In front of more weakness

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

Continuing from yesterday’s post:

Secondly, I would emphasize his gentleness with people, especially his mercy.  I have to say that the priest Bergoglio has a very great sense of mercy.  Bergoglio is capable of forgiving what one might not be able to forgive himself.  I have always said that whoever hits bottom, whoever it may be, in Bergoglio he will find shelter, and it continues to be like that today.  This is true for whoever it may be, from your best friend to your worst enemy.  In front of more weakness, Bergoglio works better, in a strange spiritual equation, so to speak.  So if I would have to single out only one thing that remains with me–even though I do not know if I practice it, I am nevertheless grateful for it–it is his sense of mercy.  Very few times have I seen mercy at the depths to which he lives it . . .

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First to prayer

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

If you’re like me, you just want to read anything you can about Pope Francis.  I am currently reading Pope Francis, Our Brother, Our Friend: Personal Recollections about the Man Who Became Pope.  It is a collection of interviews with twenty people who are well acquainted with him.  This first selection is by Father Ángel Rossi.  Father Bergoglio was in charge of his formation during his years of studies.  Here is the beginning of his reflection:

What I always remember about the figure of Bergoglio is that he was a spiritual man, a man of prayer.  Bergoglio is a “pray-er:” a man who brings things first to prayer. Without wanting to go around measuring with a stopwatch, I would say that he prayed for at least three hours per day, and I’m sure he continues doing it because he is an early riser.  When we would get up at 6:30 or 7:00 to go to Mass, Bergoglio would have already prayed and already washed the sheets and towels for 150 Jesuits in the laundry room.  He would have already washed them and already hung them up when we were only just starting to get on our feet.

To be continued tomorrow . . . .

Terrible with Raisins

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Something to think about . . .

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This wasn’t just plain terrible,
this was fancy terrible.
This was terrible with raisins in it.
~Dorothy Parker

More and more of my clinic time is devoted to evaluation and treatment of depression and anxiety rather than sore throats, coughs, UTIs and sprains/strains.  An outbreak of overwhelming misery is climbing to epidemic proportions in our society.  A majority of the patients who are coming in for mental health assessment are at the point where their symptoms are interfering with nearly every aspect of their daily activities and they can no longer cope.  Their relationships are disintegrating, their work/school responsibilities are suffering, they are alarmingly self-medicating with alcohol, marijuana and pornography or whatever seems to give momentary relief.   Suicidal ideation has become common, almost normative, certainly no longer rare.

Things seem terrible.  And not just plain terrible.  First-world-problem-terrible with raisins in it.

We have lost all perspective about terrible.

Terrible…

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Six words

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

It is so easy to grumble, isn’t it?  Here’s a little encouragement from Amy Carmichael to choose another way of looking at your life:

Num 11.5: We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlic.

Ps 40.10 (BCP): I should fulfill Thy will, O my God: I am content to do it.

To think of nice things one can’t have is to become discontented and grumpy.  Is there something you want and can’t have today?  Are you tempted to grouse about it?  repeat that little string of six words to yourself quite slowly and solemnly: “Fish, cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions, garlic.”  If you haven’t time for all six just say, “Cucumbers,” and see what will happen.  First you will laugh.  Then in a flash you will remember those foolish and ungrateful people whose story you know so well.  You will remember, too, how patiently God bore with them; and you will be ashamed that even for one moment you joined forces with them.

We are all sure to be tempted by thoughts of fish, cucumbers, melons, onions, leeks, and garlic–things we would like but cannot have at present.  But there is another set of six words which is as happy as the first set of six is unhappy.  They were spoken by our Lord Jesus Christ about His Father’s will: I am content to do it.

Which set of six will you take for your own?  You can’t have both; they won’t mix.  So choose.

“He can’t stand losing one of His own.”

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That translates: He can’t stand losing you.

Pope Francis: God has a loving weakness for the lost sheep

2013-11-07 Vatican Radio

(Vatican Radio) Finding the lost sheep is a joy to God, because he has a “loving weakness” for those who are lost. These were the words of Pope Francis during his homily at Mass on Thursday morning in Casa Santa Marta.

Commenting on the parables of the lost sheep and of the lost coin, Pope Francis talked about the attitude of the scribes and the Pharisees, who were scandalised by the things that Jesus did. They murmured against him: “This man is dangerous, he eats with the publicans and the sinners, he offends God, he desecrates the ministry of the prophet to accost these people”. Jesus, the Pope explained, says that this “is the music of hypocrisy”, and “answers this hypocrisy with a parable”.

“He replies to this murmuring with a joyful parable. The words ‘joy’ and ‘happiness’ appear in this short text four times: three times joy, and once happiness. “And you” – it’s as if he were saying – “you are scandalised by this, but my Father rejoices”. That is the most profound message of this story: the joy of God, a God who doesn’t like to lose. God is not a good loser, and this is why, in order not to lose, He goes out on his own, and He goes, He searches. He is a God who searches: He searches for all those who are far away from Him, like the shepherd who goes to search for the lost sheep.”

The work of God, the Pope continued, is to “go and search”, in order to “invite everyone to the celebrations, good and bad”.

