Author: Sr. Dorcee, beloved

I am the one whom Jesus loves.

The Wounded Heart of Jesus

Christ’s Heart was wounded that we might know the depths of His love.

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Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

Since it’s such a wonderful Feast today, I can’t help but post a bonus.  The hard part is choosing which quote to post–I have too many. . .  I began to discover the profundity of the pierced Heart of Jesus about five years ago . . .  and am still discovering.  Perhaps one of the most powerful things I read at that time was by Fr. Marie-Dominique Philippe, the founder of the Community of St. John–I can’t remember which book at the moment.  He was writing about Jesus’ cry on the cross, “I thirst!”, and that that was an expression of Christ’s desire to give more to us  than He was able to do humanly by His death.  We are all limited in our human nature, and so was Christ in His. He went on to say that the piercing of Christ’s Heart after His death was a further expression of this desire to give of Himself, to open wide His Heart to us even after His death.  I’m sure you can all recall that scene from The Passion where the soldier who pierced His Heart with the lance is showered with His blood–a very graphic picture of the very thing Fr. Philippe is speaking about.

There is such a rich, rich tradition of writing in the Catholic Church on this.  Just a smattering:

Thy Heart has been wounded so that the visible wound should make us know the invisible wound of love.(St. Bernard)

Thus he was wrong who said: ‘My sin is greater than may be forgiven,’ unless it be that he was not one of Christ’s members, and had no share in Christ’s merits that he might claim them and call them his own, as a member may use what belongs to the head. But as for me, I shall take to myself what is lacking to me from the Heart of the Lord, for mercy flows from it, nor are there wanting openings through which it may flow. They dug His hands and His feet; they opened His side with a lance. And through these clefts I may suck honey from the rock and oil from the hard stone; that is, I may taste and see that the Lord is sweet. … The iron pierced His soul, and His heart has drawn near to us, that no longer should He not know how to compassionate my woes. The secrets of His Heart lie open to me through the cloven body; that mighty sacrament of love lies open, viscera misericordia Dei nostri, in which the Orient from on high has visited us. Why should not the Heart lie open through the wounds? For what shines out more surely from Thy wounds but the truth that ‘the Lord is sweet and merciful and full of pity’? For greater mercy than this no man hath, that he lay down his life not for his friends but for his foes, men doomed to death….(St. Bernard)

Consider, O man, how much I have suffered for you. My head was crowned with thorns, My feet and hands pierced, My blood shed. I have opened My side to you and given you to drink the precious blood that flows from it! What more can you desire? (St. Augustine)

In his human heart Jesus expresses this thirst–hence his extreme desire–to love the Father (in his human heart) beyond the offering of his life, beyond the work of the Cross. Over and above this work, there is a call of pure love for the Father. In his human heart he thirsts for the Father’s love, and he thirsts to love him always more. (Marie-Dominique Philippe, O.P.)

The heart of Jesus is an open heart. Spend your time there. (Bl. Teresa of Calcutta)

The lance in the hand of Longinus went beyond Christ’s heart; it opened God; it pierced the very bosom of the Trinity. This is ‘the Lamb that was slain’ (Rev 13:8). That foundation in the Word is one with eternity. ‘Knock, and it will be opened to you’, Christ said. Very well, we have knocked, and it has been opened to us. It was for this that God became flesh, for this that he procured a heart with the help of the Virgin. We have placed a seal on him, a stigmata. The crucifix has been added to the Trinity–not just a scar, however resplendent, but an open wound. ‘For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness’, says St. Paul (Heb 4:15). Indeed, there is no quality on which Scripture insists more strongly than that of mercy. (Paul Claudel)

In the pierced heart of the Crucified, God’s own heart is opened up–here we see who God is and what he is like. Heaven is no longer locked up. God has stepped out of his hiddenness. (J. Cardinal Ratzinger)

 

Parable of the Talents (2)

Somtimes we do not recognize things such a suffering and family problems as talents that God is giving us to make use of.

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Continuing from Gift of Faith:
(Part 1 was posted yesterday . . .)

