Even now

I posted this 13 years ago.  After reading this meditation the first time, I hung a star in my room as a reminder.  It has moved with me over the years and still hangs in my room.  

 

Take a moment–perhaps with a cup of tea and a lit candle–to sit quietly and read this editorial from this month’s Magnificat [December 2011] by Fr. Peter John Cameron.  If you don’t have time at the moment, print it out or bookmark it to read at a time when you have the space and quiet to read it slowly.  Don’t scan this quickly; it deserves the right pace to speak to your soul.   And may it speak deeply to your soul . . .

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that Jesus knew and loved us each and all during his life, and gave himself up for each one of us (see 478). Which means that from the moment Christ is conceived in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Jesus is loving us and giving himself to us personally. He is calling to our hearts, wooing us with all his tenderness.At this very moment, the aged Simeon stands at his post in the temple… vigilant… filled with expectation… looking for Mary’s baby. Once the infant Jesus appears, no one will need to tell Simeon that this is the One he has been waiting for all his life.

For five years already a lame man has been lying by the sheep pool in Bethesda, too weak to hoist himself into the stirred up waters. Even now, Jesus begins his approach to him. It will be thirty-three years more before Christ stands beside the man, but even now he asks him the question we are all aching to hear: “Do you want to be healed?”

Any day now a mother and a father will give birth to a little girl who will grow up to acquire a bleeding disease that will baffle all doctors and afflict her for twelve years. Even now, Jesus is pitying her, healing her, and calling her “daughter.”

Who can say how long the leper has lived alone, lurking in the shadows? Yet even now something has happened that will not allow his tortured heart to give way to despair. So even now, from a distance, he starts searching the faces in every crowd, certain that some day Someone will appear to whom he will beg, “Sir, if you will to do so, you can cure me!”

At the moment, the woman destined to be the Gospel’s famous widow is a beautiful young maiden newly betrothed. She spends all her passion in preparing for her wedding – for the day she will be a bride. Yet the days of her marriage will not last long. And with the death of her husband, she will spend her life loving others with a total gift of self. Even now Jesus the Bridegroom is watching, commending her for giving all she has to live on.

Even now Bartimaeus in the abyss of his blindness is crying from his misery, “Son of David! Have pity on me!” The child born in the city of David is readying even now to restore his sight.

Even now Jesus is settling on the tree up which Zacchaeus will scurry. Even now Jesus plans to stop, and look up, and call Zacchaeus from his limb. Even now Jesus is promising him, “I mean to stay with you today.”

At this point in time, the Samaritan woman at the well has not yet married Husband Number One. Little does she know that she will have five husbands and another man besides. But even now Jesus is appealing to the thirst that is her life and promising to slake it with the gift of his very self.

Even now the mere lad Matthew hasn’t any idea about what he will be when he grows up. What leads him one ill-fated day to betray his religion, his nation, and himself in becoming a tax collector we will never know. But even now Jesus is making his way to Matthew’s tax collecting post and summoning him from his heart with the words, “Follow me.”

Even now something makes the centurion restless, uneasy. He cannot truly be himself until he professes, “This man was the Son of God!”

Just about now the little boy Peter is beginning to learn how to fish from his father. But even now Jesus sees him on the seashore and summons him to be a fisher of men. Even now Jesus is forgiving his sins and calling Peter “Rock.”

Even now Jesus is silently beckoning us all: Come to me, you who are weary and find life burdensome, and I will refresh you. Your souls will find rest in me. I am gentle and humble of heart. Do not live in fear. I have come that you might have life and have it to the full. If anyone thirsts, let him come to me. I am the way, and the truth, and the life. I am the Bread of Life. I call you friends. I am with you always.

Even now a wondrous star has arisen in the heavens of the far-off East. Even now Magi have left all else behind, and have begun to make their way to a manger, following a path laid out by the shining star’s luster. Let us go with them.

Rev. Peter John Cameron, O.P.
Copyright Magnificat

Look for the light

I was so struck by this by Sally Clarkson from her new book, Well Lived. I have sensed the Lord wanting me to dwell with the word “watchfulness” during Advent this year. And this piece of writing spoke into that, especially since moving to a new house that is full of light (as compared to my past bedroom that looked out on a brick wall).

