The Holy Spirit, the Innkeeper

A few more quotes from Come Creator Spirit:

‘a humble and contrite heart’ is the place of rest, a kind of paradise on earth, the place to which God feels most drawn (see Is 66.1-2).  We human beings cannot offer God any sacrifice more pleasing, more acceptable to God than a contrite heart (Ps 51.19).  And what is there to stop us burning with desire to have God fine, every time God visits us, this secret place, this place of rest, that God loves so much.

. . . there is a connection between the Spirit and hope is as close as the connection between the Spirit and love.

Iranaeus says that the Holy Spirit is the “innkeeper” to whom the Good Samaritan, Christ, entrusts wounded humanity, asking the Spirit to take care of it.

The Gift of God

If you haven’t read Fr. Cantalamessa’s book, Come, Creator Spirit, I would be so bold as to say you must.  I’ve read it twice and will most certainly read it again at least once.  Some quotes to entice you:

[quoting Thomas Aquinas]”The first gift we give to someone we love is love itself, which makes us long for the good of that person.  Thus it is that love itself is the primary gift, in the strength of which we offer all other gifts that we are able to give.  And so it is that from the moment the Holy Spirit proceeds as love, he proceeds as the primary gift.”  From all of this it follows that the Holy Spirit by pouring the love of God into our hearts, infuses into us not only a virtue, even though it is the greatest of all the virtues, but pours his very own self into us.  The gift of God is the Giver himself.  We love God by means of God himself within us.

Coming to us, the Holy Spirit not only brings us the gift of God, but also God’s self-giving.

[Commenting on the likeness of the Holy Spirit to a “living fountain”] Water is something that always runs down, never up.  It is always trying to find the lowest place.  So it is with the Holy Spirit: the Spirit loves to visit and fill the lowly, the humble, those who know their own emptiness.

More to come . . .

What does this love look like?

 

Thinking a little bit more about yesterday’s post and the importance of overcoming the world with God’s love. . .   I think the hardest expression of loving is forgiveness, don’t you?  Charles Williams, reflecting on the phrase from the Lord’s Prayer, “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us,” has this to say: “No word in English carries a greater possibility of terror than the little word ‘as’ in that clause.” God calls us to a high standard.  A dying man’s words are chosen carefully.  According to Luke, the words most prominent in Jesus’ mind and heart as He was dying were: “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”  If you haven’t had a chance to read this article mentioned in a previous post, it’s worth the time.  This priest’s ability to forgive comes only from the Holy Spirit.  And God promises the same Spirit to us, as long as we ask.

Overcoming the world

The verse for the Canticle of Zechariah in Morning Prayer this morning is: “The world will persecute you, but have courage, I have overcome the world, alleluia.”  I began to think: “How are we to overcome the world?  How did Christ overcome the world?”  The answer that sprang immediately to my mind–and which I trust came from the Holy Spirit–was “By love.”  He, and we, conquere by love. So often, I think, other plans and ideas for overcoming the world spring to our minds, but we must carefully test from where they come, for if they are not underpinned and motivated by love, their source is probably not God.  Perhaps they come from ourselves or from our Enemy.  A story comes to mind from a book I am currently reading, Evidence Not Seen, A Woman’s Miraculous Faith in the Jungles of World War II.  It is the autobiography of Darlene Deibler Rose, a young American bride, who with her husband went as missionaries to Dutch New Guinea shortly before WWII.  She and her husband were interred in separate Japanese concentration camps.  She suffered under horrific conditions and oppressors.  Her husband died.  Yet her faith remained strong despite her suffering.  The story that came to mind has to do with her relationship with the Japanese commander of her camp who would beat the women savagely for any infraction.  Many days she had to struggle internally to obey Jesus’ command to love our enemies. One day she was called into his office.  She boldly asked if she could have permission to talk with him, which he granted.  She began to witness to him of Christ’s place in her life, ending with: “He died for you, Mr. Yamaji, and He puts love in our hearts–even for those who are our enemies.  That’s why I don’t hate you, Mr. Yamaji.  Maybe God brought me to this place and this time to tell you He loves you.”  She continues in her book, “With tears running down his cheeks, he rose hastily and went into his bedroom, closing the door.  I could hear him blowing his nose and knew he was still crying.”

