“God certainly desires our greatest good . . .”

“God certainly desires our greatest good more than we ourselves desire it.” (St. Augustine)

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I have to give you at least one quote from St. Augustine on this, his feast day. Augustine

God certainly desires our greatest good more than we ourselves desire it.  He knows better than we by what way it can come to us, and the choice of ways is wholly in His hands, as it is He who governs and regulates all that occurs in the world.  It is, then, most certain that in all chances that can befall, whatever may happen will always be best for us.”

I get stopped by that first sentence: “God certainly desires our greatest good more than we ourselves desire it.” That is cause for great hope. “Be not afraid!”

Of whom shall I be afraid?

How can the psalmist say he is not afraid though a host encamp against him? (Psalm 27)

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Though a host encamp against me,
    my heart shall not fear;
though war arise against me,
   yet will I be confident. (Ps 27:3),

That verse from Psalm 27 poses a question: how can you not be afraid if a host encamps against you?  Derek Kidner, in his commentary on this psalm, proposes the answer: look at the next verse:

One thing have I asked of the Lord,
   that will  I seek after;
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
   all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the Lord,
   and to inquire in his temple.

 “The best answer to distracting fears: to behold and to inquire–a preoccupation with God’s person and His will. It is the essence of worship . . .”

And so let us try to go about our days, doing our best to be preoccupied both with God’s person and His will.  Then we will shall be confident “though war arise against me.”

(For another take on this psalm, go to Cloister of Love under Blogroll–to the right.)

This God–his way is perfect

As for God, His way is perfect . . . And if His way is perfect we need no explanation. (Amy Carmichael)

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Sr. Dorcee, beloved3 Comments

This morning during our worship time we were singing Jane Terwilliger’s “Psalm 18”, and I was struck by the line: “This God–his way is perfect.”  That reminded me of a section of an incredible letter written by Rev. Frank Houghton in the 1800’s, I believe, after his sister died.  Rev. Houghton was part of the China Inland Mission–any of you remember the story of Hudson Taylor? (a must read!).  His sister sailed for China as part of the Two Hundred, a group of missionaries setting off for China.  She had waited 10 years for the opportunity to go.  Here’s the section of his letter:

As a family God has been speaking to us recently through the death of my youngest sister, Freda, on August 31.  We have no details yet. She sailed on September 18 of last year in one of the parties of the Two Hundred, after ten years’ patient waiting for the way to open.
     Many of our friends in their letters of sympathy speak of God’s mysterious ways, and I know there is an element of mystery.  But I shrink from the suggestion that our Father has done anything which needs to be explained.  What He has done is the best, because He has done it, and I pray that as a family we may not cast about for explanations of the mystery, but exult in the Holy Spirit, and say, ‘I thank Thee Father . . . Even so, Father.”  It suggests a lack of confidence in Him if we find it necessary to try to understand all that He does.
     Will it not bring Him greater joy to tell Him that we need no explanation because we know Him?  But I doubt not there will be a fulfillment of Jn 12:24.

On the same page in my journal, I have this quote from Amy Carmichael:

As for God, His way is perfect . . . And if His way is perfect we need no explanation.  (Rose from Brier, p. 115)

Lord, help us to be women who trust that Your way is perfect. . .

“If you get tired kneeling, sit down”

“You can only give God what you have . . . ” (St. Francis de Sales)

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One more from Francis de Sales.  (I remember the first time I read him, I thought, “This is the man I would like for my spiritual director!”)  This letter was written to a pregnant woman, but I think it can be applied to anyone bearing some kind of affliction.

My dearest daughter,

. . . Be careful to spare yourself in this pregnancy: make no effort to oblige yourself to any kind of exercise, except quite gently.  If you get tired kneeling, sit down; if you cannot command attention to pray half an hour, pray only fifteen minutes or even half of that.
     I beg you to put yourself in the presence of God, and to suffer your pains before Him.  Do not keep yourself from complaining; but this should be to Him, in a filial spirit, as a little child to its mother.  For if it is done lovingly, there is no danger in complaining, nor in begging cure, nor in changing place, nor in getting ourselves relieved.  But do this with love, and with resignation into the arms of the good will of God.
     . . . You can only give God what you have, and in this time of affliction you have no other actions. . . .
     Do not torment yourself to do much, but suffer with love what you have to suffer.  God will be gracious to you, Madame, and will give you the grace to arrange this more retired life of which you speak to me.  Whether languishing “or living or dying, we are the Lord’s” and nothing, with the help of His grace, will separate us from this holy love.

“Have patience with everyone, including yourself”

A little encouragement from St. Francis de Sales.

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One of the books I have recommended under the Spirituality category in “Books to Read” is Thy Will be Done, a collection of letters from St. Francis de Sales to persons in the world.  If you haven’t “discovered” St. Francis yet, you have a treasure awaiting you.  He was definitely a priest devoted to folks trying to live a life of holiness amidst the stresses of everyday life.  I thought today I would share an excerpt from one of the letters included in this book:

