I’m on my way out the door early today, so I’m sending you somewhere else to read this morning–to Amy Julia Becker’s blog, Thin Places. I think you’ll enjoy her reflection today on imitating God. You can read it here.
. . . last September Our Lord told me that He wished that I would look at Him much more in people, that He would like to be loved and reverenced more in people and “discovered” and recognized even in very unlikely people. He would like people to be told and shown “their glory”–which of course is Himself. (Caryll Houselander quoted in That Divine Eccentric by Maisie Ward)
That quote of Caryll’s came to mind this morning when we sang this line from a song during morning prayer: “You have illumined our spirit and Your eternal light is reflected everywhere so that in that light man might discover true beauty and all become luminous.” (St. Gregory Nazianzen) How else can we see the true beauty in each other except by His illumining our spirits? There are many gifts that the Holy Spirit gives, but I believe this is the greatest: to love and reverence each other (“even very unlikely people”) for their worth in Christ, to see “true beauty” in each other. And some times–maybe most of the time–that means seeing that “true beauty” in ourselves. Come, Holy Spirit, and enkindle the hearts of Your faithful . . .
Sometimes one sentence can say it all. From Hans urs Von Balthasar:
What is uniquely Christian begins and ends with the revelation that the infinite God loves the individual man infinitely.
Speaking of one sentences, I came across this attempt by a protestant woman to summarize each of the books of the Bible in one sentence, actually by one verse from the book (a little more challenging to do). If you’re interested, you can peruse her attempt here.
Sometimes I just have to repeat myself. I was browsing through my journal last night and came across this quote from Caryll Houselander which I love. I know I posted it awhile ago, but maybe your memory is like mine and you won’t mind reading–and pondering–it again.
I often think that the ideal of our perfection that we set up, and often go through torture to achieve, may not be God’s idea of how He wants us to be at all. That may be something quite different that we never would have thought of, and what seems like a failure to us may really be something bringing us closer to His will for us. (Caryll Houselander, quoted in Caryll Houselander, That Divine Eccentric by Maisie Ward)
Also . . . I just put up a new homily by Fr. Ken McKenna (at “Other Talks” at the “Talks” tab). You can also listen to it here: “Pure Faith, Hope, and Love.” If you haven’t listened to him before, free up ten minutes and give yourself a little treat.
It’s still the time, the season, of remembering Christ’s appearances to those He loved. Let us not move too quickly back into ordinary time. (Is there ever an “ordinary” time with Christ in our lives?) Luci Shaw captures this need to learn to recognized Him in this Sunday-poem. We, too, need to “get beyond the way he looks” in our everyday lives:
He who has seen Me has seen the Father (James Tissot)
“. . . for they shall see God”
Matthew 5.8
Christ risen was rarely
recognized by sight.
They had to get beyond the way he looked.
Evidence strong than his voice and face and footstep
waited to grow in them, to guide
their groping from despair,
their stretching beyond belief.
We are as blind as they
until the opening of our deeper eyes
shows us the hands that bless
and break our bread,
until we finger
wounds that tell our healing,
or witness a miracle of fish
dawn-caught after our long night
of empty nets. Handling
his Word, we feel his flesh,
his bones, and hear his voice
calling our early-morning name.
If you are in danger, she will hasten to free you. If you are troubled, she will console you. If you are sick, she will bring you relief. If you are in need, she will help you. She does not look to see what kind of person you have been. She simply comes to a heart that wants to love her.
I have been meditating on this quote of St. Thérése’s all week: “God is more tender than a mother.” If your mother was/is less than tender, then this is comforting, and if your mother was/is a gracious and comforting woman, this is amazing. Soak it in for all its worth.
Browsing through my journal, I came across a quote from five years ago that is a wonderful reflection on last Sunday’s gospel:
“Feed my sheep,” Jesus said to Peter as the first rays of the sun went fanning out across the sky, but, before that, he said something else. The six other men had beached the boat by then and had come up to the charcoal fire knowing that it was Jesus who was standing there and yet not quite knowing, not quite brave enough to ask him if he was the one they were all but certain he was. He told them to bring him some of the fish they had just hauled in, and then he said something that, if I had to guess, was what brought tears to their eyes if anything did. The Lamb of God. The Prince of Peace. The Dayspring from on High. Instead of all the extraordinary words we might imagine on his lips, what he said was, “Come and have breakfast.”
I believe he says it to all of us: feed my sheep, his lambs, to be sure, but first to let him feed us–to let him feed us with something of himself.
I really don’t feel inspired this morning . . . so, when in doubt, turn to Amy Carmichael!
Dan 6.10 His windows being open in his chamber toward Jerusalem.
Daniel had only to kneel down upon his knees beside one of those windows, and at once he had access to the Father. Daniel’s windows almost certainly were very small, set in a thick wall. We often feel that the windows of are chamber are very small–we see so little, know so little of our Heavenly Jerusalem–but a bird can fly through a very small window out into the wide blue air, and if our windows be open toward Jerusalem, we shall in heart and mind thither ascend.
I am re-reading a slim volume on Mother Teresa, titled I Loved Jesus in the Night. This book increases my hope whenever I pick it up. Today while reading, I was reminded of something I wish I would remember more often–and that is that nothing in our life need be wasted. We can offer whatever we suffer, however small or insignificant it may seem, to God for the sake of others. Whenever I do remember this truth, it makes such a world of difference for me. It lifts me out of my small world of seemingly petty sufferings–mostly of my own making–into God who holds all things in His massive Heart.
If at the time of prayer or meditation it seems to you that not only have you been distracted in your prayer, but that you have done nothing at all, never leave that time or that place of prayer angry or bitter with yourself. First–turn to God and give God that nothing. (Mother Teresa)
P.S. I am continually struck by how much Mother Teresa was influence by her namesake, St. Thérèse, who wrote in one of her early letters: “If I felt that I had nothing to offer to Jesus, I would offer Him that nothing.” (LT 76)
I’m on my way out the door early today, so I’m sending you somewhere else to read this morning–to Amy Julia Becker’s blog, Thin Places. I think you’ll enjoy her reflection today on imitating God. You can read it here.
“Feed my sheep,” Jesus said to Peter as the first rays of the sun went fanning out across the sky, but, before that, he said something else. The six other men had beached the boat by then and had come up to the charcoal fire knowing that it was Jesus who was standing there and yet not quite knowing, not quite brave enough to ask him if he was the one they were all but certain he was. He told them to bring him some of the fish they had just hauled in, and then he said something that, if I had to guess, was what brought tears to their eyes if anything did. The Lamb of God. The Prince of Peace. The Dayspring from on High. Instead of all the extraordinary words we might imagine on his lips, what he said was, “Come and have breakfast.”
Dan 6.10 His windows being open in his chamber toward Jerusalem.
Witnesses to Hope 