If certain situations make you feel tense, it means that your talent is hidden within them, as if a diamond were buried beneath the ashes.  What do you do with it?  How do you make use of it?  Everything is meant to serve towards your sanctification.  In this sense, everything is grace.  Suffering, which overwhelms you or other unfavourable circumstances, is a whole mess of talents.  We, however, are often like blind people or like children who understand very little.  It is only when we stand before God that everything will be made clear to us.  Then we will see the ocean of talents in which we have been immersed.
     There are two kinds of talents: those that are less precious and those that are more precious.  If you are successful, if something comes out right for you–this is certainly a talent.  If however, nothings turns out right–this is a more precious talent.  Failures are the priceless treasures given to you in your life. Just like the master in the Gospel who returned from his travels and demanded an account from his servants, God will someday ask you, how did you make use of your personal failures, which He gave you as an opportunity, as a talent.  Sometimes there are many failures in your life–do you make use of them?

     The parable of the talents is an evangelical call to conversion.  You have to start looking at your life differently; you must look at it with the eyes of faith.  Then you will see God’s endless giving of grace; you will see your whole life as a multitude of hidden chances for continual inner transformation.  You will come to know that everything is grace.  It seems that God, granting you difficult graces, is forcing His gifts into your hands, but you resist and do not want to accept them. Yet, difficult graces are the most valuable talents of your life. Sometimes there are many of them because God wants you to have enough talents to make use of.

To be continued . . .

Parable of the Talents (1)

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I am rereading Fr. Dajczer’s book, The Gift of Faith–which I cannot recommend highly enough.  When I first read his take on the parable of the talents it caused a major paradigm shift in my thinking, so I thought I would share him with you over the next few days.  He prefaces his comments on the parable with a discussion of the nature of faith: faith is the ability to see everything with God’s eyes–“Every moment of our lives is permeated with the Presence that loves and bestows.  To live in faith means to be able to see this loving and constantly bestowing Presence.” 

So, on to the parable of the talents:

God waits for us to look with the eyes of faith at all the experiences we live through, especially the difficult ones.  In the parable of the talents, Jesus warns us not to close ourselves off from coming to know Him through faith and not to be slothful in using all things which God is continuously giving us. . . . A talent is a gift and material, but at the same time an opportunity.  Christ , in giving you a talent, trusts you and waits for you to take proper advantage of it.  If He has given you certain abilities, then He is not indifferent as to what you do with them.  And if, however, you did not receive these abilities–this is also a talent.  A talent is not only receiving something, but it is also lacking something.
     In the light of faith, the good health you have is a talent, but bad health is also a talent.  Jesus in each case asks the question.  What are you doing with this talent?  You can equally waste good health, and even more so, you can waste the lack of health.  …
     It is a talent, for example, if you are unable to pray; yet you consider this a misfortune.  It is important what you do with this inability to pray.  Maybe you have buried this talent and you say to yourself: well, I will not pray.  But you can gain so much from it.  The inability to pray should intensify your hunger for God, and thereby it can become a means contributing to your sanctification.
     The same thing applies when you have problems at home, when the family is quarreling, this also is your talent and an opportunity given to you by God.  What can you do with it?  If you break down, and are discouraged, then you bury it in the ground.  It is not possible for a person of faith not to see the deeper meaning of his own experiences.  The very search of the deeper understanding of personal experiences is to profit from the talent.  If you experience fear, for example, you fear suffering or death–this is also an opportunity offered to you. . . .

To be continued . . .

But she came and worshipped him

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This, by Amy Carmichael, has made me reflect on my own response to what I would consider “undeserved” remarks.  (I put “undeserved” in quotation marks because if I really reflect on my true state, I realize how I deserve even more. 🙂  Amy is reflecting on the story of the Canaanite woman who came to Jesus begging healing for her daughter.  If you remember, the disciples wanted to send her away, and Jesus cryptically replied: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 

The Canaanite woman (James Tissot)Mt. 15:25  But she came and worshipped Him.

