Hope
The help will come
“The help will come… I stand by Aslan. Have patience…The help will come. It may be even now at the door.”–Prince Caspian.
“The Problem of Evil? The Greater Problem of Good?”
Singing the old songs
A friend and I were talking just the other day about how wonderful the “old” short songs are, especially for memorizing Scripture. They may be old, but they are ever new. I find myself singing them frequently, especially when I’m out for a walk. As Amy Carmichael so wisely says: “The reason why singing is such a splendid shield against the fiery darts of the devil is that it greatly helps us to forget him, and he cannot endure being forgotten. He likes us to be occupied with him, what he is doing (our temptations), with his victories (our falls), with anything but our glorious Lord. So sing. Never be afraid of singing too much. We are much more likely to sing too little.” Here’s a sampling of those I love.
But always there is hope
Jeremiah 18.4,6 And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter’s hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do. Can I not do with you as this potter has done? says the Lord. Behold, like the clay in the potter hand, so are you in My hand.
When a piece of steel has been subjected to such stress that it has lost its power to recover its elasticity, it is said to be distorted. But it can be made right again. It is put in the furnace, and so it recovers what it had lost.
Perhaps we have given way under the great stress of temptation and becoming “distorted.” Perhaps we have lost hope of ever recovering. “I am like this now; I shall be like this.”
Are we willing to be put into any furnace of God’s choosing if only we may be made fit for His use? We cannot choose our furnace. Sometimes it is the furnace of affliction of Isaiah 48.10.
But always there is hope. Can I not do with you as this potter? asks the Lord. We are in His hand, and no one can snatch us from His grasp. Our dear Lord says, My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand (John 10.29).
~Amy Carmichael
A Better Resurrection
A Sunday poem from Christina Rossetti:
A Better Resurrection
I have no wit, no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears.
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is in the falling leaf:
O Jesus, quicken me.
My life is like a faded leaf,
My harvest dwindled to a husk:
Truly my life is void and brief
And tedious in the barren dusk;
My life is like a frozen thing,
No bud nor greenness can I see:
Yet rise it shall–the sap of spring;
O Jesus, rise in me.
My life is like a broken bowl,
A broken bowl that cannot hold
One drop of water for my soul
Or cordial in the searching cold;
Cast in the fire the perished thing;
Melt and remould it, till it be
A royal cup for Him, my King:
O Jesus, drink of me.
~Christina Georgina Rossetti
“My thought was with St. Mary”
from Fr. Mark Daniel Kirby’s blog, Vultus Christi:
“I was sitting with Abba Poemen one day and I saw him in ecstasy and as I was on terms of great freedom of speech with him, I prostrated myself before him and begged him, saying, ‘Tell me where you were.’ He was forced to answer and he said, ‘My thought was with Saint Mary, the Mother of God, as she wept by the cross of the Saviour. I wish I could always weep like that.'”
Come, O Mother, love’s sweet spring,
Let me share thy sorrowing,
Let my tears unite with thine.
Let my heart be all on fire,
Still to seek with fond desire
Christ, my God, my Love divine.
Holy Mother, this impart,
Deeply print within my heart,
All the wounds my Saviour bore.
The experience of Abba Poemen in the fourth century, like that of the author of the Stabat Mater, the “queen of sequences” in the Middle Ages, attests to a sweet and compelling gift of the Holy Spirit to souls in every age: the desire to approach the Blessed Virgin Mary in her sorrows and to avail oneself of the grace of her tears.
Friday: from the archives
Friday: from the archives
Today is the Feast of the Triumph of the Cross. I like to think of it as the triumph of God’s incredible love for us. Below is a reading by St. Anselm trying to convey how much Christ loved us from the cross:
Jesus is sweet in the bowing of His head and in death, sweet in the stretching out of His arms, sweet in the nailing together of His feet with one nail.
Sweet in the bowing of His head; for bending down His head form the cross He seems to say to His loved one: ‘Oh My beloved, how often hast thou desired to enjoy the kiss of My mouth, declaring to Me through thy comrades, “Let Him kiss me with the kiss of His mouth.” I am ready, I bow My head, I offer My mouth to be kissed as much as thou wilt. And say not…
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Officer Patrick O’Rourke’s wife
Channel 7 Action News interview with the wife of West Bloomfield Police Officer Patrick O’Rourke who was killed on September 10, 2012 in the line of duty during a standoff between police and a barricaded gunman identified as Ricky Coley.
This is absolutely inspiring. Let’s keep her and her children in prayer and pray for the grace to respond as well as she is during this tragic time in her life.
Witnesses to Hope 