“God Speaks in Blue”

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

Our Sunday-poem today comes from Luci Shaw:

God Speaks in Blue

My friend hands me a gift
from overseas.  “Here,” she says.
“For you.”  The small packet rustles
with dry particles.  Through thin paper
my fingers feel the nubs.  I thank her,

 turning over the plain brown envelope.
There from the other side a photo–
the vivid, blunt cross of Mecanopsis Betonicifolia,
a Himalayan Blue Poppy–looks at me with
its gold eye, four azure petals blazing.

A blue to color a dream.  The blue
of Mary’s mantle according to Raphael.
The blue at the heart of a gas flame, within
an ice cave, one a cerulean door in a white wall
on Santorini, a kind of blue that

catches my heart ajar and blows it wide open.
Dry seeds and a picture, until next spring.
But, oh, if only I could be alive enough
to burn like this flower.  If only
I could bloom as blue as this.

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And I did not know it.

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

In Genesis 28, Jacob, after his dream of the ladder, says a very profound thing: “Surely the Lord is in this place; and I did not know it.”  How many of us do not recognize that the Lord is in the very places of our lives.  We wonder: “Where are You?”  Or we shout: “Where are You?”  And like Jacob, we fail to see that He is surely in this place.

In a marvelous little book, Into Your Hands, Father, Fr. Wilfrid Stinissen writes:

“There is not a single moment when God is not communicating himself to us.  Most of what occurs in our lives seems to happen accidentally and at random.  Now and then God reveals his presence. At times we see the thread and we thank him, but he is always there; everything speaks of him.” There is an unbroken continuity in God’s action.  ‘He who keeps you will not slumber.  Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep’ (Ps 121.3-4).  We sleep for the most part.  Yes, our faith sleeps.  We do not notice anything extraordinary.  In reality, everything is extraordinary.”

May God bless each of you as you go about your extraordinary days!

In my “Dorcee-ness”

Sr. Dorcee, beloved5 Comments

The other morning I woke up, got dressed, and went into the chapel.  As I started to pray, “Lord, I come to you in my lowliness . . .”, I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit to pray instead: “Lord, I come to you in my ‘Dorcee-ness.”  It was a nudge from the Holy Spirit to me to start thinking less of myself as “Dorcee=lowliness” and more of myself as “Dorcee=lowliness+His child whom He created and loves+all the gifts that God has given me+all that He loves about me.”  It’s amazing how just a slight shift in thinking can make a big difference.  I have been practicing gratitude for the last year, thanking God for so many things, those that are wonderful and those that are hard.  But I guess I haven’t been thanking Him very much for me.  And I would guess there are others of you out there who think that same way.  Take some time today to come to the Lord in your “Ann-ness” or “Lucy-ness” or “David-ness,” and thank Him for all that you are.  Think about who you are as uniquely yourself and the gift that that is to so many others . . .especially Him.

Being willing to undertake the journey

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I am reading a remarkable book by Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Covenant and Conversation, a Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible.  This volume concerns the book of Genesis and contains many insights and reflections by this wonderful man, such as this one:

Faith is the ability to live with delay without losing trust in the promise; to experience disappointment without losing hope, to know that the road between the real and the ideal is long and yet be willing to undertake the journey.  That was Abraham’s and Sarah’s faith, and that of Moses and the prophets and those who came after them.  And surely it must be ours.  God delivers all He promises, but not always when we expect. . . . To wait without despair, to hope and keep on hoping: that is the faith of Abraham and Sarah’s children, the faith that they themselves lived.  And though it was shot through with disappointments, and though they themselves sometimes gave expression to their doubts and fears, it did not prove in vain.”

