the monks and nuns of the order understand what it is we are about. It is valid for them to want to know what are your values? What is your prayer life? What makes you like us?

With God's help through time these answers will come.

And now poetry I did not write.
John Donne
A Litany.
IV.

THE TRINITY.

O blessed glorious Trinity,
Bones to philosophy, but milk to faith,
Which, as wise serpents, diversely
Most slipperiness, yet most entanglings hath,
As you distinguish'd, undistinct,
By power, love, knowledge be,
Give me a such self different instinct,
Of these let all me elemented be,
Of power, to love, to know you unnumbered three.

Epiphany Used to be Today: A Rant

I liked it better when Epiphany actually had a day, January 6th, and it was unmoving. This vague Sunday between Jan. 2 and 8, is a cop out, so Catholics don't have to go to church AGAIN on a weekday/night. I mean, sheesh, all that going to church, what's the point? I'm glad Jesus didn't feel that way in the Garden of Gethsemani. "What's the point of all this suffering I'm about to endure, let's just flash forward to the resurrection and make them think it really happened."

No, I don't think so. I feel the same about people who say why pray twice a day, or seven times a day, what's the point? Oh, I don't know, why should God keep us alive and not just rub us out like turtles under pickup truck tires?

We should be glad for each and every chance to worship God. Each day is a blessing, whether we know it or not, or like it or not. And, when in Church, people shoot out the door the moment they've received communion so they have a chance to get away faster. I mean really, why stick around for the blessing!

Today we celebrate the coming of the light to the gentiles. Oh wait, that happened on Sunday, never mind, this is just another day between Jan. 2 and 8.

And now, poetry I did not write.
John Donne
A Litany

III.

THE HOLY GHOST.

O Holy Ghost, whose temple I
Am, but of mud walls , and condensèd dust,
And being sacrilegiously
Half wasted with youth's fires of pride and lust,
Must with new storms be weather-beat,
Double in my heart Thy flame,
Which let devout sad tears intend, and let—
Though this glass lanthorn, flesh, do suffer maim—
Fire, sacrifice, priest, altar be the same.

Lectio Tonight

Considering my love/hate relationship with St. Paul, I am so attracted to his works that it never surprises me sometimes to find myself quoting him when making statements of faith. An example, I have often said my faith is in "Christ, and him crucified...and resurrected."

So tonight when it came time for Lectio, I open up to I Corinthians Chapter 13, the great discourse on love. I've read this probably a thousand times, but tonight a little piece of verse 2 jumped out at me. "If I have faith to move mountains, but have not love, I have nothing at all." Of course the faith to move mountains comes directly from the mouth of Jesus, and it seemed so odd to me that Paul would use a direct quote of Jesus almost as a negative example!

Lectio being what it is, a slow, prayerful reading, remaining open to the movements of the Spirit, I stuck with that verse a long time. I pondered what contexts Jesus had made the statement, and it was in connection to casting out a demon "this kind takes a lot of prayer and faith." And the other was when he cursed the fig tree. Now, one assumes that anything Jesus did was motivated by love, and filled with love, so what could Paul possibly mean? If you have faith enough to move mountains how can you not have love, don't the two go together?

The next part of the chapter talks about how love is not rude, doesn't insist on its own way, not selfish, doesn't keep track of wrongs, etc. There was my Aha! moment. Using myself as an example, although I am not the only one guilty of this, I consider myself a man of faith, yet how often do I insist on my way, and how often am I rude? Now, is that not an example of faith without love?

The point here isn't to say I'm a bad person, because I don't believe I'm any worse than most; the point is to show that we who proclaim ourselves to have faith and yet show the lack of forgiveness, the holding of grudges, the sneering put downs, the rigidness of ALWAYS being right -- is showing faith without love.

All of us can think of those people who have faith, strong faith, but will hold a grudge for a lifetime. That is faith without love.

Pray for me that I never be one of those who has faith to move a mountain, but has not love.

And now, Poetry I did not write.
John Donne

A Litany

II.

THE SON.

O Son of God, who, seeing two things,
Sin and Death, crept in, which were never made,
By bearing one, tried'st with what stings
The other could Thine heritage invade ;
O be Thou nail'd unto my heart,
And crucified again ;
Part not from it, though it from Thee would part,
But let it be by applying so Thy pain,
Drown'd in Thy blood, and in Thy passion slain.

Intercession is heavy work. Writing formation programs is heavy work. Dealing with my mother in the hospital for her new knee is heavy work. My niece turning an already messy house into a pig sty is heavy to bear. Being fifty dollars short of making all the payments that need to be paid, is fraying my nerves. And that doesn't take into account the food we will have to get somehow.

All of that is heavy work. All of it is holy work. All of it is God's will for me at this time. I am exactly where God wants me to be. I continuously turn to God with all the heaviness and frayed nerves and release it to Him. It is only when I keep turning to God moment by moment that I actually stay in one piece and don't go all to pieces. This is a small miracle of faith.

Everyday I turn to God and release what I can do nothing about. It is training for letting go of all the intercessions, for I cannot keep those in my heart. I must pray them and the release them. Pray and release.

Don't feel sorry for me. Rejoice with me that God is giving me the grace to live each day joyfully. The heaviness doesn't burden me, my niece challenges me, but even that might change soon. I wake joyful, and I go to bed thankful.

Blessed by the name of the Lord.

And now poetry I did not write.
John Donne

A LITANY.
I.
THE FATHER.

FATHER of Heaven, and Him, by whom
It, and us for it, and all else for us,
Thou madest, and govern'st ever, come
And re-create me, now grown ruinous:
My heart is by dejection, clay,
And by self-murder, red.
From this red earth, O Father, purge away
All vicious tinctures, that new-fashioned
I may rise up from death, before I'm dead.