This all brought to mind an excerpt from a letter written by Caryll Houselander, a contemporary of Darlene, at the beginning of World War II.  She, too, was dealing with the suffering of many.  She wrote:

When the first days of this agony [WWII] are over, it is going to lead on from suffering to suffering in every way, fear, loss, death–one can’t bear to think of it.  Our work is to keep alive, a deep constant awareness of the living love of God, to be, as never before contemplatives of Christ in ourselves and in one another. To keep His passion before us and to keep our faith in His love, never allowing the despair and pessimism which must sweep many hearts.

Sopranos and basses

Remember to look for God and His love for you in all things today.  Listen for His voice:

The bird on the branch, the lily in the field, the deer in the forest, the fish in the sea, the numberless companies of happy men, all these proclaim with great joy: God is love!  But from below, and as if carried by all these voices, like the moaning bass below all the high sopranos, we hear, de profundis, the voices of the sacrificed victims [i.e. the martyrs]: God is love.”  (Kierkegaard)

Fear is a trial of faith

I mentioned Fr. Dajczer’s book, Gift of Faith, Monday night at the Witnesses to Hope talk.  I have previously quoted from his book here, but thought I would give you another “teaser”.  As I said, I can’t recommend this book highly enough.

When St. Paul asked Jesus  to remove some kind of difficulty from his life, Christ answered him that power is made perfect in weakness (cf. 2 Cor 12.8-9). . . . So how great is the role of your fear in God’s economy?  It is there to provoke an act of faith within you.  Fear is a trial of faith and that is why God allows it, so that you may grow in faith.  Trust and faith are made perfect amidst fears.

Fear can contribute to illness in many people.  Fear lies at the basis of neuroses and psychoses.  But it can be an outlet to total abandonment to God.  Everything depends on you.  Fear is a challenge issued to you.  What will you do with it?  Will you allow yourself to be enslaved by its weight?  Or, instead will you try to perform acts of abandoning yourself to Him who is infinite power and infinite love . . . . We cannot rid ourselves of fear as an emotional state, at least not always.  Fear, however, can become a factor that deepens our faith, just as each temptation can.  (pp. 52-53)

The Hill Mizar

Did you ever wonder about Mizar in Ps 42–where it was and what was its significance?  (Maybe you didn’t, but have I piqued your curiosity?)  Here’s Amy Carmichael’s take on it:

Ps 42.6  The Hill Mizar

Did you ever feel that you had nothing great enough to be called a trouble, and yet you very much needed help?  I have been finding much encouragement in the hill Mizar.  For Mizar means littleness–the little hill.  The land of Jordan was a place where great floods (the swelling of Jordan) might terrify the soul, and the land of the Hermonites was a place of lions and leopards [FYI: these are the places mentioned in this verse]; but Mizar was only a little hill: and yet the word is, I will “remember You from . . .  the hill Mizar”, from the little hill.

So just where we are, from the place of our little trial, little pain, little difficulty, little temptation (if temptation can ever be little), let us remember our God.  Relief will surely come, and victory and peace; for “the Lord will command His lovingkindness” (v. 8), even to us in our little hill.

Let the little children . . .

Sometimes things become clearer about the spiritual life through what children say.  They can help us to both take life less seriously and more seriously.  I’m resurrecting another blog, Catholic Kids Say the Dearest Things, since I recently came across some more material to post.  Check it out if you want to smile.  🙂  (You can also access it from the blogroll in the column to the right.)

May 20: Very Early Morning

It’s Sunday and time for me to share a poem.  I love this poem by Luci Shaw.  I think it’s one of the first I ever read of hers and always comes back to mind this time of year.   I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.  I think it’s one that benefits greatly from being read aloud.  (There are shades of Hopkins in this poem.)

May 20: Very Early Morning

All the field praises him/all
dandelions are his glory/gold
and silver all trilliums unfold
white flames above their trinities
of leaves all wild strawberries
and massed wood violets   reflect his skies–
clean blue and white
all brambles/all oxeyes
all stalks and stems lift to this light
all young windflower bells
tremble on hair
springs for his air’s
carillon touch/last year’s yarrow (raising
brittle star skeletons) tells
age is not past praising
all small low unknown
unnamed weeds show his impossible greens
all grasses sing
tone on clear tone
all mosses spread a spring–
soft velvet for his feet
and by all means
all leaves/buds/all flowers cup
jewels of fire and ice
holding up
to his kind morning heat
a silver sacrifice

now
make of our hearts a field
to raise your praise

~Luci Shaw