Her prayer had met first silence, and then a perplexing answer, for she must have heard our Lord Jesus’ words to His disciples, and she would know what they meant.  It was all perplexity then, and disappointment.  But she came and worshipped. . . .
     These words spoke to my heart today.  Sometimes our prayer does not at once meet with the response we expected, and the temptation then is to discouragement. “But she came and worshipped.”
     May the Lord work in us both to will and to do, so that conquering the natural inclination of our weak hearts, we shall turn our disappointments to causes and occasions for worship.  Worship may lead to renewed intercession, as it did in this blessed story, but first let there be worship, the adoration of the lover, the quietness of faith.    (Edges of His Ways)

And that brought to mind the incredible response of Job after he lost his servants, sheep, ox, asses, camels, and his sons and daughters (certainly a greater trial than a few hard words): Then Job arose, and rent his robe, and shaved his head, and fell upon the ground and worshipped (Job 1:20). 

May it be the same with us.

[Note: for an excellent exposition of the story of the Canaanite woman–one that I’ve struggled to understand for years–read Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis’s Fire of Mercy, Heart of the Word, Meditations on the Gospel of Matthew, Vol. 1, “Dog in Search of Master.” ]

Make God your hero

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The following is an encouragement from Fr. Gerard Manley Hopkins to parents and teachers to help their children understand the true Christ so that they might make Him their hero.  It’s also an encouragement to all of us to do the same.  What I find striking about this piece is the quality that Hopkins emphasizes as heroic–it’s reminiscent of yesterday’s post.  May the Holy Spirit help us to perceive Christ in this way. . . and to perceive others likewise.   

 [Christ] is the true-love and the bridegroom of men’s souls: the virgins follow him whithersoeer he goes; the martyrs follow him through a sea of blood, through great tribulation; all his servants take up their cross and follow him.  And those even that do not follow him, yet they look wistfully after him, own him a hero, and wish they dared answer to his call.  Children as soon as they can understand ought to be told about him, that they may make him the hero of their young hearts . . .
     From all that might be said of Christ’s character I single out one point and beg you to notice that.  He loved to praise, he loved to reward.  He knew what was in man, he best knew men’s faults and yet he was the warmest in their praise.  When he worked a miracle he would grace it with ‘Thy faith hath saved thee,’ that it might almost seem the receiver’s work, not his.  He said of Nathanial that he was an Israelite without guile; he that searches hearts said this, and yet what praise that was to give!  He called the two sons of Zebedee Sons of Thunder, kind and stately and honorable name!  We read of nothing thunderlike that they did except, what was sinful, to wish fire down from heaven on some sinners but they deserved the name or he would not have given it, and he has given it them for all time.  Of John the Baptist he said that his greater was not born of women.  He said to Peter, ‘Thou art Rock,’ and rewarded a moment’s acknowledgement of him with the lasting headship of His Church.  He defended Magdalen and took means that the story of her generosity should be told for ever.  And though he bids us say we are unprofitable servants, yet he himself will say to each of us ‘Good and faithful servant, well done.’
     And this man whose picture I have tried to draw for you, brethren, is your God.  He was your maker in time past; hereafter he will be your judge.  Make him your hero now.

‘The God of hope’ hopes for us

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Some mornings it’s hard for me to choose which gem to share with you.  .  .  but this is the one that I finally decided upon.  It’s another from Amy Carmichael.  She looks at how Jesus always had hope for His disciples, and so this is true for us as well. She’s commenting on Romans 15:13: May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.

     These words have often helped us to go on hoping for those who were disappointing us.  But this morning they came differently to me.
‘Ye are they which have continued with Me in My temptations.’  A few hours later — ‘Could ye not watch with Me one hour?’  Very soon after — ‘All the disciples forsook Him and fled.’
‘They have kept Thy word’ . . . ‘There was also a strife among them, which of them should be accounted the greatest’ –this had happened only a little while before.  And yet, so perfect was the understanding between Father and Son that He does not explain–to the Father the all-knowing Son says, ‘They have kept Thy word.’ How could He say it?  What does it mean to us?  Just this: Our Lord of Love, our blessed Lord Jesus, looks upon us with such loving eyes that He sees us as we are in our deepest, lowliest, holiest moments, in those hours when, like John, we lean upon His bosom, and He speaks to us, and we all but see His face.
He knows, as no one else can know, the deep longing of our hearts.  He knows, as no one else can know, how far we fall. ‘Not as though I had already attained–He knows that; but ‘I press on’–He knows that, too.
The love of the Father has the same golden quality of hope. ‘The God of Hope’ hopes for us, even for us.  He never loses hope.  He accepted the word of His beloved Son: ‘They have kept [intensely observed] Thy word,’ in spite of times when they had seemed most grievously to disregard it–when for example at our Lord’s own table they strove about the dreadful matter of pre-eminence.  The God of Hope saw what they wished to be, what they yet would be.  And He looks at us like that.  Is there not something in this that touches us to the quick?  How grieve a love like that?  And is there not encouragement, too, for the strengthening of our souls?       (Edges of His Ways)

