“Holiness consists in enduring God’s glance. It may appear mere passivity to withstand the look of an eye; but everyone knows how much exertion is required when this occurs in an essential encounter. Our glances mostly brush by each other indirectly, or they turn quickly away, or they give themselves not personally but only socially. So too do we constantly flee from God into a distance that is theoretical, rhetorical, sentimental, aesthetic, or, most frequently, pious. Or we flee from him to external works. And yet, the best thing would be to surrender one’s naked heart to the fire of this all-penetrating glance. The heart would then itself have to catch fire, if it were not always artificially dispersing the rays that come to it as through a magnifying glance. Such enduring would be the opposite of a stoic’s hardening his face: it would be yielding, declaring oneself beaten, capitulating, entrusting oneself, casting oneself into him. It would be childlike loving, since for children the glance of the father is not painful: with wide-open eyes they look into his. Little Thérèse–great little Thérèse–could do it. Augustine’s formula on the essence of eternity: videntem videre–‘to look at him who is looking at you.'” (von Balthasar)
Month: May 2025
Stay close to the fire
“If you are cold, do you think it sensible to move away from the fire? Precisely because you feel your heart frozen you should go more frequently to Holy Communion, provided you feel a sincere desire to love Jesus Christ.” (St. Alphonsus Liguori)
Letting Jesus look at us
“Contemplation is always the meeting of two looks: our look at God’s and God’s look at us. If, at times our gaze weakens, God’s never does. Sometimes Eucharistic contemplation just means keeping Jesus company, being there under his gaze, giving him the joy of contemplating us, too.” (Cardinal Cantalamessa)
A Song for Caitlin
Sharing this lovely poem by J.B. Toner. May you be blessed.
Song for Caitlin
God’s earth is full of beauty, that I know;
It scintillates and dances in my eyes,
Her laughter rolls and rings and multiplies
And makes the turning vistas chime and glow–
But little peace it grants me, even so:
I cannot cling to bright salvation’s prize;
The Heaven-light that lights my way soon dies,
For want of faith (perhaps) through which to flow.
And yet my world holds hope and purity,
Our Lady’s Son redeemed the depths of Hell–
And traces of her grace I still can see,
Like sun-sparked droplets from a silver well:
This medal round my neck which is, to me,
Three strands of hair from my Galadriel.
Witnesses to Hope 