“He can’t stand losing one of His own. And this is the prayer of Jesus, too, on Holy Thursday: “Father, may none get lost, of those You have given to me”. He is a God who walks around searching for us, and has a certain loving weakness for those who are furthest away, who are lost. He goes and searches for them. And how does he search? He searches until the end, like the shepherd who goes out into the darkness, searching, until he finds the sheep. Or like the woman, when she loses a coin, who lights a lamp and sweeps the house, and searches carefully. That’s how God searches. “I won’t lose this son, he’s mine! And I don’t want to lose him.” This is our Father: he always comes searching for us.”
Then, Pope Francis explained, “when he has found the sheep” and brought it back into the fold with the others, no one must say ‘you are lost’, but everyone should say ‘you are one of us’, because this returns dignity to the lost sheep. “There is no difference”, because God “returns to the fold everyone he finds. And when he does this, he is a God who rejoices”.

“The joy of God is not the death of the sinner, but the life of the sinner. And how far from this were those who murmured against Jesus, how far from the heart of God! They didn’t know Him. They thought that being religious, being good people meant always being well-mannered and polite, and often pretending to be polite, right? This is the hypocrisy of the murmuring. But the joy of God the Father, in fact, is love. He loves us. “But I’m a sinner, I’ve done this and that and the other!” “But I love you anyway, and I go out searching for you, and I bring you home.” This is our Father. Let’s reflect on this.”

“Stay with me, Lord.”

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Simon’s heart was racing from effort and emotion, and he gasped for breath as he made his way through the fish to where Jesus was sitting in the stern.  Simon approached this man whose presence had become almost unbearable: they were too different, too distant, too “other.”  And yet it seemed to him that this presence was such an absolute gift to him that only Jesus could reestablish the correct distance between them.

Simon was overtaken by a sense of unworthiness: everything in his life that was petty, false, angry, silly, greedy proud, vile had now become a heavy, nauseating heap.

He was surprised himself by what he cried out in front of everyone: “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord” (Lk 5.8).  And he knew that no truer words had ever come from his lips.

Even so, just as his words were disappearing into the noise of the water, the wind, the boat, Simon understood that these words, too, were false.  They were no longer true before that face, before the expression of Jesus, who continued to stare at him in silence.  The words were true inside of Peter himself, in his heart, in his humanity, but they were no longer true before Jesus.  He had not yet finished saying, “Depart from me, Lord,” when his heart began crying in desolation, “No! Stay with me, Lord!  Take me with you!”

~Dom Mauro Giuseppe Lepori, O. Cist.

Night on the Mountain

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

I

Night on the mountain. Soon I may not see
The sharp and spreading map,
The chequer-world of man’s hard husbandry.
Comes white as wool the cloud veil that shall cap
The peak whereon I stand and stretch to thee.

Night on the mountain.  Soft and silently
Out from their little dens the furred things creep:
They will not sleep
With valley-dwelling man, but wake to thee.
The fox from out its hole, the night bird from its nest,
I with the rest,
Yet not from any dear and hearted home
But from long exile come.

Long exile in the puzzling world, when all
Thy veils were close and bright
And picture set; yea, as a storied pall
Concealed thy night.
Long pilgrimage within the twisting lanes,
The deep and scented lanes, that wandered slow
Athwart the sleek profusion of the plains
But dared not seek
The solitary peaks
To which thy lovers go.

Now the old words that once were mine and thine
Come to the lips and echo in the ear,
Now the white cloud draws near
And stills the restless limbs and shuts the peering sight
From all thing save thy night–
The caverned door of our unshuttered shrine.

II

Strange, holy night, Eternity’s caress,
Most apt for happy lovers to enjoy;
Thou dost redeem the foolish dreams of men
Bewildered by the dreadful day’s employ.
How the white flowers upon thy breast do burn
And tell thy dark excesses.  Thou dost turn
Each candid primrose to a moon of light;
Thou dost enchant the fingers of the fern
Stretched from the woodland to assoil our sight
From the sharp day’s distress.
When homely shapes pout on a priestly dress,
When from the dewy fields new presences arise
And grave trees standing there
Lift up great arms in prayer;

When the dim ground
Hath soft mysterious movements of desire
And every hill converses with the skies;
‘Tis then
Our little star at home in heaven is found,
And we and it are gathered to thy heart.
Then muted adoration hat its part,
Then comes the hush of grace and wraps us round,
Then comes the flame of love and gives us of its fire.
Then, undistracted by the heady sun,
We are with thee as once ere all began,
Made partners with the ardent worlds that run
Across thy bosom’s span;
Knowing themselves to be
Radiant of love and light because they rest in thee.

Dear night, I love thee.  Take me by the hand,
Make thou the ferment of my thought to cease.
Teach me thy wisdom.  Let me understand
Thine unstruck music.  Give my soul release
From the day’s glare and din.
Lift thou the latch, that I may push the gate
And let my Darling in.
He stands without, he wearies not to wait
Before my threshold till
Thou hast made all things proper to our state
And every voice is still.
Then thou and he shall enter side by side,
Thy banner shall be set above his bride,
The curtains of thy splendor shall be spread
About our marriage bed.

~ Evelyn Underhill