Author: Sr. Dorcee, beloved

I am the one whom Jesus loves.

Arise, belovèd, come

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

A very good and dear friend died very unexpectedly from cardiac arrest yesterday. . . .  This song we sing keeps going over and over in my mind:

“Arise, belovèd, come,
For spring adorns the land;
The vine in flower will bear sweet fruit;
Arise, and take my hand.”

The voice of Christ impelled
Her heart to rise and go
To hidden places carved in rock
That only lovers know.

“Arise, beloved, come,
and let me see your face,
and I will be your summer sun,
and you my dwelling place.”

She lived in faithful prayer,
The Sun her constant flame
Through autumn gold and winter snow,
Until he called her name:

“Arise, belovèd, come,
For summer walks the land.
The vine in flower has borne its fruit,
The harvest is at hand.”

~Genevieve Glen, OSB

Look at the chickadee

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

A beautiful snow last night and this morning a bird singing outside my window.  This brings to mind a poem by Jessica Powers about a chickadee in a snow storm.  There is always something to be learned from God’s creatures if we just take the time to look and ask Him to help us to really see.

Look at the Chickadee

I take my lesson from the chickadee
who in the storm
receives a special fire to keep him warm,
who in the dearth of a December day
can make the seed of a dead weed his stay,
so simple and so small,
and yet the hardiest hunter of them all.

The world is winter now and I who go
loving no venture half so much as snow,
in this white blinding desert have been sent
a most concise and charming argument.
To those who seek to flout austerity,
who have a doubt of God’s solicitude
for even the most trivial of His brood,
to those whose minds are chilled with misery
I have this brief audacious word to say:
look at the chickadee,
that small perennial singer of the earth,
who makes the week of a December day
the pivot of his mirth.

~Jessica Powers

The musician

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

A story from St. Francis de Sales that I call to mind when prayer gets “tough”:

One of the world’s finest musicians, who played the lute to perfection, in a brief time became so extremely deaf that he completely lost the use of his hearing.  However, in spite of that he did not give up singing and playing the lute, doing so with marvelous delicacy by reason of his great skill which his deafness had not taken away.  he had no pleasure either in singing or in the sound of the lute, since after his loss of hearing he could not perceive their sweetness and beauty.  Hence he no longer sang or played except to entertain a prince whose native subject he was and whom he had a great inclination as well as an infinite obligation to please since he had been brought up from his youth in the prince’s court.  For this reason he had the very greatest pleasure in pleasing the prince and he was overjoyed when the prince showed that he enjoyed his music.  Sometimes it happened that to test this loving musician’s love, the prince would command him to sing and immediately leave him there in the room and go out hunting.  The singer’s desire to fulfill his master’s wishes made him continue his song just as attentively as if the prince were present, although in fact he himself took no pleasure out of singing.  He had neither pleasure in the melody, for his deafness deprived him of that, nor that of pleasing the prince, since the prince was absent and hence could not enjoy the sweetness of the beautiful airs he sang. (On the Love of God, Book 9, Chapter 9)

A Song for Simplicity

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Today’s poem-for-Sunday is another by Luci Shaw:

A Song for Simplicity

There are some things that should be as they are:
plain, unadorned, common, and all-complete;
things not in a clutter, not in a clump,
unmuddled and unmeddled with;
the straight, the smooth, the salt, the sour, the sweet.
For all that’s timeless, untutored, untailored, and untooled;
for innocence unschooled,
for unplowed prairies, primal snow and sod,
water unmuddied, wind unruled,
for these, thank God . . .

~Luci Shaw

“Is the doorbell ringing?”

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If you have clicked on the “What I’m Reading” tab, you know that one of the books I’m currently reading is We, the Ordinary People of the Streets, the writings of Madeleine Delbrêl, a French woman who lived from 1904-1964.  Similar to Dorothy Day, she converted from atheism to Catholicism which “led her to a life of social work in the atheistic, Communist-dominated city of Ivry-sur-Seine, France.”  Many of her insights are applicable to us who live in a secular-dominated world.  Here’s some of what I read this morning:

We, the ordinary people of the streets, are certain we can love God as much as he might desire to be loved by us.
We don’t regard love as something extraordinary but as something that consumes.  We believe that doing little things for God is as much a way of loving him as doing great deeds.  Besides, we’re not very well informed about the greatness of our acts.  There are nevertheless two things we know for sure: first, whatever we do can’t help but be small; and second, whatever God does is great.
And so we go about our activities with a sense of great peace.
. . . .
Each tiny act is an extraordinary event, in which heaven is given to us, in which we are able to give heaven to others.
It makes no difference what we do, whether we take in hand a broom or a pen.  Whether we speak or keep silent.  Whether we are sewing or holding a meeting, caring for a sick person or tapping away at a typewriter.
Whatever it is, it’s just the outer shell of an amazing inner reality: the soul’s encounter, renewed at each moment, in which, at each moment, the soul grows in grace and becomes ever more beautiful for her God.
Is the doorbell ringing?  Quick, open the door!  It’s God coming to love us.  Is someone asking us to do something?  Here you are!  . . . it’s God coming to love us.  Is it time to sit down for lunch?  Let’s go–it’s God coming to love us!