You do not suffer in vain

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For those of you who are suffering . . . even in this Easter season . . . here is a word from John Paul II:

You have not suffered or do not suffer in vain.  Pain matures you in spirit, purifies you in heart, gives you a real sense of the world and of life, enriches you with goodness, patience, and endurance, and–hearing the Lord’s promise reecho in your heart: “Blessed are those who  mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Mt 5.4)–gives you the sense of deep peace, perfect joy, and happy hope.  Succeed, therefore, in giving a Christian value to your suffering, succeed in sanctifying your suffering with constant and generous hope in him who comforts and gives strength.  I want you to know that you are not alone, or separated, or abandoned in your Via Crucis; beside you, each one of you, is the Blessed Virgin, who considers you her most beloved children.  (Pope John Paul II, Address at Lourdes, France, May 22, 1979)

A place of comfort

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A homily on yesterday’s gospel (John 6:16-21) by Fr. Ken McKenna on Jesus coming to the disciples in the storm.  A great followup to my talk last Monday at Witnesses to Hope.  Click here. (It’s only about 10 minutes long.)

(You can find more of Fr. Ken’s excellent homilies by going to the “Talks” tab above and clicking on “Other Talks”.  Then scroll down.)

Thick clouds

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

Ps 18: 9-11 He bowed the heavens, and came down; thick darkness was under his feet. He rode on a cherub, and flew; he came swiftly upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness his covering around him, his canopy thick clouds dark with water.

“I found great comfort one day in these verses.  It was when God was flying upon the wings of the wind to the relief of His servant, that His servant looking up, saw thick clouds of the skies.  The pavilion of the Lord is not always a golden glory, such as our sunrises so often open before us.  It is sometimes darkness.  He made darkness His secret place; His pavilion round about Him dark waters, thick clouds of the skies.

“You will wonder where the comfort came in.  Quite simply: long ago we chose Mary’s favorite place—‘Mary . . . sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard His word.’  If we, who would always abide there, find ourselves at any time wrapped in darkness, it is only because we are in the cloud that is under His feet, for it is written, ‘darkness was under His feet’, and ‘the clouds are the dust of His feet’ [Nahum 1.3].” (Amy Carmichael, Edges of His Ways)

An even greater fullness of His love

Sr. Dorcee, beloved3 Comments

These days my prayer is FULL of distractions.  I remember two things to help me.  One is advice from St. Francis de Sales.  He says that when we encounter distractions, the best thing to do is to gently bring our minds back to the Lord.  I think often our temptation when we find ourselves thinking of anything but the Lord, is to start yelling at ourselves and getting upset.  St. Francis, who always seemed to understand human nature so well, seems to consider being distracted a normal part of prayer.  Hence, his wise advice: gently bring your thoughts back to the Lord and keep praying.

The other thing that comes to mind is a little piece by St. Thérèse.  (Some of you may not find it helpful–if so, just skip it. 😉  Her lack of concern and attitude of confidence encourage me.   She compares herself to a little bird who has not strayed far from God, but does get distracted:

“[But You know] that very often the imperfect little creature, while remaining in its place (that is, under the Sun’s rays), allows itself to be somewhat distracted from its sole occupation.  It picks up a piece of grain on the right or on the left; it chases after a little worm; then coming upon a little pool of water, it wets its feathers still hardly formed.  It sees an attractive flower and its little mind is occupied with this flower.  In a word, being unable to soar like the eagles, the poor little bird is taken up with the trifles of earth.”

Ah, yes, the trifles of earth.  We all know what they are.

But for me the even more beautiful and encouraging part of this piece by St. Thérèse is what follows.  Her description of her confidence in the good Lord’s love encouraged me to have greater expectation:

“And yet after all of these misdeeds, instead of going and hiding away in a corner, to weep over its misery and to die of sorrow, the little bird turns toward its beloved Sun, presenting its wet wings to its beneficent rays.  It cries like a swallow and in its sweet song it recounts in detail all its infidelities, thinking in the boldness of its full trust that it will acquire in even greater fullness the love of Him who came to call not the just but sinners.”

What a beautiful thought: to expect even greater love from the Lord because of our weaknesses.   We, too, can in confidence recount in detail all of our infidelities and expect the same: to “acquire in even greater fullness the love of Him who came to call not the just but sinners.”