“Each year I determine several themes I will choose for the focus of my heart’s eyes. This year I chose to look for light, to observe it, to note its beauty. When in my Colorado home I would notice the sunrise shimmering int he aspen trees near my front window. In Oxford, I walk a short pathway next to my canal most nights to see the sunset playing through the woods and shining on the water. And I remind myself, Jesus is the light. He dances in all my places; He wants to bring the light of His truth to my heart to give hope to my weary days. Light reflects the essence of Christ to me, so I notice light to remind me He is everywhere.

“Because of my determination to look for light, I have noticed it casting shadows upon trees and the leaves seeming to lean forward to catch a glimmer of sunlight. I pay attention to sunrises and sunsets. I look for light because He is light, and it causes me to worship Him for bringing me out of darkness. Honestly, because I made this commitment, light has captured my attention many times a day; each instance whispers to my heart, ‘He is here; you are not alone.'”

“God loves to light little lights”

When I found out that St. Peter’s keeps their Christmas tree and crèche up in the square until February 2, I decided (as our Superior) that we would keep our crèche in the chapel and all our Christmas lights up until then as well.   I always felt gypped that there were not 40 days to celebrate after Christmas as there are after Easter.  Then I discovered that February 2, the Presentation of the Lord (Candlemas), is indeed 40 days after Christmas.  So, to me, it makes total sense to keep those Christmas lights lit.  If you drive past our house right now, you will still see our candle lights in the windows. I personally love clusters of little white lights. When we begin the Salve Regina at the end of night prayer, the guitarist dims all the lights in our chapel.  During this season, that leaves only the Christmas lights and the sole candle lit before the icon of the Mother of God. Yet the chapel still seems bright.

In the beginning of his 1999 Christmas message, Pope Benedict spoke of how God “loves to light little lights.”  I found that particularly encouraging as I thought of all of us who are desiring to be God’s witnesses to hope.  May it encourage you as well, and may you call it to mind whenever you see Christmas lights and candles:

The liturgy of the Mass at Dawn reminded us that the night is now past, the day has begun; the light radiating from the cave of Bethlehem shines upon us. . . .
At first, beside the manger in Bethlehem, that “us” was almost imperceptible to human eyes.  As the Gospel of St. Luke recounts, it included, in addition to Mary and Joseph, a few lowly shepherds who came to the cave after hearing the message of the Angels. The light of that first Christmas was like a fire kindled in the night.  All about there was darkness, while in the cave there shone the true light “that enlightens every man” (Jn 1.9).  And yet all this took place in simplicity and hiddenness, in the way that God works in all of salvation history.  God loves to light little lights, so as then to illuminate vast spaces.

May we allow God to light each of us, little lights in this darkened world.

The Ageless Hymn

Our hearts’ longing:
  to sound Thy praises in fresh and untried ways,
To bring new pleasure to Thy ears
  on this Feast of Thy Birth,
  pouring at Thy feet rich ointment
   of fragrance sweet,
And crowning Thy head with golden garlands
  whose brightness is unvisioned.

But, alas, there is not song that is yet unsung
Or words unwritten to sound in Thy ears
Or gold of such wonder that is yet unseen.
There is nothing new found meet an fitting for Thee.

Except in Thee.
For You are the Praise and the Song and the Feast.
You alone are pleasing, and apart from Thee
  there is no beauty.
In You is every new song,
And a life lived in Thee is a crown on Thy brow.

So on this day when hearts burst forth,
And seek to find new ways to praise,
We gladly lose our lives in You,
  poured fully out at Thy feet.

And You, dear Christ, will be our Song,
  ageless and renowned,
The perfect Hymn of offering.

             26 December 1990
             Feast of the Incarnation

Let Him proceed from His chamber

copyright Christel Holl

Turn to us, You who sustain Israel,
who sit above the Cherubim,
appear before Ephraim,
stir up your might and come.

Come, Redeem of the nations,
show the birth of the Virgin;
all generations admire it:
such a birth befits God.

Not from the seed of man
but through a mystic breath
God’s word became flesh,
and the fruit of the womb blossomed.

The womb of the Virgin swells,
but purity’s cloister remains intact;
the banners of the virtues are resplendent:
God is in His temple.

Let Him proceed from His chamber,
royal hall of purity,
as a giant of dual nature,
to run his path with alacrity.

His coming from the Father,
his return to the Father;
his passage even to the netherworld,
his return to the place of God.

You who are equal to the eternal Father,
gird up the trophy of the flesh,
strengthening with unfailing virtue
our body’s weakness.

Already your crib shines bright,
and the night spreads a new light
that no darkness can obscure.
and perennial faith shines forth.

St. Ambrose