Thick clouds

Ps 18: 9-11 He bowed the heavens, and came down; thick darkness was under his feet. He rode on a cherub, and flew; he came swiftly upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness his covering around him, his canopy thick clouds dark with water.

“I found great comfort one day in these verses.  It was when God was flying upon the wings of the wind to the relief of His servant, that His servant looking up, saw thick clouds of the skies.  The pavilion of the Lord is not always a golden glory, such as our sunrises so often open before us.  It is sometimes darkness.  He made darkness His secret place; His pavilion round about Him dark waters, thick clouds of the skies.

“You will wonder where the comfort came in.  Quite simply: long ago we chose Mary’s favorite place—‘Mary . . . sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard His word.’  If we, who would always abide there, find ourselves at any time wrapped in darkness, it is only because we are in the cloud that is under His feet, for it is written, ‘darkness was under His feet’, and ‘the clouds are the dust of His feet’ [Nahum 1.3].” (Amy Carmichael, Edges of His Ways)

An even greater fullness of His love

These days my prayer is FULL of distractions.  I remember two things to help me.  One is advice from St. Francis de Sales.  He says that when we encounter distractions, the best thing to do is to gently bring our minds back to the Lord.  I think often our temptation when we find ourselves thinking of anything but the Lord, is to start yelling at ourselves and getting upset.  St. Francis, who always seemed to understand human nature so well, seems to consider being distracted a normal part of prayer.  Hence, his wise advice: gently bring your thoughts back to the Lord and keep praying.

The other thing that comes to mind is a little piece by St. Thérèse.  (Some of you may not find it helpful–if so, just skip it. 😉  Her lack of concern and attitude of confidence encourage me.   She compares herself to a little bird who has not strayed far from God, but does get distracted:

“[But You know] that very often the imperfect little creature, while remaining in its place (that is, under the Sun’s rays), allows itself to be somewhat distracted from its sole occupation.  It picks up a piece of grain on the right or on the left; it chases after a little worm; then coming upon a little pool of water, it wets its feathers still hardly formed.  It sees an attractive flower and its little mind is occupied with this flower.  In a word, being unable to soar like the eagles, the poor little bird is taken up with the trifles of earth.”

Ah, yes, the trifles of earth.  We all know what they are.

But for me the even more beautiful and encouraging part of this piece by St. Thérèse is what follows.  Her description of her confidence in the good Lord’s love encouraged me to have greater expectation:

“And yet after all of these misdeeds, instead of going and hiding away in a corner, to weep over its misery and to die of sorrow, the little bird turns toward its beloved Sun, presenting its wet wings to its beneficent rays.  It cries like a swallow and in its sweet song it recounts in detail all its infidelities, thinking in the boldness of its full trust that it will acquire in even greater fullness the love of Him who came to call not the just but sinners.”

What a beautiful thought: to expect even greater love from the Lord because of our weaknesses.   We, too, can in confidence recount in detail all of our infidelities and expect the same: to “acquire in even greater fullness the love of Him who came to call not the just but sinners.”

Where is Christ today?

[A repost from the past]

This is the day when everything is silent.  We can go about the day not giving much of a thought to it–just seeing it as the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Yet monumental things were happening in the spiritual realm.  Christ descended to hell to set captives free.

This still has meaning for us.  So often we think nothing is happening in our own spiritual lives, yet God is about monumental things.  Have hope in the Unseen.

Christ descended into “Hell” and is therefore close to those cast into it, transforming their darkness into light.  Suffering and torment is still terrible and well-nigh unbearable.  Yet the star of hope has risen–the anchor of the heart reaches the very throne of God.  Instead of evil becoming unleashed within man, the light shines victorious: suffering–without ceasing to be suffering–becomes, despite everything, a hymn of praise. (Pope Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi)

And for those of you who feel that you are living “in darkness and in the shadow of death”, take heart, for you are exactly who he desires to visit.  From an ancient homily on Holy Saturday:

Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives . . .

How can we ever comfort Him?

Today we remember the depths of Christ’s love for us.  But how can we ever love Him in return, how can we comfort Him in His suffering?  His suffering is too huge and our love is so small.  As I was pondering that question last night, the Holy Spirit called to mind something I read a year or too ago about this.  The author advised that we be like little children who try to comfort a suffering parent.  About all we can do as a child is hold our parent’s hand or kiss him or her.  Yet that provides great comfort for the parent.  All Christ asks of us is to be with Him today in His suffering, to hold His hand or kiss His feet, each in our own way.

This all reminds me of a painting by Giotto of Christ’s descent from the cross.  In it we see the women caressing Christ’s body: Mary, His dear Mother, and the women who followed Him.  Giotto places a figure square in the middle of the painting with its back to us.  He does that to prompt us to think about where we would be in the picture.  Take his prompting and let yourself enter into this mystery and hold Him and kiss Him today.

“Return to the most sorrowful woman the body, even if only lifeless, so that, although so diminished the crucified man may grow with kisses, with embraces.”

But if we find grace

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Judas, Peter

because we are all
betrayers, taking
silver and eating
body and blood and asking
(guilty) is it I and hearing
him say yes
it would be simple for us all
to rush out
and hang ourselves
but if we find grace
to weep and wait
after the voice of morning
has crowed in our ears
clearly enough
to break our hearts
he will be there
to ask us each again
do you love me

Luci Shaw