My dear daughter,
      I remember you telling me how much the multiplicity of your affairs weighs on you; and I said to you that it is a good opportunity for acquiring the true and solid virtues.  The multiplicity of affairs is a continual martyrdom, for just as flies cause more pain and irritation to those who travel in summer than the travelling itself does, just so the diversity and the multitude of affairs causes more pain than the weight of these affairs itself.
     . . . Do not lose any occasion, however small it may be, for exercising gentleness of heart toward everyone.  Do not think that you will be able to succeed in your affairs by your own efforts, but only by the assistance of God; and on setting out, consign yourself to His care, believing that He will do that which will be best for you, provided that, on your part, you employ a gentle diligence.  I say “gentle diligence,” because violent diligence spoils the heart and affairs, and is not diligence, but haste and trouble.
     . . . Have patience with everyone, but chiefly with yourself; I mean to say, do not trouble yourself about your imperfections, and always have the courage to lift yourself out of them.  I am well content that you begin again every day: there is no better way to perfect the spiritual life than always to begin again and never to think you have done enough.
     Recommend me to the mercy of God, which I ask to make you abound in His holy love.  Amen.  I am
                             Your most humble servant,
                                          Francis

Of consolation

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The poem this Sunday is another by Luci Shaw:

Of consolation

It is down
makes
up seem
taller
black
sharpens white
flight
firms earth
underfoot
labor
blesses birth
with
later sleep

After silence
each sound
sings
dull clay
shines the
bright coin
in the pot
lemon
honeys
its sweet sequel
and my dark
distress
shows comfort
to be doubly
heaven-sent.

The kind of Queen she is

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Today is the memorial of the Queenship of Mary.  Here are two descriptions to ponder of what kind of Queen she is.  The first is by Georges Bernanos:

The Mystery of Mary

She is our Mother.
But she is also our daughter.
A little girl and the Queen of Heaven.
The Queen of the Angels–
And yet she is still a little girl!
Remember this!

And by Eryk Hanut:

Mary is gigantic, but also tiny and hunched with humility.  Far, but never, ever, distant.  She is the bedside lamp that we can [reach] at any moment to dispel the darkness.
     Mary draws millions to her, gives sight to the blind, makes springs gush at Banneux, Lourdes, LaSalette.  Mary makes the sun dance at Fatima and a tree at Beauraing break into blossom in the middle of the winter.  She gives you what you would expect from a Queen–glory.  But she also gives you what you would hope from a mother.  Mary cooks the soup, squinting anxiously at the clock if her child is late.
     Mary is the clock, but she is also the first to forget it.  Everyone knows this who kneels and prays to her. She is there; she can do anything; she has been through everything.  What would be more mind-shattering than the destiny of this tiny Jewish girl, this thirteen-year-old who said “yes” to the plans of God.
     Everyone knows how tremendous Mary’s destiny is.  That is why anyone can ask anything from her.  Everyone, on one day or another, has asked her for something–even those who are closed to her mystery. 
     I often ask myself if the adoration we give her matters at all.  She wants our best.  That is all that matters to her . . . .
     Nothing is more poignant than a person who prays.  To pray is to become a little child again.  It is to talk to your mother without a grill between you.  And the Mother listens, listens, consoles, replies. . .

Take time to talk to your Mother today . . .

On every one of them

“I found rest in remembering the hands laid on every one of us, not one of us overlooked, and the hands laid upon us are wounded hands.” (Amy Carmichael)

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An encouraging meditation from Amy Carmichael:

Luke 4:40 He laid His hands on every one of them, and healed them.

This verse took life for me one day lately.  I was reading in the Revised Version and looked up the Authorized, to see if I was reading something new, for it felt new.  But no, I must have read it hundreds of times before.
     On every one of them.  It comforted me to know that He does not look upon us as a mass, but as separate needy souls.  I remembered the terrific attack that is always on the love that should hold us together, and I read over and over again John 15.9-17.  I know well that the devil hates and fears strong love.  If he can weaken us there, all goes.  For us, to weaken means to perish.  I found rest in remembering the hands laid on every one of us, not one of us overlooked, and the hands laid upon us are wounded hands.

He heals the lame

Friends in high places

It’s good to remember that we have friends in high places.

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A quote from St. Bernard of Clairvaux, whose feast it is today:

. . . we must seek the world which is above and set our mind on the things of heaven.  Let us long for those who are longing for us, hasten to those who are waiting for us, and ask those who look for our coming to intercede for us. . . . we must above all seek the prayers of the saints.  Thus, what is beyond our powers to attain [the blessedness of being with Christ] will be granted through their intercession.

It’s good to remember that we have friends in high places.

Hope is a visor

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Some random thoughts about hope:

Hope is a long patience! (Conrad deMeester)

Christ is held by the hand of hope.  We hold him and are held.  But it is a greater good that we are held by Christ than that we hold him.  For we can hold him only so long as we are held by him.  (Paschasius Radbert)

Moaning is connected with hope . . .  (John of the Cross)

Hope allows the soul only a visor that it may look toward heavenly things, and no more.  This is the ordinary task of hope in the soul; it raises the eyes to look only at God.  (John of the Cross)

I have meditated on that last quote quite often. God often narrows our perspective so that we will look only to Him. In St. John’s time, a visor was defined as “on a close helmet, a piece having slits or holes for vision”.   “St. Paul calls hope the helmet of salvation.  A helmet is a piece of armor that protects the entire head and covers it so there is no opening except for a visor through which to see.” (John of the Cross, N.2.21.7) That is what hope should be for us–that slit in our life that narrows our vision to look toward God.   If we could only remember when life seems to be closing in, that it could very well be the hand of God:

I lift my eyes to you,
    to you who have your home in heaven,
eyes like the eyes of slaves
    fixed on their master’s hand;
like the eyes of a slave girl
    fixed on the hand of her mistress,
so our eyes are fixed on the Lord our God,
    for him to take pity on us.  (Ps 123.1-2)

My eyes are always on the Lord . . . . (Ps 25.15a)