Let’s let him.

God is holding on to you

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

Do you have times when you feel that no matter how well-intentioned you are, you still blow it?  Here are St. Francis de Sales’ thoughts on the matter:

You should be like a little child who while it knows that its mother is holding its sleeve walks boldly and runs all round without being distressed at a little fall or stumble; after all, it is a s yet rather unsteady on its legs.  In the same way, as long as you realize that God is holding on to you by your will and resolution to serve him, go on boldly and do not be upset by your little set-backs and falls; there is no need to be put out by this provided you throw yourselves into his arms from time to time and kiss him with the kiss of charity.  Go on joyfully and with your heart as open and widely trustful as possible, and if you cannot always be joyful, at least by brave and confident.  (Sellected Letters)

For a related post, see “Punishing with a kiss”

Passing through the midst of them

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In last Sunday’s gospel, Luke recounts the story of Jesus escaping those who were furious enough with him to want to throw him headlong off the brow of a hill.  Luke simply states: “But Jesus passed through the midst of them and went away (Lk 4.30)”.  An astonishing thing.  Amy Carmichael applies this verse to our own lives:

Our new month will bring us joys, for the Lord of joy is with us; it will also bring us sorrows, for sorrows are part of life.  It may bring things which would “throw us down” if they could.  But they need not ever do that, for it is possible for us to do just what our Master did when, passing through the midst of them, He went His way.
As, by His grace, we go on in quietness, we shall find those words we know so well come true: “My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest” (Ex 33.14).  (Edges of His Ways, p. 18)

How bright our souls should be

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A few weeks ago I wrote about the custom we have in our house of leaving our Christmas lights up until today, the Presentation of the Lord (Candlemas), and the reasons for doing so. (See “God loves to light little lights”)  Well, today is the last day of our Christmas lights.  Even as I write this, I am facing two candles alit in my office windows that won’t be there tomorrow.  I was bemoaning all this to myself this morning until I read the Second Reading for the Office of Readings for today and realized anew that you and I are and will be the ongoing Christmas lights in this world, in season and out of season. (Note: the Eastern Church refers to this feast as The Meeting of the Lord.)

In honor of the divine mystery that we celebrate today, let us all hasten to meet Christ.  Everyone should be eager to join the procession and to carry a light.
Our lighted candles are a sign of the divine splendor of the one who comes to expel the dark shadows of evil and to make the whole universe radiant with the brilliance of his eternal light.  Our candles also show how bright our souls should be when we go to meet Christ.
The Mother of God, the most pure Virgin, carried the true light in her arms and brought him to those who lay in darkness.  We too should carry a light for all to see and  reflect the radiance of the true light as we hasten to meet him.
The light has come and has shone upon a world enveloped in shadows; the Dayspring from on high has visited us and given light to those who lived in darkness.  This, then, is our feast, and we join in procession with lighted candles to reveal the light that has shone upon us and the glory that is yet to come to us through him.  So let us hasten all together to meet our God.
The true light has come, the light that enlightens every man who is born into this world. Let all of us, brethren, be enlightened and made radiant by this light.  Let all of us share in its splendor, and be so filled with it that no one remains in the darkness.  Let us be shining ourselves as we go together to meet and to receive with the aged Simeon the light whose brilliance is eternal.  (From a sermon by Saint Sophronius, bishop)

This evening we will begin Mass in our chapel with a procession, each of us carrying a lit candle.  I’m praying it will remind me of the true Light that dwells in me.  Tomorrow evening at Night Prayer when the lights are dimmed in our chapel for the singing of the Salve Regina, there will be only one lit candle (besides the sanctuary lamp) and that will be the one before the icon of the Mother of God.  “The Mother of God, the most pure Virgin, carried the true light in her arms and brought him to those who lay in darkness.  We too should carry a light for all to see and  reflect the radiance of the true light as we hasten to meet him.”  O sweet Mother of God, help us to do so.