If you are cold, come to the Fire

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Some excerpts from Fr. Cantalamessa’s book, The Eucharist: Our Sanctification:

The Eucharist springs from love; the reason for every thing was that he loved us: ‘Christ love us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God’ (Eph 5:2).

At every ‘breaking of the bread’ when the priest breaks the host, it’s as if the alabaster vase of Christ’s humanity were being broken again, which is what happened on the Cross, and as if the perfume of his obedience were rising to touch the Father’s heart again.

“Drown yourself in the Blood of Christ crucified, bathe yourself in the Blood, inebriate and satiate yourself with the Blood and clothe yourself in the Blood.  And if you are unfaithful, baptize yourself again in the Blood; if the devil has blurred your mind’s eye, cleanse your eyes with the Blood; if you become ungrateful for unseen gifts, be grateful in the Blood. . . . Melt your lukewarmness in the heat of the Blood and in the light of the Blood darkness will dissolve and you will be the spouse of Truth.” (Catherine of Siena, Letter 102)

And from St. Alphonsus Liguori:

If you are cold, do you think it sensible to move away from 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.

Serving badly, suffering badly, loving badly

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I guess this is a bit of a follow-up to “When you feel like you have nothing left to give”.   I’m thinking of how so often I feel that when I try to give to folks, I don’t feel like I’m doing it very well or saying it very well.  Dom Hebert van Zeller addresses this in the following excerpt from his book, The Inner Search.  Too often I’m more concerned about how well I’m doing things rather than about the importance of just doing something and and maybe doing it badly, but being willing to be humble.  Of course, this is true of loving God as well as loving my neighbor.  It’s important for us to know who we really are as well as who God really is.  A lesson I’m obviously still learning.

What costs the soul most is not the service itself, or the love itself, or the suffering itself, but the sense of serving badly, suffering badly, loving badly.  What God wants is not only the acts of service, love, suffering, but the acts of resignation to personal insufficiency.
       For the soul to know that the whole purpose is to search after God, and at the same time to see how half-hearted is its search, must lead either to dependence or to defeat.  If the soul makes use of the knowledge and trust in God, it learns humility.  If the soul makes use of the light only in order to be miserable, it exchanges the darkness of faith for the darkness of self.  The grace of true humility is sacrificed for the false comfort of self pity.

The top half of the picture

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A story we can all learn from from the then Cardinal Ratzinger:

The British doctor Sheila Cassidy (who in 1978 entered the Benedictine order) was imprisoned and tortured in Chile in 1975 for having given medical treatment to a revolutionary.  Shortly after being tortured she was transferred to another cell, where she found a tattered  Bible.  She opened it, and the first thing she saw was a picture of a man prostrate under lightning, thunder and hail. Immediately she identified herself with this man, saw herself in him.  Then she looked further and saw in the upper part of the picture a mighty hand, the hand of God, and the text from the eighth chapter of the Letter to the Romans, a text that comes straight from the center of Resurrection-faith: “Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ” (8:39).  And whereas at first it was the bottom half of the picture which she experienced, her being invaded by all that was terrible, crushing her like a helpless worm, she gradually came to experience more and more the other part of the picture, the powerful hand and the “Nothing that can separate us .”  At first she still prayed, “Lord, let me out of here,” but this interior shaking of the prison bars turned more and more into that truly free composure which prays, with Jesus Christ: “Not my will, but thine, be done.”  Furthermore she discovered that, as a result, she was filled with a great freedom and kindness toward those who hated her: now she could love them, for she saw their hatred as their distress and imprisonment.”   (Co-workers for the Truth)